A/N: Well, obviously since there was no slash in the first chapter, I had to make up for it with my second! This whole chapter is Carl/Blake. I really hope anyone out there who reads this, likes it! No flaming please, if you don't like slash, don't read any further. Feedback is welcome :D

CHAPTER TWO – Of Mutant Spinach, Tadpoles and Something Else

Carl walked sullenly up to the heavy wooden door, which was slightly ajar. Quietly, he pushed it open, sliding into the dimly lit room. The walls were painted a cream and serene dark blue, the room itself neatly organized. The furniture was of the partially gilded, oaken variety. Carl made his way over to the bed, where a slim figure was sprawled face-upwards, arms outstretched.

"Come to beg for mercy, old chap?"

Carl snorted. "Cut the crap, Gripling. You know I won't beg."

Blake sat up, grinning. "Ah, yes. After all, as you so eloquently told Woodsey, you are planning to handle me all by yourself."

Carl felt his ears heat up, although he wasn't exactly sure why. So Blakey-boy had been hiding somewhere, eavesdropping, had he? Made sense that he'd hang around to see if Carl and Hoodsey survived Miranda and Courtney. He ignored Blake's misuse of Hoodsey's name, knowing full well that it had been done on purpose. Carl fidgeted, uncomfortably aware of the younger boy's gaze. He finally raised his head to meet the intense, bright blue eyes staring unwaveringly at him.

"Well, a deal's a deal, Gripling." Carl sighed. "Just try not to, err, overdo things, alright?"

Blake made a sarcastic sound in his throat. "I hardly think, based on our history, that I am usually the one to… overdo things, as you say." He got up and smoothly moved to stand right in front of Carl, face tilted upwards only slightly to look him in the eye. "Although I must say, I am quite looking forward to this."

Blake Gripling had always been a good-looking boy, and he was now on the brink of turning into a good-looking young man. His light, wavy blonde hair was a little longer than back in the good old days, but otherwise he basically sported the same hairstyle. His light blue eyes were usually bright, shining with intelligence beyond his years. He was only an inch or so shorter than Carl, although he was younger by two years, making him actually tall for his age. His frame was still petite and skinny, but his style of dressing had changed into wearing turtleneck sweaters and skinny black jeans. His voice was still the same, but not nearly as annoying as it used to be, and Carl found himself fond of Blake's ridiculously long-winded way of speaking.

"Well," Blake stepped away from Carl after a moment, and Carl found himself relaxing slightly. He frowned; he hadn't realized that he had tensed up so much from that staring match with Blake. "I suppose I should give you today off, so you can brace yourself for the next six days of servitude." Blake glanced back at the surly redhead, grinning. "A little hint: your wardrobe will consist of French maid dresses."

Carl groaned. "Aww, Blake, that's disgusting." He suddenly looked at the younger boy in horror – he was just joking, wasn't he?

Blake laughed. "Relax, Foutley, I was just pulling your leg." He turned and fell back onto his bed, eyes closed. "But you can be sure, you'll definitely be carrying my books around at school."

His eyes snapped open as he felt a weight on his mattress, and Carl's face appeared above his, smirking. "Blakey-boy, if that's gonna be the worst of it, then I think I may just survive this." Blake stared up at him, mouth suddenly dry. Curse Carl Foutley and his devilishly mischievous grin, his lightly freckled, tan skin, his sly, slightly hooded eyes. Blake had long considered Foutley a worthy adversary, had run around trying to buy his friendship, and after earning it by losing the very money he had intended to buy it with, he found himself admiring Carl more and more each day. It was absolutely ridiculous; he had no idea when it would end.

"Well, I don't see what the problem is with dressing up as a French maid anyway, seeing as you've already run around in public as mutant seaweed." Blake gave Carl his most arrogant smirk, although his heart wasn't quite in it this time. "Remember? The year you kidnapped me to sacrifice to a ghost on Halloween?" He had momentarily forgotten Hoodsey's involvement, as the memory of a younger Carl's hand planted firmly over his mouth flashed through his head. He had been so small then, Carl could probably have abducted him even without Hoodsey's help.

Carl scowled. "It was mutant spinach, Gripling. Spinach! The bane of many a child's existence." He grinned, and rolled over, away from Blake. "Besides, Maude herself said she didn't want you… what was it she called you? Oh yeah... too high strung."

Carl rolled around laughing, as Blake grabbed one of his overstuffed pillows and hit him repeatedly with it. The younger boy repressed a shudder at the memory of the ghost that had momentarily taken possession of Hoodsey, and tried to distract himself by hitting Carl particularly viciously with the poor pillow. Carl merely kept laughing, before suddenly grabbing the pillow from Blake as easily as taking candy from a baby. He tossed it aside, then jumped onto the younger boy as he tried to make his escape. Blake, finding himself defenseless and pinned underneath Carl, groaned.

"Get off me, Foutley!" The blonde's arms flailed wildly as Carl leant heavily into his back.

"In your dreams, Blakey-boy." Not quite right about that, Carl, said a snide voice in Blake's head, which made him blush. Carl didn't notice. "Didn't really think I'd let you get away with an attack like that, didcha?"

Blake said something unintelligible under his breath.

"What was that, Blakey?"

"I said- I can't breathe, Carl!" gasped Blake. Rolling his eyes, Carl got off the other boy, who shuddered slightly as he got up. Avoiding Carl's eyes, he scooted to the other side of the bed. He couldn't help the embarrassing blush creeping up his neck to his face. Turning away, he pretended to be busy fussing with his sky-blue turtleneck sweater.

Carl watched Blake curiously. Had he gone too far? He used to wonder, back when their friendship had just started solidifying, whether he had hurt or offended Blake whenever the blue-eyed boy pulled away from him, face flushed. But somewhere along the line, a new, disturbing idea had been lurking in the back of Carl's mind, a nagging suspicion that had never quite been formed into words in his head. Blake had always been rather admiring of and – slightly obsessed with, really – Carl, not to mention scornful of Hoodsey. Carl had always just brushed it off as jealousy of Hoodsey being Carl's best friend, but could it have been a different sort of jealousy?

Carl got to his feet, uneasily. That suspicion at the back of his mind had been pushing to the front recently, and at the moment, he found himself actually thinking about it. Could Blake Gripling actually have some sort of crush on him – Carl Foutley?

Carl stared at the floor unseeingly. Surely, it was just admiration on the younger boy's part, and there was nothing wrong with that – sometimes when you get really close with someone, you find that you love them very much, not in a romantic way, but in a "you-can-count-on-me, I-care-about-you" kinda way. He and Hoodsey shared that sort of friendship, they had known each other practically all their lives. But, somehow… Carl winced as he tried to fit this scenario into that explanation; they were like two different puzzle pieces that just didn't fit together.

Things were different with Gripling; they hadn't known each other as long, and there had always been… something else. Carl wasn't quite sure what it was, but now that he really thought about it, he knew it was there. It had been there when he was nine, sneering at a bratty, annoying seven-year-old Blake, telling him to leave Carl and Hoodsey alone. It had been there when that same little Blake had collapsed into his arms, broke and sobbing, on his backdoor step four years ago. It had been there when ten-year-old Carl had visited Miss Gordon's grave on the first anniversary of her death, Blake tagging along because Hoodsey was ill that day, and when Blake ended up comforting a distraught Carl. It had been there when Carl generously saved up to get nine-year-old Blake a new bicycle for his birthday.

It had been there the day Blake moved back into Protected Pines with his family, and had surprised Carl at the last minute by showing him the new home, only a few houses down from the Foutley's; he had spent half the day describing what his bedroom would look like to an amused Carl.

Carl thought feverishly back to a few days before, when him and Blake were out spying on Courtney and Miranda for the heck of it. They had followed them into a neighbouring town, but lost them during the evening, and realized that they were lost themselves. It had been getting dark when they stumbled across a park with a lake in the middle of it, and Carl insisted on looking for frogs and tadpoles to collect.

Blake had wrinkled his nose from a safe distance as Carl sloshed through the water near the muddy banks, declaring that he was going to get in trouble if they didn't find their way back home soon. Carl had then heard a loud splash, and turned to find Blake flailing around wildly in the water. The area he had fallen in was deep, and the heavy clothes he had been wearing that day was weighing him down, making it hard for him to swim to shallower waters.

Carl had swum out to get him without a second thought, getting a tight hold on the panicked boy when he had reached him; he had tugged Blake's heavy denim jacket off, and laboriously dragged him back to the edge of the water. They had collapsed onto the muddy ground, panting, and Carl frowned as he remembered this bit – both of Blake's arms had been locked around Carl's neck, and it had taken a lot of soothing on Carl's part to make him let go. Of course, both boys got an earful from their mothers when they had finally managed to get home later, dripping wet.

Back in the bedroom, Blake watched as Carl sunk deeper into his reverie, that strange look etched on his face. The young Gripling agitatedly walked over to him, but Carl didn't seem to notice. He frowned and reached out to place a hand on Carl's shoulder.

Carl jumped, startled back into the present; his reaction startled Blake as well, who drew back his hand hastily. Carl stared up at the blonde boy for a moment, then got up rather quickly and moved towards the door.

"Carl! Whatever is the matter with you?" Blake eyed the older boy nervously. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going home, Blakey," Carl said tiredly after a moment's hesitation. "I've got some things to think about."

"Alrightey then, but don't forget our deal, Foutley – starting tomorrow, you're mine!" Blake said confidently "Right. Okay then… see you tomorrow." Carl said quietly, avoiding Blake's eyes. He turned around and left the room without any further ado; leaving behind a very confused Blake, whose confident smile had been replaced by a frown.