A/N: First iCarly oneshot, yay! Actually it's a pretty long one, but it's the only way I could make sure it was "complete". Well, I'm dead tired so I'm just gonna shut up and let you guys read
DISCLAIMER: I do not own iCarly blah blah blaaaah
The music was blaring, and the sounds were so contorted Freddie couldn't tell if it was a rap song or heavy metal playing. But the way the teenagers were dancing and flailing their arms around either one could fit.
This was always the way parties were at Washington State. The Cougars had won their home football game so of course that caused for celebration and the obligatory campus party. Freddie wasn't even into football, not at all a sports buff, but Gibby was on the team so he figured he'd be supporting a friend. Yes, Gibby on a college football team may seem surprising, but due to his surprisingly phenomenal kick boxing skills and his hefty build, the coach saw potential in those weird, bulgy eyes.
"WOOO! OH YEAH, ALRIGHT!"
Speaking of, Freddie crooned his neck from his position on the bar stool to see Gibby dancing on top of one of the tables. He counted the seconds before he would take his shirt off: one, two, three, four...
"NOW WHO WANTS TO RUB THE RUNNING BACK'S BELLY OF GLORY!??" and he ripped off his jersey while the small crowd yelled and cheered and danced on the table alongside him. Half of them didn't even like Gibby, but were too drunk to separate him from the other football players.
Freddie shook his head in annoyance. Usually he didn't mind the parties, but this one had a capacity of like fifty thousand students and since the crowd separated him from Carly and Sam, he couldn't enjoy himself at all. But that didn't stop others from enjoying him. He counted four girls who approached him at the bar and either asked for a dance or a number. Half of them looked like seniors possibly intoxicated and wouldn't be able to remember who he was the next day, but the other two seemed genuine. He just genuinely wasn't interested.
He decided after his last high school girlfriend he would end all relationships. His adolescent crush on Carly had ended a long while ago when he realized the kiss they shared revealed nothing. His love lingered into pure friendship, and he had been sober for five months now.
It wasn't a healthy sobriety, however. Someone made it really hard for him to stick to his resolution--extremely hard and confusing.
Freddie turned in his stool trying to find the source of his name, and someone hit his shoulder and he turned back again.
"Oh," he yelled back over the rap/metal music. "Carly, there you are!"
"Hey! Have you seen--" CRASH.
Both shot there heads to the table where Gibby and a few others fell off--well, either fell or purposely jumped in attempt to defy gravity.
Carly shook her head. "Oh my god."
"The sad part is that he's not even drunk!"
"This party's officially too crazy for me. Have you seen Sam anywhere?"
Freddie's throat caught dry but he spoke anyway. "No, wasn't she with you the whole time?"
"No. I actually thought you'd want to be--"
But Freddie stopped her before she dared try to finish. "Seriously Carly? You're gonna start that again?"
She curved her lips. "Nah, I'm not starting anything with you again. You're too stubborn to listen to reason."
He gave her a hard look while leaning over the bar. "Your theory isn't reason--it's lunacy."
"I know it is, but that's how you two are with each other--"
"We're nothing with each other."
"She wouldn't think so."
Freddie shot her an evil look and grabbed her arm. "Wait Carly--you didn't say anything did you!?"
She averted her gaze and smiled. "Well..."
She shoved his hands away. "Jeez, Freddie, no. I've never said a thing to Sam so she doesn't know anything. I can't even say anything if I wanted to because you tell me nothing."
He wasn't calm inside but he masked it well. "There's nothing to tell," he said soberly.
Carly sucked her teeth and gave him a stern glare. She was able to accept the fact that there was nothing between her and Freddie anymore. They dated, they kissed, it meant nothing, so they ended. But somewhere along the line her friends changed; tensions rose and eased between them constantly, their arguments were strangely more intense, and she would catch Freddie's eyes lingering on her best friend for longer than she cared for.
All of that had to mean something. She's had her theories for a while, but didn't confront Freddie on them until just the other day after he and Sam ended another heated debate. Of course he denied every word, raised his voice, and scoffed every accusation away, but Carly wasn't an idiot.
Freddie Benson had really light almond eyes that revealed everything. And she was sure of it: he liked Sam.
He hated her more than anyone could ever hate another human being, yes, but he also liked her, he was drawn to her, and had eyes for no one else.
"Freddie, really," she continued, "I don't say this much but you have to stop being such a blind idiot."
"Being blind is better than being delusional. You're only seeing what you wanna see, Carly."
"That's the thing, though. I don't even know if I want to see this. You two are so completely wrong for each other, but in another strange way you two could be so right. I don't know, I just want to see you two happy. Sam's had a crappy time with grades, getting into Washington and stuff, her family, and I really wanna see her okay." She looked at him now. "And if you really wanna do that for her I'm not gonna let something like your stupid pride get in the way."
"You're not gonna? Even if I do want this, wouldn't it be my choice?"
"No it wouldn't. Because as your best friend I officially have the right to decide for you."
Freddie smiled despite her annoying assertions and gave her a amicable push.
"I shouldn't expect anything less from Carly Shay."
"Yep," she smiled. "Carly Shay, the former love now chased into obscurity by her blonde headed meat loving best friend."
He rolled his eyes. "Oh just leave already."
She giggled and tugged his collar playfully. "Alright, but if you see Sam tell her I left cuz I have classes in the morning. And make sure she doesn't get into any trouble."
"Aw, babysitting? But what if I want to leave too?"
"Just--" she said before someone tripped over her and spilling their drink in the process. She stomped her foot. "Rude much!" She turned back to Freddie. "Just make sure she gets back to the dorm okay, alright?"
He nodded despite his annoyance. "Yeah, alright."
And she rushed out.
Freddie leaned back over the bar and twisted a napkin over his fingers, let it loose, then did it again. He thought it would help pass the time but he was only growing more agonizingly bored. He threw the napkin and reached for his cell phone out his pocket. He typed a message and clicked "send":
Sam, where r u?
He saw her contact picture next to her name while he was waiting and absently smiled. It was a picture he took while she was sleeping in class: she had drool trailing along her psychology text book and her bottom lip puckered out, while those blonde curls spread all over the desk. He found the image exceptionally pleasing, so he took the picture for memory. She would probably smash him and his phone if he saw it, so he made sure he changed it every time she was near.
His phone vibrated and he saw the new text come in:
Sup Freddork. I'm over by the pool, y?
Carly left cuz she has classes in the morning. I wanna go 2. Are u stayin?
Aw. Must u 2 be the acid rain on my parade? I wanna take another swim.
Carly told me to make sure u don't get in any trouble Sam. So u got one more swim then ur goin back to your dorm.
Gosh dude way to baby me much. Fine, I'll be there don't worry.
Yeah yeah promise. Now get goin. I can feel ur nubbiness all the way from here.
Freddie scowled, shut his phone, and walked away from the bar. Carly was delusional. How could anyone even stomach having romantic feelings toward Sam Puckett?
Freddie was sprawled out on the couch when the knocks came. He had gone back to his dorm about an hour ago and already took a comfortable shower. Gibby wasn't back yet, so for now he had the dorm to himself.
The knocks came harder. "Freddaaaay!" a slurred voice called from the other end. Freddie sighed, flipped off the couch, and took off the padlock to open the door.
She was hunched over, hair drenched, and she held the laces of her converses in her hand. She looked at Freddie with a Cheshire grin and stomped into the room.
"Sup Freddi...Freddi...Freddi... You know I really need to think of some better nicknames for you."
"Sam...?" he inched closer to her, but she just flung her sneakers and they punctured his gut. Ow.
"Oh my god. This dorm is freakin huge! Three couches, three TVs, three floors, and they're all...spinning..." she lost her footing and fell, only to rise back up and fall again. Freddie raised his brow. Slurred speech, no sense of coordination whatsoever, and unbelievably rank breath: he didn't need a breathalyzer to tell that she was drunk.
Sam tripped on her feet one last time. "Okay!" she yelled to no one. "I wanna get off this ride now!"
Correction: super drunk.
Carly was going to kill him. Then he was going to kill Sam and Carly was going to kill him again. Clearly she was drunk, wasted, hammered, and d: all of the above. Why, why couldn't she stay out of trouble like he asked!? Why did Sam have to be so…rambunctious, so crazy, so irresponsible!? Why—
Why did she even come to his dorm in the first place?
"Sam!" He stood her up and pressed hard on her shoulders, forcing her to look straight. She still sported that dopey smile and glazed eyes. He would laugh if he wasn't so pissed. "Do you know you're drunk?"
"The question is—do youuu know I'm drunk? Cuz if so I'm in a loooot of chizz right now."
"Oh my god," he yelled exasperated. "You're so wasted!"
She clasped her hand over his mouth. "Shhhh! Carly will hear you!"
He scrunched his nose when he whiffed the alcohol from her breath. He shook her again. "Sam, didn't I tell you to go straight home after? What did you do!?"
"N-no!" she waved a finger in objection. "I d-did! I was gonna—like really—do like two more laps and leave—" and she flung her arm for emphasis. "But after I got some Wahoo Punch I had to pee like really, really bad. So I…set my cup down out near the bathroom…peed…then came back. Then I…" she shut her eyes in pain and grasped onto her skull. "Then this happened. Damn headache…"
Freddie wanted to yell again but he paused. There was something completely wrong with her story. She only drunk punch…then she sat her cup down to…
"Sam!" His eyes bulged. "Someone spiked your drink!"
"Really…?" she asked still holding on to her head. "But wouldn't that hurt the cup…?"
He shook his head. "What? No! Somebody laced your drink with alcohol and got you drunk!"
"That bastard!" she gasped and tried to walk for the door but stopped when another stroke of pain rammed in her head. She leaned onto Freddie's chest and grabbed her head again. "Ahh! Freddie…" he watched her burrow her head in his t-shirt. "I'm scared…"
…And all of a sudden he wasn't mad anymore. He couldn't find the strength to yell or to call Carly or run back to that party and murder the guy that did this. All he could think of was Sam and how she was scared.
"And also…" she said under muffled breath. "I think I'm gonna throw up."
Okay, that did it. He hauled her over his shoulder and ran for the bathroom. "Hold on! Hold on! Hold on!" he kicked opened the door and propped up the toilet seat. As soon as he set her foot down she shoved him out the way and threw her head in the toilet, visibly spewing green and pink chunks into the bowl. Freddie grimaced but held her curls away from her face and watched her go.
And go…and go…and go…
After about two minutes Sam lifted her head and curled her tongue in disgust. Freddie had a towel ready so without hesitation he wrapped it over his finger and wiped her face—first the remains of the chunks, then the tears from forcing it out her stomach. She grabbed the towel when he was done, scraped it over her tongue repeatedly, and then threw it across the bathroom.
"Um…" Freddie finally spoke. "I have an extra toothbrush…"
"Yeah, yeah, in a minute," she rasped out, and clutched the sides of the toilet. Marveling in its coolness, she touched the sides more, then pressed her cheek against it. She smiled and blew out a sigh. "Oh wow…this baby's so cold. C'mon, Freddie, feel it," and before he could object she clasped her hands between his cheeks and pulled him toward the bowl.
"Oh wow…" she reiterated.
Freddie bit his tongue in awkwardness. "Yeah, um…it's so…cold and…refreshing…?"
"No, not that," and she took her left thumb and trailed it over his jaw line. Freddie caught her stare and swallowed. Her face was extremely close, and despite the recent gagging her hands were very warm and soft. She smiled, which only made him swallow harder. "This part of your face is so smooth," and she rubbed up toward his cheek, "but this part is so scratchy. Look, you can see little hairs and everything. Wow, Freddie I didn't know it was possible for you to grow facial hair."
Freddie dropped his expression and listened to the 'womp womp woommp' ring in his head. Even when drunk, Sam's insults were so subtle.
She smirked and sat up, stumbling a little, which made Freddie rise up with her and hold onto her arms.
"You got it?" he cautioned.
"Yeah but," and she tugged on her damp Cougars t-shirt, "I got a little…barf drippage on my…yeah."
Freddie looked around his bathroom in thought before he came to a solution. "Oh, I got that just hold on," he rushed out, stepped back in again to make sure her feet were planted firmly on the ground, then left again. A few seconds later he returned with a long gray t-shirt and a clean towel.
"The towel's to dry your hair," he explained, "and the shirt's to…you know…"
She snatched both from his hands. "Got it, Freddie. I may be out of it but I know what a shirt's for," and without warning she tugged at her Cougars shirt and crossed her arms, raising it above her head and—
"WHOA!!!" Freddie flew up one hand while the other clasped over his eyes. "Don't you think I should shut the door or something!??"
Sam simply turned her head, looked at him, and nodded. "Oh yeah, sure."
"Um…okay then…?" and while still covering his eyes, he backed away and shut the bathroom.
HOLY CHIZZ! Freddie screamed in his head. He planted his knuckles to his skull and slid down to the floor next to the door. He dug his knuckles in hard, but his mind was officially plagued. Sam's midriff was completely exposed, and if only for two seconds, he saw her hips, her abs, and her red laced bra—
Jeez, Freddie, no. Don't even go there. So you saw your friend's bra, so what? Yeah it was Sam, but who cares? It's not like you wanted to see it—you didn't anticipate it or anything. Hey: just be lucky she's out of it or else she would have done something evil like twist your eyes out of your eye sockets and feed them back to you.
True, but he still shuddered. Not because of the vivid bloody eye imagery, but because he still saw Sam's face in his head. Whether it was of those blonde matted curls, those puckered lips and drool from class, or of her exposed, it was all Sam, all his friend clouding his mind. It's not like he enjoyed these images before, not like he didn't throw his pillow off his bed when he woke up at night dreaming of the demon, not like he didn't enjoy their arguments just to feel her reaction, not like he didn't curse at himself when he was caught staring at her too long, or letting the camera linger on her face for longer than needed on iCarly, not like he didn't purposely avoid Carly now because ever since the other day she had been bombarding him with her strangely accurate notions and theories. But it was worse now, because one—despite being Sam she needed him right now, and two—it was him she came to, not Carly who was her oldest best friend and someone who knew how to handle her in these situations.
"Alright, Benson," Sam finally called and opened the door, throwing him out of his thoughts. "I threw my clothes near that tub thingy and used your toothbrush. Hope you don't mind." Freddie was against the door when it opened so he had to stand up and walk from behind it to see her. And boy did he see her. The t-shirt he used was the biggest one he had, yet it still only covered her thighs. She ran her fingers through her hair and held her head, still trying to grasp the spinning world around her. She moaned slowly and pouted her lip, getting ready to topple over. Freddie dashed toward her and held her steady. She definitely smelled better now, and for the first time in his life he actually felt stronger than her.
He would have to remember this moment to hold over her for future reference.
"Freddie," she moaned.
He cleared his throat. "Yeah?"
"I'm like…super tired. Can I crash here on your couch or something? Promise I won't do anything to it."
Freddie bit his lip, glancing back over from his bedroom door to Sam. Every fiber in his being was screaming for him to say no. Say no man, just say no. But she yawned and gripped her head again. He flexed his jaw.
"Sure, we can't have you on the streets tonight. You'd cause more havoc than usual. I'll just call Carly and—"
"No!!" She clenched onto his arms. "You can't!"
"She's REALLY gonna kill me. She's never seen me like this and I'm scared."
"But Sam, she's you're friend and this is not your fault. I don't think she'll—"
She gripped on harder to him and glared into his eyes. "Don't. Call. Her." She paused. "Please."
He gave her the same hardening stare back, but even when intoxicated she could still hold down her will. Freddie sighed and removed her arms. "Fine. But first thing we're going to her." He then grabbed her palm and led her to his room. His heart quickened with each step, his mind roaming to different scenarios of what would happen with Sam in his room.
Nothing, he corrected. Nothing could and nothing would happen.
Freddie walked to his bed and loosened the covers. He threw off his text books adjusted the pillows. He also pulled out his cell and texted Gibby, asking him to crash with Shane for the night. When he turned back to Sam she surprised him. She had her arms around her waist and her navy eyes were averted and timid. She looked…scared again.
"Okay," Freddie spoke loud enough to snap her out of it. "You sleep here and I'll just plant my butt on the couch." He watched her move without objection and crawl under the covers. He started to tuck in the sheets but stopped himself. Err…he had enough awkwardness for one day. He was about to walk out when she caught his arm.
"Seriously Freddie? You're gonna leave now? What a crappy host."
He turned to see her eyes closed and neck propped back against the headboard. He smirked. She was sounding more like herself now. He walked backward and sat at the edge near her feet. Slowly she opened her eyes and stared at her hand holding his arm.
"Okay…I have one hand right now. Is that good?"
He chuckled. "Depends, what did you have about fifteen minutes ago?"
"Then yeah, it's a safe bet you're getting better."
Sam blew the hair out of her face and grabbed onto a curl. She wrapped it around her index finger and sprung it back, laughed, and did it again. Freddie also chuckled and shook his head. It really didn't take much to entertain a drunk person.
"Duuude," she dragged out. "I wonder what I would look like as a brunette."
"You don't need to be a brunette."
"But Carly's a brunette."
Freddie raised a brow. "Yeah, so?"
"So you love her right? You also loved Valerieee, and Wendyyy and theeey were all brunettes. Plus their names all end in eeee…" She paused and smiled again. "Oh, cool, their names all end in eeee, I never noticed that before."
"Sam…" Freddie's smile faded. "What do you mean by—?"
"No freakin' way!" Sam tugged at her t-shirt and ran her fingers over the print. "I remember this shirt! You won it at the My Fellow Americans concert. Dude you rocked that mosh pit!"
Freddie scoffed. "Rocked it? You pushed me off the banister into the crowd and I was just lucky enough they didn't drop me."
"Oh, no no no no no no, I am not that mean."
"Really: have you met you?"
She just giggled again. "C'mon Freddie. We're like this," and she grabbed his hand and crossed one of his fingers with hers. "Ya see? Even my pinky likes your pinky."
Freddie stared hard at their fingers. Hers was so small yet fit perfectly between his. Without thinking he took his other hand circled her palm.
"Seeee?" said Sam. "Told you."
He looked up. Damn it, why was he being tested this way? This wasn't Sam he was with right now. This was…one of his fantasies, or one of his crazy dreams, but not the real Sam; not his Sam.
Pssh, what am I even talking about? I have no Sam. I'm not supposed to have Sam. Sam's not supposed to even want me. We're so wrong like this. So wrong, but…
"Freddie," she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Really, thanks, okay? Like I would be sooo screwed if I hadn't come here. You're a really awesome friend."
Freddie shifted under her arms. "Um, are you sure I'm not a really gullible dork?"
He heard her laugh again. "You make it sound as if I'm super horrible all the time."
"Well, cuz you are—well…nah, not all the time."
She burrowed her head deeper into his neck. "So you don't hate me?"
"Sam I could never hate you. I hate what you do, but I can't hate you."
"Good. Cuz I can't hate you either."
And even though she was still drunk, Freddie felt her warmth, and could tell she wasn't lying this time. "Good." He finally held her back, but stiffened when he felt a warm liquid run down his shoulder. "You spit up on my shirt, didn't you?"
"You gotta throw up again?"
And in a flash Sam kicked out the bed and dashed into the bathroom. Freddie ruffled his hair and puffed out a giant breath of air. He couldn't help himself. Despite his raging hormones he had to smile.
"Freddaaay! I need a towel!"
Freddie sighed and rose off the bed.
Freddie decided to stay on the couch after Sam fell asleep. She actually crashed hard after her last acquaintance with the toilet and Freddie watch her for a bit before making his way out. Despite being drunk, she still slept the same, with a puckered bottom lip, flailed out hair, and a trail of saliva escaping her mouth. He fell asleep with that image in his head, but for once he didn't wake up in the middle of the night in agony. He didn't curse, and he didn't sweat. He was surprisingly comfortable, comfortable with seeing her eyes and evil laugh and her—
"OW!" Freddie shot up out the couch with a fresh bruise on his shoulder and looked up to see Sam, fully dressed, over him.
"Sam…? What are you doing up? You're feelin better?"
"Are you kidding?" she scoffed and crossed her arms, voice a little raspy but a lot more normal than before. "My head still feels like a freakin' jackhammer is havin a go at my skull," and she rubbed her temples to push out the pain. "But I definitely need to go. I don't even remember how I got here but I know Carly's gonna kill me if I don't see her now."
Freddie got off the couch and stood awkwardly. She was ready to leave…now?
"But Sam, you know you're in the hangover stage now, right? You sure you're okay with walking over? I could drive you over if you—"
"Gosh, Fredward, you can stop with playing the whole hero card now, alright? You gave me a place to crash and that's it ok?"
Freddie squinted in confusion. He didn't realize when the entire chemistry they shared took a hard left. But of course, he should have. Because that was Sam. That was always Sam, and nothin—especially her being hammered all night—was going to change that. He shook his head and stormed past her reaching for the door.
"You know what? You're right. I gave you a place to crash so now you can go," and he held the door open. But it was Sam's turn to looked confused. She bit her lip in guilt, shifted her weight between her feet, and finally decided to approach him.
"Wait, Freddie," she stopped him. "I'm sorry—just forget what I said." But he still averted her eyes and kept his arms crossed.
"But look," and she turned his chin to force his gaze, "when it comes to everyone else that is it. As far as Carly, and Gibby, and every one else knows I was stupid, had to much to drink, and forced you to bring me over so I could sleep without waking Carly."
Freddie mocked sourly. "Oh okay, and should I just leave out the part where some creeper was there lacing your drink with god knows what and planning on doing god knows what to you?"
"Yes, yes you should."
"But nothin Freddie! I already have all this other crap to deal with right now. I don't feel like dealing with that, too. Just—" she had to turn back his head when he shook it away. "Just promise me you won't say anything, to anyone, at least not now."
Freddie was still silent.
She had her fists clenched onto his collar this time and shifted her look from menacing to pleading. Freddie tried to stare his down, but he sighed in defeat and dropped his gaze. "Fine," he said as he moved her hands away. "I'll keep it a secret. For now. But you have to promise me something."
"Promise me you'll come to me more…when you have problems. Carly says they're sorta piling up on you, and I wanna help—if you let me for once."
She scoffed. "I let you help yesterday, didn't I?"
"I mean it, Sam." And she could tell by his hard stare that he meant it.
"Okay," she cracked. "I promise."
And they stood in the awkwardness until Sam looked toward the door. "Yeah, so…I'm gonna head out now."
"Yeah," he sighed back, "you should."
But her feet stood still and she moved her eyes back and forth between him and her shoe. He was about to comment when she spread open her arms and hugged him again. Freddie paused. It was shorter than yesterday, and she only briefly wrapped her arms around his chest before letting go in the same second. "Really, Freddie," she whispered. "Thanks," and she left.
Freddie watched her leave, rubbed his arms and stood there, propped against the door frame. There, he decided was right and wrong on two things:
He was right when he said there was nothing between him and Sam. He wasn't hers, she wasn't his, and it would never be anything different.
But he was wrong when he told Carly he didn't want anything, when he said he felt nothing. The horrible truth was he felt something huge, something incomprehensible, and yesterday only confirmed that he wanted something more, something real with Sam.
He banged his head back and forth against the frame before walking back inside.
Something real with Sam…as if that would ever happen.
A/N: Well, I hope that was good enough. I'm not sure if this could be continued as a story, hopefully I ended this at the right place. I'll continue writing oneshots while working on my other Seddie story, iNeed You More, so look out for those. Also tell me what you think about this one and if you enjoyed--hopefully you did. Pce all!