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I lovelovelove Sam and Freddie! (:

x

iThink We Could Be
-Ten times they're almost something. Because they are best friends, after all. Best friends. Who sometimes hate each other. And sometimes don't.

( sam & freddie )

(1)

He tries to say it out loud one day, in front of the mirror, when his mother's too busy baking gluten-free cookies to worry too much about his well-being.

"I," he begins, his voice still cracking, "kissed Sam."

In the mirror's reflection, he sees a boy. A boy with dark hair, brown eyes, skinny legs, and chubby cheeks. A boy whose mother is insane, a boy who pretends to be in love with his best friend when, in reality (dare he say it?) he kind of sort of has feelings for a girl who can kick his ass any day of the week. (Shh, don't let her know, but he kind of sort of lets her. Because, you know, it makes her feel good, and, well, it's not like he's not used to it, anyway.) He sees a boy who pressed his lips to hers for a full five seconds. A boy who keeps that kiss in his pocket, saves it for a rainy day.

"Thinking about how much of a loser you are, Fred-weird?" a familiar voice says, just behind his ear, and he jumps, startled.

"Shut up, Sam," he retorts lamely, and wow, why is he all of a sudden noticing the colour of her eyes? The shape of her nose? The way her bangs only just brush her eyelashes? "What are you doing here?"

"Carly wants us to rehearse for iCarly again," she explains, cocking her hip. "And for some odd reason, she wants you there."

Freddie grins. "She loves me."

Something darkens in Sam's eyes. "In your dreams."

So he takes a chance. "Do you ever think about, you know, what happened?"

Sam frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"The kiss," he says, and her cheeks flush and she blinks and it's just a little tiny bit cute.

"We're never to speak of it!" she cries, and he simply smiles because the way their eyes are meeting right now, the way her thin body is leaning towards his, it almost means something.

"Sorry, I forgot," he throws carelessly. Suddenly, his mother is at the doorway, telling him not to eat too much fruit or follow Spencer's example of a future and, though the spell is broken, there's something about Sam's bored huff of annoyance that makes him grin and turn a blind eye.

(2)

They spend more and more time together while Carly's off doing her Carly Shay-things, whether it be making out with "bad boys" or warding off nerds. So they're at the Groovy Smoothie when all of a sudden Sam groans, ducking her head under her arms and shouting muffled curse words into the table.

"Great," she grumbles. "Pete's here."

He nods nonchalantly, pretending not to care because this is all platonic, yeah? "Oh, yeah, I remember him. What happened to him? He just disappeared."

"He was a total nub," Sam informs him grumpily, and that wasn't relief that just flooded into his heart. "Dang it, he's heading over this way. Quick, come up with a plan before he starts hitting on me or something."

There he is, blond hair and blue eyes, and he's coming very close, so Freddie does the first thing that comes to mind. He slips his arm around her slim waist, whispers sweet nothings into her ear, brushes back a strand of dirty blonde hair behind her ear, and yes, they are only pretending, but it all feels so real.

He's always been a very good actor.

"Freddie, he's gone," she whispers, voice hoarse.

But his arm is still glued to her skin, his eyes magnetized to hers. "Are you sure?" he murmurs back, and those glossy pink lips are so damn close.

"Yes," she mumbles back like she's so unsure, and he pulls away, breathing hard like he'd just run a mile.

Sam avoids his eyes and orders a bagel.

(3)

They're at school and Sam's opening her locker and there are butterflies exploding in his stomach for God knows what reason. He sends those googley eyes to Carly because he's determined to keep this charade going, but the look on Sam's face when those orange Delilahs he knows she likes fall into her lap is so priceless that he'd like to give her the googley eyes for once.

"Aw, Sam!" Carly gushes, jumping. "That's so cute! You have a secret admirer."

But the way she won't look at you, the way she just stares at her sneakers, hiding a smile, taking in the scent of the bright flowers, makes everything tune out, save for the colour of her eyes. "I wonder who it's from," he says innocently, and her fists clench around the saran wrapped stems, blushing pink.

"He's probably a big nub," she declares, and walks away promptly, both Carly and him following.

He ignores that comment, because she carries the flowers around all day, pausing to press her noses into them when she thinks no one's looking.

But he's always looking.

(4)

There is a very fresh, darkening bruise on her cheek, and Carly is ignoring it because she's Carly, sugar and spice and everything nice, and Spencer takes the story of her running into a pole so easily it's no wonder he didn't last in law school, and he just really wants to hold her right now.

"You know you can tell me - or Carly - anything, right, Sam?" he asks softly when Carly's in the bathroom, the both of them laying on the colourful bean bags, sling-shotting marshmallows at the ceiling.

Sam bites her lip, her hand instinctively coming up to touch the purple mark. "You're so bizarre, Fred-ley," she comments, and ignores it all, but he's smiling and scooting closer, because they are best friends, after all. Just friends. Just best friends. Who sometimes hate each other. And sometimes don't.

(5)

He sits on the swivel chair, gawking, as Sam shows him the webpage proudly, the slight gap in her front teeth obvious. "And I made it all by myself, in only two days," she tells him, smiling, and he pretends not to notice the fact that it's a whole website about insulting him and his Scooby-Doo name, and instead concentrates on her sparkling eyes.

"Wow, Sam, that's great," he drawls, and Sam beams. "Oh, look, you can click on classics, and there it is - Fredward, Fred-o, Freddie-doodle-dee." He presses the mouse button again and nods unenthusiastically. "Ah, and here, people can submit suggestions! Oh, someone already has, look - McFreddie." His eyebrows turn down and he smirks, looking over his shoulder at Sam. "Maybe they should leave the insults to you."

Sam shrugs. "You win some, you lose some."

He dusts off imaginary wrinkles on his shirt and stands up, already towering over her slightly. "All in all, nice job. I'm flattered."

The girl, now shorter than him but still fiercer, raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms. "What do you mean, you're flattered?"

It's Freddie's turn to shrug and glance away. "Well, I don't know, you only dedicated a whole website to me, practically," he explains teasingly, his heart pounding harder and harder with each shade of red Sam's cheeks turn.

"It's dedicated to you, yes, but to making fun of you!" she roars, outraged, and the way her arms are flying and her feet are leaping to her toes, she looks like something graceful, like back when she was a dancer. "You're not supposed to be flattered!"

"I dunno, Sam," he sighs, feigning exhaustion. "It's just, during this whole time you were programming and typing it all down and buying the domain, you must've just been thinking of me the whole time."

Sam's face contorts into a hundred different unreadable expressions. "I WAS THINKING ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU'LL HATE IT WHEN YOU SEE IT!" she shrieks, her fists twitching.

Freddie nods profusely, looking like a little kid. "Right, right. I hate it. Despise it. Makes my toes curl. I'll have nightmares about it, Puckett."

Her feet settle back down to their heels and she calms down just a tad, as calm as she can be. "Good," she says, like she's unsure, and crosses her arms over her chest.

"But thanks, anyway," he adds, and she turns away like she's oh-so-interested in the wall, but he smiles, because when their eyes meet again he sees something no one else can see.

Something like a beginning.

(6)

"Freddie."

Blonde hair. Dark blue eyes. Pale, soft skin. Callused thumb pads. Thin, pink lips.

"Freddie!"

Her voice, twisting his name. Her fingers, colliding with his in an attempt to hurt him. But she never does, she always holds back just a tiny bit.

"Freddie, your pants are on fire."

Her signature scent of fruity perfume and maybe a hint of bacon. The way her eyes looked, bright and possible, peeking out from under her bangs as she leaned in to kiss him.

"Freddie, I'm sleeping with your mom."

The feeling of those, God, soimpossiblysoftlybeautiful lips pressing against his, her proximity intoxicating as he closed his eyes and let it happen.

"Freddie, if you don't respond, then that symbolizes your consent that Sam and I can castrate you."

Her loud, giggling laughter. Her bright sneakers. Her flashy purple clothes. Her hair, braided, curled, straightened, tied back. Her face, tough but grinning back at him. Her.

"FREDDIE!"

He stumbles out of his reverie, almost toppling backwards in his seat. "What? What? What did I miss?" he splutters, quickly finding his balance. "How long have I been out?"

Carly pouts, tilting her head at him. "What was up with you back there? You just totally zoned out."

Freddie swallows, and catches a glimpse of Sam's smirk. His stomach swirls. "I was just, er, thinking. Daydreaming."

The brunette shrugs and finishes tying up her hair and pushes a glass of iced tea towards him. "Here's your drink. What were you thinking about? You were practically drooling."

Sam sniggers behind him. "I was... Well, I was thinking... about... roast beef!"

"Roast beef?" Carly repeats incredulously. "Yeah, right. Sam, maybe, but you would probably daydream about, I don't know, tech stuff... or new laptops... or girls." Suddenly, Carly's eyes widen and she leans in closer, brightening. "You like someone, don't you?"

He freezes. Because he could lie and say Carly, but it's gotten obvious that she's no longer the one whom he stares at, no longer the one whom his obsession lies with. "No, no, nobody, I like no-one," he says quickly, his words all crowding together, and then he facepalms because God, could he be any more obvious?

Carly, instead, smiles smugly and takes a sip of her own iced tea. "Oh, okay, Freddie. Sure you don't."

"No he does not," Sam echoes, her voice floating through the air.

Freddie only blinks and wonders what just happened.

(7)

They sit there in the dying grass of her front lawn, watching the puppy romp and play with the weeds that seemed to pop up wherever it would be most inconvenient.

"I found him by the dumpster behind the Groovy Smoothie," Sam explains, "and he was crying and covered in fleas and Mom almost killed me for bringing him home, but after I gave him a bath and some ham, he quieted down some and actually looked cute and so Mom said I could keep him as long as he doesn't poo in the living room."

Freddie nods, petting the little dog as it ambled towards him clumsily. "What're you going to name him?"

This is the part where Sam's mouth goes into a crooked, dangerous smirk, her eyes glinting evilly. "Scooby-doo," she says, cooing at the puppy. "So you two will go together. Scooby and Freddie."

He sighs, feigning frustration. "Who would you be, then?" he asks softly, concentrating on his fingernails. "Daphne?"

Sam shrugs shyly, which is strange because Sam's never been shy around him before. "No," she protests, leaning back to stare at the sky. "Carly's always been the Daphne. I liked Velma... or maybe Shaggy

"Ah." He lays on his back against the stiff grass and the both of them watch the clouds go by together. "So you're Velma or maybe Shaggy. And I'm Freddie. And Carly's Daphne. And that's Scooby."

"Yup," she says, popping her lip at the 'p'. "That's that. Everything goes according to plotline."

He clucks his tongue, raising an eyebrow. "You realize nothing ever goes according to plan in Scooby-doo, right, Sam?"

Sam groans and inconspicuously rolls over closer to him. "That's the problem."

"I don't really mind," he admits, his hand flopping in the grass until it's dangerously close to hers. "That's the beauty of the show. It's weird. Zany."

"Just like you?" Sam jokes, and she imitates him until there is only about an inch of space between their hands.

"Just like me," Freddie says, and they're almost sort of maybe someday holding hands.

(8)

"Happy birthday!" Spencer sings off-key, and he pops a balloon loudly, making Carly squeak. "Make a wish, Sam!"

She blows out the cheap, crookedly-placed sixteen candles on the ice cream cake, laughing and rolling her eyes. "You guys didn't have to do this," she grumbles, but the way she looks with white frosting on the tip of her nose and a large slice already on her paper plate, he knows they had to.

"Quick, open your presents!" Carly cries, and shoves a large, brightly-wrapped box into her face, pulling away the plate of cake temporarily. "This one's from me."

Sam tears through the wrapping paper monstrously, holding up the two packages over her head proudly. "Tickets to Cuttlefish... and a gift certificate to Build-a-Bra!" Sam announces, and she hugs her best friend tightly, thanking her.

She opens up Spencer's, laughing as she hugs the package of meat to her chest, and then Gibby's, rolling her eyes at the handmade coupons to "ten free punches", saying she would "punch him anyway" but thanks the chubby boy anyway. Finally, the party begins to end, Spencer and Carly retiring to clean up the kitchen and Gibby going into the bathroom to do God-knows-what.

"This one's from me," Freddie tells her when they're alone in the living room, handing her a small box, covered in Christmassy wrapping paper. She opens this one up slowly anticipating the surprise.

"Wow," she breathes as she gazes at the locket. It's silver, a single scratch where you would press to open it, but other than that, beautiful. There is an intricate engraving of a heart on the front, and as she opens it, there is a single orange petal, glued carefully to the inside. "It's gorgeous, Freddie."

"It was my grandmother's," he explains nervously, suddenly aware of the fact that their thighs are touching and her hair is on his shoulder. "Don't worry, she wasn't a psycho."

"Thank you," she murmurs sincerely, and she looks so vulnerable, so tangible right there, inches away from him, smiling sadly. Her lips come closer, so familiar, and before he knows it she is pressing them against the rough skin of his cheek, her eyelashes brushing against his nose.

Spencer's awkward cough interrupts them and she jumps away, the magic too short for him. "Am I interrupting something?" he asks suspiciously, his eyebrows coming together.

Sam sits on the other side of the couch now, her fingers clutching the locket tightly. "Nothing, n - nothing at all!" she exclaims, and Spencer shrugs, walking back into the kitchen.

But when Sam glances back at him, cautiously clipping the necklace around her neck, before throwing a gentle punch to his shoulder, there's definitely something.

(9)

"When are you going to tell her?" Carly asks him unexpectedly, nudging his shoulder gently and making him flinch.

He raises a suspicious eyebrow and tears his gaze away from Sam, who is on the other side of the Groovy Smoothie, arguing with Jeremy about something. "Tell who what? What are you talking about?"

Carly sighs, rubbing her temples like she's so frustrated. "Sam. When are you going to tell her you're totally in love with her? 'Cause frankly, I think she's almost as tired of waiting as I am."

Freddie mutters a swear word under his breath. "You're being ridiculous, Carls," he grunts, feeling his face begin to burn up.

"I'm not an idiot, Freddie," she informs him. "I can see how you look at her."

He stiffens, clutching his smoothie dangerously. "That's the biggest cliché I've ever heard," he deadpans, but Carly isn't phased.

"She won't wait forever," Carly murmurs softly, eyes pitying. "You've got to tell her soon. Before she starts to think otherwise."

Freddie closes his eyes, his mind spinning with this brand new revelation, this brand new outlook. "I'll tell her someday," he decides, his head aching. "How'd you find out?"

"I -" Carly starts, but all of a sudden she's there, like this little angel demon, smirking and illuminating his life and wow, how'd the room get so hot so fast? "Oh, hey, Sam!"

Sam raises an eyebrow at both of them, but turns to Freddie first. "What're you guys talking about?" she asks innocently. "How awful Freddie's shirt looks?"

"My mom gave it to me," Freddie replies instantaneously, and Carly lets out another long, hollow sigh. "Yeah, it is hideous, isn't it?"

The blonde grins and plops down on the empty chair beside him, leaning on the table. "Glad to find you're seeing things my way, Fred-o," she says cheerfully, and the way they're sitting so close, Carly glaring at him, his eyes unable to be torn off of her figure, a stranger could've walked in and thought they were meant to be.

(10)

In the end, after all the hours he's spent thinking and wondering and dreaming and hoping, after all the scenarios he's visualized, all the words he formed in his head, she is the one to begin it all.

He is sitting on his fire escape, pondering, where all this madness had first started when she steps in through the window, wearing those worn Bermuda shorts and that ripped and stained Ramones t-shirt, all spontaneous and explosive, just the way he likes.

"How's it going, Fredsy?" she asks, all bubbly ferocity, and he turns around and sees the look in her eyes and thinks, It's now or never.

"Sam," he says, already breathless, "I've -"

"- been feeling really weird lately," she finishes, panting and sitting down much too close to him for uncomfort, "and I really wanted to try something because I have no idea where this is going and this is all so weird because, God, you're Freddie, and I just really need to know if I'm not just being a huge idiot and so -" Before she can finish her own rambling, she leaps onto him and presses her lips against furiously, her motuh moving against him, making him speechless and mindless and regretless.

"Thank God," he gasps when they pull away for oxygen, tugging her towards him helplessly. "Wow, that was… totally worth it."

Sam smiles, stifling laughter. "I've been waiting to do that."

"That was… different from the first time," he says stupidly, and she rolls her eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. "But good. Very good. Great, even."

"Yeah. Really something," she says sardonically. "I think -"

But her next words are engulfed as he kisses her again, letting that little piece of nothing because something become everything.