Busted Lips and Lust-Bruised Hips

Pete couldn't suppress the grin that curled across his lips as he crossed the airport terminal, his eyes seeking out Amaya as she stood waiting for him. A solitary bag was braced at her feet and her eyes flickered over the airport as she chewed her lip nervously, almost breaking the skin in her efforts. Her eyes gradually slowed and steadied on the bassist as he approached and Pete swore he could hear the relief pulsing through her over the rush of the crowd around him. His arms coiled around her as he finally reached her and Amaya hugged back gratefully, her head resting against his shoulder for comfort. "Hey you," she greeted softly.

"I can't believe you actually came out," Pete said, stepping back to sweep his eyes over Amaya. As his gaze lingered on her a little longer in concern, Amaya clutched at his hand in light amusement.

"I'm still the same," Amaya told him, "I haven't suddenly grown a second head...although that would be cool." Her head tilted to the side as she smiled, watching Pete do the same in return.

"Just making sure," Pete replied softly. He glanced down at Amaya's bag, still waiting patiently at her feet. Raising his eyes back to her, he squeezed her hand slightly. "You ready to go?"

Amaya nodded. "Yeah," she murmured, picking up her back with a light and tranquil smile. As Pete led her in an intricate path through the crowd, Amaya clutched onto his hand with a determination that made Pete smile internally. Finally, as the pair crossed the car park and reached the car, she gratefully climbed into the passenger seat, turning to Pete as he climbed in without giving him a chance to settle in. "So what's the plan?" she asked, "What mayhem have you got booked this time round?"

"A milder version," Pete answered with a reminiscent smile. Turning to face Amaya, he scrutinised her excitement, pressing his lips together to keep from speaking that little longer. "Actually," he started, "Jeanae was on about you coming back, you know. The three of us hanging out."

The look of surprise and mild panic was almost predictable Pete figured as he watched Amaya scramble to straighten out her combats as her thoughts slipped into over-drive. "You could have given me a warning," Amaya told him.

"What for?" Pete asked, slightly amused, "It's only Jeanae."

"That's easy for you to say," Amaya told him, "I'm like the equivalent of the other woman here."

"You trying to call me a manwhore?" Pete teased, turning on the ignition.

"Yeah, and I'm calling myself a slut at the same time," Amaya replied, pausing in thought. Shaking her head, she turned back to Pete with every argument she could figure out on her lips. Before she could speak, Pete placed his hand on her arm to steady her nerves, giving her a reassuring smile.

"It's gonna be fine," he told her, "Jeanae's nice. She won't attack or anything. Even if she did, I made sure she filed her nails down this morning."

Glaring at Pete from the corner of her eye, Amaya pouted slightly. "You know what, Wentz? You should just stick to music. You'd make a crap counsellor and shit comedian."

Amaya hesitated in the hallway and watched as Pete breezed through the house, pausing at the living room to smile in at its inhabitant. As he smiled back encouragingly at her, she felt her nerves tumble into over-drive, not quite prepared for what he had planned for her. Pete seemed to sense this as he extended his hand reassuringly towards her, coaxing her forwards. "I want you to meet the most important person in my life," he told her as her hand found its way into his. He gently pulled her the few more steps it took her to make it to the doorway, smiling at the way her nerves were scribed across her expression in tight smiles and lowered eyes. He watched her gaze slowly wander from floor to figure and the laugh that rippled beneath her neck to her mouth.

"Hey, Hemingway," Amaya greeted, releasing her hand from Pete to kneel down in front of the curious dog. She held her hand out as an invitation to him, smiling as he stepped forward to examine it before lowering his head and granting her permission to smooth him. Glancing up at Pete, she grinned widely as her fingers still worked over Hemingway's fur. "He's even more adorable in person."

Pete smiled in response. "Wait until he starts chewing on your clothes. He won't be so adorable then," he warned her.

Looking back down at Hemingway, Amaya lowered her head until it almost touched his. "You keep telling him but he hasn't got the hint that he's got bad fashion sense," she told him. Laughing, Pete lightly kicked Amaya spine in response and grinned as she glanced up to smile at him before turning her attention back to Hemingway. Pete watched her until the sound of light footsteps against the carpet caused him to twist and face Jeanae with a gentle smile. His arm found his way around her waist as she stood beside him, watching Amaya continue playing with Hemingway unaware, and squeezed her reassuringly.

Feeling an intense gaze on her, Amaya lifted her head and stood sharply, seeing the other girl behind her. She smiled as warmly as her nerves would allow her to and felt a sliver of relief as Jeanae did the same. "You must be Jeanae," Amaya said, glancing briefly at Pete for support, "It's nice to finally meet you."

"You too," Jeanae replied, "It's nice to put a face to a name after so long." Pausing, she skimmed her shoes along the carpet, hoping to transfer some of the friction there instead. "You get settled in at the hotel ok?" she asked.

"Yeah," Amaya answered, nodding enthusiastically, "Yeah. Not that I've had much of a chance to unpack yet. Someone was a bit keen to leave," she added, glancing across at Pete with a grin.

Jeanae nodded in understanding, smiling suddenly. "Yeah, he does have a tendency to be impatient," she agreed, a grin spreading across her lips as Pete pulled away slightly to protest, "And you know it's the truth," she said, cutting in before he took the breath to fuel his argument. Turning back to Amaya, she dropped her hand from around Pete and smiled companionably, "I'm just in the middle of making something for dinner. Want to help?"

"Sure," Amaya replied, straightening up. As she passed Pete, she laughed slightly at how their expressions had been traded in mid-conversation, leaving her smiling and him with a worried expression. Yet, while Pete watched the duo's retreating backs, he couldn't help but wonder at what nightmare he had unleashed on himself.

A few hours later, Pete was stood out the kitchen, his arms coated in soap bubbles and his mind wondering how he had managed to get in such a position. He rewound a vague recollection of dinner, conversation and then - this. The laughter from the living room told him that somehow he had become victim to female pressure and he smiled at how he had allowed himself to get caught up in an inevitable trap he should have seen before. He placed the last of the dishes in the rack to dry and dried his hands on a towel before stepping into the living room. He smiled as he saw the scene before him, taking in Amaya curled comfortably into a chair while Jeanae lay on the sofa with a sleeping Hemingway beside her. Jeanae glanced up, hearing a noise behind her, and smiled at the bassist, moving over to make space for him. He smiled appreciatively as he walked over and took his place beside her, glancing over at Amaya briefly who grinned at him. He settled into the companionable silence the two girls had already established, focussing on the film that the pair had put on and become absorbed in.

After a while, Pete felt Jeanae shift against his side, stretching in a slow motion that caused Hemingway to move aside in sleepy annoyance. He glanced down at her with a soft smile as she scrubbed energetically at her eye. As her hand dropped down and she regained her vision, Jeanae's lips curled into a lethargic smile. "I think I'm gonna go to bed," she told Pete.

"All right," Pete replied, moving slightly to let her up.

As she stood, Jeanae turned to Amaya with sleepy friendliness. "I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow," she said.

"Yeah," Amaya agreed, nodding warmly, "Sweet dreams."

"'Night," Jeanae replied as she padded slightly unsteadily out of her room.

Pete watched her sleep-induced form until she disappeared up the stairs and out of his view with a kindling of affectionate amusement at how she stumbled over her uncertain feet in her fatigue. Feeling Amaya's smile glaze across the side of his head, he turned to look at her as she watched him proudly admiring Jeanae.

"She's real nice," Amaya told him gently, "I don't know what I was so afraid of."

Glancing back at the space in the hallway that Jeanae had previously filled, Pete nodded. "She is," he agreed.

"We've planned a shopping trip tomorrow," Amaya informed Pete as she stretched out, her legs veering towards Pete's, "Girls only," she added as a warning and chuckled as Pete shamelessly grimaced.

"I'm beginning to think it's a mistake me introducing you two," Pete said, "I can just see the conspiracies and mutiny now."

Amaya laughed, twisting in her seat so she could face Pete, "We're not spies or pirates. And we're not gonna kick you out of your house any time soon," she told the bassist.

"Good."

"We just wanna rob you of all your money - and maybe kidnap Patrick while we're at it."

"What?" Pete asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"Well, the kid is practically a goldmine. You said so yourself," Amaya explained, pausing in mid-thought, "I wonder how much he would get on Ebay."

Pete glared across at Amaya with as much aggression as his amusement could fake. "You're not selling my best friend on Ebay," he told her.

"Aw, come on," Amaya said, "It's not like you haven't got the doll of him anyway. And plus, we'll get you something shiny to play with as a replacement."

Pete shook his head. "No way, Patrick is my something shiny," he told her.

Amaya tilted her head under the weight of her grin. "Sometimes you're just too adorable, Wentz."

"Sometimes?" Pete asked with fake disbelief.

"Yeah. Most of the time you're just obnoxious and annoying," Amaya teased, grinning at Pete's expression.

"Cruel," Pete pouted, turning away slightly.

"Ah, you know I'm only joking," Amaya told him as she crossed the room and sat beside him. She coiled her arms around his stiffened form, nestling her head against his shoulder in an attempt to coax him into forgiveness. After a few moments of persistence, she felt him gradually relax and smile against her scalp before she shuffled back. Settling against the arm of the sofa, she casually draped her legs over Pete's, raising one eyebrow at his look of protest that fell as he broke into a laugh. Her attention fixed itself back to the film that was still playing out despite the duo's conversation in the background but found that she couldn't concentrate on the plotline any longer, partly due to her temporary absence from the plotline and partly due to Pete picking threads from her trousers. Instead, she watched Pete's tanned skin trace across her black combats in vague entertainment. As he raised his eyes to meet hers, she smiled at him, holding his gaze long enough to see a shadow just beyond his pupil that he was concealing. Pressing her lips into a whisper, she leant forward slightly, creasing the moment with her intentions. "What did you talk about in that interview?" she asked, watching as Pete drew back into himself, his eyes falling to his own fingers, which dragged back from her legs and away from any confrontation. Stopping its movement with her own hand, Amaya leant forward even more until her words fell with more force into Pete's ears. "It's gonna be all over the press soon anyway," she told him, "Maybe I can help."

Pete shook his head, ridding the memories that were now defused in his mind. "It was nothing," he tried to reassure her, "It was just pointless conversation."

"Pointless enough for you to call me?" Amaya asked gently. She looked across at Pete's display of indecisive paranoia and entwined her fingers amongst his trembling ones. "I'm not gonna screw you over like they are," she told him, "I'm just here for you."

Sighing at Amaya's reassurance, Pete allowed his fingers to become knotted against hers, glancing down at the stark contrast between her opal skin and his. "It really is nothing but paranoia," he confessed, "It just hits deep sometimes." He raised his weighted eyes to meet Amaya's gaze, scanning her expression for the trust that he knew was there. "They asked about all the drama; the pictures, the suicide attempt, all the exes behind the lyrics. They didn't want an interview. They just wanted shit. And I gave it to them. I gave them an emo boy sob story, all access pass."

Amaya ran her thumb over Pete's hand soothingly. "The media are just pigs," she told him, "They don't care what they have to write about as long as they've got a story that will push papers."

"I know that much," Pete said, "But I fell into the trap. I knew every last move they were gonna pull and I went along with it."

"So they caught you with your trousers down...no reference to those pictures intended," Amaya joked, smiling at Pete's slight smile, "I'm sure all those that matter will stick by you anyway. For every shit-stirring journalist out there, you've got like fifty fans to back you up. And the guys," she added. Looking down at the bassist's hand firmly stitched next to hers, Amaya whispered slightly, "And me."

Pete looked up at her with a vague look of confusion. "I thought you were a fan."

Amaya shrugged. "Technically, I am, I guess," she agreed, "It's just like I feel I'm crossing some sort of line from fandom to..."

"Frienddom," Pete finished, wincing a little at the name, "Which kind of needs a new road sign. Maybe that's why so many people don't stop by here."

"Or maybe they're just idiots who are too ignorant to know what they're missing," Amaya suggested, "One look at some slightly distasteful pictures - no offence - and they turn back round. They don't know there's a lot of soul under those brown eyes and oompa loompa form."

"Oompa loompa?" Pete laughed, "Why do I feel like I just got my ego stroked and beat at the same time?"

Amaya grinned, "Because you did," she told him. She placed her spare hand against Pete's cheek as she kept her eyes focussed on their entwined grasp. "Just...don't worry about them, Pete," she advised him, "They're just losers looking for a story and your life is much more exciting than theirs will ever be. So what if there's a little drama? It's evidence of living and we both known you've grown from it all." She raised her eyes cautiously to find a slight smile on Pete's lips. "Even if it's only metaphorical growth," she added.

"Hey!"

Amaya laughed, pulling back from Pete's attempted attack and serrating their grasp, falling against the side of the sofa again. Grinning, she pushed herself from her seat and stood in front of Pete, pulling at his hands to haul him up with her. "Come on, Oompa," she told him, "Come take me home."