CHAPTER 3

THE PLAN

Spencer dragged her ring-shopping the next day, even though he had pushed back the proposal by another week out of consideration for her difficulty in dealing with the situation. She begged him to leave her at home, but he said he was in desperate need of her help.

"These are all the same grade," the jeweler explained, pulling out several engagement rings and setting them in a row on the glass counter, "but each stone is unique." He laid out a magnifying glass. "Feel free to take a closer look."

"You can afford these?" Carly asked her brother, leaning into his personal space so that the retailer couldn't hear her.

"I've got some money saved. I was going to buy a jet ski, but this is more important."

Carly would have rather had a jet ski.

She pressed her face down close to the rings, and examined the different bands.

Spencer got into a discussion with the clerk about pricing, while another attended Carly in a way that made her suspect he was paid on commission.

When Carly reached to pick one of the rings up, he explained that it was a simple, but elegant cut. She put it back, and chose another. "Very feminine," he explained. "A lovely decoration for a lovely hand. You should try it on."

Carly slipped it onto the proper finger and admired the view.

"You should tell your fiancé you want this one," the clerk urged her, glancing at Spencer.

Carly took the ring off quickly and set it back into its velvet box. "It's not for me."

Spencer concluded his discussion and joined her. "Are any standing out?"

She could feel the clerk watching her. "I like this one," Carly said, indicating the "simple, but elegant" ring. Carly didn't want Emily getting the ring she herself liked most.

Spencer spent a few more minutes perusing.

"What do you think of this one?" he asked her, lifting up a band with two swans encircling the diamond in the shape of a heart. "Emily would probably find it too goofy."

"It's not goofy; it's pretty. I'd love it. If it was given to me, I'd love it," Carly answered him, her lips pursed.

He set it back down. "I'm leaning towards this one," he told her, then pointing towards the "very feminine" ring Carly would have chosen for herself.

Carly sighed. "Of course you are."

Afterwards he told her it had been fun, ring shopping with her.

She'd had a considerably less pleasurable time.

/

Carly tried to improve her general mood after Spencer had come to talk to her, and she made an extra effort to be courteous to Emily, but those close to her could still tell she wasn't herself.

She longed to tell Sam what she was feeling. She had grown angry with Freddie and Sam when they kept secrets from her, but this secret was just too big. And what could they do? It wasn't as if they could help. It would only be giving them a burden.

Spencer asked Carly to hold onto the ring so that Emily wouldn't find it. Carly didn't like that Emily had such a free run of the house she might find it in any room but Carly's, but she did what he asked. It was tucked into the stomach pouch of her stuffed bear, and Carly was staring at it during the very second that Emily knocked on her door.

She was over all the time now. Almost every night. Most mornings afterwards. He hadn't even proposed yet, and already everything was changing.

"Come in," Carly invited, shifting her eyes away from her bear.

"Hi," Emily said shyly, smiling.

Carly indicated her couch with a fling of her hand, and Emily closed the door behind her and took a seat. "Hi, Emily."

"I told Spencer to come let me talk to you. I know that something's troubling you, and I thought, I don't know, maybe you'd talk to me about it. I know we don't know each other too well, but I want us to be friends, Carly."

Carly was thinking some very discourteous things. She didn't speak.

Emily continued: "It's about a boy, isn't it?"

Carly laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, it's about a boy."

A triumphant smile took over Emily's face. "I thought so! It's usually a boy, isn't it?"

Carly nodded. The thought of how in-over-her-head Emily was at the moment was putting her in a better mood than she had been in for days.

"So tell me: what's the problem? Is he not interested? Is he leaving for a college far away?"

Carly paused thoughtfully, appraising Emily. "He has a girlfriend," Carly finally said, sharp and clear.

Of course it was much more complicated than that.

"Ah," Emily responded, nodding sympathetically. "I see. A serious girlfriend?"

"Pretty serious, yeah."

"He loves her?"

"He must."

"And she loves him?"

"She couldn't not."

Emily laughed at Carly's certitude on that score. "But you love him too?" she asked softly.

Carly didn't want to cry in front of her rival, but she could feel the water welling in her eyes. She nodded, and then buried her face in her arms and began to sob. "So much," she wailed.

Placing her hand on Carly's back, she gave her a soothing caress. "There, there. Shhhh. Tell me: how does this boy feel about you?"

"He doesn't-" she sobbed, "he doesn't see me that way. We've been…friendsfor a long time. But I'll never know if he could, because of her." Carly dried her eyes on her shirt, and lifted her face. "I probably would never have known how I felt if he hadn't gotten together with her. But now it's too late."

"Are we talking about Freddie and Sam, Carly?"

Carly wasn't prepared for that. She couldn't help an incredulous little laugh. "No, no. It's not them."

"Good." Emily replied, relieved. If only she could have guessed it was worse than that. She resumed: "It's never too late, Carly. Not while there's life."

Carly perked up a little. "You really think so?"

"I really do."

"But if they're happy together, then it's wrong of me to do anything that might hurt their relationship."

"I don't think it's that simple." Emily sighed. "My best friend stole my boyfriend from me in high school. I was angry for years. But they're married now, and happy. They loved each other. My feelings were hurt, but what they had was so much more important than my pride. How can I begrudge them their love? They were right for each other. They just found each other at an inconvenient time. So I can say, even as the aggrieved party, that if it could be true love, maybe you should go for it. You're a young girl: you don't want to spend the rest of your life regretting what you didn't do or what you could have had. Take it from one who knows."

"You really think I should tell him I love him, even though he's with someone else, and it's serious."

Emily nodded and shrugged. "Maybe that's not what I should be telling you. But that's what I think. If things work out for you and him, this other girl – she'll move on. It might not be easy, but she will. What's more important than love? I think a lot of relationships have a solid foundation of trust and commonality, and love builds from that. But sometimes two people are just meant to be together. Proper behavior shouldn't stand in the way of that."

Carly felt guiltier than she had yet since meeting Emily, and she hadn't even made a move yet. She couldn't even enjoy the irony of what Emily was saying. For the first time (and probably the last time), she gave Emily a truly warm smile.

/

Once Emily was gone, foolishly thinking she had just made everything better for everyone, and having been sworn to secrecy, Carly decided to take a long bath, even though she'd showered that morning.

She couldn't just tell Spencer that she was in love with him. She couldn't just tell him to break-up with Emily and be with her instead.

He would reject her out of hand.

She probably would have done the same, before…

He had to be…prepared. His mind opened. A process of exposure.

Maybe he could never feel the way about her that she felt about him. But maybe he could…

It had happened for Sam and Freddie. She didn't know what was going on with them now; she didn't understand it, and didn't like it, because the only creature walking the Earth more wretched than the two of them was herself. It was a calmer and more familiar state now, but tainted. She had no doubt that they had loved each other in a way that was equal and perfect, and if it had happened for them, maybe it could happen for her and Spencer.

She didn't have very much time.

Carly didn't feel right about trying to split Spencer and Emily apart, but she agreed with what Emily had said. In the end, it would be Spencer who did the breaking and the splitting. He would have to choose. But she had to show him there was a choice to be made. It was unfair to him notto know there was a choice.

/

Carly's plan was multi-pronged, as all good plans were. She knew what it felt like to be losing him, but he needed to be reminded what it felt like to be losing her.

She left a brochure on the counter by the computer, for San Francisco University. 800 miles away. 18 hours by car. Far enough. He knew she admired the city; it wouldn't be difficult for him to believe she was considering applying.

When she got home from school, Emily was in her kitchen cooking dinner. To Carly's vexation, she had rearranged a few of the silverware drawers. She claimed her method was more "practical". Carly had yet to voice her agreement, though it was getting harder and harder to deny. Somehow she had even found a place for all of the spoons. Spencer had bought a new set when he made his spoon hat, but then the hat fell apart, and they had four times as many spoons as any household could ever possibly need. Even one that frequently entertained Samantha Puckett.

Spencer was watching TV, but he put it on mute the second Carly walked through the door.

"SFU?" Spencer demanded, before she had even shut the door behind her.

Shaking her head at him, she asked him to let her put away her stuff first. She smiled to herself when she turned her back on him to hang up her bag.

"That doesn't even sound like a school name, it sounds like a naughty text abbreviation." He picked up the brochure and waved it around.

Carly rolled her eyes. "It's a good school."

"It's a great school," Emily echoed in the kitchen.

Carly tried not to glare. This wasn't Emily's business. Emily was not a part of this conversation. The fact that she was trying to be supportive was even more infuriating.

Crossing her arms, Carly reminded him that she had to go to college somewhere.

"But not San Francisco. It's always cold and foggy. Why would you want to go there?"

"As opposed to Seattle? You know I love it there. The art. The culture. The bay. The cheap Chinatown shopping."

"It's a beautiful town. Great people," Emily informed them, rifling loudly though some pots.

Now she's just trying to get rid of me, Carly thought.

"It's too far," Spencer said seriously, quietly. He ignored Emily. "I would never see you."

"No," Carly answered him softly. "No, you wouldn't. Not very often."

He slammed the brochure down on the coffee table. "You're not going to San Francisco. And you're…grounded. Forever." He pointed angrily towards her bedroom. "And no dinner."

Laughing inside, Carly went up to her room. It felt good to be grounded again.

/

Prong 2: she attempted next to make Spencer jealous.

It was an icky thing to do. The very thought of it disgusted her. This plotting and manipulating wasn't like her. But it had to be done, and it had to subtle.

He'd never liked any of her boyfriends. He didn't even like Freddie overly much. She thought there was a chance that she might be able to push him over the edge a little, if she were really trying.

She considered confiding in Gibby and employing his help. He marched to the beat of his own drum, and while he wasn't the best at keeping secrets, he believed in true love, and was a loyal friend, and wouldn't judge her. But she didn't think she could make Spencer jealous with Gibby. The guy from the club, on the other hand…He was extremely good looking, and he'd given her his number.

His name was Jack, and he didn't seem to mind when she told him on the phone that she only wanted to use him.

Carly talked him up around the house before bringing him over. She lied about how long she had known him, and by the time she was ready to show him off to Spencer, she'd convinced him and Emily that they were a serious couple. She kept her distance from Sam, Freddie, and Gibby while carrying out her plan. She told them she was busy with homework, and they were a little suspicious, but careful enough of her changed moods to give her some space.

Jack came over for dinner. He was polite and affectionate, as she had asked him to be. She thought he might want some money or a guest spot on iCarly, but he was content just to make out with her, which she made sure they did, frequently, and in front of Spencer.

Emily put her hand on Spencer's, and whispered to him that if they were in the living room making out, then they weren't doing worse things in the privacy of Carly's bedroom, but Spencer still boiled.

Carly tried to be furtive when she checked Spencer's reactions, but she worried he caught her once or twice.

"Jack's considering San Fran U as well," Carly announced at dinner, a day when Jack wasn't over. "To be with me. He's at Udub right now."

Spencer's jaw dropped. "He's in college?"

"A senior," Carly replied. Spencer had might as well get used to her dating someone considerably older. Jack was really only 19. "He'll be going for his MBA next year." The lies rolled off her tongue with alarming ease. As a failed law schooler, nothing would drive Spencer crazy like a successful and dedicated business student.

Spencer was almost catatonic.

Emily came to Carly to get the dirt on Jack. "Is he the guy?" she asked.

Carly told her he wasn't the guy. She'd moved on.

But Carly grew tired of Jack's company, and the whole charade. She didn't think she could take it any further in the time allotted. If she could pique Spencer's jealousy this way, it would have happened already. She'd done everything save fake her own engagement, and she wasn't going to do that. So she told everyone that she and Jack had broken it off. She feigned a two-day depression, and then seemed to bounce back to her regularly-scheduled moroseness.

More sullen than usual, Spencer kept his thoughts about Jack to himself, but Carly knew he was relieved when she ended the affair. It wasn't quite what she had been hoping for, but at least it was a taste of what she herself was experiencing.

/

Carly had already been wearing more revealing clothing than was her tendency, but she knew she needed to take things to the next level.

Spencer needed a rude awakening.

Without telling her why, Carly had Sam do some damage to Emily's car. Emily hated riding Spencer's motorcycle and being outside in the rain, so she wasn't around much while her car was in the shop.

Carly felt horribly wicked, but she needed some time alone with Spencer.

She wondered if she was crazy when she dragged the hook of the wire hanger up her back, creating a shallow cut parallel with the line of her spine, from her mid-back up to her shoulder blades. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and she was nothing if not desperate.

And she'd asked Spencer to give himself a bloody nose with a 2"x4", so she could do this for him.

On bottom she wore a short black skirt. And on top she wore nothing. No shirt, no bra. She made sure the cut went below the back line of her even her lowest halters, and she had nothing backless. Spencer would never let her wear something backless. She picked up a flimsy shirt – nearly sheer and not much fabric to speak of – and held it against her chest to cover her breasts.

Then she faked a cry of distress.

Spencer came running – he didn't even knock. "Oh, what, are you, what, oh, sorry" he stuttered, looking down and away as he realized she wasn't wearing a shirt even though her naughty parts were covered.

"I cut myself," she informed him, turning her back to him so that he could see the line of red.

"How'd that happen?"

"It was silly. The hanger was still inside when I put my shirt on. It cut me." She turned back to him.

The lights were purposefully low in her room. After all, that's what you did: you put the horses in the barn, and then you turned down the barn lights.

"No wonder you couldn't tell the hanger was still in there. It's dark in here." He went to the light switch to flip it on, but she'd broken the light bulb in her gummy bear chandelier. On purpose.

"It's burnt out already?" he asked, incredulous. "That thing is supposed to last for years. Do you think they'll let me return it?"

She ignored that comment, and walked slowly towards him, and then showed her bare back to him again, only inches away this time. "Will you bandage it up? I can't reach," she said softly and quietly, just above a whisper, rippling her spine once.

There was a beat before he responded, which gave her some hope she was achieving her goal. "Call me Nurse Spencer." He ushered her towards the bathroom, without touching her.

The lights in there were bright and harsh, but the smallness of the room more than made up for it.

He had her stand against the counter while he wetted a paper towel in the sink, which put the front of her perfectly into the mirror's reflection. He couldn't escape looking at her. All of her.

During the second he looked down to turn off the faucet, she shook her head, releasing her hair from where it had been held over the edge of her shoulder. She had been sure to wear it down, so that he would have to touch it.

He swept it gently to the side, never once touching her skin - something he must have been sure to avoid on purpose, because anything less than meticulous care in the act would have resulted in contact.

She knew. She'd practiced.

She shivered when the cold water on the paper towel hit the cut, but it was the touch and the temperature, and not the injury.

"If it hurts so badly, maybe I should get Mrs. Benson," Spencer said suddenly, making a move for the door.

Carly put up her hand to stop him. "We don't need her."

He returned and continued to gently wipe up the blood. There wasn't very much, but enough to turn the paper towel a light pink.

He pulled out the first aid kit and applied some hydrogen peroxide to a small cloth.

It genuinely stung when he cleaned the wound, but she exaggerated the pain with a breathy, throaty gasp. A blush crept up her neck, shame and embarrassment at what she'd resorted to. She hoped he'd attribute it to the pain, if he ever looked up and saw it. His eyes were glued with an improbable ceaselessness to the task before him, and his uncharacteristic reticence was becoming suspect.

It was going well.

"Neosporin?" he asked.

She didn't think an antibiotic ointment would be necessary. "Is it still bleeding?" she questioned coyly over her shoulder, twisting her head slightly towards him, causing her hair to cascade down once more.

This time she reached behind to collect it herself, only she pretended to fumble at it, accidentally brushing her hand across his chest once or twice as she gathered the loose strands into her fist and brought them back over her left shoulder.

He ran his finger along the side of the cut to guide his gaze, causing her to shudder again.

"Sorry, sorry. Did that hurt?"

"No," she answered him quickly and softly, without thinking. She then realized she probably should have said "yes".

"It's not bleeding anymore."

"Then just tape some gauze down, I suppose," Carly instructed, afraid she'd overstepped and now suddenly shy.

Every time his fingers touched her, to hold the gauze in place or to press down the tape, she wanted to move backwards into his hand, and it was all she could do to resist.

How had she ever gotten to this place?

She stared at herself in the mirror, and both hated and loved the miserable, desperate eyes staring back at her. They had never known such misery before, but neither had they known such excitement.

"Done!" he cheered, giving her a light slap on the shoulder.

She swirled around to face him. "Yay! Thank you!"

The bathroom was so small that they were almost touching, as carefully as he was avoiding it.

It was time. Could she do it?

She tried to turn off her brain, and just carry out the plan as premeditated, but she was terrified.

But she did it.

She feigned accidentally dropping the shirt that she had been holding up to cover herself. "Oh," she gasped, as it fell to the floor.

Her hair was much longer now. It covered the top of her breasts, but not her nipples. She immediately slid one arm across her chest, and managed to hide a disheartening amount of that-which-should-not-be-seen, but certainly not enough to spare them any further embarrassment.

She lifted her panicked eyes to his. His eyes were bulging out of his head and he was looking every which way but straight down.

They both reached down to pick the shirt at the same time, but only managed to bump foreheads.

At that point he squeezed past her and sprinted out onto the mezzanine, while she reached haphazardly for the shower curtain and stretched it around her. He ran down the stairs and she heard enough footsteps she thought he must have reached all the way to the kitchen.

"Thanks for your help!" she called out awkwardly, running up the stairs to her room, now wearing the shirt.

"Yep, no problem!" he returned quickly and even more awkwardly. And with a full mouth. She assumed he'd pulled out a beer.

Or vodka.

With the door closed behind her, she was able to laugh. She felt such a curious mix of shame and glee, she didn't know how to feel or what to do.

/

Every once in a while, Spencer got up and jogged with Emily. Carly knew he hated it, and did everything she could to exacerbate the issue. But on this particular occasion, it was useful. He was back before her normal hour to rise, and had hopped right into the shower.

Clad in her most lingerie-like of pajamas, she snuck into his room, and went to sleep on his bed. Clasping a letter in her hand, she planned to tell him that she had come to discuss it with him, and had fallen asleep while waiting.

It hadn't been her intention to actually fall asleep, but she hadn't been sleeping well, and was tired. She had been out like a light. It was so nice to be in his room. In his bed.

"Uh, Carly…?" he asked, puzzled, waking her with his words.

She was glad she'd fallen asleep: it was the authenticity this, one of her iffier ideas, had really needed.

She sat up languidly, drawing as much attention to her body as he could, and rubbed her eyes.

Spencer was standing by his closet. He clearly hadn't noticed her right away, because he was already half-dressed. She tried not to giggle, thinking that he'd been buck naked and totally oblivious to her presence, while she lied there in his bed, equally clueless.

He was still shirtless now, wearing only a pair of dark blue jeans and pickle-print boxers – the band visible above the rim of his pants.

His unsure stance hinted at embarrassment, but he relaxed a little as it became clear that she had been well and truly fast asleep and hadn't seenanything.

Still disoriented from her little nap, she was slow to give him an explanation for her presence. But then she felt the envelope in her hand and remembered. "We need to talk about this bill. It's almost overdue." She shook it, and then rose to her feet and yawned: "I guess I fell asleep."

"I guess so," he teased. He walked over to her and tousled her hair before plucking the envelope from her hands.

Look at his face, she ordered herself. It wasn't easy.

How many times had she seen him bare-chested? He'd thrown her over his shoulder and carried her struggling down the stairs without a shirt on when Shelby Marx had come to pay a call!

But it was all different now.

So different.

The air turned electric as soon as he got close. She didn't know if he felt it, but she also didn't know how he couldn't.

Carly tugged surreptitiously at the bottom of her lacy tank top to pull the neckline down lower while he glanced over the invoice, and stood erect.

He noticed.

When he looked back at her, he noticed.

His eyes lingered for the slightest of seconds on her cleavage. It hadn't been an accident or a chance glimpse out of context. And he wasn't just remembering the Florence Nightingale incident from the night before.

It was sly, and deliberate, and libidinous.

But brief.

"I'll pay it today. I don't know how I missed it." Spencer was surprisingly good about paying the bills. Carly was thinking she might need to consider a career in espionage, because she was proving very good at all this: he'd missed the bill because Carly had snatched it up a week earlier in case she might have need of an emergency conversation prompt. Or a way to sabotage Spencer and Emily's relationship. (Thus far Carly's efforts to exploit Spencer's messiness, wackiness, and his predisposition towards accidents as a wedge to drive him and Emily apart were failing.)

Carly nodded approvingly. "Good." She yawned again. "I'm going back to bed." She turned around and began heading back into Spencer's bed.

He put his hands around her waist and forced her to turn towards the door. Then he gave her a pat on the back to get her started.

Mindlessly she stumbled out of the room, then turned the corner and went up the stairs.

"It's time for school!" Spencer yelled at her. "Don't you dare get back in bed!"

"I'm skipping."

"No you're not."

"I tried getting up. Didn't care for it much."

He appeared in his doorframe, laughing. "I'll drive you. Just put some clothes on." She wasn't looking, but if he had been, she would have seen him frown as he considered and then regretted his word choice.

/

Spencer had found an LED light sign at the junk yard. After some electrical retrofitting and bulb replacements, he assured everyone that it was ready to go, and gathered them around to see it.

Carly had made a few wiring tweaks herself, and so she was the most unsurprised when, as Spencer flipped the switch, the fuse blew, the power in the apartment went out, and it caught fire. It probably would have caught fire anyway, but she wasn't leaving things to chance.

Carly hadn't actually intended for the power to go out, but she wasn't an engineer, was she?

"I was so careful!" Spencer cried, disappointed but unconcerned.

Sam was munching on an apple, and continued to do so, nonplussed.

Gibby was laughing, impressed. "Nice work, Spencer."

"That's not what was supposed to happen, idiot," Sam said, pounding him once on the head.

"Hey!" Gibby growled. "You were supposed to be nicer to me now that you and Freddie are broken up."

"Doesn't work like that, Gibby."

"But you can be mean to Freddie now."

"Hey!" Freddie protested.

Sam didn't explain.

Emily was screaming, terrified, and grabbing her purse so she could flee from the apartment.

But Carly had already found the extinguisher and put out the fire. She blew the end of the nozzle like a cowboy in a western. "And then you just hang the extinguisher back in its wall bracket," she informed them (and especially Emily) coolly, setting the canister back into its mount.

Spencer nodded at her, impressed.

"This always happens," Carly said to Emily sassily. "You'd better get used to it."

/

When Carly forced her eyes open, she saw Spencer.

She didn't remember this part of the plan.

She turned off her alarm, and tried to gather her thoughts. He was still there, it wasn't a dream. But he was just asleep on her window seat, her ridiculous number of pillows covering him like a blanket.

Then she remembered: the nightmare.

Bad dreams had woken her more often than not during the past few weeks. Ever since Spencer had told her he was going to propose to Emily, she hadn't slept the night through. They weren't night terrors, exactly, but her mind found little solace in dreaming. And then, last night, she'd woken screaming.

Spencer ran in, and he told her he'd stay with her until she fell asleep again, even though Emily was waiting for him in his bed. He knew Carly hadn't been sleeping well. The bags under her eyes were obvious enough.

He sat down the edge of her bed after waking her up, and pulled her into his arms. "Just a dream," he whispered.

But it wasn't just a dream.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder, and wondered if this was the last time they would ever have a moment like this.

He'd closed the door behind him. It was dark, and they were alone.

"I'm too old for this," she'd joked as she pulled away, wiping her eyes.

"I don't see why," he'd argued. "Everyone has bad dreams, Carly," he told her. "We're all afraid of something."

She had smiled. And then he had reached out, and ran a finger over her eyelashes to catch a remaining tear.

She drew out the silence, afraid to speak, or move, or even to breathe, for fear of shattering the moment.

The air was charged again, and he had to feel it.

He had to feel it…

Through her now-dry eyelashes she turned her big brown puppy eyes up at him.

Choose me, choose me, choose me.

She swallowed.

He leaned in, and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll stay until you fall asleep." Then he moved over to her window seat, and got comfortable.

She'd sighed, and then laid her head down.

He'd stayed all night.

The sound of the alarm had caused him to stir, but he didn't wake.

For a few minutes she just laid there, her head resting on her pillow, watching him. Then she set the alarm to go off again, and pretended not to wake, so he could be treated to the same visual she had woken to.

When she did open her eyes, he was staring back at her.

"The alarm," he said.

"Oh, yeah." She slammed the off-button.

"Pancakes?" he asked.

"Definitely." She smiled.

/

When Carly had dressed and gone downstairs, Emily was in front of the stove, and Spencer, in his pajamas and bathrobe, was seated at the table.

"Thanks, Emily," Carly said politely, announcing her arrival.

She liked to sit opposite Spencer at the table whenever Emily was there. Even though it wasn't the spot closest to him, it made her feel like the proper mistress of the household.

But this morning she just wanted to be close to him. She sat down in the seat that she knew already belonged to Emily, but Spencer didn't say anything.

Carly had dressed scantily once again. She was freezing, but skin was a very important part of her plan. Spencer moved to pour her some orange juice, but she told him she'd have hot chocolate instead.

Her hot water coincided well with the first batch of pancakes.

Emily served them proudly, setting one down on each of their plates.

Spencer regarded his with a frown. "It's just a pancake."

Emily furrowed her eyebrows. It was perfectly golden, so she had reason to be proud. "What is it, exactly, that you were expecting?"

Emily sighed inaudibly, and found herself a new chair.

Carly picked up the canister of whip cream off the table and quickly sprayed a smiling face onto Spencer's pancake. "Just something a bit more fun," she answered.

Picking up her knife, she carved her own pancake into the shape of a carrot. "Look, I'm eating my vegetables," she quipped, stuffing a forkful into her mouth. She squeezed an indecent amount of syrup onto her plate, and stuck another piece through her lips, this one sopping. "Mmmm. Vegetables are sogood."

Spencer was laughing.

In a genuine accident, she had spilled some syrup. The drop ran down the underside of her forearm. Carly waited until she knew Spencer was watching and then licked it up in one long stroke of her tongue.

"I'll make the next round," Carly volunteered, when she had finished her "carrot". The first thing she did was add some food coloring – Spencer would like that. She used some of their larger cookie cutters to make the pancakes into fun figures. This was how she usually made pancakes.

It would be good to remind Spencer of that.