A/N: This originally was just supposed to be a one-shot. But I got a lot of requests for stuff after the finale, and this just made sense. My last one may have seemed a little OOC, but I am trying. And since Kat was drunk, I was just making Patrick understanding for once. I think this shows more of his awesome side.

Summary: She didn't think that this would be as much of a sexual experience as he was making it. She could only imagine the smug look on his face that she was always very tempted to slap off. He would probably take that as encouragement anyway. He seemed to be intrigued by her stun gun.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The first quote belongs to 1OTIHAY that will come up later. Kat's quote after that is just that isn't in italics is just something that Patrick's reflecting on. And the italics after that, obviously, is a flashback. Everything belongs to 10TIHAY


It doesn't matter, anyway. Bianca's all like... stay out of my life... yell, yell, yell. She won't even let me explain.

...That's not nice.

I didn't mean to hurt her feelings.

She probably knows that, deep down... I bet she wishes she could make out with you right now.

Really? How do you know?

I just know things. In my mind.

-- Cameron and Kat

"No, no, no. come over so I can tell you something... Because I need to do it in person... Because I just do, just do it."

He wouldn't do it. He refused to do it. But just looking at that caller ID made him realize that he already had. He wasn't sorry. It wasn't even his fault. She was stubborn and completely dense-- and there he was picking up the phone.

"Hello?"

Her very next breath told him everything he needed to know. She was completely smashed. And even though that was something he would like to see, he would not cave to her.

And the next thing she said blew his mind.

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"I need to tell you something."

Not that.

"So say it," he said. If her tones weren't so baffling, he wasn't really sure if this would be amusing to him if not in a different light. It wasn't like he was doing anything important. It wasn't like his bike wasn't just idling outside his house, beckoning him to return to the house he stormed out of.

Stupid, symbolic motorcycle.

"No, no, no," she said in frustration (and drunkenness.) "Come over so I can tell you something."

"Why can't you just tell me now?" he asked. He didn't like her like this. She could do something potentially dangerous like breaking out a karaoke machine and lamenting about some poorly veiled metaphor about what sort of maybe happened when he sort of maybe let the cops take him away after he was falsely accused of getting high (by the same guy who was offering everyone spiked watermelon when he left the party, by the way.)

"Because I need to do it in person."

"Why..." he asked. He needed a concrete reason if he was going to risk hurting himself for her again (not that he would ever admit to even himself that her refusal of his apology was anything less than a dent in his stoic stance.)

"Because I just do," she burst out, "just do it."

"You're drunk," he accused. Not like it was that difficult to figure. Even the guy stupid enough to eat the spiked watermelon without realizing it was spiked could see that.

"I am not," she said in astonishment.

"Then why are you begging me to come over to your house?" he asked smugly. He couldn't help himself. He liked that at least in her inebriated state, she wasn't such a cold hard bitch. She was so quiet, he was sure that she had hung up on him.

"I..." she started. "I need help."

He knew that wasn't it, but he went over anyway. Even if it just meant holding her. At least she was barely clothed. That was a consolation

Patrick blinked against the harsh light and the wind in his face. At least his helmet was being put to good use even if he wasn't the one who was wearing it. He took a sharp turn and felt her hands tighten instinctively around his waist. She put her chin on his shoulder, holding him close. He felt his own helmet against the side of his head.

He thought when he had finally skidded to stop that she would have let go. But her nails were digging into his torso as strong as ever. He tried extricating himself from her to no avail.

"You can let go, now."

Not that he necessarily wanted that to happen. Slowly but surely, her hands relaxed. She didn't let go, though.

"I know you wish you could touch me forever," he said, "but we're here."

That was when she shoved him away. He hid a smile. He looked at her curiously as she held onto the bike as though she were about to fall off. He eased up the shield that was covering her eyes and he smirked. He put his hands on the side of the helmet and took it off her head, smoothing down her hair without even thinking about it.

She was glaring at him.

"You'll get used to it," he said.

"Used to it?" she finally said breathlessly. "What makes you think I'm ever taking a ride on that death trap again?"

"Because you're obsessed with me," he deadpanned.

Kat rolled her eyes and as gracefully as she could, tried to slide off the bike. Suddenly, he didn't mind the uniforms as much. She shoved him slightly against his chest.

"You're gross."

He just smirked. She looked around.

"The beach," she said dryly. He shrugged with unrepentance. "Just what this skirt needs. Sand."

"I'll give you a piggyback ride," he smiled. He set his helmet down on the seat. She scowled at him. "And we were having such a nice time."

"Fine," she relented. "But only because you asked nicely."

"I didn't."

She didn't care.

She looped her arms around his neck as he hoisted her up, his hands holding the back of her thighs. She didn't think that this would be as much of a sexual experience as he was making it. She could only imagine the smug look on his face that she was always very tempted to slap off. He would probably take that as encouragement anyway. He seemed to be intrigued by her stun gun.

He trudged across the sand in his combat boots that he refused to take off for the regulation shoes that went with the uniform. The sand was clinging to his pants but he didn't seem to mind. It wasn't like he was going to wear them ever again.

"Okay." he stopped. "We're here."

"Here?" she asked. They were looking out at the ocean. He loosened his grip on her thighs. This caused her to tighten them around her waist. She didn't want to be let down. She didn't need to look at his face to definitely know he was taking the implication of her wrapping her legs around his waist to heart.

He put his hand to the loop around his neck she made with her arms. He turned his head a fraction of an inch so he could almost look her in the eye.

"You can let go now."

At this, she immediately slid from his shoulders so her shoes sunk into the sand. She glared at him as he turned to grin at her. She shoved him lightly again.

"You're such a jerk," she laughed lightly. He crouched to the ground, stretching out his leg. He looked up at her expectantly. He patted the sand next to him.

"I thought we were trying to avoid the sand factor," she pointed out.

"You can sit in my lap, if you want," he suggested. She sat immediately on the ground next to him. He smiled to himself. She would do anything, if only it was to spite him.

He leaned back, tucking his arms under his head, looking at the clear sky. The day was always brighter when you were suspended. He looked up at her. She was looking at him skeptically. He patted the ground next to him again. She rolled her eyes.

"No thanks."

"What?" he asked tauntingly. "You're afraid you'll get sand in your hair?"
"No," she said defensively.

"I didn't know you were such a girl," he said, egging her on. Her mouth opened as if it was an insult. "Here, just lay on my arm."

"I'm fine," she sighed heavily, looking out at the water, ignoring the invitation that was his arm stretched out towards her.

"Just do it," he said, pulling her down next to him. She let him. She settled carefully as he tucked his arm under her long hair. That's when she realized it. They were doing sort of couple things and he wasn't pointing it out. He was so confusing sometimes. She was almost in the crook of his arm, where girlfriends put their heads to their boyfriend's chests. But she didn't do that. She didn't need a man to hold her. She was fine on her own.

But apparently she needed a man to shelter her from sand on her skirt and her hair. God, she really was turning into one of them. And all because of one rule breaking, leather wearing, bike riding troublemaking boy-man. She didn't know why she didn't mind so much. She was supposed to be against this sort of thing. Somehow, he just had this uncanny ability to make her feel comfortable. Especially on rooftops during brushfires and while drunk dialing.

During her silent musing she hadn't realized that Patrick had turned his face slowly so they weren't nearly far enough apart. Suddenly, she was too petrified to move. Even if she wished she could kiss him again, he represented everything spontaneous and unpredictable. That didn't make her feel safe at all. Even if his eyes were the safest place she could think of.

"You know," his deep voice rumbled. "I could kiss you again."

"Sure," she breathed. She wanted it to come out snide, but now it just sounded sort of breathless, like the thrill she got from wrapping her hands around his waist on his bike. Her father would kill her.

"Its only natural," he said easily. "You want to kiss me."

"You wish." She still wasn't sounding as scornful as she would like to sound.

He didn't answer. He was just staring. It made her uncomfortable.

"What did you want to tell me?"

"What?" Kat asked in confusion. He smiled slightly.

"On the phone."

On the phone.

Oh. When she was completely trashed.

"I don't remember."

Lie.

"Tell me."

"I don't know."

She couldn't. He was looking at her in that way that made her weak and she just couldn't. She didn't even know what he wanted from her. Last time they came this close, he didn't even want her. Not really. He didn't want... a relationship. But did she? Not those annoying ones where the guy carried the girl's books and were... needy and clingy. That's what he said. But she didn't exactly want to see him with anyone else, either. Especially not those blonde sluts she tended to see on the back of his bike.

Sluts.

"You called me to tell me something in person," he told her. "Instead, you hurled. What were you going to tell me?"

"Why does it matter?"

She was getting defensive again.

And he was getting angry. And annoyed. She could see the darkness brewing in his delicious eyes.

"Because I told you."

And that was the truth. And that wasn't fair. He was such a jerk. She hated him.

"I wanted to tell you I was sorry," she said instead. Even if she still hated him. Even if she definitely did not hate that smirk he was giving her. Stupid boy.

And then he was coming closer. She didn't know what to do. Usually when it came to them, after sweet (perish the thought) moments like these, something disastrous happened. He said he didn't want a relationship or he would be getting arrested when she really thought that he was just ditching her because she stupidly let her care about him again.

And then he stopped.

"What's that?"

She followed his gaze to her arm where the sleeve of her white uniform had started to bunch. Where you could still sort of see--

"Nothing," she said quickly, sitting up, pulling her sleeve down. He looked at her suspiciously, slowly sitting up as well. Kat smoothed down her clothing, purposely avoiding his gaze. "I should really be getting home."

She stood to her feet, not really giving him a choice. Again, he slowly followed her movements, just questioning her with his eyes. She always caved to those seductive eyes. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt... that was covered in sand.

"My dad's going to be really worried so..."

She picked off imaginary lint off her skirt.

"Kat."

She looked up questioningly. Before she could stop him, he leaned in and captured her mouth with his. She made a noise of surprise that, judging by the rumble of amusement she felt beneath her hands in his chest, he took as a moan.

He pulled away satisfaction etched in his beautiful features. He turned his back to her. She looked at him in confusion.

"Come on," he said, motioning with his head.

"Oh," she said in realization. She put her arms around his neck again. This time, she wasn't so apprehensive of her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. She liked the way his touch burned through her gray knee socks.

He deposited her lightly to the ground once they had reached his bike. He still had that strange smile on his face that she had never seen before. She had never seen him give anyone before. Except her.

She pulled the helmet over her head again. She watched his eyes covertly flick to her arm again. But he just sat astride his bike. She hated how she liked him like that. This wasn't safe. Neither was he. He gave the allusion that he was. That was the most dangerous. But maybe it wasn't an allusion at all.

She brought her arms tentatively around his waist again as she leaned instinctively against his back. He moved up slightly on the seat.

"You can hold me closer, you know," he said mockingly. Not being able to speak she prodded him in annoyance. But she did it anyway. Because he wanted her to.

It was dark when he rode back into her driveway. Bianca's light was on. Then again, so was the kitchen. She knew it was only a matter of time before her father burst out in a fury of what she did. She got herself suspended. She got herself suspended when her father told her not to. She got herself suspended when her father told her not to for a guy. She was in so much trouble. And she didn't seem to care.

He dismounted. He took the helmet again and pulled it slowly off her head. He tucked he dark lock behind her ear and leaned in. He didn't pull away this time. She brought her hand up to the side of his face. She felt his hand descend down her arm--

She pulled away. He was smirking down at her forearm. She wrenched away.

"Permanent marker is very hard to get off," she said defensively.

"I can see that."

Kat stared at him.

"You did it, didn't you?" she accused.

"What?" he asked.

"You wrote on my arm."

"I wrote on your arm that you love me?" he asked smartly. "I'm surprised. I at least would have thought you would have recognized your own handwriting."

"What?" she exclaimed. "I did not write this."

"You didn't even remember what you said to me at your party," he pointed out.

"That doesn't mean..."

"Katerina."

Kat would know that angry voice from anywhere.

"Is that a motorcycle?"

"I guess I should be going," Patrick said, looking away from her father's angry glare.

"I guess so," she replied.

In the background, she could hear her father lecturing her on the dangers of motorized vehicles and how irresponsible it was that she drove off school property with a man-boy with an alarmingly deep voice for a seventeen year old.

Patrick just smirked and started his bike again.

"You shouldn't look so worried," he advised. "You'll see me again."

Kat rolled her eyes.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well we did get suspended together."

Kat scoffed and turned away. Even if she liked the way he said together.

"And its okay," he said. "I heart you too."

"You really should be wearing a helmet," she snapped. She heard his deep throated laughter. She turned in the threshold, barely listening to her father about the company kept. She just looked at the faded ink on her arm that was probably the most truthful thing she said to him.

I heart Patrick.