Summary: When Sam takes a ride home with Freddie, they get into an argument—big surprise there. But when they go further with their words then they ever have, will Freddie end up saying something that he can't take back? Based on the song, "She's A Lady" by Forever The Sickest Kids. (Requested by LuDiamonds.)

Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly. No sir-ee-bob, that's Dan Schneider's turf, mmhmm.

iRegret It

Don't ask me how I ended up in a car with my mother and Sam.

Okay, I'll tell you anyway.

Carly's sick, so Spencer couldn't drive us to or from school. So, no biggie, right? Usually we'd just walk home, then. But considering Carly's never sick, my mom thinks there must be something horrible in the air of the city, so she wants me in it as little as possible.

I'm not really sure why Sam's here. I'm thinking it's either, A. She wants to torture me, B. She wanted a free ride over to Carly's, or C. She's coming to steal my food. Come to think of it, though, C would probably be included in A.

As soon as we step foot into the car, mom sprays us with disinfectant. And right after that, Sam turns to me and coughs horribly all over me.

Both my mom and I turn to glare at her. Sam casually pats my thigh, beaming with joy. "A little gift from me to you," she says obnoxiously.

I don't say a word. I'm following the policy of, 'if you ignore it, it will go away' right now, but it doesn't seem to be working. No, Sam's not bothering me, but she's sitting here twitching and fidgeting after getting no response from me.

"Uch!" Sam exclaimed as she sat up and slumped over my mother's seat. "Come on, woman! My grandma drives faster than this."

Glaring, I said, (in defense of my mother,) "Your grandma's not normal." Along with protecting my mom's feelings, I was also stating the truth—Sam's grandmother just wasn't ordinary.

Sam, who was only capable of moving around so much because she had not buckled in—a fact that I just felt my mom was better off not knowing—turned back to me, her eyebrows knit together in annoyance. "She is so."

"She's part horse!" I countered.

"So?" she yelled. "She'd still have no problem with beating you up!"

My mom's jaw went slack and the car swerved. In fear for my life—not because of Sam, but because of my mother's reckless emotional driving—I defended. "What does that have to do with anything? And I don't think she'd be that disrespectful!"

"You'd be surprised!" No, I probably wouldn't be that surprised, honestly. But I decided not to fire back. It would've only made things worse, so I just rolled my eyes and returned to silence.

"Seriously, lady, go faster!" Sam yelled growing quickly impatient. "The speed limit's 25!"

"You're supposed to drive slower than that!" my mother shouted back in her neurotic tone, eyes glued to the road, her arms so tightly pressed to the wheel that it looked as if it were just another part of her body.

"Ahuh," Sam agreed sarcastically. "And you're doing a good job of that by only just hitting five! We're driving slower than people walk! By the time we make it home, we'll have graduated from high school!"

There was complete silence for a second, and then I heard a high-pitched sob. It was coming from my mother, and as I looked to the front of the car, I saw Sam eyeing her like my mom was the weirdest thing she'd ever seen. "The time is passing so fast!" she cried, her voice high-pitched to the point that if it went just half-an-octave higher, it might break glass. "My little Freddie is growing up!!!" I rolled my eyes, hearing her blow her nose intensely. "He's turning into a big, strong man!!" she choked on the last word, turning it into more than one syllable…pitifully.

"Mom!" I complained, embarrassed.

"Big, strong man?" Sam asked with a quirked eyebrow. "Okay, apparently one of us needs glasses, because this—" she said as she leaned back and grabbed my arm, holding it up to display. "—Has got to be the scrawniest dork I've ever seen."

"Sam!" I growled.

"Oh, shut up, Fredwad, you know it's true."

Glaring in disgust, I waved a hand, deciding I had had it with the situation at hand. Leaning my head on the window, I tried to tune out the rest of the drive.

As an interlude from the norm, Sam slipped into silence before letting out a loud belch. The car swerved for what felt like was the millionth time that day while mom's mental processes were momentarily overtaken by disgust.

I glared at my blonde companion. (Yes, deep down she is my friend but right now she felt more like a slave driver.) "Such a lady," I groaned.

"Hey," she eyed daggers at me. "I am a lady, Fredwina. And ladies? Shouldn't be messed with."

Rolling my eyes, I returned to trying to zone out for the rest of the torture

The remainder of the ride home was filled with exactly the same thing that the first part of it had been filled with—complaining, crying; just all-around chaos.

I thought we might have hit some form of sanctuary when we stepped through my door, but still there was no peace to be found. I would try to do my homework, she would turn on the TV. I would try harder to do my homework and she would poke me. I would try harder still and she would pinch me. I would try not to scream my head off and she would—you know what? No. No more!

I was going to ask, "Why can't you go over to Carly's?" but I didn't want to subject my poor sick other-best friend to the wrath of Hurricane Sam. Admittedly, I knew she'd probably be better behaved at Carly's, but still I said, "Why couldn't Carly be here instead of you?"

This seemed to set something off within her. She jumped to her feet, her hands clenched into fists. "Is that all you ever think about?" she growled.

"What are you talking about?" I asked in confusion, shaking my head, though my tone rose as well.

"I thought you had gotten better, but no, it's back. 'Carly, Carly, Carly,'" she called in a mocking voice and then switched back to her glare and growl. "Get over her, Fredwad, even after puberty you don't stand a chance with her!"

That wounded my pride. Not that my pride didn't always get wounded while Sam was around, but the same thing always happened when it did. I would go onto autopilot. I would fire any insult that came to my brain out as quickly as possible, trying to get it out faster and with more bite than hers. This was our familiar war. And today, my apartment floor was our battleground. I took to standing as well as I shouted, "You're just mad that there's a possibility that, with enough persistence, Carly might actually like me back one day!"

Truth be told, my feelings for Carly were…faded at best. The crush I had on her now was far less intense than it had once been. But that didn't matter right now. All that mattered was that I insulted Sam back and that I won this war. "Oh, you are so far from the truth, Benson!" she yelled back, hands on her hips as she gave a shake of her head.

"No! It is true!" I bellowed. "Because you never want me to be happy!"

"What?" she asked, eyes narrowing in confusion as she took a step back, almost as if I had shoved her. "Come on, nub, I mean, it's great to see you suffer, but that's—"

Not fast enough, Sam! I cut her off and lunged into the next insult. "That's not even it!" I yelled. "It's not that you take pleasure from my pain, but just from my unhappiness! It's because you're unhappy, and you know that you'll never find anyone and be happy! So you want someone to commiserate with!"

Sam's face drops. She no longer looks confused but bored. Any other day I would have run from the scene, because I know that that look meant trouble. But I was feeling extra courageous today. Or maybe it was just extra stupid… "Dork, I'm warning you," she cautioned. "You just stepped onto dangerous ground. Turn back, or else."

"You're only angry because you know I'm right!" I shout, unaware of the fact that I'm the only one still shouting. "No one will ever like you acting the way you do!"

She freezes and stares at me. Her blue eyes, which always look so strong suddenly, betray sadness and hurt that lies behind them. And then I freeze, too, because I can't believe what I just said. I'm not hurt though. I'm just afraid, and immensely regretful. I never, ever meant to say anything like that.

But instead of attacking, Sam just slowly backs out of my apartment and takes off into a run, leaving the door open behind her as she does.

Once I was finally able to shake myself out of my stupor, I ran out the door, too, now in search of my blonde, trouble-making friend—my friend whom I had horribly insulted.

I searched everywhere—I searched Carly's, I searched the other floors, I searched the lobby, I searched behind Lewbert's desk (even though I knew she wouldn't be there, and I got yelled at for it,) I searched the block outside…she was just nowhere to be found.

With a sigh, I gave up. The ride back upstairs felt like the longest elevator ride in the history of elevator rides. What had I done? Why had I said that stuff? Why didn't I heed Sam's warning?

What was going to happen because of my stupidity? Would we still be friends? Would she ever talk to me again? Something deep inside my brain told me that I might've been overreacting, but I couldn't listen to that right now—because my head was full of only grim questions.

But just as I was about to turn the corner to my apartment, I heard a heavy sigh coming from the fire escape.

I turned around and marched to the window. Sam was sitting in the lawn chair that I left outside (since our little kiss fiasco, I'd frequented the fire escape whenever I could. It just felt serene out there) with her eyes closed, her hair billowing gently yet wildly in the wind.

She actually looked kind of…pretty…

"Sam," I called to her softly.

She didn't open her eyes or look at me, but I knew she had heard.

"Sam," I tried again with a sigh, my voice more apologetic this time. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" she muttered, eyes still shut.

My brows pulled together in confusion. "What do you mean "why"?" I asked taking a cautious but noisy seat on the windowsill as I fiddled with my hands.

"Why are you sorry? What you said was honest, right?" Now she finally looks back to me. "Besides, I've said tons worse to you."

"No you haven't," I nearly shouted quickly to dismiss Sam's thoughts.

But she nodded, sure of herself. "I'm pretty sure I've mentioned you dying old and alone at least once."

"Not once."

"Well I'm sayin' it now."

I frowned. "Good. I deserve it."

The blonde rolled her eyes and turned back around.

"Sam, I was a jerk to you back there," I answered, backing up my words.

"Hey," she glared, spinning around again. "I talk to you like that all the time. Are you calling me a jerk?"

I grinned. "Yeah. I am. But I'm fine with that. Me saying those things, though?" My shoulders rose and fell. "That's just not cool. It felt sickening," I cringed. "I'm sorry, Sam."

Turning back to the ledge, Sam shrugs. "S'not like you were wrong."

My head shoots up and I'm blinking in confusion. Just where's she going with this?

"But hey, can you really blame me for being bitter? Every guy I like ends up falling for Carly." I hear a sigh escape her lips as her head tilts upward more. "And never for me," she added in a mumbled tone. At that moment, she'd sounded more vulnerable than I'd ever witnessed Sam to be. It was frightening, astonishing, and, well, just plain upsetting. I didn't like seeing my friend hurting like this. "I mean, I love the kid, you know that. But sometimes you can't help but think, 'why not me?" Why can't they see me, ya know?"

I let a grin take over my features for a moment as I fought off the urge to scoff. Did I know? What a silly question. Of course I knew! Back when I liked Carly, I felt that way all the time. It seemed like she saw every other boy but me. It was like they were solid matter while I was just air. But then my frown slides back in place. "Not every one of them."


Of course she'd start with him. I wonder if that might be where I could trace all of these feelings of hers back to. "Forget about Jonah," I command. "He's an idiot."

"Fine, then. Shane—"

"Shane was equally scared of both of you."

I see her lips pull up at the corner of her mouth, but she just scoffs. "Chyeah. But it was obvious that he liked Carly way more than me."

The hard line of my frown goes slanted and lopsided. "What about Pete?" I ask. "Things worked out with Pete."

"Oh yeah things worked out with Pete," she answers, and there's so much sarcasm in her statement, it makes my skin crawl. "That's why you guys never saw him a day after my date when I beat up Jocelyn."

"Him, too?" I asked weakly, quietly.

She doesn't respond, and I know the answer is a 'yes.'

Sighing I question, "What about Gary Wolff?"

From the angle I'm in, I can see Sam's brows pull tight together. Her tone is once again rough. "Well I'd be happy to say that I got a text from him, but I'd be lying, wouldn't I, Fredwad?"

I winced. I definitely stumbled on the wrong boy to ask about.

"Fifteen minutes after standing at the mall, checking my watch, I took out my phone to text him—ask him where he was, if he forgot about me or something," she continued. "That's when I noticed that the text had came from you. Guess I really am rubbing off on you, huh? Nice boy Freddie Benson would never have done anything so lowdown and dirty."

Do I answer? Nope. Because she's right. And I feel horrible about it. So I eagerly change the subject. "Hey, what about Carter?" I ask, my voice cracking with nerves. "You never told me how things turned out with him."

"Oh, please," Sam waves a hand. "I never liked Carter."

"Wha--?" I begin shocked, my eyes wide. My mouth gapes as I search for the words to say. "Then why did you break into his locker?" I shout the question.

She turns to me, flashing a toothy grin. "To see you get hit in the head with his basketball."

I roll my eyes but can't help to smile. Why didn't I expect that answer? "Well, what about Ruben?" I question, thoughts of the odd blonde boy just now resurfacing in my brain.

She laughs loudly and jumps to her feet. "Great!" Sam exclaims through her laughter as she takes a seat on the metal stairs. "So the only one that actually likes me is the boy who can't speak English!"

"Hey, watch it," I retort, wagging a finger at her in mock disapproval. "That's most of America these days, young lady."

"Who are you "young lady"-ing, geek burger?" she asks as she sends me a sharp but playful shove. "I'm older than you!"

"Oh, maybe you are, but you can't do this!" I grin and flick her nose with my fingertip.

She beams in an open-mouthed, shocked smile. "I can so do that!" she countered. "And I can also do this!" Gritting her teeth, she reached over and poked me in the stomach. Repeatedly. I can't help but laugh. Uch, it's my tickle spot! How the heck did she know about that?

"Puckett, stop!" I call through my laughter.

"Say uncle, Fredwin!" she shouts, somehow managing to swat away my fighting hands while she keeps on tickling.

"Nevaaah!!" I yell back in a stereotypical British dialect. But then an old saying comes to mind—if you can't beat them, join them. Still laughing, I reach out and brush my hands against her hips.

Sam jumps from the touch with a loud laugh and falls from her seat to the fire escape floor.

But I can't give up the battle! I lean down, keeping up my assault. "Give up, Sam!" I yell, grinning widely.

"No way, dork!" Her smiling eyes are tear-filled and she scoots closer to the ledge to get out of my reach. Somehow, she's able to stretch her arms enough that she can still touch me.

I wasn't having that, nah-uh. "Oh no you don't!" I called as I launched from my seat towards her.

That's when I realize that I'm now laying on top of her. And everything stops.

It's silent now. And as I stare down at her, she's looking up at me with her big and intense blue eyes.

My thoughts spill out. "I see you just fine, Sam."

And that's when her tears spill out, too.

Bowing my face closer towards hers, I shake my head. She shouldn't be crying. She should never be crying. She should be anything else. Her tears were so…I don't even know. But it just seemed that something horrible must have been happening in the world right now for Sam to actually be crying. Her crying made me feel like someone died—it made me feel lost and broken. I promised myself, then, that I would never let her cry again.

I hadn't even noticed that we were kissing. It just felt so natural. But fully letting us submerge ourselves in to the world of our kiss—the world of our relationship, whatever that may be, whether it just be friends or something more—I realized something.

It was official.

I'm in love with the girl I hate.


AN: That took way too long. I'm sorry, you guys, but I really, really hope that you enjoyed that. I also hope that it was in-character and that you're not annoyed at me for taking so long to update ^^; Once again, this fic was requested by LuDiamonds. Hope you like it, Lu!

In other news, I really wanna apologize for not responding to the final reviews of iWent Through the Glass yet. It's not even that I've been super busy with things, I've just been swept up. You ever get those times where you just can't concentrate on anything? That's how it kind of is right now for me. I promise that I will get to them eventually. But I will be away from the 8th to the 16th, so no updates until after then, I'm afraid =( But stick around—I've got great things planned.