Summary: During his senior year, Spencer copes with his mother's death. M for sex, slash, alcohol, drugs, language. Nothing graphic. Same universe as Power Outage.

Disclaimer and credits: iCarly is owned by Schneider's Bakery, Nickelodeon and Viacom. The Real World is owned by MTV. Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner were written by A. A. Milne. The Dumb Bunnies was written by Sue Denim. Titles are borrowed from a book by Chinua Achebe and songs by Rob Thomas, Tina Turner and John Lennon.

A/N: I really don't love the last chapter, but I've had the rest of this done for over a month, and it's time to either delete or finish it and let it go.

Chapter 1—Wish You Were Here

It wasn't how Spencer had pictured it. In his mother's version, he would have taken a spade and worked her ashes into the dark rich soil around the bee's balm and delphiniums in her garden. Instead they were gathered at Rolling Hills Cemetery, where her coffin waited to be lowered into the already-dug grave. The grass was green and well maintained, but it had been raining for so many days that the mud underneath tugged persistently at everyone's shoes. The funeral home had set up an open-sided tent next to the coffin, where family and friends huddled shoulder-to-shoulder, seeking shelter from the light drizzle. In the crowded space, Col. Shay managed to stand slightly apart, rigidly at attention in his full dress uniform. Spencer had tried to talk to him about scattering his mother's ashes, but he had snapped back, "Funerals are for the living. We'll do what people expect," and the subject had been closed.

Col. Morgan said in a strong voice, "To remind us that we are not alone in our time of grief, let us recite the Twenty-Third Psalm." The hum of voices, murmuring the almost remembered words of the psalm, rose up around Spencer. He felt Carly's hand squirm in his and squeezed back. When the Lord's Prayer followed, he joined in. After a final moment of silence, people started drifting away, talking in hushed voices to avoid disturbing the dead.

As space opened around them, Spencer knelt down to hug Carly. Her face looked paler than usual against the stark black of the dress Mrs. Morgan had picked up for her, and she was unusually subdued. So many strangers had commented over the last few days on what a well-behaved child she was. "Come on, Carly Shay, let's blow this popsicle stand," Spencer whispered in her ear. He got up and brushed off the smear of wet grass and mud on the knee of his father's suit pants. They walked to the limo where their father was waiting, and Carly climbed into the middle of the backseat. Spencer sat down next to her and stared at his lap. He twisted his fingers together and thought, Here is the church. Here is the steeple. Open the doors and out come the people.

After the limo started back towards the funeral home where their car waited, Carly asked, "Why was Mommy in that box?"

"She's dead," said her father with finality.

"Won't she be lonely?" asked Carly in a worried but curious voice.

"It's just her body," explained Spencer. "It's not really her. She's gone." It was the first time he had admitted it out loud. He didn't bother to wipe away the tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Mommy's in heaven now." Col. Shay held Spencer's eye as if daring him to contradict the statement.

"When will she come home?" asked Carly hopefully.

"Never," said her father curtly.

She looked at Spencer for confirmation. He shook his head sadly. "Sorry, kiddo." Three days after her mother's death, Carly finally started to cry. She buried her face against Spencer's side. Feeling her body start to shake, he wrapped an arm tightly around her. She sobbed for several minutes, and then began to draw long shuddering breaths. He heard something in her breathing change and started to pat his pockets, searching for her inhaler. His father shook his head irritably and handed Spencer a tissue. "OK, Carly," said Spencer. "Blow your nose." After she did, she breathed more easily.

***

Grandma Shay covered the last casserole with plastic wrap and wedged it into the freezer. She still wore her plain black dress and heels, even though everyone else had changed into casual clothes.

"You really don't need to do this, Mom," said Col. Shay in a resigned voice.

"I know you boys have been cooking for yourselves for a while now, but this makes me feel useful," she said, her eyes darting around the kitchen for something else to do.

The only time Spencer had seen her sit still was at the church. When Granddad took Dad to make the funeral arrangements, she swept through the master bedroom gathering up all the pill bottles and half empty water glasses and unwashed sheets. She spent the next day dusting, mopping, vacuuming, cooking, organizing. She supervised the removal of the rented hospital bed and bullied her son until he helped Spencer carry the bedsprings and mattress back up from the basement. Earlier today, when the late afternoon sun finally broke free of the clouds, she strode from room to room, raising the blinds and opening windows "to let some air in." The air was slightly damp, but the sickroom smell that had permeated everything for the last three months was fading from the house. Though Spencer was relieved that that she'd managed to scrub away the smell of death, he couldn't help feeling that she'd erased a little bit of his mother at the same time.

"Spencer," called Granddad from the hallway. "Give an old man some help with the suitcases."

Out in the driveway, he carefully arranged and rearranged the items in the trunk as if they were a complicated three-dimensional puzzle that only fit together one way. Spencer had just turned to go inside when his grandfather cleared his throat. "Listen, Spencer. Your father looks strong, but I know him. He's taking this hard. If you ever need anything—anything at all—call me." He hugged his grandson tightly. Spencer couldn't shake the nagging sense of déjà vu until he remembered standing in the endless receiving line at the church, where Col. Morgan had grasped his hand and said almost exactly the same words.

"I love you, Spence," said Granddad. "Now, I'd better go say goodbye to Carly."

Spencer headed in to the kitchen to say goodbye to his grandmother, but stopped short of the doorway and quickly stepped out her line of sight. Her arms were around his father, whose shoulders were shaking as he pressed his face against her ugly dress. She wordlessly stroked his gray-flecked hair and hummed something that might have been a lullaby.

Ten minutes later Mr. Shay found his son watching the Mariner's game from his brown leather recliner. He pressed his lips together in a tight line, but all he said was "Goodbye, son. Take care." By the time the car pulled out of the driveway, Col. Shay had opened his third beer.

***

Even though it was still early, Spencer ran Carly's bath. "You want privacy, kiddo?"

"I want you to stay," she said, climbing into the tub.

He put down lid and sat on toilet. Picking up a rubber duck, he squeaked, "I'm going to the moon, Mommy Duck."

Carly grinned and waved a smaller duck back at him. "Not until you eat your carrots, Baby Duck."

"I'm running away," squeaked Spencer, hiding the duck behind his back.

"I caught you in my net," giggled Carly, splaying her fingers and clapping her hands together.

When her skin got pruny, he let her wash her own hair and poured a few cups of water over her head to rinse out the shampoo. She put her pajamas on and stood patiently in front of him while he eased a comb through the tangles. The familiar routine soothed both of them. For a few minutes he forgot that Mom wasn't waiting just down the hall for Carly's goodnight kiss.

Spencer tucked Carly into bed and began to read The Dumb Bunnies. She whined, "You're not doing it right."

He started again and heard himself reading in a dull, flat voice. "Sorry, kiddo, I guess my heart just isn't in it tonight." He turned the book over a couple of times and set it aside. He went to her bookcase and searched until he found a worn, cloth-bound book. He held it up and said, "Mom read this to me when I was little, and her mom read it to her when she was little. Now it's my turn to read it to you."

Sitting on the edge of her bed, he let the book fall open. He'd intended to pick a chapter at random, but he when he started to read he recognized his mother's favorite. "It rained and it rained and it rained. Piglet told himself that never in his life, and he was goodness knows how old—three, was it, or four?—never had he seen so much rain…." As he read, he fell into the remembered rhythm of his mother's voice. By the end of the chapter, Carly was asleep.

Spencer was exhausted. He didn't bother to brush his teeth or change clothes, just pulled off his jeans and climbed into bed. After twenty minutes of staring into the dark, he switched the lamp on and started fiddling with a Rubik's cube to stop his circling thoughts.

Hours later, Carly padded into his room. She stopped just inside the door. Her eyes were wide and her lip trembled slightly.

"What's up, kiddo?" he asked.

When she spoke, her words came out in a jumbled rush. "Mommy was in a room and it was dark and I couldn't get out and I was scared and I went to Mommy and Daddy's bedroom and they weren't there."

Spencer had to concentrate to understand what she was saying. "It's OK, Carly Shay. Dad probably fell asleep in the recliner. You were just having a bad dream." She looked so small and lost that he asked, "You want to sleep in here?" She nodded soberly and climbed into the bed. He switched off the light and rolled over on his side. He felt her scoot towards the middle of the bed and plant her cold feet against the small of his back. He was planning to move her as soon as she fell asleep, but now that he wasn't alone his mind clicked off and his body relaxed. He was barely aware of her snuggling closer to him as he drifted off to sleep.