There's a simmering heat in her chest, and her fingernails dig into her palm, and he steadfastly looks at her with those stupidly expressive eyes. She's frustrated, angered, and maybe just a little bit drunk from chugging so much college-priced beer at this college bar in this stupid fucking college town that Carly and Freddie decided to abandon Sam for, and just because he's giving her the most disappointed, upset look in the world, it doesn't mean that she's going to forgive him for leaving her.

"The fuck are you looking at, Freddie?" she growls in his ear as she comes up to the bar to get another drink, puts it on the tab of the cute guy in the dark booth in the back who has been hitting on her all night.

"Sam," is all he says, like a question, but he doesn't continue so she assumes that he doesn't want an answer.

The really young bartender hands her a pitcher of the low-quality beer, doesn't even I.D. her, and Freddie narrows his eyes. "You know you shouldn't be drinking."

"You know babies are not allowed in here," she retorts. "So why are you here? Come to fucking spy on me?"

"Carly told me you were in town, and I had her call you to tell me where you were." Freddie takes a deep breath, steadily exhales. "You couldn't even give me a call before you decided to come here to get wasted and throw yourself at guys like a—" He cuts himself off.

"Like a tramp?" Sam finishes for him. He looks away from her, focuses on the condensation rings left on the counter. Even without his eyes on her, she can see the amount of pain in them. She pretends that she doesn't care. "Fuck off, Freddie," she says as she pushes herself away from the bar and back into the throng of people too old to be in college, too wasted to keep their hands to themselves.

She allows herself to be sucked into the anonymity, meets a guy named Steve or Craig or Dante, and there's yet more random hands on the skin of her lower back, and she dances and dances until the room spins and the guys leer, whispering in her ear to take her back to their place to show her a good time, and after awhile, Sam pushes out of the bar. The cool night air stings her face, sort of, and she takes a few deep breaths, trying to remember which side of town Carly lived in and if she wants to risk getting a lecture on morality from her best friend from calling her this late at night to get a ride.

Carly's number is halfway dialed when she hears a scuff of boots on gravel. She looks up to see Freddie not two feet away from her, and tries not to look into his eyes. "What, are you stalking me now?" She lets out a humorless laugh.

"You know, a lot has changed about you. But one thing that I can see that remained true is that you're still fucking stupid."

This time, Sam's laugh is tinged with mirth. "You're one to talk about stupid, Freddork, with the way you simpered after Carly all the way across the state to this place. This—this stupid fucking town, okay?" She roughly runs her fingers through her hair. "You're pathetic, you know? You always have been. And I—I can't even be mad at Carly for turning you down as often as she has to, because you're never going to amount to shit. Nobody will ever want you. So when you get your degree and have your fancy office in New York, just stay the fuck out of our lives, okay? Because we don't want you. You're old news."

Freddie raises a brow. "You done?"

Sam snorts, pulls her jacket tighter across her body.

"Okay, nobody asked you to stay in Seattle to get high everyday or whatever it was you were doing the last few months of our senior year. I specifically remember telling you to get your shit together, Sam. But you're just too stubborn! And secondly," his feet shifts, his voice lowering to a hiss. "Secondly, if I were still after Carly, this thing between us would have never started. I wanted to tell you that for so long, because I knew that was how you felt. But now, I can't even look at you. You disgust me."

The feeling comes back, the irrational fury pounding in her head, and Sam pushes away from the wall. "Fuck off with your bullshit."

"Where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" Sam shouts, spreading her arms wide. When Freddie grabs her wrists, Sam is alarmed for half a second before she's shoving him away from her. "Okay, you're really fucking psychotic, you know that?"

Freddie pauses, swipes his tongue across his lips. The breath he drags in is laced with anger. "How about I give you a ride?"

"Um, how about hell and no?"

Freddie takes a threatening step toward her. "I said I'm giving you a ride. Walk to the damn car."

A sliver of an old feeling makes its way down Sam's spine, but she dismisses it, focusing her attention on the strong feeling of pounding his face in. She's feeling like swearing him off, but when she opens her mouth, what comes out is, "I don't even know where your fucking car is." She finds herself following Freddie as he walks ahead of her to his car, the old 1992 Camry with its peeling blue paint, and Sam feels like it's been years since she last saw it, and she voices as much.

Freddie scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, it's only been eight months."

"Long enough," Sam replies, and the look she gives him a look that she hopes could freeze flames. He gives her a hard look right back before his stupidly expressive eyes begin softening, and Sam knows what's gonna happen before it does.

"You're right, it's been long enough," he whispers gruffly, then tugs her toward him in too-rough hands and smashes his lips on hers.

She struggles for only a few seconds before she gives back what she's being given. She bites his lip and forces her tongue in his mouth, and is not surprised to learn that he tastes exactly like those packs of light Salem cigarettes that he began a habit of smoking the summer before he went off to college. Her fingers pull on his jacket as she slants her mouth against his, opening wider to bring his tongue to her, to swallow him whole. She can feel his groan rumbling across her tongue and sighs as he aligns his body against hers, his hands around her waist holding tight.

They stay in that position, in that parking lot for a while, getting reacquainted with each other's mouths, and Sam is surprised to find that she really missed kissing Freddie. When his lips leave hers to nibble down her neck, she finds herself blinking back tears and focusing instead on the way her legs feel like jelly, and how somewhere between her legs, there's heat pooling, and thinks of how to have Freddie in her, because if there's one thing that Sam doesn't do, it's cry.

"Your car?" she pants after being thoroughly kissed stupid once again. "Backseat?"

Freddie's eyebrows rise before he's nodding, walking around her to unlock and open the door. Sam sheds her jacket and throws it in the front seat before climbing in after him, and she wastes no time in climbing halfway on his lap, unbuttoning his shirt as she fits her mouth against his. She pulls away after a short while and sucks on the point where his neck meets his chest, her eyes on the way his fingers tug open his belt and unbuttons his jeans.

"So, you telling me you haven't tried to get into Carly's skirt this whole time I was out of the picture?"

Freddie pauses, then pushes her off of him. "Carly and I are just friends, Sam."

Sam shrugs, tries not to look the slightest bit upset that he pushed her. "You just—you don't seem to be the type who goes for random hookups. I figure, if you were to sleep with anyone, it'd be your childhood love."

"Carly and I are just friends," he repeats, stoically, and if he zip his pants back up, Sam pretends not to notice.

Sam laughs and pushes her knee into his thigh. "You can't possibly be telling me that you haven't gotten laid. All this time."

"Sam. What are you saying?"

"You think I haven't been with guys since you left?" Sam says, and she winces, but it comes out anyway. "Think again."

Freddie opens his mouth, closes it, then says in shock, "You… you're such a whore."

"You're a boring asshole," Sam returns, and, for what feels like the sixth time that night, they stare at each other with barely concealed anger in their eyes, but it isn't long before Freddie is tugging Sam's shirt over her head and pushing her down onto the seat. Sam embarrassingly lets out a surprised yelp when Freddie tugs her shorts down her legs, so rough Sam's sure it'll leave bruises, but then he's stretched out on top of her and her wrists are caught in his grip.

He sneers, "How could you let them touch you? Do you hold any value to yourself?"

"Don't judge me, don't you fucking dare."

"You can lose that goddamn attitude, Samantha," Freddie pushes his groin against hers, "Because I have every right to be pissed at you. You didn't see me sleeping with anyone I felt like."

"Well you didn't exactly see me, either," Sam smirks, pushing onto him. "It was a best kept secret."

"You're proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"Not as proud as you must be for safe-guarding your pseudo-virginity," Sam answers, then moans sharply as Freddie's teeth sinks into her neck. He bites and licks at her neck just the way she likes it, and it isn't long before Sam's legs are quaking and she is arching up into him. "Freddie, Freddie, Freddie," she repeats.

His hands skim down her arm and up her shirt, into her bra. Sam's scream is muffled in his mouth as he tugs harshly at her nipples. He's never been this rough with her before, and Sam finds herself loving it and hating it at the same time. One thing she cannot deny, though, is the way that her panties are becoming soaked as the result from what he's doing to her. She tears her mouth away from his and whispers into his ear, "Please, Freddie."

It's hot and cramped in the car, but Sam and Freddie find a way to divest the both of themselves from their clothing, and Freddie does this thing with his fingers inside of her that makes Sam buck up in surprise and see stars behind her eyelids, and he growls, "Yeah, Sam, come on my fingers. Want your tight pussy dripping around my cock, but first you're gonna come for me like a good girl."

Sam grips his arms as a sharp feeling in her rises from the point where he's hitting her spot all the way to the tips of her ears, and she could swear that every hair on her body stands on end when she finally reaches her breaking point, crying out as she spasms around his fingers, and Freddie licks a trail up her throat to her ear before whispering, "You didn't let them fuck you without a condom, did you?"

Sam whimpers, tightening her grip around his arms.

"Sam," he repeats, louder. "You didn't let them fuck you without a condom, did you?"

"No," she shakes her head, breathing hard. "Never."

"Good," he says. Then he's lifting her hips and thrusting into her, so hard and deep that Sam swears that she can taste him. He lets out a low moan in contrast to her sharp gasp, and bites into her lip before pulling out and pushing back in again, just as sharply as before. Sam wants to tell him to slow down, to let her adjust to his girth, but she finds that the pain intensifies the pleasure, at the same time dulling the feeling of complete fullness in her heart, so stifling that it threatens to make her burst, so she decided to say nothing about it.

Freddie grunts into her ear, deliciously stretching her open on his dick, and Sam arches into him to meet him thrust for thrust. He's hovering over her, one hand on the window, the other against the small of her back, the pendant that he wears (that all three of them have) around his neck swinging on its thick black string. Sam reaches up and tugs at his nipple with her teeth, and Freddie falters only a second before pulling out of her to turn her around on her knees.

"Freddie," Sam gasps when she feels his teeth on the flesh of her ass. His palm comes down hard on that very spot a second later and she moans as he pushes himself into her. He fucks her good and thoroughly until she's sore, until she's biting down on the back of her hand to keep from screaming. When she comes a second time, she feels tears making its way down her face, but she doesn't make an attempt to stop it, to wipe them away because Freddie's lips are on the back of her neck, and he's repeating her name against her skin, and the way that she finds herself shaking is because of him. So she holds tight onto the hand he's wrapped around her waist, and pushes back against his movements as his name becomes a litany spilling from her lips.

He pushes deeply into her one last time and holds, his breath stuttering across her overheated flesh, and they stay in that position for only a minute more before Freddie is sitting back, pulling Sam halfway across his lap. She's panting and he's trying to catch his breath, and when he does, he takes her hand—the one that she bit into, the one that is bruising from his tight grip earlier—and lays a lazy kiss against it.

Sam shudders, then tries to discreetly wipe away her tears with her other hand. But she knows it's too late, that he already saw them.

To his credit, he doesn't mention them. He gazes at her with his (stupidly) expressive eyes and says, "Hey."

Sam has to clear her throat before replying, "Hey."

He smiles, and his smile is infectious, so she smiles. His hand rubs up and down her arm, almost consolingly. "Listen, Sam, I'm sorry for leaving you. I wish that we could've worked things out differently—"

"Oh shut up," she cuts him off.

"No, Sam, I—"

"I'm the one that was being a bitch, okay?" she admits with a shrug.

"Yeah, you were," he agrees, and chuckled at the look on her face before yelping at the pinch she gives him.

"So, I'm sorry," she continues. "And you know Mama doesn't apologize. For anything." She gives him a hard look. "Furthermore, I shouldn't have, y'know, been with anyone but you. But, hey," she says, smiling reassuringly when she notices a pained look on his face, "You'll always be the one that had me first. And… it seems like you'll always be the one that has me always."

Freddie leans over and places his lips on hers, so tender in contrast to any other kiss exchanged tonight and Sam finds herself tightly gripping the back of his neck. She sniffles tears back as he pulls away (and seriously, when does Sam Puckett ever cry?).

"How about I take you to my place?"

Sam smiles and nods, then punches his arm just because (because there's just too much raw emotion and she feels splayed open and no no no, Freddie musn't see her cry again), and says, "Fuck yeah, Freddie."