Hello. Thank you for stopping by.
Mmmkay, so this one is just like a bunch of one-shots kinda sorta and they play out to tell a storyish thing. I apologize for vagueness.
Okay this scene is the first time Spencer ever sees Sam and Freddie together. And the first time they ever sit on the Shay's couch together.

Ages: uh, first season...how ever old they were then...they looked twelve...I don't know...So yeah. Spencer PoV. Remember that if it starts sounding, like, really random.

It was my apartment.

It was my refrigerator.

It was my remote control.

And seriously, it was my couch.

But you wouldn't know that walking in on the living room scene at almost any given time. I remember the first time access to my couch was taken from me by my little sister's two best friends. They...hmm...well, they are both rather strange. You see Freddie, he's like a cooler version of a tech-geek. Well, maybe not that much cooler. But it's impossible for the poor kid to be cool. Have you met his mom? Dear God...seriously a nutcase. She's like the scary overbearing mother I never had and never wanted. Did you know she makes me label my underwear? Me? My underwear? I tried explaining to her that I am not her son and I'm a GROWN MAN. You know, for a seemingly sweet and concerned mom, she is incredibly enforcing. And frightening. And alarming. And assertive....

Wait. What was I talking about again? No, before the fearsome single mom. Ah, yes, Freddo. Right, well he moved in across the hall a few years ago, back when he was just a little squirt. And I guess this sparked his undying love for my little sister Carly. But it's cool with me. Freddie's alright. He seems like he'd make a pretty good boyfriend. I mean, I don't think he would ever try anything too risky, which is just how we older brothers like the boyfriends. Oh right. Carly. Carly is my little sister, if you haven't gathered that. Well, uh, she comes off as this perfect little angel who is really cool and fun and sweet and smart and wonderful, but that's not who she is deep down. The kid is seriously an evil genius. I guess. And one time she made me drag her around in a wheel barrel for, like, eight hours! But I still love her more than anything (except possibly marshmallows...I love marshmallows). Oh, sorry. This isn't Carly's story. Or, sadly, a marshmallow's story. This is about Freddie, Sam, and mostly my couch.

Alright so that's Fred. Now Sam...well she's, um, a bit of a different story. The kid has been practically living at my house since she and Carls were in third grade, I think. Or second possibly. But that doesn't matter. What does matter is that you get the idea that she has been hanging around for a very long time. The first time I met her, I came home, and she was sitting on my couch. I remember vaguely her snatching a corn dog from my hands before she left that first day. Yeah, not much has changed. All the kid does is eat and mock things (shows, objects, Freddie, etc.). But she's fun to hang around. And deep, deep down, I know she is a really good kid. She's just a bit rough around the edges. Maybe she's committed a few crimes, but nothing earth-shattering. Well, she beat up a blind man once. That was pretty earth-shattering I guess. But other than that...well, and maybe a federal offense or two. But get past her illegal nature, and she's just pleasant. Just Pleasant. Yeah...no. No, she's really not. But Carls sees the value in her. And I do enjoy her sarcasm and random aggression most of the time. As long as it's not pointed at me. I'm usually safe when Freddie is in the room.

Which finally brings me to my point. Hmm...one of my points. You know what? I'm hungry. All this talk about marshmallows is making my stomach do crazy things. I wonder what Carly is making for dinner. Mmm...Oh! Sorry. Anyhoo, this is my account of the first time Sam and Freddie sat on my couch together.

Right, well I'm getting home from Socko's house. He was teaching me the art of tailoring lighty-uppy socks. It's okay, be impressed. So I have all of these lighty-uppy socks in my hands, and I have to knock on the door with my face. This proves to be an activity that my nose does not enjoy. Poor nose. So then I call out, "Carly! Open the door! My hands are full!"

I hear a muffled exchange that goes something like this, "Answer the door." "You answer the door!" "It's my house, my rules. Answer it, Dork-wad!" "It is not your house! It's Carly's! And you can get the door!" "Don't use that tone with me, little nub boy." "Wait, Sam. What are you doing? Put that down. Hey Stop! Sam! SAM!" The sure sound of senseless beating then follows. Next, Freddie asks weakly, "Where did you get that frying pan?" Then Sam, "Answer the door, Fredward."

So, finally, the door opens. I look down and see the kid from 8D across the hall standing in front of me. He has a giant red mark on his forehead that has a striking resemblance to the bottom of a frying pan. "You okay?" I ask.

He glares back at Sam as he moves to let me by. "Just peachy."

Sam snorts. "Peachy. Peachy?" I make my way to the island in the kitchen and drop my sock load on the counter top. "Why, oh web show gods, do you forsake me and give me that as a tech-producer?"

Freddie takes his place on the couch next to the angry blonde again. I can tell by his fidgety movement that he's scared. I mean, she does have a few inches on him as she glares down at him. I'd be scared too. I bet Sam could totally take Freddie over her knee, and, well, you know the rest. But the brave and idiotic little Freddo doesn't back down. He just glares back up at her defiantly. I see a quick smile in Sam's eyes. Then she kicks her feet out, smothering poor little Freddie into the corner of the couch. He grunts his disprovable of their new position, but Sam gives him another good kick and he shuts up.

"Where's Carly?"

"Shower," they answer together. Then Sam glares at Freddie.

He furrows his eyebrows as he heaves an exasperated huff. "Am I not allowed to say words at the same time as you, or what?"

I reenter the living room and scan the area for my beloved remote control. Apparently for kicks, Sam kicks Freddie again. And yes, pun definitely intended. Freddie looks as though he may be contemplating a minor retaliation, but his thoughts are cut short by a piercing stare from Sam. "Uh, should...I be concerned..er..."

Sam's attention is finally drawn away from her prisoner as she acknowledges my presence for the first time. "Nope. We're good." Freddie tries to voice his disagreement, and is hushed by a sneaker in the face. "Freddie is just being a wimp."

I take in the situation at hand as my search for the remote becomes a bit more of a fervent effort. Hmm...Sam and Freddie. I've seen the two many times before, just never together. I guess they know each other. Or, they seem to at least. Then again, maybe not. With the chemistry these two apparently have in a fight, I bet they could've just picked it up right of the bat. 'Hey, I'm Freddie, and I know stuff about computers.' 'Hey Freddie, I'm Sam, and I hate you. Burn in hell.' Yeah, that sounds like it might be about right.

Finding the remote has officially turned into a desperate search. I'm looking under scatted papers on the coffee table, and behind the TV. Sam eyes me reproachfully as I attempt to move her legs away from Freddie so I can look beneath the couch cushions. I reel back a few feet at the look she just gave me. Wow. She is like, what, twelve? Man she's scary! Freddie looks a little disgruntled as she settles her feet forcefully into his form again. It's my couch. I look underneath a small cinnamon scented candle, hoping this pathetic gesture may appeal to Sam's kindheartedness. And her ignoring me completely proves that she has none. I head back out to the kitchen. I need something marshmallowy to help me get through this missing remote ordeal. The most noticeable dish in the fridge currently is a large green bowl. Actually, it's not a green bowl. Or it wasn't at one time. It used to be a clear glass bowl. I guess it's contents gave it some interesting discoloration. Hmm...that's a pretty green. I take it out and tear off the lid. Ew...not a pretty smell. Wait, there's something in the bowl. Something other than the stinky green surprise.

"Hey kiddos?"

"Yeah?"

"Huh?"

"Um, first of all, what is this green stuff?"

Sam stretches her neck to see above Freddie's dark head. "Oh, that. Potato salad."

"No, it's green. Potato salad has a distinct yellow color," I state.

"Oh, well, then you better throw it out. I found it in the iCarly studio yesterday. Guess I left it in there awhile back." Sam shrugs. "Anyways, thought I'd return it to our fridge."

"It's not your fridge," Freddie mumbles. Sam kicks him, again.

"Wait. Is this from the fourth of July?"

Sam shrugs again. "Yeah, why?"

I hold back my gag. "Oh nothing...it's just that the fourth of July was TWO MONTHS AGO!"

"I'd still eat it," Sam says quietly.

Freddie smirks over at her. "That's disgusting, Sam." She raises her right foot in warning and Freddie quickly retreats further into the corner of the couch.

I hold the potato salad out at arms length. It's stench still fills my nostrils. "And my second question. Why is the remote control in the potato salad?"

"Oh yeeeaah!" Sam jumps up eagerly and joins me by the fridge. Freddie seems relieved as he hastily stretches out over the entire couch. "I dropped it in there after rehearsal yesterday." She digs her hand into the green slime and retrieves the remote. I quickly snap the lid back on and set the bowl on the counter. Uh...Carly can deal with it when she gets out of the shower. She's better with this kind of thing.

I turn back to Sam. "So, you decided to leave it in there?"

"Well, it was more involuntary then that." When my expression remains frustrated and confused, she sighs. She seems to hate having to use words to explain herself. Hmm... Anyways, she continues, "I was seriously thinking about getting it out. Seriously! But then I fell asleep."

Freddie laughs. "You fell asleep? How long did it take you to think about taking the remote out of the salad?" Sam shoots him a glare, but he ignores her warning this time. Now that she does not pose a direct threat because she is not sitting next to him, he has a bit more confidence. "Well, then again, it does usually take you awhile to get the ol' thought process movin'." Uh oh. I have only seen the two together for, like, three minutes now, and I already have a good idea of what's coming.

Sure enough, Sam takes five angry strides over to the couch. I can see the fear in Freddie's expression, but he remains covering all three cushions. Sam angrily nudges him once. And as if he has a death wish, he doesn't move. He only stares up at Sam with a challenging look. Sam is not about to let someone be more stubborn than herself. She gives poor Freddo a mischievous smile before slowly crouching to the floor. I make out Freddie's barely audible gulp. It must be very important for this kid to not let Sam get what she wants. I would just kill myself now if that was my life's ambition. Sam stands up just as slowly as she went down, now clutching the frying pan. Hmm...maybe I should step in? No, this is rather interesting. Then I think of Freddie's beaten form, and more importantly, how Mrs. Benson will flip out when she sees his beaten form. I look back to the soon-to-be massacre going on in my living room. Sam's face is twisted into a crazed grin as she's bringing the pan back behind her head. Her eyes show no signs of remorse. Freddie is currently in fetal position, holding his knees and rocking slightly. I dash out of the kitchen and manage to grab Sam's elbow before she strikes Freddie. She tries to jerk away, but I keep a firm hold until Freddie has safely crossed over to the other side of the room. Then Sam tears away from my grip and goes after him again. He quickly whips open the door and flies across the hall to 8D. Sam turns back to me, swinging the frying pan nonchalantly at her side, smiling satisfactory. She flops back down on the couch and begins licking the 'potato salad' off of my remote.

I am busying myself with the matching of my new lighty-uppy socks (mainly so I don't have to watch Sam put her mouth on my dear TV channel flipping device). Carly skips down the steps. She's got a towel wrapped around her sopping hair, and a stack of colored note card in her hands. "Hey guys." She looks around. "Where's Freddie? He was supposed to go over iCarly ideas with us." She waves the cards slightly.

I look over at Sam expectantly to see her giving me the same look. I know we will be here all day if I wait for her to give in. "Uh," I begin. "Freddie has left the premises."

"Why?"

I look back at Sam, who is now using the newly clean remote to channel surf. "Sam beat him with a frying pan."

Carly doesn't looked surprised, only exasperated. I guess I was right in assuming that hostility was a normal thing for her two stubborn little friends. "Sam, seriously. Again?" Again? Yikes.

"I only threatened him!" she states defensively. "Well, the second time at least." With a triumphant smirk, she turns back to the TV.

"So, this is normal for them? Right?" I ask Carly quietly.

She nods. "If you are referring to them teasing each other, testing the other's limits, and expressing the desire to kill one another almost daily, then yes. It's normal."

So there you have it. The first time I saw Sam and Freddo on my couch. Sam stole my remote, and claimed my fridge as her property. Freddie pushed her far enough over the edge to get himself beaten with a frying pan. Sam almost killed him. And their presence took away access to my wonderful couch. Not much changes either. Believe me.

Okay, first one-shot...kinda different. Well, maybe this wouldn't be considered a one-shot, cuz the next installment goes along with this. It's just that a lot of time passes between chapters. IDK, call it what you want. Sorry that this one is not very seddie/action packed. But you have to start somewhere.

Alrighty, thanks guys. Please leave a review. Please. Seriously. Just do it. Okay, peace!