Disclaimer: these aren't really ours to play with but someone said it was okay to borrow them…

…

Chapter One: iDo It

Of the three of them, Freddie lost it first.

Yeah, it came as shock for them, too.

It was junior year, Carly was enjoying having gone up a cup size, Sam was enjoying having finally passed geometry on her second try never to have to look at it again, and Freddie was enjoying his first real relationship. The girl was pretty, and funny, and helpful on the show, so not even Sam could find a reason to hate her.

What started as a meeting at the Groovy Smoothie like hundreds of others quickly became something quite shocking.

Freddie bounced and blushed in his seat as he craned around to make sure his girlfriend had not arrived yet. He couldn't even wait until his friends were properly seated at the table before saying, "Guess what?"

"Your rash went away." Sam said, dropping into her seat with a muffin fresh off T-Bo's stick.

"I don't have a rash!" Freddie groaned. Sam snorted. Carly giggled, decided to toss a guess of her own out there, and asked with a shrug,

"Your mom is allowing you to take hot showers again?"

Sam laughed heartedly, gave Carly a high-five for the low blow. The poor guy hadn't been allowed anything but cold ones since… Well, since the embarrassing and combined failures of a bedroom door lock and a mother's duty to knock first. (Sam's doing. Her pranks against him were beginning to get more and more elaborate, and personal.)

Freddie glowered at Carly's guess, then waved it off, his initial excitement too great to be derailed by the evidence that Sam was rubbing off far too much on Carly. He leaned forward and, speaking lowly, gushed it all out, "On my date with Alana over the weekend, we went all the way!"

There was a pause, in which stares went all around.

It was redefining of the nerd, and for a moment neither of the girls who were his friends-but-not-his-girlfriends-anymore, were at a loss. They understood what he was saying, couldn't put pictures with the meaning, couldn't get around the shock of hearing it from him before they'd ever said it themselves. And the blow to the self-esteem that such a thing administered was distracting.

Surely, surely, Sam would have been the first to have that kind of news to throw into their We Tell Each Other Everything Pact. Even Carly thought she'd have known—that—before her technical producer, who still had Galaxy Wars sheets and went as Nug Nug to the conventions every year. Seriously, it didn't make sense.

"Yeah, right!" Sam pushed air through her teeth and rolled her eyes.

"It's true." He didn't shout it, didn't even whine it. Just said it, smooth and collected. His confidence in the matter was truly irritating. Carly didn't blame Sam for smacking that self-satisfied look off his face.

"What's wrong with the chick?" Sam asked.

"Nothing!" Freddie cried, then added in a low tone, wagging his eyebrows, bringing back that confidence, "Absolutely nothing."

Carly smacked him that time. Sure, they were his best friends, but that didn't give him permission to talk to them like they were guys.

"There must be something wrong with her." Sam continued with a shrug, talking with her straw clenched between her teeth. "She wouldn't sleep with you if there wasn't."

"Hey!" Freddie said, holding his twice-slapped cheek, "Alana was—with me—because she happens to be eternally in love with me!"

Carly cracked up laughing here with Sam joining her. No one actually said stuff like that! No matter what he said to try to convince them otherwise, they were inclined not to believe his news … But then Alana arrived and confirmed it all when Sam flat out asked her. Turned out the whole thing happened in a hotel while they were with her cousins at a nerdy convention (the very same Carly had always assumed would hinder him, not help him) and yeah, they were eternally in love.

So go figure.

…

It was no big deal if a dork like Freddie had that serious of a relationship before she did. Carly's self-esteem came back fast enough, before her smoothie was finished, in fact. Freddie was a dork, but he wasn't so unfortunate as other dorks. In fact, the nerd was deep inside of him these days where only long-standing friends who remembered junior high could see it.

Plus, he was a guy, so whatever.

It did get her thinking, though, about the future. Carly usually didn't spend a lot of time worrying about it, but for once she imagined life where she had that kind of news to tell her friends…

Huh. She'd never imagined that before, but it would happen some day, wouldn't it? She wondered if things would be different afterward or if it was a thing easily forgotten throughout the day, like it'd never even happened…

She supposed she'd find out one day and moved on.

…

It was another broiling hot summer filled with Norwegian air conditioners, tank tops and Peppy Cola bottles dripping with condensation when Sam got the better of Brad. She told Carly about it first, in private. The story she told was surprisingly romantic and made Carly fall in love with Brad just a little bit upon hearing it. It also made Carly feel weird. Sam knew things now, things she didn't. When Carly got up the nerve to ask certain questions, Sam gave the answers but then it was too weird to talk about so they changed the subject.

Then, much more casually and painting the whole thing off to be no big deal, she let Freddie in on it when they were supposed to be rehearsing for the show. Carly was surprised that she said it even with Gibby there, who wasn't in the Tell Everything Pact. Gibby was there helping because Alana was no longer around. She and Freddie had come to a grinding halt when the school year was out. That was months ago, but Freddie had only just finished moping around about it.

Upon hearing the news, Freddie smirked at Sam, "Brad, huh?" he asked.

Sam kicked his beanbag with enough force to move it a few inches across the hardwood, "Yeah, Brad. Gotta problem with that?"

"Nope."

"Well—good."

Carly was perfectly fine with everything. Seriously. She had absolutely no problem with being surrounded by friends who knew more about sex than she did. It was their business. It wasn't like they sat around swapping details or anything, so it was almost like nothing had changed.

Then, in the middle of senior year, sitting in the backseats of a bus on an AP English field trip, the topic of relationships took a weird turn and suddenly everyone was talking about it, swapping stories. Carly remained quiet, listening, learning, seriously not bothered…. Then someone said,

"Well, Carls, what about you?"

She shrugged, "I'll let you know when it happens."

Looks of surprise all around, exclamations of disbelief, and Carly laughed, thrilled people thought she was as experienced as Sam, and reassured them that if she'd done it, she would know. Her oldest and best friend clapped her on the back and told her not to worry, that it'd happen for her soon enough.

Carly hadn't been worried, but something in Sam's tone and all the reassuring nods around her made her doubt. Was there something about her that just screamed Doomed to be a Virgin Forever?

She was a virgin because she wanted to be. It sounded weird, but whatever. She had just never been kissing a guy and thought I MUST TAKE ALL MY CLOTHES OFF NOW and she never actively went looking to "get some" as Sam had taken to doing. Her plan had always been a kind of Just Let it Happen thing and it just hadn't happened yet.

Carly knew that it was no big deal.

So it was really, really, stupid when she let her friends start making her feel otherwise.

…

A graduation party throbbed in the night, a hazy den of release; all forms of it. Release on the dance floor, in how close a person could get, in what they could touch as everyone moved to the music together. Release in what beverage sloshed into a red plastic cup, release from the chains of school, from the rules of childhood, a single night when college and all that stretched out after it could wait. Because it was time to celebrate being young and free.

Michael was smoking hot, and sweet, and such a good kisser.

He wasn't even a stranger, a face she'd known since elementary school, and she wanted to. So why—WHY did she freak out when he made the suggestion?

Part of it was how casually he did it, like it was no big deal, like he was sure she'd done it before. It made telling him she hadn't impossible because she felt too weird. It was flattering that he thought she had experience. She thought for a second she could just go with it, let him think she did… but then she realized she was scared. She wasn't at all sure what to do, what to really expect.

There was no way she could fake being experienced.

She'd paid attention in Sex Ed, asked Sam some things, listened to her other friends, but none of those sources could really give her the details she wanted, she needed, if she was going to be cool in face of all-alone-and-shedding-clothes. And then there was that other thing, that it was supposed to hurt. Hurt how? How badly? No one ever said.

Carly was never very good with pain and Michael was too cool—they all were, the boys she allowed to rub up against her—and she didn't want to be a spaz around them. She found herself choking out an excuse about cramps, felt sick when Michael scoffed, shrugged, and walked away.

She sought fresh air, sank onto the top step on the back porch. The party had spilled out here into the dark yard lit by strung up lights, but it wasn't nearly as crowded as in the house. She sighed heavily and put her forehead on her knees. If only everyone was allowed one practice run, something that didn't count, but that got all the weird and messy stuff out of the way.

After some reflection, Carly decided that she simply wasn't made right. She cared far too much about appearance and persona, about keeping up her image. No way could she navigate all the great huge Unknowns that having sex for the first time presented and keep… cool about it. No way could she find it in herself for that not to matter. She'd probably do or say something completely wrong or embarrassing. Or she'd ask far too many questions, ruining the mood or whatever.

She hated that she was crying over it. But her self esteem was finding it hard to cut through all the crap.

"What's wrong?" A deep voice right beside her ear scared her into a run down the steps. At the bottom, she turned around and sighed, laughed, "Gib, you scared the pee outta me."

"Seriously?" Gibby actually looked there, and Carly batted her hands around in front of her jeans to break his line of sight, as she cried, "Not really!"

He'd walked up behind her, stooped to talk into her ear. These days he matched Spencer in height, still sporting several pounds of Gibby-pudge. He shrugged, hitched up the back of his pants, and sat on the top step. Carly returned there.

"So what's up?" Gibby asked. Damn. Carly had hopped he'd have forgotten. Of course, he wouldn't have, though, not when so many things could go so very wrong at a party like this. A crying girl never boded well.

"Stupid stuff, nothing to worry about,"

"No one ever cries over stupid stuff."

"Shows what you know."

"It might be stupid to the world, but it's not to you. Not if it makes you cry."

"Damn, Gibby," Carly huffed, "When did you get so insightful?"

Gibby's mouth dropped open and he blinked, "When did you start talking like that?"

"About five minutes ago," Carly admitted, "When I decided the world sucks."

"How so?"

Carly sighed, put her forehead on her knees again. The steps weren't very wide, their hips were pushed against each other. She could feel his warmth as Gibby remained quiet beside her. She drew in a deep breath and decided to tell the truth.

"I'm a virgin."

"I know."

"I don't want to be."

"Oh,"

She threw a hand over her shoulder, "And I could have—with Michael—just now. But…" She scoffed blinked as her eyes burned with new tears. She wouldn't let them fall onto the dark denim of her jeans.

"You don't love him," he said and she felt him shrug.

"Nope," she sighed.

"So find someone you love."

"I can't!"

"Well you're only eighteen, Carls," Gibby chuckled. "Maybe you shouldn't write yourself off so easily."

Carly laughed, "That's not what I meant. I meant—I don't want to find someone to love. Not… not yet." She rolled her head until her kneecap was under a temple and she could look up at him. She winced when she found his Gibby-features scrunched in confusion, "Does that make sense?"

"Not at all," Gibby laughed, "Why don't you want someone to love?"

"I just want to get the first time over with!" she cried, rolling back to her forehead. It was easier to talk into the dark crevice between her thighs and torso than to look at him. "I freaked out with Michael because, well, because I started worrying too much, I couldn't enjoy it. I turned into a complete spaz and it literally drove him away."

Gibby was laughing now.

"It's not funny!" Carly cried, and now tears did fall, shook lose with the force of lifting her head too fast.

"Yes it is!" he said, "Because when you love the guy, you won't worry about it."

Carly scoffed, remembered all the heartache and confusion in her childhood, of never living with mom again… Then she remembered all the whispers and promises of Steven Carlson, which also turned out to be a lie.

"Love," she put her head back on her knees, "I'm not even sure love exists but…" she licked her lips, said on the front of all the breath in her lungs, "We're not going to talk about that."

Gibby was silent. Then his hand was warm and heavy on her shoulder, "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about!" and her voice was a little sharper than usual. Geeze, didn't she just make it clear they weren't going to discuss the issues her parent's divorce and that two-faced dishrag had left in their wake?

The hand retreated, taking the hint. In the long moment of silence that followed, someone from the yard laughed and sloshed out amber liquid as he stepped over Carly to get back up onto the porch. She didn't even care.

"Okay," Gibby said.

"What?" Carly asked, lifting her head because it honestly sounded like he was talking to someone but they were alone on the steps and no cell phone was out. He'd been looking at her until she looked up, and then he looked out into the yard. "I think we can help each other."

"What do you need help with?"

He said in a rush, "I'm a virgin, too."

"Yeah, right," Carly huffed, her eye landing on three of the babes she frequently saw on his arm as she looked out into the yard as well.

"Seriously," he said. The finality of it demanded she believe it.

"Oh,"

She couldn't look at him. He wasn't looking at her, either.

Finally, after she'd had time to reassess all previous notions she'd had of Gibby: Gibby being the player, Gibby being the guy who was weird but weirdly loved by hot girls, she recalled what he'd said. "So… You think we can help each other?"

"Do you think we can?"

Carly didn't answer for a long time. She was turning it over in her head. Gibby. She'd seriously never went there in her head before. Somehow, she'd made all kinds of assumptions without ever even once picturing him using the things he'd have to use, or pictured him even having them for that matter.

Gibby.

He was a friend. He was sweet, would be understanding if she asked too many questions or did something stupid or maybe couldn't handle that mysterious pain. He'd never tell anyone. It'd only have to be once. It wouldn't have to count. It'd be just what she'd been hoping for.

She forced herself to look at him, to meet his eye because if she was going to do this, she had to be able to do that at least. He looked back at her, grey green eyes dark in the dim light of the night. She saw his throat pulse with a swallow. She drew in a deep breath.

"Yeah, I think we can."

…

Carly kept her cool until she saw the bed. Gibby closed the door behind him. The click it made was loud, even though the music was making the floor vibrate and laughing chatter out in the hall was muffled but still prominent. She whirled, "I'm freaking out!"

His hand immediately went to the doorknob, "Well, if you don't want to."

"No!" She rushed forward, pulled his hand off the knob. "I'm just nervous."

His throat pulsed again, eyes locked on her hand on his. She gave a dry, forced laugh but didn't let go. Might as well get used to touching him.

Gibby.

She still couldn't believe she was going to do this with him, still wasn't convinced she actually would. Her heart pounded in her ears. She licked dry lips and said, "Well, I guess you should. Um. Kiss me, or something."

"Right," He rasped and cleared his throat. He turned the hand that was under hers over so that their palms were touching and pushed his fingers between hers. Then his other fingers were under her chin, then his lips were on hers.

A Gibby-kiss.

It was a sweet little kiss, lips on lips, reminding her of cumquat trees and potato salad—but then his fingers weren't under her chin anymore. That hand was flat on her collarbone, applying just enough force to close the space between her back and the door behind her, while his other hand undid the knot of their fingers to sink into the hair at the nape of her neck.

He'd taken a single step toward her, body now breathing against her and she suddenly became aware that her hands were just hanging there at her sides. She brought them up, touched the buttons on the front of his shirt, felt soft flesh under the fabric. That was new; she'd never kissed anyone who didn't feel like a rock under their shirt.

His tongue swept over her lips, killing the cumquat trees. She let him in. Not potato salad, not even beer, but nachos and salsa dip. She put her arms around his neck and then his hands were on her lower back, holding her against him.

This wasn't bad. In fact, it made sense, what all those girls stuck around him for. Gibby-kisses were surprising. This was even fun—kinda. She still hadn't forgotten why they were kissing at all. She was thinking about what came next more than the salsa or the heat of his palms through the back of her shirt.

Gibby broke the kiss to clear his throat and ask, "How. Um. How far have you gotten?"

Carly breathed out, finding some kind of relief with his question, like they were getting back on track and planning ahead. Carly liked planning ahead. "Well," she said, and she bit her lip as she gripped his forearm and pulled up. She put his hand on her breast—A Gibby-cop-a-feel. Weird.—and gave a weak laugh, forced. "This far?"

His eyes were locked on his hand, cupped around the mound of flesh scooped into her bra beneath her shirt. His throat pulsed and he nodded for a moment before finally saying, "Okay."

"You?"

"Um, little further," he said.

"Oh," was all she could say because honestly, she wasn't sure what a little further meant. He noticed when her breathing went shallow because it was right under his hand.

"Are you sure?"

"I was crying about it, wasn't I?"

"Um." He said, "I meant with me. Like this."

She met his eye, noticed the grey flecks in the green of his irises at this proximity. "Why not?" she asked. "You're a good friend."

"…Okay."

A moment passed with his hand warming her breast, his stomach swelling into hers with his breaths, blood throbbing in her ears. He looked over his shoulder, "Should we?"

The bed.

"Sure," she said.

It was a minute before they moved.

She forced a light laugh, headed that way first. "No reason to be weird about it, right?" she sat on the edge of the bed beside the pillows and had her shoes off before her false bravado broke with a sharp breath catching in her throat and a moment of WHAT ARE YOU DOING? crashing onto her head.

Gibby went to the bed at a slower pace, sat beside her. "This is weird, maybe we should just—"

"No." Carly dug deep and pulled that bravado back up. She brought a leg up onto the bed to face him. "Gibby, we both want to get it over with, right?"

He nodded.

"We're friends, right?"

He nodded again, adding, "Forever."

That was so sweet Carly nearly backed out right then because the whole thing felt like it would somehow corrupt that well of sweetness. She smiled her first genuine smile since he'd surprised her on the back porch.

"So there is no reason why we should let this get weird, right?" she said, pushing hair behind her ear. "We're friends so we should just have fun with it!"

He nodded.

"So," she said, sliding closer to a friend over the comforter of a stranger's bed. Her bravado quavered as she said, "Show me how far you've gotten and then we'll go from there."

He nodded, eyes on the carpet under his shoes. He kicked them off, moving lethargically. Then after a moment's pause, he drew in a deep breath and turned to face her with determination. She laughed, a real laugh, and kissed him again just for something to do because the nerves were coming back and she wanted to get this over with already.

This time, he held either side of her face and the kiss was short. He stopped to go to his elbow on the mattress, bringing her with him with the same force that had put her against the door, this time applied by the hand lost in the soft hair at the back of her neck. She went to her elbow beside him, then she was on her back and his mouth was back on hers.

He found her breasts without her guidance this time and Carly's heart started to pound. Any further than this and it was all new to her; it kind of already was new, being alone and prone on a bed. His lips left hers and trailed along her jaw to her neck even as his fingers slid down to her belt, then up again, under her shirt this time.

When his weight straddled her, she numbly remembered that she should be doing something with her hands, if anything to hide their shaking. So as his fingers found all the edges to her bra, hers got busy with buttons. She was glad he had a button shirt; it gave her something to do. Had he been in an abs- squeezing v-neck t-shirt like her boyfriends, it would have been gone in one motion and then she'd have nothing to focus on.

One button at a time—then her shirt swept over her vision, grabbed up her arms, and lifted all of her hair up for a moment before spitting it back out. She'd been halfway done with his buttons and was momentarily distracted by being so exposed in the presence of a guy. Even if it was just Gibby. She'd never felt someone else's eyes on her before now.

It wasn't a bad feeling, though it made her want to clench her abs so that her stomach would look flatter. He helped her with the rest of the buttons, shrugged the shirt off to bare his arms in an undershirt. They looked at each other for a minute and he said, "This is as far as I've gotten."

"Yeah," she said. She didn't know why. It was better than oh. Kinda didn't make any sense though, sounded weird. He didn't notice. She pushed herself up, sat with her legs stretched out between his as he sat on his knees. His eyes roved over her hair as she did—it was all tossed and fanned out around her face from pulling off her shirt.

"Now what?" he asked.

She laughed, "Well, we gotta get, you know, in the mood." She jumped her eyebrows. He laughed, his first since the steps. It instantly made her feel better. Friends. No reason to be weird about it.

Get it over with.

The next logical step was to even the score, so Carly grabbed the hem of his undershirt and had it over his head before he caught on. Gibby's gut was unblemished and tanned from all his shirtless confidence. He laughed again, this one sounding more forced.

"Right," he said as if talking to someone again. He leaned forward, sending Carly back down onto her back. The skin of his chest pressed against hers as he kissed her once again.

There was a checklist forming in Carly's head. Since nothing could really be gotten over with until all was checked off, she got right to work on it. Jeans off. The Gibby-kisses stopped the moment he realized what she was doing. She kept going anyway. A snap of the button, a scratch of the zipper, some wiggling to get them down her hips without her underwear coming to. Gibby stopped straddling her when she sat up to peel the tight cuffs of the skinny jeans over her feet and remove her socks.

Feeling suddenly too bare in just panties and bra—and thanking god she'd shaved her legs that morning even though she hadn't felt like it—she pulled down the comforter and crawled under it. Gibby evened the score as she did so. Boxer briefs. Leg hair.

Oh my god.

The nerves came back tenfold, slamming into her gut, when he slid under the comforter next to her.

Okay.

Carly's swallow was a little dry. The next items on the checklist were the scary ones. Her breathing was shallow again as she reclined on the pillows and Gibby went to an elbow facing her. "Relax," he said.

"Heh," was the best she could do.

"If your not sure—"

"This is an agreement between friends." She cut in. "I'm sure about it, Gib."

He licked his lips, his eyes studying her face intently. He nodded. He was doing that a lot, nodding. How many times had he nodded tonight? Carly suddenly wondered. Weirdly, she really wanted to know the number. It was like she'd rather obsess over that than deal with what was happening as he slid closer to her between the sheets, hand on her ribs drawing her closer.

We're friends, right?

Forever.

With that memory, she relaxed a little. He was her friend. He was Gibby, sweet Gibby. There would be no judgment, no rumors spread the next day. So she kissed him when he kissed her, and held him while he held her.

Hidden under blankets, in bed, alone, a lot of skin touching, fun Gibby-kisses trailing from her lips to her neck and on further to her collarbone, Gibby-fingertips finding the clasp on the front of her bra. A click she felt more than heard. Flesh falling free, straps slipped over shoulders, familiar fabric gone. Bra off. Check.

They were under blankets, but with Gibby over her and the blanket across his back, her chest was still exposed to the room at large. Just like that, Carly found herself slipping into the proper mood.

It was like spinning in lazy circles on a float in a calm pool, and simultaneously going down white rapids with helmet and float forgotten at home. She gasped when Gibby's kisses reached all the tender skin newly bare to the light of the room.

Maybe the lights should have been off. She located the light switch out of reach by the door. Ah well, no going back now. She could still hear the muffled conversations of people right outside the room, the music pounding through the whole house. None of it was louder than her heart, though. Gibby's mouth was back over hers.

Okay. Um. Next was the really scary thing. Panties off. Yikes. She couldn't bring herself to take initiative on it like she had the jeans, couldn't even touch the hem line. Gibby touched her panties first, and not at the hemline. And not super lightly, either. She gasped, but not at all in pain.

"Sorry,"

"No," she said, and a laugh bubbled out of her because that touch had tipped her over the rapids and made the spinning not so lazy. "You're supposed to."

He did it again and Carly forgot to panic, forgot checklists, forgot lights on, and boobs exposed. This was fun.

Then something new showed up down below and with it came the checklist and the panic and the shallow breathing. Logically, she'd known it would happen, had somehow forgotten it on the checklist, though, too caught up with herself. When she looked in Gibby's eyes, she found them darkened by wide pupils. He opened his mouth to say something. She cut him off,

"I know. Relax."

"Actually, I was going to ask you something." He sounded different.

"What?"

A blush tinted his cheeks. "Do you—I mean, a-are you ready?" his eyes dipped down between them, way down where things got dark under the comforter, where his fingers, as if to punctuate the question, kneaded her again. Pleasure shot through her.

She gulped, tried not to panic as she nodded. Another delightful touch turned into a grip on the fabric, and then the hem was sliding down her thighs. Yikes. But yikes at the same time. She found her hands were idle once more. It was some kind of freaky instinct had them pulling down his hemline to even the score. He kicked the boxer briefs off and the jarring of the mattress as he did so dropped her back into reality.

Kids from class talking just outside the door, music downstairs, the lights were still on. Gibby rocked the mattress more, leaning over the edge of the bed where he'd left his pants, looking for something she'd seen him get from Gary Wolfe the college guy when they met him on the stairs up here. She was glad he thought of it. It was next on her checklist.

Next on the checklist after that made her stomach clench with fear. She wished she wasn't cursed with such a worrisome brain. She was almost sure other girls didn't freak out over this mysterious and forewarned pain so much. They were probably more focused on the rest of it, the fun parts, the hormonal thrills, the exchange of fluids. Granted, they probably weren't as bad with pain as she was.

Gibby. Friend. Sweet. She breathed out with steady control. Get it over with.

"Um," she trembled, "Kiss me or something."

He obeyed, and the hunger in it was surprising, especially accompanied by his hands sliding down her sides, over her hips and down her thighs, putting her knees over his hips. He broke the kiss, pulled away. Carly became aware that scarier things were as exposed as her breasts had been in this position. She really wished the lights had been turned out.

Gibby dragged his eyes all the way up her body to her face, "Uh…?"

"Yeah." She said, bracing herself. Nothing happened.

"…Show me?"

Oh.

She hoped he didn't notice that her hand was shaking as she guided him to the right place. Her heart was pounding visibly in her chest. She realized the grip of her hand on his shoulder had white knuckles. Thankfully, she'd guided with as little contact as possible, a white knuckled grip down there might not have gone over well.

But she wasn't sure.

There was only one thing left to do.

…What, was he waiting for a countdown? And suddenly, absurdly, Carly thought of Freddie's "and in 5, 4, 3, 2—"She snorted with laughter.

"What?" Gibby asked, wildly, even looked around.

"Sorry!" she cried, realizing too late that it was a completely inappropriate time to laugh. She made circles around her ears, "Crazy thoughts right now."

His laugh was deep throated and short, "Yeah me, too."

"Friends forever?" She asked suddenly, remembering how it'd calmed her earlier. He double looked her, the corner of his mouth went up. "Yeah."

She nodded. Gulped, "Okay. Do it."

He nodded.

…

In sudden stillness, the weirdness couldn't be kept at bay. There was nothing to do now but get up, get dressed. No point in kissing anymore, not trying to go anywhere with it, and cuddling wasn't in the contract. After a moment of wide-eyed staring, suddenly, it was kind of like they both had places to be.

Carly desperately wished they could laugh this weirdness away, and a part of her was sure they would. Eventually. But right now, another part of her was still pulsing with echoes of all that had just happened and it felt too quiet in this room which shook with distant music.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Gibby asked as his thick fingers deftly buttoned up his shirt. His voice was heavy with concern, as it had been when she'd had to convince him to keep going.

"Yeah," Carly answered hurriedly, socks back on and reaching for her shoes.

"But you—"

"I'm just not good with pain." She cut in. "It wasn't as bad as I probably made it seem. And the rest of it was—…Good."

He nodded.

She jammed her feet into her shoes without untying them, stood, faced him. He seemed to meet her eye with incredible difficulty. His throat pulsed and she forced a smile.

"Thanks, Gibby." She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, under his arms, squeezing him tight. "I couldn't have gone through that with—you know, just some guy. I can trust that you won't tell anyone what a spaz I was."

He chuckled, returned the hug. He didn't squeeze, just put his arms around her and held her lightly against him. "It did get kind of scary-spazzy there at first." He said. She shoved him, delighted as laughter broke through the nerves and tension.

Then, he was raking his fingers through her hair—not in a sexy way, in a let's-deal-with-this-bed-head way. Carly gasped, couldn't believe she hadn't thought of her hair. She literally would have stepped back out into the party with her hair a tale-tell mess.

"Thank God for Gibbies." She breathed as he worked.

When he was done, she stepped away, handing his personal space back to him, safely borrowed and now returned. She was happy to see his easy smile was back.

"Thanks, Carly," He said. She nodded.

They were fully clothed, no tears, no nerves, no expectations, they were friends again. She held out a hand, which he took after a moment of looking at it, with a delighted laugh.

"Friends forever," She said as they shook and he gave a curt nod, as if accepting the mission.