Chapter Seven

The next day…

Elizabeth was already downstairs the next morning when Jason came into work. However, she wasn't getting ready to join him in catering to the breakfast club; instead, she was off to her regular classes at PCU. Elizabeth had to go to school for three days in a week – usually less than that because she was a second-semester senior with a bad case of senioritis. Sometimes she'd ditch her first class and trade shifts with April; Jason had noticed their tricky joint schedules but had soon decided not to waste the energy trying to figure it out. But today, Elizabeth was indeed off to school.

Maybe.

She squinted at her notebook as it lay open on one of the tables, trying to lace up her sneakers with the other hand. It wasn't working too well for her, Jason noticed. But she refused to sacrifice one task for the other, looking like a one-legged bird as she hobbled to and fro, keeping her eyes glued to her own messy cursive writing. So intent was she with her work that Jason was the one to say good morning first, which was quite a change of pace for the two of them.

They were the only two in the diner that morning; Kelly's was still closed and Jason had come about ten minutes early as usual to get things started. April could be heard running the shower upstairs, and Seth had barreled down the stairs two minutes ago on his way to the newspaper office to turn in some photographs.

All thoughts of the Plan that she and Emily had crafted had flown out of Elizabeth's head that morning; all she seemed to know was that she had a philosophy presentation to make today and had only just figured out what the subject material was. After getting things started in the kitchen and feeling slightly awkward and unusually hesitant, Jason sauntered out to join her.

"So...."

"Mmm," she mumbled, quickly glancing over Aquinas' ontological proofs for the existence of God. "What's new with you today, Morgan?"

"Nothing," he replied, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, a movement which stretched the denim snugly across his strong thighs.

She looked up at him for the first time then, and something strange inside Jason fluttered at the way her eyes crinkled in laughter.

"Of course," she grinned, tossing him a wink before returning her gaze to her notes. "How did I not see that coming?"

He allowed himself a small smile and, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back on his heels, Jason found himself dragging the conversation along. "What are you doing?"

She huffed in irritation and he noticed that she had finally managed to lace up her pink sneakers. Dressed in simple jeans and an oversized PCU sweatshirt, she looked much younger than her twenty-two years. A sweep of chocolate locks, straight and shiny this morning, escaped her careless ponytail and shielded her eyes before she whisked them back. "You wouldn't believe it, Jason," she sighed with the weight of the world. Pages rustled as she flipped two or three of them, going straight on to Ockham and his views on free will. "I woke up about twenty minutes ago and remembered that I have to make this dumb presentation about the progressive view of God according to the early Christian theologians or something like that."

Jason quirked a brow at her. "Not ready?"

He watched her wilt in front of him, slumping into the wooden chair and letting her forehead fall into her hand. "No," she wailed. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Procrastinate?"

Her baby blues sparkled dangerously as she glared up at him. "You're not helping, you know."

"I had an idea."

Elizabeth let that slip and flipped back to the beginning of her notes. "Damn it. I better have this down in the next two minutes; no interruptions or distractions otherwise I'm sunk. Speaking of which, don't you have puppies to kick or something?"

His eyes widened in surprise when she waved a hand, smoothly dismissing him. A smirk curved his lips and Jason uncrossed his arms as he backed toward the kitchen. "You eaten yet?"

Her straight locks swished as she shook her head. "No time," she called as he disappeared into the kitchen. "Class starts in twenty minutes and it takes me ten to get there."

"That's plenty of time for breakfast," came Jason's deep voice from behind the double doors.

Elizabeth was already skimming through her notes for the second time, hoping and praying that double exposure would result in at least some osmosis. "No, it's not. I have to get there ten minutes early to play nice with the overachieving freshman in my class and schmooze her notes."

Jason's rumbling laughter issued forth from the kitchen, bringing a smile to Elizabeth's lips. "God forbid you do the work yourself, right?"

"Now you're gettin' it," she crowed. "Lizzie Webber 101."

"Oh, is that what you call your little freak show?"

"Not helping!"

"Wasn't trying to."

Several minutes of silence followed; Elizabeth had planned to jump up right then and leave for school, but something kept her in the diner. She had scanned her notes three times and was beginning to feel a little more comfortable with the material. And after all, it wasn't like this presentation was a huge chunk of her grade or anything; the only reason they were doing it was because her professor had been sick for the past week of classes and wanted to cut down his own workload by having the students teach his class. Besides, she was talkative – there was no reason she couldn't blather on an on for ten minutes and at least portray some of the material correctly.

She had just slapped her notebook shut and was reaching for her gloves and scarf when Jason emerged from the kitchen. His motorcycle boots clicked on the floor as he walked over to her table and slid the plate in front of her.

Her questioning blue eyes lifted to his. "What's this?"

Jason quirked a brow at her, crossing his strong arms over his chest. "Those would be pancakes, Webber."

"Oh." Her lips pulled into a pout as she stared down at the two large pancakes fairly soaked in syrup that sat in her plate. He had made her breakfast. Wait – what? Jason Morgan had made her breakfast?! "Uh…" Damn it, why wasn't her brain working? "Um, thanks."

"You're welcome," he replied easily, sipping his own coffee. Elizabeth glanced nervously up at him as she reached for her fork. He was making her uncomfortable, just standing there like a silent sentinel that just spontaneously decided to make her pancakes.

"Sit, Morgan."

His cerulean orbs showed surprise and he was soon stammering an excuse. "No, it's okay – I should-"

"Sit, Jason," she insisted, pushing out the chair in front of her with one sneakered foot. "Have breakfast with me."

She could see the uncertainty in his eyes, in his body, but an unexplainable, warm, fuzzy sort of happiness welled up inside her when he slowly and gracefully slid into the wooden chair. Jason watched her cut her pancake into pieces with her butter knife and fork, each motion quick and deliberate. While she sawed away, Elizabeth happened to glance down at her slim black watch.

"Oh, crap," she hissed, her hands moving at a more frenetic pace. "I have to split."

"Eat first," Jason ordered firmly. Elizabeth was little enough as she was – it was a wonder she hadn't already wasted away into nothing. And skipping breakfast wasn't going to help matters any.

"Geez, I'm eating, I'm eating," Elizabeth got out around a mouthful of Jason's pancakes. The older man watched in amazement as she stuffed the food into her mouth, barely stopping to taste it much less chew it. Within three minutes, the whole plate was empty and Elizabeth was wriggling into her coat.

"Thanks for breakfast, Jason!" she cried as she rammed her fingers into her gloves and raced for the door with her books tucked under her arm. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

Jason nodded, understanding what she meant. On the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays that Elizabeth had classes, she usually went to her studio afterwards to do some homework or work on some art. Otherwise, she'd wind up at the gym and practice her ballet. She kept her weekends, Tuesdays and Thursdays generally free for work and fun. He didn't know how she managed, but she seemed to possess the energy of a hummingbird and was always effortlessly flitting from activity to activity.

"See ya then, Webber."

Her classes were over and Elizabeth had hightailed it back to her studio to get some work done. The presentation had gone well; her professor didn't seem to notice that she repeated the same few things over and over until she felt that enough time had elapsed. And she didn't even need to bother with that goody-two-shoes freshman. All in all, it had been a good day.

But she had some pressing work to attend to at the studio for the moment – her latest painting just refused to work. She had tried to take her mind off of it and return with increased vigor and zeal. But that wasn't working. It was supposed to be a romantic, vibrant painting – like a still from one of those glitzy, lovey-dovey Fred Astaire movies when he had the girl in his arms on the dance floor and you could pinpoint the exact beat when they fell in love. But it just wasn't working out the way she wanted; despite all the fuzzy, sentimental classic movies she had watched, she couldn't get the feeling right. The painting didn't emote forbidden love, respectful longing, restrained passion. It just looked…blah.

Fortunately, she didn't have long to dwell on the depressing state of her painting. An insistent knock on the door of her studio jarred Elizabeth from her troubled reverie and the curious brunette slowly made her way to it.

She had only pulled it open a crack when Emily hurtled into the room and dumped her coat and purse on the red couch in the corner before spinning around to face her best friend.

"We have to talk – how's the plan coming?"

"Hello to you, too," Elizabeth grinned, shutting the door with the ball of her bare foot and wiping her dirty paintbrush on a rag. "Please, come in, make yourself at home."

Emily angrily swiped her auburn locks from in front of her piercing emerald eyes. "Do you want to exchange pleasantries or bag yourself a man, Elizabeth?"

The petite brunette rolled her eyes and sauntered over to her desk where she began to arrange her paintbrushes. "I'm not bagging anyone, Em."

"Not with that attitude," her friend chirped as she casually threw herself down on the couch and began to take off her boots.

"Emily, seriously," Elizabeth sighed, turning around and pulling herself up on the metal bench she used as a desk for her brushes. "I'm not looking for love here. I just…I'd be more than happy if Jason paid some attention to me and if we dated a couple of times. I'm not in search of Prince Charming here."

"Liar," Emily teased, grinning out at her from over the mustard yellow afghan she had pulled up to her chin. "I'm telling you, just give the frog a kiss and he'll be your Prince, all right."

"Em…"

"Fine, fine," the redhead huffed. "Anyway, I came over to evaluate progress. I mean, I know there hasn't been any real progress yet because we're still in the "Best Buds" phase, but still."

"No progress?" Elizabeth smirked. "You sure jump to conclusions pretty quick."

Emily stilled, studying her friend carefully with poorly restrained curiosity. "Give me a reason not to…"

"He made me breakfast today," Elizabeth grinned, swinging her bare feet off the table. The smile instantly reached her eyes and Emily couldn't help but squeal.

"You're kidding!"

"Nope!"

"Well? Don't keep me in a lurch here, Webber – what did he make you?"

"What else?" Elizabeth asked, throwing her hands in the air. "Pancakes!"

"Of course!" Emily was beside herself with giddiness. "So, how did it happen? I mean, did you hint around? Was it spontaneous? Did he join you? Oh, my God – did you share?"

Elizabeth laughed at the torrent of questions. "Well, I was studying really quick this morning because I remembered that I had some presentation to make in class, and to be honest, Em, I wasn't even thinking about the plan." She saw the disapproval lurking behind her friend's excited green eyes but pushed on anyway. "So he comes in and says good morning and asks what I'm doing, so I tell him. And then he randomly asked me if I had eaten – I didn't even connect the dots there. So when I said I hadn't he made me breakfast and I made him sit and drink his coffee with me for all of three minutes before I ran out."

"Awesome," Emily sighed. "This is moving along quicker than I thought it would."

"What do you mean?"

The redhead drew her socked feet under the afghan and pulled herself into a warm little ball in the somewhat drafty studio. "Well, I know that you two have to get to be good friends first – or at least comfortable enough for you to pull off the "Jason, you're like a big brother to me" act and make it seem believable, you know?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"But it's moving along really well. I mean, four days ago you weren't even on speaking terms after what he did, and now he's making you breakfast? In what bizarre world does that happen?" She tossed her fiery mane over her shoulders and studied her best friend seriously. "It's looking pretty good from where I'm sitting, Liz. And it just goes to prove to you that he does want something to do with you after all."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I guess…"

"Woah – there's no room for uncertainty here," Emily replied sternly. "Elizabeth, the man made you breakfast. From what you said, he hates working in that diner and being in the kitchen and yet he made you breakfast. He definitely wants to keep you around. But anyway, it's good. No, strike that: it's great. Now you can go on and keep it up and make him think that you're totally comfortable with him."

"What you mean is, that he doesn't affect me at all," Elizabeth clarified with a smirk.

"Of course," Emily grinned. "You'll treat him like just another one of the girls-"

"If I can manage that," the brunette groaned into her hands.

"-and then you can turn on the feminine charms," Emily continued pointedly. "And that's where that dear husband of mine comes in."

"Have you talked to him yet?"

"Kinda," Emily hedged. "I explained your predicament to him without making it too personal – I didn't tell him that it's Jason that we're trying to ambush here – and I said we might need his help in fixing you up."

"And what did he say?" Elizabeth asked nervously. Even though Johnny was a close friend of hers, he was only so by default. After all, he had married her best friend. Johnny O'Brien was a great man, that was for sure, and the two of them had always gotten along famously. But this was the first time that he was going to be involved in one of her and Emily's crazy schemes.

"He said it wouldn't be a problem," Emily replied. "But he was kind of half-asleep when I asked him. I expect it to register around six o'clock tonight, and then he's going to ask for specifics."

"Tell him," Elizabeth said decisively. "If he's going to help, then he should know all of it."

"OK," Emily nodded. "I don't think he'll mind – he'll just chalk it up to one of our wacky women plots."

"And his friends?" Elizabeth asked uneasily. The plan was to go on a casual date or two with a couple of Johnny's friends once she and Jason were in the comfortable friend zone. If there was any chance for them, Jason would get mildly jealous that she wasn't paying any attention to him and he would be the first to say something. That was how it was supposed to work. But then again, there was so much room for error, especially when other people were involved. Emily, however, didn't seem to be worried about that.

"No sweat," the redhead replied easily. "I've already got a couple in mind – they're his friends from work. He knows a really great reporter and a really sweet photographer. But you know, it occurred to me, Liz – don't freak out here – that we should go for a different type of guy."

"What type?" Elizabeth asked suspiciously. She didn't like the tone in Emily's voice, or the way she said different type. "What're you thinking, Em?"

"I'm thinking we should go for more of a bad boy type," Emily grinned impishly. Seeing the look of surprise on her friend's face, she quickly continued in hopes of getting as many words in as possible before Elizabeth shot it down. "I'm not talking escaped convict here – geez! I'm talking, oh…guitarist, artist, bartender types, maybe another mechanic. That way, you're not going to be flaunting a bunch of professional types in front of Jason. He'll see that the guys you're "going out with" are just like him, if not…worse. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something but another thought occurred to Emily and she quickly continued. "Plus, if he gets the impression that these guys are James-Dean-wannabes, he'll be more inclined to want you away from them. And that's where you can trap him, Liz – if he's not interested in you, then why is he all of a sudden, you know? That's what we said we'd do – we'd get you two comfy and cozy together and then you'd spring the classic "I'm looking for a guy and it's not you" routine on him. He won't take it well, I can tell you that much. I give him two fake dates at the most before he breaks and tells you what's really on his mind."

"And what if he doesn't respond to any of this, Em?" Elizabeth pointed out wearily. Sometimes, conversations with Emily made her head spin. "What if the only thing going on his head is that he sees me more as a little kid than anyone he'd be even remotely interested in?"

"Lizzie, my dear," Emily smirked, refusing to let her friend's downcast mood be contagious. "Never underestimate the fine art of seduction. You'll have him ready to split his skin in no time."

"But what if I can't-"

"You will," Emily assured her with a smile. Elizabeth watched with a frown as the redhead got up from the couch and pulled on her boots and coat. "Trust me, it never takes much to get a man excited. And Jason's not much different – except that he's wanted you for a long time now." She flipped on her wool cap and buttoned her down jacket. "I hate to have to run, Lizbits, but I'm supposed to be home working on that book of mine that I've been putting off. My editor's ready to slit my throat. But I'll call you about what Johnny says, ok? Take care, babe."

Elizabeth just stood silently by as Emily let herself out and closed the door behind her. Her painting, just begging for a few passionate emotions, stood mockingly before her as Elizabeth Webber wondered just how in the world she was supposed to seduce Jason Morgan.