Busted Lips and Lust-Bruised Hips

"You call him, Juliet?" Marianne asked, stopping behind Amaya as she stood tightening her apron by the rota.

Amaya tensed slightly at the question. "There's no point," she replied.

"So you're just gonna give up?" Marianne pressed incredulously.

"No," Amaya said, turning around to face the older woman, "I'm gonna let go."

Marianne shook her head in disbelief. "It's the same thing, darling. It's just your phrasing is for the weak. Makes them believe they're doing the right thing."

"It is the right thing," Amaya insisted.

"How do you know that?"

"How'd you know it isn't?"

"Because I know what Sean does to you and, somehow, in that shook-up, little head of yours, you've convinced yourself it's natural."

"That's not true," Amaya argued, "It's complicated."

"No, Amaya. It's the simplest thing in the world. You just let it be complicated."

"You don't understand, Marianne," Amaya bit back as she turned away.

"Don't I?" Marianne retorted, "Honey, you may not let me in - you may not let anyone in that could help you. Hell, for all I know, you could enjoy this drama like some fucked-up drama-teen. But I know that you've told yourself this is natural for so long you've stopped looking for ways out and I know that, if something gives you just a hint of hope, then it's worth fighting for. And I know you're taking the easy way out."

"There is no other way," Amaya insisted.

"Isn't there?" Marianne challenged, "Do yourself a favour, Amaya. Call Romeo. Talk this thing out."

Pete turned the volume down on the album demo that filled his car with semi-perfect chords and timing, grimacing at the slight imperfections that his inner critic picked up. Although there wasn't much to adjust, his insecurities amplified every second between when he was supposed to come in to when he actually did, making the ideal audio disaster. The only reassurance he could draw from the record was the fact that he knew Patrick was probably doing the same thing as he was at that precise moment. As Fame < Infamy kicked in, Pete swung his car into the driveway, pausing to listen until the end of the song before he turned off the ignition. Pushing open the door, he made a mental note of the corrections he needed to make the next time he was in the studio and stepped out into the street. It was only then, as he glanced up at his house, that he noticed a slumped form on his doorstep and recalled memories of one after-show encounter. "Amaya?" he asked as he shut his car door.

Amaya raised her head, her expression tilting between surprise and relief as she saw Pete. "Hey, Oompa," she greeted quietly.

"How long have you been here?" Pete asked, walking towards her.

"Not long," Amaya replied as she glanced up at his disbelieving expression. "OK," she corrected, "A while."

"How long is a while?"

"I don't know, one maybe two hours," Amaya answered, standing up with a shrug.

"Two hours?" Pete repeated, "What the...what are you doing out here?"

Amaya shook her head with a laugh. "You know, I've been asking myself the same question all this time," she told him, "And, to tell you the truth, I don't know. I didn't think. Just caught the next plane out here...I guess I needed to see you."

Pete surveyed Amaya with concern as she wedged her hands in her pockets and turned her head away to avoid his reaction. He knew there was more than just a need to see him that drove her to his house. He stepped up to the door and unlocked it before glancing back at Amaya. "Come in," he said, gently.

Amaya smiled tightly in thanks and followed the bassist into his house while she began wondering whether she had made the right decision in flying out to see him, whether she should have stayed at home, whether a phone call would have sufficied, but, before she could answer any of her own questions, Pete had led her into the kitchen and turned around to face her. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Amaya replied, walking around the kitchen just so she didn't have to see the responses her lies were inspiring.

"Amaya, you didn't fly over here for no reason and you sure as hell can't pass it off as just wanting to see me. The last time you were here, you were quite happy to never see me again."

"That was different. Everything was different then. I mean, you and Jeanae. It was all so messed up," Amaya explained.

"And how do you know that it isn't now?" Pete asked, watching as Amaya's shoulders slumped forward at the question.

"Is it?" Amaya asked, turning around cautiously.

"No," Pete replied, shaking his head in aggravation, "But that's besides the point. What are you doing out here?"

"I did think about calling," Amaya answered as she wandered around the kitchen, "But I had this great romantic idea of turning up on your doorstep and seeing the surprise in your eyes." She smirked to herself as she faced Pete once again. "And what happened? I get here, no one's home and I sit on the doorstep like some stalker teenie until you get back."

Pete leant against the counter to bridge the gap between the waitress and him. "Amaya, please. Tell me what's going on."

Amaya glanced across at Pete and the worry lines that were spreading across his forehead. Letting out a soft breath, she pulled herself from her thoughts, "I got scared," she confessed, "I started talking to someone I work with. She just made me realise what a dead end joke everything's become...I just want out."

"Amaya..." Pete started in a warning tone.

"I don't mean like that," Amaya reassured, "I just want out of there."

"Then leave," Pete told her.

"I can't," Amaya told him, shaking her head, "I'm in too deep to just leave like that. I need to think this through."

"Well," Pete started, crossing the room to Amaya, "If you won't leave, at least meet me on one condition. Stay here until you get your thoughts sorted. It'll be safer - and easier."

"But Jeanae?"

Pete smiled gently. "I'll talk to her. She'll understand."

"And you don't mind?"

"Would I be asking if I did?"

Amaya smiled, closing the gap between her and the bassist to wrap her arms around him tightly, "You're a lifesaver, Oompa. I can't thank you enough."