FicWad

Meg looked up at the ceiling from her place on the bed, making shapes out of the crusty, white plaster, which she decided was becoming way too entertaining for her 22-year-old self. Obviously there were plenty of other things she could focus her attention on, but the danger was equal to standing on a mountain in a lightning storm, waving around a metal rod. She just wasn't going there. She wasn't going to be the cause of the fire.


"Do you think we did the right thing?" Meg spoke, having no notebook available to her. Okay, maybe being the cause of a small fire wasn't that big of a deal. Pete sat up, and looked over at Meg in the bed beside him.


The bed was beside him, pervs, not Meg.

He pushed her bangs out of her brown eyes and pointed at his lips. She nodded.


"I think it's a bit early at this stage in the game to know if we're making the correct decision. I hope we did. It feels like we did." Meg nodded, and rolled back over onto her back, leaving Pete on the floor, his mind traveling back to the encounter they didn't just have.


"Who knows if we'll regret it?" She said aloud once again, ending the battle raging in his brain. She looked over at him and he shrugged.

"Who knows? All I'm really sure of is how much I don't want to destroy our friends. It would feel okay for now, but is it really worth it?" Meg shook her head and sat up, leaning against the wall.

Pete looked over at the watch beside her bed, and made a face.


"We should get out of here, Meg. They've been gone for quite awhile." He said, after averting her eyes in his direction. She threw the blankets off of her and stood, following Pete out of the room.


"All that build-up and such an anticlimactic ending." Pete said, as Meg had turned to hand him his sweater. She grabbed the notebook from their consequential game of "truth", and wrote.


"Don't complain. Our feelings aren't the only one's that matter here. You know that." He nodded, and sat the notebook back down in it's original spot on the coffee table. So much for that experience. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, as his ears picked up on the sound of the door being ejected from it's frame. He looked in it's direction.


Enter Patrick and Mal.


Both hung their coats and scarves on the rack near the doorway, and Meg looked over at Mal.


"Cold?" She signed. Mal laughed.


"No. Chicago in December is unreasonably, and unseasonably warm. We both know this, Meg." Meg just looked at her friend, who rolled her eyes. "Alright, you caught me. It's death cold. Don't go outside." Pete smiled and Mal made her way over to the chair he was in, resting her weight on the arm. (Of the chair...not of Pete. Ouch.)


"What'd you guys do while we were gone?" Patrick asked, coming around the back of the couch and placing himself in the chair across from Meg, directly in front of the coffee table.


Meg looked at him, smiling slightly. Maybe this was the decision she needed to make. Maybe...


Patrick looked down at the table in front of him, noticing the bleach white pages of the notebook, left carelessly at the base of the table. Meg noticed and looked over at Pete, whose eyes were screaming, "Way. To. Go.". She mouthed sorry as Patrick picked up, and proceeded to read, the notebook containing Meg's half of the conversation.


He figured, correctly, that the other half was spoken...by Pete.



"Don't complain. Our feelings aren't the only one's that matter here. You know that." Patrick read aloud, causing Meg's face to heat up, and Pete's eyes to focus only on the carpet his feet were resting on. This, was bad.


Patrick closed the notebook forcefully, and tossed it into Mal's lap, then, went to the rack to grab his coat.


"I'm leaving, and I dare you to tell me that my exit this time is just as unreasonable as my exit last time. Really, I dare you." Meg watched his lips, and put her arm out, looking for words, but she didn't know any this time. This time, she was speechless...


Just like every time. She looked over at Pete and Mal, who weren't saying a word. Speechless, just like her.


Mal picked up the notebook, and read it's pages, mind becoming more and more outraged the more she read. Meg could see it


"Wow, Meg. I would tell you to chase his ass down, but this time, I'm not sure it would do you any favors. Way to go. This is something my friendship can't help you out of...because it's on hold. Pete, come with me. Now." He looked over at her as she grabbed his hand, pulling him into the spare room and slamming the door behind them. Meg had a hunch that they would not be having make-up sex...


No, not at all.



How had she gotten here? Patrick. His hat. Her latte. Another day that would live in infamy, really only affecting the lives of two.


She had to fix this. She was perfectly capable.


Meg grabbed her piano books, her master plan, and her coat before heading out the door.





"Meg, leave." Patrick looked at the beautifully silent girl standing in the doorway of his studio, once again. No knock this time. She used his name. She used her voice.


"No. Not until you listen." Patrick shook his head.


"No, Meg. You should listen." She sat down across from him, completely reminiscent of the day she'd taken his heart for her own.


"I can't." She looked down, and though he initially felt guilty, it quickly subsided and he shook his head, standing.


"Then leave."


"No." She signed. He lifted his hands. Why was he doing this for her?


"Do you see these hands? They're doing this because of you. They know what they know now, because of what I thought you were teaching me." She looked at him, amazed. "I spent all of that time learning this for you..." She grabbed his hands, her signature way of interrupting.


"Does it have to be all about receiving with you? Would it really have been fair to you, for me to harbor all of these feelings for Pete and then keep myself where you are? Well, guess what I learned today. I'm not harboring anything for him. I'm here because every thing inside of me that wants to know what love is, wants to know it with you." He shook his head. "Don't do that. You know I wouldn't be here trying to clean up my shit if that wasn't true."


"Give me a good reason I should believe you." She looked at him, and then, before turning to leave, she spoke.


"Because you're asking for a good reason." She, once again, had defeated him.


"Meg." He yelled after her, the kicked the leg of the chair upon realizing that that would do him absolutely no good.


Great, he thought. Square one.


Wait. No it wasn't. She didn't have to get away. He didn't have to stand their, scratching the back of his head, already planning on losing sleep. This didn't have to be over today.


He turned, ready to make his way out the door, only to be met by the lips of Meg.


He was obviously a little surprised at first (wouldn't you be?), but once they parted, he cupped his hands around her face.


"You wanted a good reason. I thought I gave you one, but then I decided this one would be better." He smiled.


"You always have to have the last word." She shook her head.


"Please think about what you just said to me." He laughed, pulling away from her and sitting. She did the same.


"Meg, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm asking this because after that pretty sweet apology, I should... not care, I guess. But the humanity in me just wants to know." She smiled.


"I'm glad you're not a robot, then." He smiled.


"You're about to not be." She shook her head, and continued signing.


"What are you talking about?" He leaned his back against the arm of the couch they were seated on, positioning his hands for conversation.



"What happened with you and Pete today?" Meg stared, not knowing if honesty was a good idea. Lying really wasn't great either. Wow, such choices.


"We kissed. That's the end. We kissed and it wasn't anything beyond that. I promise you. We played this game, and it was dangerous and I think we both knew that. We were there and so was the opportunity. It was a mistake, and I see that. I'm sure he does too." Patrick looked down at the floor.


"At least you're honest. And if he doesn't know it's a mistake by now, I'm sure he's going to." Meg furrowed her eyebrows.


"If that means you're going to physically convince him, I'd rather you didn't..." Patrick smiled slightly and shook his head.




"I'm not going to touch him. Promise." He looked over at the books beside her feet. "Why do you have your piano books?" She looked down, and then back up at Patrick.


"I wanted to play for you." He looked at her.


"Why?" She shook her head.


"I don't know. It's my gift to you, I guess. I'm not so good with words, but my hands always know how to make everything okay." Patrick nodded.


"I'm not really in need of much apology anymore, but I would still like to hear you." She smiled, and made her way further into the studio, towards the piano. Patrick pulled the bench out from under its covered ivory keys, and Meg sat.


She looked over at him.


"Ready when you are." He said. She smiled, and connected her thin, knowing fingers with the keys that she'd so horribly neglected since Patrick. She didn't know what her plan was for a song, so she let her hands guide her. Meg slowly and carefully allowed the music to fill the room they were in. Patrick was entranced.


As she progressed, musically, pouring her heart and soul into song, she decided this was where she needed to be. Her hands were just going, being inspired...all by him just being there. This was right. Earlier that day hadn't been.


When her hands finally decided it was time for the finishing chords, she lay them gently on the smooth cream, and pressed, bowing her head down to signify her finale.


Patrick went to her side immediately after the closing chords, and kissed the top of her head. She had poured all of her musical energy into that for him. Now, it was his turn.

"Meg," She watched his hands. "I know about electric ear, and I know you aren't sure what you're going to do as far as decision-making goes, but...I don't know. You deserve more than you've got. Okay? Will you please keep that in mind?" She looked at the floor, and then it hit him. He grabbed her right hand, and placed it on his chest. "Tell me that this will always be enough for you. If you can, I'll believe you and let it go. If you can't, I think you know what steps you need to take to change that." Meg let her hand remain on his chest as he began to strum the guitar he had placed over his knees.


He sang. His voice reverberated through the room, but before it sunk into the walls, hit the ceiling and the floors and the undeserving plywood, it vibrated in his chest, leaving her hands astounded. He was singing, and even though she couldn't hear him, she could feel him.


It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.