Busted Lips and Lust-Bruised Hips

Pete was still draped across the couch when there was a knock on the door the next morning. He rolled his head languidly towards the hallway, contemplating facing the world or becoming a 24-hour recluse. As the knocking insistently repeated itself, Pete had his mind made up for him and he pushed himself up from his seat. He ran a quick hand through his ruffled hair as he made his way out of the room, pausing behind the front door to compose himself before inching it open. As he glanced outside, Pete hauled the door open in surprise, looking at Amaya through widened eyes. "Amaya?" he asked, "What are you doing here?"

Amaya glanced down at her feet, shoving her hands nervously in her back pockets for some kind of answer to offer Pete. She rocked back a little as she raised her eyes tentatively at Pete, sighing at his confused expression. "I've come to say goodbye," she told him.

"Goodbye?" Pete asked, glancing behind him at the empty staircase. Reassuring himself that they were alone, he stepped out into the morning, wincing slightly at the unrelenting light, and closed the door slightly behind him. "Why?"

Amaya shook her head, her expression the definition of resignation. "I've screwed up everything here, Pete," she told him, "I could feel the tension last night and couldn't stand the fact that I caused it. I thought it'd just be better if I just got the next plane..." Amaya trailed off as she glanced down at Pete's hand, roughly bound up in a bandage that was slightly stained red. Glancing up just in time to see Pete turn away, Amaya gently took hold of his hand, placing her own on top of it apologetically. "That was because you argued, wasn't it?" she asked quietly.

"It isn't your fault," Pete told Amaya in a tone so insistent she glanced up just to check the sincerity in his eyes, "Don't go."

Shaking her head, Amaya let go off Pete's hand, watching as it made a slow, almost reluctant, path back to his side. "I can't, Pete," she told him, "You two need each other. You're forgetting, I come from a screwed-up relationship. I know what hell they are on the heart."

"What if I told you I needed you here?" Pete asked, stepping closer in a ploy to persuade Amaya.

"I'd say the only person you need is her," Amaya answered, stepping back, "Look, go in, go talk to her...and please go see someone about that hand. You don't need this mess I'm causing every time I open my mouth."

"It isn't..." Pete started, silenced as Amaya placed a forceful finger against his lips.

"Maybe it isn't me," Amaya said, "Maybe it is her. Maybe it's even you. It doesn't matter. Thing is, there's a problem here and I'm the only one that's willing to back down." She let her finger fall from Pete's lips, glancing down at her feet regretfully as she did. "I'll call you when I get home," she told him, stepping back. Turning around, Amaya walked the long path back to the taxi waiting at the end of the garden path for her and climbed in, never looking back once.

Pete watched the taxi's retreat almost disbelievingly, not moving until it had been consumed by the Chicago skyline. He stepped back into the house suddenly, his mind pulsing with a decision, and instinctively glanced up to see Jeanae at the top of the stairs. She looked just as bad as he felt with her head tossled from a night's fight with the pillow and her eyes rimmed black from lack of sleep. The two stared at one another, neither daring to breathe as they did, until Pete broke the moment, moving away suddenly. Jeanae stepped down the stairs, watching Pete's frantic movements. "That was her, wasn't it?" she asked softly, her voice cautiously testing the atmosphere.

Pete could hear her wince as he straightened up once again, turning around slowly to look at her, "Yes, it was," he replied bitterly, "She's going home. No thanks to you. For once, I'd just love you to get over that jealousy of yours long enough for me to keep a friend." He crossed the hallway back to the door in short, hurried steps, pocketing his car keys as he did.

"Where are you going?" Jeanae asked.

"To get her to change her mind," Pete replied, slamming the front door behind him to block out any further arguments she could create.

By the time Pete had made it to the airport, he was certain he would never get the blood circulating back in his hands again. His knuckles were dyed white and he worked on clenching and unclenching his fists to get the circulation back in them while he pounded his way into the terminal. His eyes were restless as they scanned the crowd urgently for Amaya and his heart sunk with every face that wasn't hers. He'd just about given up hope when his gaze sunk upon her sat despondantly on one of the seats lining the wall. He told himself to remain cool as he walked briskly across the terminal to her but he wasn't completely sure if he could stem his racing heartbeat. As he stopped in front of her, his shadow fell across her lap and she glanced up, her eyes lingering on the bassist for certainty. "I half expected this," she said, letting a thin smile grace her lips, "I never expected you to do it though. It's a bit too Hollywood romance for you."

"Don't go," Pete told her, "Please."

Amaya's smile fell and her eyes followed it to the ground, her hands twining in her lap. "I can't," she murmured, "You know that."

"Look," Pete pressed, sitting next to Amaya, "It's just her jealousy. It was a pointless argument. It'll clear up by tonight. It always does."

"You don't get it, do you?" Amaya asked, "It's not the fact that you two argued. It's the fact that I caused it. No matter what you say, I did and I'm rotting in guilt because of it."

"But you've got nothing to be guilty over!" Pete insisted.

"Yes, I have. I told her about that journalist."

"And I never," Pete added, "If anyone is supposed to be guilty, it's me."

Amaya looked up at the bassist, taking in his tired expression and languid manner. "It was a bad argument, wasn't it?" she asked softly.

"It wasn't our worst," Pete replied, quickly.

"But it was still bad enough for you to bust up your hand," Amaya insisted, glancing down at the bandage. As Pete glanced down with her, Amaya placed a soft hand against it, raising it slightly to examine it. "How did you do it?" she asked quietly.

Pete bit his lip in an almost shameful silence. "I busted the mirror," he admitted.

"Seven years bad luck," Amaya murmured.

"Like I need any more," Pete sighed.

Amaya rested her spare hand against Pete's cheek, causing his eyes to raise up as she did. "You fool," she said. She held him inside a sad gaze before dropping her hand. Running her thumb along the loosely tied knot, she smiled slightly. "You can't even tie a bandage properly," she teased, gently undoing the material around Pete's hand. As the last of it dropped away, Amaya bit her lip at the gash across Pete's knuckles.

"It doesn't hurt that much," Pete told her.

"Liar," Amaya replied as she started binding his hand again, raising her eyes to his wince. As she finished, her hand lingered over Pete's for a beat while she examined her work before she dropped it to her lap, watching in interest as the memory of his hand faded from hers.

"Thanks," Pete murmured, watching Amaya smile to her lap before looking out across the terminal. His eyes followed hers around to the crowds of escapists completely oblivious to the turmoil that hung over them as thick as tension. "How come you're still here?" he asked, shuffling against the silence.

"Missed my plane," Amaya replied, "It's a two hour wait until the next one." She watched Pete nodding from the corner of her eye and shook her head at the situation. "I'm not staying, Pete, before you ask. I can't. Maybe after a couple of weeks and this has all settled down I'll come back out. Other than that, you need to focus on Jeanae. There is logic behind her behaviour. You've got to start letting her in."

"It's not easy, you know," Pete started, "Everything I say to her is received in such a cynical way, even when she's smiling. It's not like you. I know I can say whatever and you'll understand."

Amaya's firm hand against Pete's caused his argument to fall silent in mid-speech. "You shouldn't be comparing us. She's your girlfriend. I'm just a friend."

"No, you're not," Pete argued, "You're..."

The danger in Amaya's eyes silenced Pete's sentence before he had a chance to finish it. "Don't," she warned him, "Just leave it there. I'm not meant to be important to you. I'm not meant to be the one you turn to. I'm just meant to be the nameless face absorbed by the crowd, gasping out breathless lyrics in time to you."

"Not true," Pete pressed, placing his hand heavily on top of hers.

Amaya swallowed as she glanced down at her hand bound beneath Pete's, lowering her head with the realisations pressing against her temple. "I should really be going, Pete," she told him, quietly, eventually, "Before this gets way more intense then it needs to be." She pulled her hand free as she slowly stood up, regarding a confused Pete as she did. "Call me when this is all over," she said.

Understanding, but not accepting, the gravity of her words, Pete stood too. "And what if it doesn't?" he asked.

"Then it was real nice bathing in your aura for a while," Amaya replied. Pausing for a moment, she took in Pete for the final time with a resigned smile before stepping back and walking across the terminal without leaving a goodbye.