Busted Lips and Lust-Bruised Hips

Amaya's eyes wound over the hotel room with sad longing as she sat on the kitchen counter, waiting for Pete to arrive. She knew that it wasn't the perfect location to attach herself to. Still, there were memories spread across the coffee-stained table and smiles tucked beneath the moth-eaten rug she didn't dare to unravel that livened the room into meaning more than it was. Even the smoke-stains on the ceiling captured the fog of thought that went into the game of truth or dare - and the confessions that it unearthed. Tucking her legs into her chest, her eyes drifted across to the window and the stretch of city beneath it while she tried to reconcile herself with the thought of going home. She wished that there was a way to prolong the weekend a little longer, if only a few hours, but she knew that the possibility was ridiculous. She belonged at home with all the repercussions and heartbreak that it contained.

The gentle tapping on the door brought her from her reverie with a practised smile. Swinging down from the counter, she settled back into her optimism and padded across the hotel room, checking the eyehole first although she knew who it was. She opened the door and stepped into Pete's arms before he had the chance to react. She felt his laugh ripple through his chest as his arms freed themselves to coil around her. "Hey," she mumbled against his hoody.

"Hey," Pete replied as Amaya released him and stepped past to let him into the room, "You ready to go?" he asked. One glance at Amaya's slumped form answered his question and he stepped towards her in urgency, placing his hands on her shoulders gently. "Amaya, don't go. Stay here," he urged. "Please."

"I can't," Amaya answered, turning away from Pete's attempted persuasion, "You know I can't. I have to go home."

"You don't," Pete urged, "You don't need to be anywhere."

Turning to face Pete and his philosophy, Amaya adopted a cynical smile. "Then I don't need to be here," she told the bassist. Hearing the loophole in his suggestion, Pete stood silent as he glanced back at Amaya. "I've made up my mind," Amaya told him more gently, "And I don't intend on changing it."

With a sigh and a shrug, Pete picked up Amaya's suitcase. "The airport it is then," he said.

Pete watched Amaya as she twisted her coffee cup in her hand while her eyes were fixed with an unbreakable intensity at the bottom of it. He knew there were only dregs at the bottom, but he also knew that she was reading into their simplicity for an ounce of advice that she could live on. He wasn't sure if she had found any but, by the time she had placed the cup on the table with a subtle annoyance, he knew the answer for definite. Swallowing back her pout with her aggravation she shuffled closer to Pete as if contact with another human would stem her thoughts. Accepting, but not understanding, her dependance on him, Pete wrapped his hand gently around hers and the duo sat in silence, trading their thoughts from touch.

"I'll be home in a few hours," Amaya said, turning to face Pete with a mechanical friendliness, "Wanna know the tragic thing?"

"What's that?" Pete asked in trepidation.

"I've already resigned myself to what's gonna happen," Amaya told him with a heavy smile.

Tightening his grasp on her hand in an attempt to maintain a hold on her, Pete watched Amaya adjust to the prospect with more definition. With a sigh, he turned away to watch the other, more excited passengers, fill up the airport. "I wish there was some way to keep you here," he murmured.

"Well, we could hire us a superhero - but I don't know how long it will take them to get from fiction to reality," Amaya joked softly. Glancing at Pete's forced smile, she shook her head insistently. "There is no way," she told him, her voice tired with repetition, "I don't know why I keep bringing it up."

"Maybe because you don't want it to be true. There's a part of you that wants the hero, a part of you that wants a reason to stay," Pete suggested.

Resting her head against Pete's shoulder, Amaya smiled softly at the thought. "You're in the wrong profession, sweetheart," she told him, "You'd do so much better as a psychiatrist."

"With the knots that my head is weaved into?" Pete asked disbelievingly, "Somehow I don't think that will work."

"It makes sense to me," Amaya said gently. Stopping her sentence to look up at Pete, she smiled slightly. "Maybe that means I'm just as messed up as you are."

"Maybe," Pete agreed, "Sorry about that."

"It's not your fault," Amaya assured him as she settled her head against his shoulder a little more confidently. The pair lapsed into another companionable silence as both tried not to speak about the one detail that was pressing against their temples. Pete watched Amaya as she took in the airport around her almost as if it was some home that she was abandoning. There were no lines of defeat in her expression, only a gentle resignation to her destiny. As he watched her smile despite the probabilities waiting a journey away from her, he realised that she was probably stronger than he originally thought and that she was more accustomed to her life that she allowed people to think. Amaya broke Pete's thoughts as she shuffled against him, straightening a little so she could glance up at him. "Thank you," she said gently.

"For what?" Pete asked, frowning slightly.

"For everything: for letting me come out, for stopping your life for this weekend, for wasting so many burnt-out hours with me," Amaya explained.

"Well then, thanks for letting me in," Pete responded.

"You know there's no escaping this now," Amaya joked, "You're gonna be my counsellor now."

"As long as I know you're fine," Pete told her, cancelling out her joviality with honesty.

Amaya smiled softly up at Pete, her head shaking despite that slight movement. "Did you expect me to swoon over that?" she asked him.

Laughing, Pete nudged Amaya slightly in protest against her words. His smile was briefly interrupted by the announcement calling Amaya's flight and he felt her stiffen beside him against her facade. "It's never too late to stay," he whispered, almost afraid of the repercussions of that suggestion.

"I can't," Amaya repeated, her voice smothered with the thought of the situation waiting for her. Taking a deep breath, she stood and gathered the last of her strength into a smile. She waited until Pete stood as well before turning to him. "Thank you for the best weekend in my life," she said.

"Any time," Pete replied, not quite sure what other phrase would fit in the conversation.

Amaya watched Pete's inner struggle with a touched smile before her eyes tumbled to the ground as she chewed her lip in debate. Raising her gaze once again, she surveyed Pete's confused, yet expectant, expression. Crushing her lips together as she settled into a decision, she stepped forward. "Don't hate me for this," she started while her arms curled around Pete's neck. "But I love you." Leaning forward, Amaya pressed a breath of a kiss against Pete's cheek before unlatching her hands and grabbing her hand luggage from the floor. She walked away from the bassist without glancing back even though her figure slumped more with every step she took - and Pete never coaxed his eyes away from her as she dissolved into the crowd while his cheek burned with imprint of her lips.