Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

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1. KEITH & PETER
Maybe you may love me too. Oh my darling if you do, why haven't you told me?

Watts never believed in happy endings. She wanted to - wanted to be stupidly optimistic, naïve and a fool and in love. But she wasn't. She didn't believe in happy endings, and when she ended up with Keith, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't believe it was her he really wanted.

Thing was - Watts had spent most of her life thinking she wasn't good enough, and even when Keith told her she was just enough, she was never sure how to believe him. Watts always knew he wanted something else, that somehow she wasn't enough for her dreamy little artist. There was no way she could be, with her dirty fingers and strange way of slouching, and rough hands and even rougher talk.

Of course, Keith always did have a way of surprising her. She knew she wasn't what he really wanted, she just figured he wanted someone like Amanda Jones.

It totally blindsided her when they both realized it wasn't girls he really wanted at all.

Watts had been called dyke enough to know that there were certain stereotypes, and she hated to be predictable. It had always given her a bit of smug satisfaction that just by being with Keith, she was turning heads and shutting people the fuck up.

The last thing she ever wanted was to prove the assholes in high school right, give them another reason to turn up their noses and stare at her like she was shit.

When Keith went to art school, she waited for him. Worked in the garage, played her drums, remarkably content, considering she never saw him, just got phone calls and a weekend visit.

This was what a relationship was, and when it was time for his first art show, he wanted her to be there. It wa s because she didn't want to look like an asshole in front of his art school friends that she finally started putting on some decent pants, no holes, got a t-shirt that was a little tighter, let her hair grow just a little more shaggy and tried with the lipstick. Nothing big. Nothing major, but Watts hated to be predictable, and it gave her a thrill, to see the look in Keith's eyes when she made it there, looking decent.

The signs were there, that weekend. Not even Keith knew, but he should have. They both should have. She met Peter, Keith's new friend, who wore black fingernail polish and pronounced her 'too pretty to be straight', and the asshole was more feminine than she could ever hope to be - slimmer hips and blonde hair.

Fuck - he was even prettier than she was.

She hated him until she saw him touch a guitar, that night after the art opening, Keith blowing out the smoke from his joint, laughing at them both while she beat her drumsticks against a haphazardly stacked pile of art books, Peter swaggering like Mick Jagger, beating out a kick ass riff.

It was the jam session to end all jam sessions, and when it ended, she had fallen asleep in one big dog pile, head on Keith's chest and arm across Peter's waist.

Art school was fucking crazy, and Keith was crazy in it - and Watts loved it. She loved Peter and his guitar and his smile, loved Keith and his laugh, free and happy for the first fucking time since he got out of his house. He had friends, tons of them, and no one laughed at her or looked at her weird because of her leather gloves or her shaggy hair.

No one called her a dyke, but Peter was the first to call her a lesbian.

Keith had fallen asleep, head in her lap, snoring away in a half drunk, half high stupor, and she and Peter were the only ones left at four in the morning, sitting in an acrid, smoke filled attic dorm room, sprawled across the cracked wooden floor.

They had been quiet for about five minutes, just smoking and sipping at beers and looking at each other, before she noticed his study, eyes on her, then on Keith, then back on her, smirk suddenly on his lips.

"What?"

"He's pretty enough to be a girl," he said, and she quirked an eyebrow, pleasantly buzzed, but not quite drunk, because, let's face it, someone had to look after Keith. Still, it was enough to dull her senses, and she only stared blankly, amused by the comment.

"Yeah." He just kept on staring, and it made her suddenly uncomfortable. Looking away, she ran her fingertips through Keith's bangs. "So?"

"So you sure he's what you want?"

She blinked, startled into suspicion, as Peter leaned forward, offered her his joint. She took it, sucked in a swallow of the stuff, suppressing a cough as she handed it back, suddenly dizzy. "What the fuck does that mean."

"Nothing." Peter's head fell back against the bed, and he stared up, like he was looking at the sky through the grey ceiling. "Just that you've been here two days, and you two haven't fucked once."

"What?"

"If I was as in love as you two pretend to be, my ass would have been sore by now."

It was an interesting visual, and not one Watts was really pleased to see suddenly flashed into her head, given in glaring Technicolor thanks to the drug.

Still, she found herself utterly incapable of being really pissed off, because she was getting really close to becoming really fucking stoned, and every time she could feel the emotion start, it somehow just settled back neatly into its place.

Still, she took another puff, closed her eyes, and handed it back. "If I were sober I'd have already kicked your ass," she muttered.

"I haven't been sober in a week," he said, glassy-eyed and grinning. "It's a fallacy of being an artist, sweetie. Breathe reality, live in a dream world, and never, ever look back. In art," he added, twiddling his cigarette at her, "We are truly free."

"You are truly stoned," she snorted, and suddenly they were both laughing, short giggles that made it hard to breathe, because Keith was asleep, and she didn't want to wake him. She ended up wheezing, coughing, shoulders shaking in mirth.

"I'm free," he insisted, "And you know why?"

"No, tell me."

"Because I can be who I am." The smile was suddenly gone, and with it, Watts found the haze suddenly clench around her, like a fog of chains. It was weird, to look at Peter, and suddenly see nothing but him. " Why don't you drop your chains, baby?" he continued softly, flicking his gaze from her to Keith. "Set you both free?"

"What do you mean?" she asked roughly.

He smiled, that stupid knowing grin that made her hate him the first time they met, and made her almost hate him now. "Nothing wrong with wanting to be with girls, Watts. They're really beautiful. Aesthetically speaking." Her eyes narrowed, heart slowed into one, frantic beat, when her mouth went dry, and not even licking her lips helped, then. "I'd wanna do them but I'm too fucking pretty for them, myself. I gotta stick to guys, even it out. Ya know?"

He didn't look like he had just judged the fuck out of her. He could have cared less. Peter was content to merely dissect her with his stupid fag joint, smoke gliding out on his lips in tufts.

The smoke threatened to mesmerize, and she was too scared now to be mad, but she was getting there. Suddenly weighed down with Keith, she felt imprisoned, and she held on tighter as her eyes glittered at Peter. "I'm not a dyke."

"I didn't say dyke," he answered easily. "But I will say lesbian."

She couldn't move, but if she wasn't pinned under Keith, she would have kicked the shit out of him. Watts always hated to be predictable, and no one had fucking called her a dyke here because she was with Keith. She loved Keith more than she had loved anyone, and Peter was a fucking, fucker.

"Fuck you."

But Peter wasn't fazed. He chuckled and gave her a dark, amused glance. "No, thank you."

"I'm not a dyke," she said again, and Peter's smile faded.

There was a long, pregnant pause, before his smirk came back, and he answered simply, sincerely, "Okay. Here," Peter added, groaning slightly at the effort it took just to move. "Smoke pot. Relax. Kick my ass in the morning."

--

"You should come out here."

Leaning against her car, Watts inspected her fingernails, grimaced at the dirt she found under one, and considered just sticking the digit in her mouth to get rid of it. But Keith was looking at her with that 'Watts, please' look on his face, and she finally just sighed, shoving her hand into her pocket.

"I already am out here," she said, pushing off the car to lean over the hood with him. Keith had elbows full of black grease, and he gave the motor belt a clean tug.

"I mean to live," he said, before he blinked and wiped away the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "Get in the car and start the ignition, will you?"

She gave him an odd look, confused for a minute, before she rolled her eyes and moved around him, pulling open the door and slumping into the seat. "Why the hell should I?"

"Start it."

She did, hearing the rasping sound of her car dying a horrible death before she gave up and let the starter go. Keith just glared and ducked out of sight again.

"One," he began after a moment. "I miss you. Two - there's nothing fucking out there for you, Watts."

"What and out here there's a teeming mass of opportunity?" Watts leaned back against the seat, watching Keith's hands work through the window between the open hood and the motor. "Do you need some help?"

"Just start it again."

She did, heard a familiar screech, but this time, it was like the little clunker was actually trying, before it gave up and her hands broke away again. "You're close." He grunted and kept going. "Besides, you're only out here for two more years, man. I see you nearly every weekend - what the fuck would I do out here, when you're coming back?" And then it made sense, the way his hands stopped and he ducked further into the hood. "Keith?" She pushed off the seat, coming around the hood, and saw him working feverishly, eyes swiveling up to her.

"I'm not going back."

"WHAT?"

"I like it here, Watts." He sniffed, finally standing up and slamming the car hood down, ignoring her wide eyes and open mouth. "Start it up again."

"Keith."

"Just do it."

Keith was Keith. Moody and beautiful and a tortured artist, and Watts knew that their town was never enough for him. She knew SHE wasn't enough for him, and she swallowed hard and just did what he asked her too, tacitly ignoring the urge to kick his ass.

She had been fucking WAITING for him.

Flipping the switch, the car sputtered just once, before it roared. Inside her running car, she stared at the dashboard for a minute, before Keith leaned over, duck his head inside, and placed a gentle kiss on her mouth.

"Come out here," he whispered. "You loved it here."

"I was here for two days," she muttered.

"Think about it."

And he slapped the car hood and tossed her dufflebag in the back seat, stepping away, looking rugged and handsome in his faded blue jeans and white t-shirt.

He looked happy here, and Watts could only glare at him, before her smile softened and she shook her head, studying him with a half smile.

"You're an idiot, Keith."

"You're beautiful, Watts."

She grinned, shifted the gear into drive. "I'll see ya."

She heard the ding of a hand slapping metal, and she pushed her heel down on the accelerator, and went back home.

--

Watts always knew she wasn't enough for Keith, she knew that before they got together, she knew it when he told her he wanted to stay away.

True, he wanted her with him, but all the really meant was that she wasn't enough.

And she knew that she wasn't being fair, but Watts had never really been dealt a fair life herself, so she wasn't exactly going to shit bricks about it. Truth was, she loved Keith, and she had spent her whole fucking life never being enough for him.

She could do it again.

--

Lonnie needed someone at the garage, and Watts was no Keith, but she was there, saving money now, because she promised Keith that she would make it out there, and now she had a reason.

It was a shit job with shit pay, but Watts had nothing better to do, other than play her drums and wait for Keith, so she took it, dressed in grease and fending off the barbs and cat calls from assholes and jerks.

She was used to dealing with the shit-faced freaks from high school, who loved to come and fuck with her, and when Buick pulled into full service blasting fucking Tiffani, she just rolled her eyes and moved off the stool, trotting from the shade of the garage out to the fueling tanks.

When she got a good look at the uncertain figure waiting against it, she nearly tripped on her boots.

"Amanda Jones."

Amanda Jones wore a hesitant smile, perfect hair curling over her perfect shoulders, palms smoothing down her hips, like she was trying hard to get ready for something.

"Watts."

Stuck between the safety of the garage and the look of the one woman who never ceased to stop scaring the shit out of her, Watts could only stare stupidly, before Amanda gave another smile, coming forward like she was nervous.

"It's good to see you."

Polite and a total lie. Watts had to smile, running a greasy hand through her hair and managing a grin of her own. "Right. What are you doing here? I thought you had gone to college."

"Well... I - I did." Amanda nodded, flashing another perfect smile. "I'm just home for the summer... Working over at the bank - I just..."

"Really."

Amanda stopped short, seemingly surprised by the comment. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing I just..." Watts shrugged, blowing out her breath. "Figured you'd be in Europe or... Mexico or something."

"My parents aren't exactly made of money," Amanda said, and there was a little bit of steel in her voice, that glare in her eyes that Watts had seen many times before.

And in that was the real Amanda.

Watts grinned. "Okay. Need a fill?"

"Actually, I was hoping you could just show me how to do it," she said stiffly.

Pausing, Watt held the hose mid-air. Raising an eyebrow quizzically, she studied Amanda's perfect manicure. "You wanna learn how to fill your tank."

"It doesn't look that hard."

She had to admit, Amanda was beautiful when she was determined. Chuckling, Watts lifted the handle. "Its not. You see this? You just stick it in the hole."

Amanda looked annoyed. "I figured that much."

"Doesn't take a rocket scientist." Selecting the grade and pulling the trigger, she watched the numbers. "How much?"

"Five dollars is fine."

And that was right about when they completely ran out of things to say to each other.

Watts never knew what to do with awkward silences, so she kept her eye on the meter and tightened her grip on the handle, clucking her tongue with the shift of the numbers.

"So... um... how's Keith?"

There was a small jolt, jealousy, Watts would admit, before she fingered her diamond earrings and looked at Amanda Jones. "He's good. He's in art school. Gonna see him in a week."

She looked hard at Amanda Jones, tried to find anything that would trigger how Amanda was taking this, because she may have won Keith from Amanda Jones, but she was sure as fuck wasn't ready to play that nice.

But Amanda only smiled, that passive smile that scared the shit out of her.

"Great," she said hollowly, and then as if she'd caught herself, she jerked her body, and nodded faster, "That's really good for him."

Thankfully, the meter hit five, and Watts pulled the hose of the fuel tank, docking it, and wiping the oil on her jeans. "Okay..."

She watched through hooded eyes as Amanda counted out her change, and when she handed her the wrinkled bills, she took them.

"So it was good to see you again."

"Yeah." Nodding like an idiot, Watts closed the door for her, pulling away as Amanda shot her another patented beautiful girl smile. "See you around."

"Bye!" Amanda Jones just waved, and pulled away from the station.

Watts watched her go, and shook her head, heading back to the garage.

--

Keith hadn't had a haircut, and he was shaggy-haired and burned from the sun, looking like a displaced hippy. He had been quiet, but Watts was really just so excited about her Amanda Jones story, she didn’t really notice.

"You'll never guess who I ran into," she started, the minute they sat down.

"I'm gay."

He said it rushed, fast, and for a full thirty seconds, it didn't process that he did. For the second time in a week, Watts was left staring like an idiot, with her too wide eyes and her jaw dropped open.

She had no idea what the hell to say to that, but then again, she didn't get much of a chance, because the next thing she knew, he was on his knees, between her legs, clasping onto her hands and holding on so tightly it hurt.

"Please don't be mad," he whispered. "God, Watts, I love you so much, and I need you so much, and it just happened, but it's who I am, and I can't tell anyone but you. Please. Please don't hate me, because I need you right now. I need you with me, Watts. I need you to be with me and help me."

And her mind was swimming, because Keith was saying he was fucking gay, and if that was true then he had fucked some guy, and Watts was suddenly assaulted with images, and she found herself squeaking, something she never thought she'd actually do.

"Peter?"

His eyes darkened, and Watt's heart constricted, but he wouldn't let go. "You're the only one that knows, Watts. You're the only one that I can tell. Please tell me that you don't hate me for this-"

"Keith..." she blinked, trying to clear her head from the barrage of thoughts. Dimly, she was aware that she was getting dumped, but for some reason, that just didn't really register. Not when Keith looked ready to cry, not when he looked so damned miserable, and all Watts was really good for loving Keith anyway. "I love you Keith, I'm not gonna stop."

He froze, stared hungrily into her eyes like he wasn't sure, and suddenly there was a desperate chortle from his throat before she was swallowed up in a fierce kiss, and then a rib-breaking hug.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Watts."

She closed her eyes, and sucked in his scent, all male and art-y. "Fuck a lot of guys, probably," she whispered, and he made a sound that was either a laugh or a whimper, but never let her go.

--

She went from being Keith's girlfriend to being Keith's fag hag, and Watts was almost surprised when it didn't seem to make much of a difference.

Everyone in town still thought Keith was her guy, and Keith's dad still smiled and looked at her like she was gonna be a part of the family, and nothing changed where she was.

But at art school, she was the one who sat on the other side of the bed while Peter rubbed fingers in Keith's hair, and it was weird and different, but she always knew she was never good enough for Keith, and Peter was. He was beautiful and smart and a stoner, but an artist, just like Keith.

"When are you coming down?" he whispered, flicking off the ashes of his joint, words blurred and heady.

"Hmm?"

"Keith said you were gonna move down here," Peter enunciated, tapping at sleeping Keith for reassurance. "Here, suck on that."

She took the joint, wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell. "Not really much of a point now."

Peter snorted. "Please. Because you're not fucking him? Darling, you weren't fucking him them, and you're not fucking him now - the only difference between then and now is that now you both know what you are."

"What the fuck am I?"

Peter sucked in his smoke, gave her a long look, and said with his little-boy grin. "Babe, you're his beard."

She couldn't stop her laughter, managed a 'Fuck you' in between, throwing a pillow for good measure.

"He needs you, you know," Peter said. "And he's scared shitless that you'll figure it out."

"That he needs me?" She rolled her eyes. "Keith's a needy bastard, but he doesn't need me."

"Oh, baby, he does. He's a whiny baby without you, but that's not what's got him scared."

Peter had been with Keith a month, and he knew shit about Keith compared to her, but Watts was mellow enough to humor him, managing a smile as she brought the joint down, quirking an eyebrow. "What's got him scared then?"

"That one day you'll realize you don't need him." She blinked at that, the words gone hazy in the smoke, and she didn't have time to process it before Peter began again, chipper and gallant, "Come down here. You can crash here. I love you. He loves you. We love you."

"Thanks, but I'm saving up," she said gruffly. "Don't want to be stuck in an attic with my best friend and his gay boyfriend."

"So you're coming."

She took in a breath, glanced around the attic, heard the dim sounds of the party going on around them, Peter's smile and Keith's snoring form. "Thinkin' about it."

"Well, good." He smiled. "Think about it before August - because I can get you an audition."

"What?"

"Shh." He closed his eyes. "You're coming to school here because you belong here, just keep drumming."

He fell asleep before she could ask what the hell he meant.

--

end part I