Busted Lips and Lust-Bruised Hips

"I have to warn you, Chicago's not all that exciting," Pete told his steering wheel. Easing the car around a corner, he glanced briefly across at Amaya who was curled against the passenger door.

Amaya grinned despite Pete's words. "That's okay," she reassured him. "I didn't come here for the city."

Pete smiled at his hands as Amaya shifted away from the door to set herself more comfortably into the journey. He watched her with a close concern as she beat the rhythm of the radio on her leg, finding it difficult to place this version of her with the desperate voice he had heard on the phone. There was nothing about the two that united them; not the fastened smile that remained comfortably on her expression, the glow that embellished her eyes or the conversation that fell from her lips with casual ease. In his confusion, Pete almost had to convince himself that the phone call wasn't a creation of his imagination, that the rushed plans hadn't been made for his own desires. He was insistent in his beliefs: the telephone call had happened, the desperation had made the plans and there was a facade sat beside him.

Amaya shivered almost as if Pete's realisation had been transmitted from his mind to hers. Shrugging the sensation away, she twisted in her seat to face Pete with a smile that was broader and more defined than before.

"I've got to be honest though, I'm a bit nervous about meeting the others," she confessed. "They are gentle, right?"

Swallowing the questions clinging to the tip of his tongue and trying not to wince at the aftertaste, Pete raised a smile amongst his nausea. "They're harmless," he told her. "Well, besides the water balloons that is. Actually, now that you mention it, they did seem pretty excited about having some fresh meat."

Amaya's expression was rigid, unreadable, as Pete pulled into the driveway. "Wentz, what have you got me into?"

"All sorts of fun." Pete replied with a wavering grin. Slowly switching the engine off, he turned to face Amaya fully. "You game?"

"No! That can't have happened!" Joe hurtled himself towards the television as if a closer view of the screen would erase what had happened. "What the..." His sentence trailed off into the room as he glanced back at Amaya who was sat cross-legged on the sofa, smiling down at the controller that her hands were twisting around nervously. Her smile vanished as her teeth started gnawing on it while she waited for the silence to erupt into chaos. As she expected, Pete was the first member of the group to let a laugh pass his lips. Leaning foward to read the screen once again, his laugh slipped into a chuckle as he settled back with smug contentment.

"What's that, Joe?" Pete asked as the guitarist knelt in front of the television. "Did you just get beaten at a video game?"

"It looks like," Andy replied with a grin as Joe shook his head with vicious determination.

"I demand a re-match." Joe told Amaya as his eyes found her through the group, fixing her with a dare.

Amaya's gaze quivered beneath his and fell to her lap with a shy smile. "Maybe some other time," she told him. "Right now my thumbs hurt."

"Amateur," Joe teased, placing his controller on top of the console.

"Coming from the guy who just lost," Amaya retorted, glancing up as she handed her own controller to Joe while trying not to laugh at his stone-work expression.

"You know what, Pete?" Joe started, turning to face the bassist who was watching the pair duel with a smile lighting across his lips. "Don't bring her back again."

The room resounded with laughter as Amaya pushed herself from the sofa, hooking her hands into her pockets as she did. "I'm gonna go get myself a drink." she explained to the group, her hand gently brushing across Joe's shoulder in apology as she passed. An almost disbelieving smile found its way to her lips as he grinned in response.

"I'll come with you." Pete told her, forcing himself up from his seat to follow the path that Amaya had tracked across the room. Amaya smiled in appreciation before stepping into the kitchen. Pete handed her a glass as he stepped in behind her and settled back against the counter as she filled it up with water. "You realize you're my hero now for beating Joe," he told her. "He constantly beats my arse at computer games."

Amaya shrugged dismissively. "I'm not really hero material, sweetheart." she replied as she rested against the sink, the glass finding its own way to her lips.

Pete suppressed his frown as he watched Amaya keep the glass pressed against her lips to limit their movement. Behind her glazed expression, he could almost hear the turmoil and confusion that she was inflicting herself with. It made her head weighted and her eyes hang even lower. Bridging the distance between them in his confidence, he stepped towards her. "Amaya, why are you here?" he asked.

"To see you," Amaya replied. Her voice was strong with conviction but her eyes wavered across to the door, attempting to keep her words behind the frame with her gaze.

"No, you're not," Pete told her, his expression sympathetic. "I'm just an excuse to run away from something."

"I'm not running away, Pete," Amaya answered as her voice brittled with aggression.

"Why don't I believe you?" Pete asked.

"Because you like to make things so much more dramatic than they actually are. You're addicted to it but always complain about it," Amaya responded, placing her glass onto the counter with a violence that Pete had never seen her display before. She watched him with a fierceness that quivered and caved at the blatant hurt that was scribed across his expression. Passing a hand over her face, she shook her head to rid the regret blocking her thoughts. She stepped over to him, forcing her arms around his rigid frame. "I'm sorry," she murmured into his T-shirt. "I didn't mean that. I've been wound up too tight recently."

Pete's sigh at his own lack of strength slipped into Amaya's hair as his arms lassoed her into a hug. "I'm worried about you," he told her. "Really worried. You're like all strength and then, suddenly, that call..." He pulled back to look at Amaya who analysed the floor with forced interest. "You were vulnerable," Pete continued. "It scared me."

"I'm sorry." Amaya murmured, her head still heavy from her guilt.

"Quit apologizing." Pete told her gently.

"No, Pete," Amaya replied, stepping away from him. "I'm sorry. I can't talk about this."

Pete's lips fell open in an attempt to provide an argument, but the ghosts in Amaya's eyes flayed them before they had reached his throat. Instead, he watched as she gathered the last remnants of her smile to wear for the others before bounding back into the room, leaving her drink almost untouched. His gaze meandered from one to the other and he wondered how it was that someone could be a better actor than him, out-doing his ability to create cheap excuses.

Standing in the doorway of Amaya's hotel room, Pete seemed unsure. One foot slid into the hallway, providing him with the possible escape he might have needed, while the other lingered in the room, steady and secure. As his balance rivalled in its indecision, he watched Amaya stride across the hotel room with a familiarity he couldn't even fake when on tour. Her hand glossed over everything she passed, placing a sliver of affection onto every piece of furniture in the room. She seemed to breath a sense of comfort he hadn't seen her nurse since their encounter in the kitchen. Covering the table with her coat, she parted her lips to release a relieved sigh before sinking onto the arm of the chair. She glanced up at Pete with a laugh imprisoned in her eyes.

"You can come in," she told him. "You don't have to decorate the doorway." Pete smiled in one quivering movement and stepped into the room with another. He eased the door into the frame as he did but still remained poised by the nearest exit. Amaya watched this with a deflated air before vaulting herself from her seat with as much of a smile as she could muster. "You want a drink?" she asked him, flouncing into the kitchen area.

"Sure," Pete answered as Amaya faced him, emitting all the lies that she owned.

"You know, the guys are so much fun," Amaya enthused as she flitted around the kitchen. "A little mischevious, but fun." Pete watched as the sound of cupboards creaking shut sliced her conversation apart, showing all that she wasn't saying. In her ignorance, Amaya stepped out of the kitchen and approached Pete, holding a glass out to him almost as an apology. He weaved his eyes from that to Amaya but he couldn't take it. His hands were cinderblocks on his legs. Amaya watched his struggle with a guilty resignation. "Pete." she said, her voice gentle but determined in one contradictory tone. She sat on the table opposite him, placing the drinks at her feet in dismissal as she did. Analysing the anemic tint of her hands, she swallowed a few strengthening breaths. "It's not you," she told the bassist. "I just don't want you involved."

"But there's a problem." Pete stated as his eyes raised, prepared to separate the truth even if her lips offered lies.

Amaya shrugged, her defences coming down as her shoulders settled back into place. "Yes, there's a problem," she confessed. "And, yes, I am running away. But it's nothing you can fix."

"How do you know that?" Pete asked, his voice intense with worry.

Amaya sighed. "Because I've been trying to fix it for months now. I'm beginning to think there's no cure," she explained.

"It's nothing serious though?" Pete pressed, leaning forward to catch Amaya's possible confession.

Amaya's head shook with a conviction that calmed only the beginnings of Pete's nerves. "No. No, it's not serious," Her lips stumbled into silence as her eyes wandered to the duo's feet resting on the carpet. She tried not to see how they stood metaphorical miles away from each other, glancing across the gap at each other helplessly, unable to help one another. She was void of any words that could be used to reassure Pete, or even herself. Instead, they both sat analysing the miniscule truths placed between them, attempting to find a compromise inside.

"You're going to be okay, right?" Pete asked, his voice almost consumed by the silence.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Amaya replied. "You?"

"Yeah." Pete answered and the pair smiled, knowing that they were both lying.