This small story is dedicated to all of the men and women who gave their lives to preserve the fundamental freedom of sitting around telling stories. Words cannot fully express what you accomplished with your sacrifice, but words are all we can give back.
A/N For me, as a frustrated iCarly viewer, iPear Store really made the most sense of any episode I have seen post arc crash. For the first time since "iLost My Mind" I felt inspired to write something. The results of that inspiration glow on the screen before you now. I mean only that the screen glows. The results may in fact suck. People can be inspired to write crap. I should show you my poetry. Ick.
I took time off from "iLove You So Now What" to tackle this one. So if you are waiting for the next chapter, yeah you are still waiting. I'm working on chapter eleven now, uh, of the story, not bankruptcy.
Special thanks to: jhuikmn08 who reminded me how important the words, "If I don't tell you, how will you know?" are.
Disclaimer: Dan Schneider owns iCarly. Siegel and Shuster should still own Superman, Mark Zuckerberg kinda owns Facebook. Someday we all gonna meet down at the Cadillac Ranch.
iPear Story
Fire, burning hot, sometimes roaring, sometimes snapping and popping low, but moving, spinning and curling up, consuming, giving out energy, warmth, smoke and light. In nature fire is an understandable, predictable, chemical reaction. Those fires can be contained within stone, managed and leveraged. Some say it was a key to civilization.
Other fires burn inside the living and are rarely understood even when contained, managed and leveraged. Some say those are the key to life.
Both are important to storytelling.
The large room smelled of bacon. Not exotic bacon, just plain, hickory smoked pig meat, the kind found in any supermarket. Platters of supple, microwaved bacon gleaming in grease sat on laps and TV trays in a substantial room cluttered with balls, toys, action figures, and a very small trampoline.
The floor of the room was richly lacquered oak; the east wall was a stretch of expensive glass doors that looked out into the night on a deck that ran the length of the large house. The north wall was covered floor to vaulted ceiling with cultured stone. The rocks called to mind the scales of some fantastic dragon and composed a massive hearth.
There were three sources of light. One was the fire in the stone of the north wall where Pine needles crackled, the flames billowing up ranged in color from a butter shade to an assortment of autumn hues, a ceiling fan spun lazily over a messy space of expensive leather and oak panels lined with book shelves filled with DVD's, old books and photos.
A second light source was a gigantic, wall mounted screen that projected in 3-D like a play in the living room. A family of four sat on a gigantic sectional bathed in the eerie light that shaped the characters.
"Ruh oh Raggy!" said the cartoon Great Dane that glowed in the room. The stereophonic sound throbbed in the timbers of the house. Outside the cold night wind made spooky sounds from a black and white movie as it pushed against the walls trying to find a way in.
The third light in the room was the display from a translucent PearBook. A fit, brown haired man occupied a recliner portion of the expansive sofa typing. He had a bowl of nuts and vegetables on his side; as he typed the letters floated in the air above the keyboard, their color range giving his face a strange radiance. He looked over at the three other occupants of the massive sofa and felt something warm blossom in his chest.
The wife and mother, beautiful and blonde reclined on the plush sectional flanked on one side by an eight-year-old equally blond boy, and on the other a four-year old boy whose thick hair was the color of dark walnut. Each had a plate of bacon. The three were surrounded by discarded Fat Cake wrappers, containers of Peppy Cola and Wahoo Punch. The youngest had a radioactive pink circle around his mouth, the older sucked pixie sugar out of straw. The woman in the middle licked some cream filling off her manicured fingers. The boys were wire thin and the woman had the very feminine body of someone much younger.
The woman said, "It's bedtime for Bensons. Display off, parental lock-out on" and the 3-D characters vanished like ghosts causing the room to slip into the flickering red and yellow shades of the hearth flames and the electric rainbow light from the PearBook.
At the announcement of bed both boys seemed to stir, but when the characters disappeared each child spasmed and made angry, petulant sounds, an unnaturally loud noise for just two people.
"Noooo!" said the younger, dark haired one.
Without provocation the older one reached across his mother and swatted the younger with a fleshy, smacking sound, "Shut-up Parker!"
The younger cried louder, and the mother firmly separated them.
"Wayne," said the man, "no hitting. We'll talk about what privilege you lose in the morning."
The mother said, "Honestly Wayner, stop with the hitting. I don't know where you get that."
The father's eyes froze on the mother for an instant, an astounded expression painting his face, then he said "Tell Parker you're sorry, Wayne."
"Not happening," said the blond boy.
The mothers fingers began fanning out enumerating a count, "One, two…"
"Sooooooorrrrrryy Paaaaaaarker," he groaned.
Parker's handsome face beamed, "I 'cept your 'pology."
Wayne added this moment to a gigantic spreadsheet in his brain. There would be payback, then his brain shifted gears, he had to avoid bed. "Tell us a story, momma," he said scheming, his mind moving like a sidewinder.
"Yeah, like how you pulled daddy in from the window washer thing," the younger one said.
The man looked over at that, a puzzled look on his face.
"Or how you figured out how to get away from Nora the witch-both times."
The man's eyebrow spiked, his cheek sucking in on the right side as he began to understand.
"Or how you figured out how to get the beautiful singer with jungle worms out of aunt Carly's bedroom."
The man nodded at the trio, "Yep, whoever thought of that was very sharp."
The wife looked over at him with a mischievous grin that crackled with unconcealed glee, the fire light causing the shadows to shiver and shift making her look years younger.
"Don't tell us any about how you were mean to daddy," said the younger, "I don't like those."
"Aww!" said the blond boy, "those are the best."
The husband made a loud, lip smacking sound, "Why don't you tell Parker and Wayne about the three minutes I worked for you at the Pear store? I'd love to hear that one get Samitized."
"Dad, dad, daddy worked for you?" stuttered Parker.
"You had a real job, mom?" asked Wayne.
"Ha!" the husband said, but as the wife's blue laser stare leveled at him in the undulating light, he smiled and clarified, "Momma's business is a real job and she works very hard at things she cares about, men."
"Like our family," said the younger.
"And pork products," said his brother.
"So, tell us all the story," said the husband collapsing the PearBook into its phone configuration, "I can't wait to hear this version. Listen guys, the story you are about to hear is true, only the facts have changed. My favorite re-mastering is the one where _I_ end up in the suitcase flying to Malaysia. It's gonna be hard to top that one."
As the PearBook went dark the room was gobbled up by the dancing light of the fire, submerging the four in warm reds and yellows. An ancient ritual, the oral tradition was about to start.
The wife's eyes darted to be sure neither boy was looking then she stuck her tongue out at the husband. It began as a bratty, insolent protrusion, and in a single twist concluded as a sinful, lip smacking invitation. The husband's brow twitched noticeably. She had his full attention from head to hips.
"Yes, daddy and I worked at the Pear store together," she said.
"Was, was, was this before you and daddy were married?" stammered Parker sounding like a motor that was trying to start.
"Yeah Park-bench, they weren't always married." the older said with a snarl.
"You, you, you shut up, you Wayne, uhm, er Wayne, er, uhm, bench!"
"Well that was worth the wait!" said Wayne. "Who helped you with that? Some hobo? You're adopted that's why you're so stupid."
The four-year-old's face began to crumble and tears started to stream down his face, "Aaaaaah! I'm adapted! I don't know what that means! Ahhhhhhhh!"
"Adopted you fool!" said Wayne with exasperation.
The woman tipped her head down and kissed the walnut hair, "Oh ham slice, you are not adopted, Wayne will say he's sorry."
"No I won't," Wayne said scornfully.
The woman smiled coolly, "Wayne, if Parker gets sad and makes momma's night tough, which way does that trouble roll?" she asked, her tone made Wayne think of a nature show where a crocodile waited just under the surface of a lagoon. He swallowed loudly. Momma did not do the finger count, he noted, she talked, this was serious, "Sorry Parker," he said.
Parker beamed in a way that said he had won again, and Wayne added another entry in his massive revenge file.
"What, what, what's a Pear Store?" asked Parker.
"It's where dad made money writing computers before he made money directing shows," said the blond.
"Not quite," said the husband, "this was in high school. The Pear Store was where I sold computers and computer accessories to my people."
"Yeah, but not real well," said the wife, flicking her eyebrow, clearly daring the husband.
"I had my moments," the man replied, leaning forward to face the challenge.
"Uh huh," she retorted, "a pair of ear buds isn't really a moment."
The blond boy Wayne watched the exchange between the two, his head following the discussion like a tennis volley, studying, absorbing every subtle nuance. He loved to watch his mom and dad talk like this. There had to be a word for what they did, but he wasn't old enough to know it.
The younger boy stuttered as his powerful brain assembled the sentence faster than his mouth could keep pace, "So, so, so, daddy hired momma to help him sell pears, because momma helps daddy."
"Oh that's not what happened," said the older, "momma was gonna mess with daddy," and the blond boy's joyous glow seemed to merge with the orange sherbet firelight that colored the room.
The mother regarded Wayne's excitement with amused recognition of its likely origin, "Well, no, I didn't care about the job, and this was after daddy and momma broke up."
"The first time?" asked Wayne.
She looked at Wayne, curious that he seemed to remember so much about what was to her, ancient history, "yeah, the first break-up, so I set out to mess with daddy, but that happened a lot back then," she explained.
"Back then," the husband said with an amused expression, "a phenomenon that's slowed to a more manageable ten or twelve times a day."
The wife looked at him and wrinkled her nose, her eyes flashing in a way that he felt below his waist, "So, momma went to the Pear Store to visit daddy with Aunt Carly and Uncle Gibby."
At the mention of Gibby, Parker began saying, "Gibbaaaaaayy!" in a comical, growling voice. "Gibbaaaaayyy!" he rumbled, and seated he moved his hips, exposed his palms and being unable to wink he sort of squinted. It created the uncanny impression that he had just walked into a room.
"Your Gibby sucks," said Wayne.
Mom and dad exchanged smiles, each taking a task in a silent discipline planning session.
"Park, that's a good imitation of uncle Gibby, but momma is telling a story," the father said.
"Wayne, don't insult your brother," the mother commanded then continued, "So while I was hanging out with daddy, trying to get his attention by breaking the rules, momma talked to some customers convincing them to buy stuff. Momma was hired by a lady named Natalie who didn't like daddy very much."
The brown haired boy's face screwed tighter, "Why didn't she like daddy?"
The woman leaned in with a stage whisper, sharing a secret, "She was jealous of him, she knew that daddy was special, just like momma did, and she wasn't smart like momma. So she gave daddy a hard time."
"Whereas your mother always strove to make my life easy," the husband said sarcastically.
"Momma loves daddy," said Parker clearly.
The woman bobbed her head in a to-be-fair sort of gesture, "Okay, momma gave daddy a pretty hard time too. But momma IS very smart and has a lot of talents, one of which is, she knows how to persuade people, so, she was very good at selling things."
"What, what, what's per swayed?" Parker asked.
"Mom used the butter sock, or she lied," said the blond boy.
Both parents looked at Wayne, "No, momma did not use the butter sock," the mother corrected, shaking Wayne's golden hair with her hand.
The husband sighed, and looked at the wife. Candy brown eyes met jeweled blue in a place where words were not needed.
"So what happened?" Wayne asked.
"Well, momma only took the job so she could hang out with daddy, but after Natalie hired me she made me daddy's boss."
"You were Daddy's boss BEFORE you got married, not just after?"
The husband sighed as if he was watching some imagined version of himself sail further and further away.
The wife's smile and giggle were bright as the whitest part of the fire that popped and hissed in the stone wall. "Momma is not daddy's boss. Momma and daddy are partners," she explained. "Anyway, Momma wanted to get daddy's goat so she was writing an employee review of daddy."
"Daddy had a goat?" asked Parker. "We can't even have a dog!"
"Parkbag! No way we are related! You are so stupid! It means she was trying to make dad mad."
The husband looked at the older boy, "Wayne Jathan Benson, Parker is your brother, NOT your opponent." It was not his father's play voice and his full name was employed. Wayne loved to test his father, but also knew his limits. Make dad mad and this scheme to delay his bedtime was over.
"Sorry dad, sorry Parker."
Parker beamed having won a third battle in their war. Wayne added it to the tally sheet in his head. Parker had to sleep some time. In the privacy of his room Wayne had been constructing his first butter sock.
"Can we get a dog?" Parker asked.
"No," the mother stated, then went on, "Well, mommy and daddy weren't dating anymore, and that made momma very sad. Momma missed daddy, and so she went back to doing things to get daddy's attention."
"Like Boom Ba?" asked Wayne, "Boom Ba is cool!"
"Kind of, momma made some poor choices when she wanted to get daddy's attention. To be honest, daddy was not selling things very well. Daddy is the smartest man momma knows but he thinks people buy things because they are smart choices, he doesn't understand how to sell stuff. And he was saying mean things to customers."
The boys looked over at their father, who nodded and said, "Yeah, momma knows daddy really, really, well and she knew how to make daddy mad. So when daddy found out momma was his boss, daddy got upset and said things he should not have said."
Parker gasped, "Daddy used bad words?
The husband nodded, "Well, I said bad things to customers but I said bad things about momma, and that is never right."
Parker looked as if his favorite toy was being put up on a high shelf, and his little lip curled, "Why daddy?"
The father took a deep breath, "Because daddy missed momma very much, also," he said this looking at the wife, not the child, "instead of telling momma how he felt, daddy kept it a secret."
The mother's eyes seemed to soften, regarding the man across from her, and then continued, "Well, momma saw daddy was upset, and she did what momma does a lot of, she went too far. She said some things to see what daddy would do."
"Did you make fun of his trains?" Wayne asked excitedly.
The mother looked tenderly at the husband and said, "No, I told the mean boss lady that daddy and I used to date and that daddy still loved me."
Parker looked confused. "I, I, I, what?"
"Mom made dad sound like a loser," Wayne explained as if he were helping a slower student in some class.
Parker looked at his mother, "Did that make daddy sad?"
"She almost made daddy cry," the father said. "When I got mad, Natalie the boss fired me and daddy ran away out of the store."
Both boys stared intensely at their father with amazement on their faces, Wayne said, "you and mom say to never run away, if you are scared you have to face it."
"Sometimes even mommy and daddy don't do the right thing, fellas," the father said with a sound that acknowledged how complicated the world could become.
The wife exhaled heavily, the weight of the memory pressing the air out of her, "When momma saw how upset daddy was she hurt inside, really bad. Momma ran after daddy and even yelled at the mean boss, but momma was really mad at herself. What momma did to daddy was mean."
Wayne said solemnly, "Like NERD camp."
Parker's face went pale and his voice came out small, "I don't like this story."
Wayne nodded, his eight-year-old brain grinding to process what he was hearing, "Some stories you have to sit through bad parts to get to the ending you like, Parker."
The husband and wife looked at the boys both suddenly intimidated somewhat by the two lives they had created.
Then Parker said, "Can, can, can somebody tell a story where uncle Gibby takes his shirt off?"
The boys were tucked into bed, after several outbreaks of physical violence and vocal recriminations most of which were between the siblings. The husband and wife walked down the bright hall together their shadows fattening and flattening on the plush carpet which was littered with crumbs, odd bits of paper and numerous toy components. Both felt grit under their bare toes. "I am never giving Esmeralda time off again. We have to clean before your mother comes on Sunday. I hate when she wears that surgical mask," the wife said.
He spoke without looking at her, "Did you mean that?"
"Yeah, when Crazy turns into Auntie Septic, I wanna chew my arm off."
He chuckled, "No, I meant the stuff about Natalie being jealous of me."
She leaned against his right arm, feeling the thick tricep swell against her face, loving the kinds of strength she felt in the contact. "Oh yeah, I could tell. She hated you, she knew you had a future. Managing a Pear Store was her peak. She hated her customers. She really thought she found a match with me, a fellow hater."
"She didn't know that the Freddie force was already strong in you."
She halted, "Sorry, I just threw up a little in my mouth."
He laughed and slid his hand into her back pocket, "Man, I was really upset that day," he said as they walked down the stairs. He picked up a stuffed Boogie Bear and threw it over the banister where it dropped into a box of stuffed creatures.
At the bottom of the stairs she stopped, turned and faced him, giggling. The sound of her laugh stirred his insides, he loved her sounds, her funny voices, the way she talked to the children. His hand caressed her through the jeans.
"Sorry I got you fired," she said softly.
"_I_ got me fired by whining. All the abuse I took from you I was used to, but what you said… That was the first time you even mentioned our dating since we broke up. When you told Natalie, 'He's still in love with me. It's kinda sad,'" he shook as he recalled the moment.
Her face fell, "You do remember that."
"Are you kidding?" He paused, his strong hand kneading her rear cheek, "After that night in our elevator we acted like we never dated. It was the first time you mentioned us as a couple since that night. When you stood there and outted me for still being in love with you. I lost it."
"Did you know I came after you when you ran out? That I walked off the job. I didn't care about it at all. I took the job because it meant we'd get to hang out."
"Hang-out? You mean torment me, right?" he smiled, again his hand gripped and relaxed on her rear.
She wiggled in response, "Yeah basically, when I watched you be tormented by anybody other than me, when I saw how I hurt you," she paused, "I was so sorry for what I did. I turned and told Natalie she was too hard on you."
"Really? You cared?"
She held up the exquisitely jeweled ring on her left hand and the gems split the hall light into candy colored sparks, "No, I married you and had two kids with you because I'm gonna call Natalie and have a good laugh on how I tricked you."
"Wow, who knew you had the patience to pull off a plan like that? You think it's too late for me and Carly?" he said with a smirk.
"Do you have a little crush on her again?" she said pressing into him.
He looked into eyes that would make perfect gems and his voice was clear and true, "No."
"Do you remember Gibby's restaurant?" she asked.
"Sure, I miss his lasagna, and you could really fix a hot meat sandwich."
"The secret's the hot meat."
"I've heard you say that before," he said, pressing back into her.
"Perv," and she punched him playfully, noting with satisfaction his solar plexus was stony against her fist. "Do you remember how I asked you then if you had a crush again on Carly?"
He smiled, "Yeah, I was pretty confused, I missed you so bad, but I was sure you thought I was a total failure as a boyfriend. We never talked about us, it was like it had never happened. I sort of viewed Carly as, I dunno, safe, I guess. I was seventeen. It hurt so bad when you dragged that boy-band ass-hat into our elevator, I needed something I knew how to do. I knew how to chase after Carly and be rejected."
"Ass hat?" she gasped with wide eyes, "Daddy used bad words. Were you jealous?"
"God damn effing right I was."
Her smile glowed like starlight before him, her eyes a fireworks show, "Then it worked."
His eyebrow arched as the light came on in his head, "You did that whole, 'I'm not dating anyone—just putting that out there' thing to…"
"To get your attention? You bet. So, it's our elevator?" she said, wrapping her arms around his waist as his remaining hand slid into her other back pocket.
"We've talked about this before," he said.
"So tell me again," she said.
"I should not have let you break up with me that night. I should have said what was on my mind."
"'If I don't tell you, how will you know?'" That's what you wrote to me in Your Letter."
That lock-in kiss changed everything," he said.
"Put me in a mental hospital," she said back.
He looked into her glittering eyes, studying a face he could see in the blackest night. "You know something I don't understand?"
"Why I could sell more than you?"
"No, I get that. What really moves me is how hot you are Mrs. Benson. You walk in a room, and I see only you. Sometimes I just watch you and think, _damn she fine_."
"Mmmmh," she pulled herself tightly into him, smelling the body wash and smoke from the hearth. "When did you get so charming?"
"I'm not, it's binary. You're the one, I'm the zero. Together, we make it work."
"You are such a geek. Just so long as you're the zero," she added, her nail tracing along his chin.
"And you're the one," he said, "Wanna see if the zero can make you beg, princess?" his fingers squeezed in her jean back pockets.
"Big talk old man," her voice was cynical, but her body was swaying, pitching in some erotic breeze.
"Old man?" he asked. He bent down into her and in a mysterious cocktail of force and tenderness kissed her fully on the lips, reaching into her, penetrating deeply in a kind of intercourse only the most dedicated lovers ever find. Her response was instinctive and passionate, meeting his intensity with equal feeling and heat. The kiss was slow, powerful, a confidant connection with a rich history that was like the lighting of a fuse. It was physical and something far, far more. With reluctance she broke from his lips and nibbled along his chin and jaw.
"Oh, man, for a nub… Where did you learn to kiss?"
As he whispered into her ear his tongue lightly brushed the tiny hairs it found. "Do you remember when we first dated, when we started kissing you used to put your hands up and bend away from me. I thought I must suck at kissing. So when we broke up, I promised myself if I ever got the chance to kiss you again I would do it right. Promise not to laugh?"
"No," she said biting into his shirt.
"I practiced by kissing my hand."
She looked up at him, blinking, her brow twitching, "Yer chizzen' me."
Without saying a word he drew her right hand to his mouth and began to kiss it, tasting it, ministering to it, savoring it, "Mmmh, bacon," his voice more steam than words.
She shivered at the moisture. Moisture in his attention, moisture in her reaction, "I was afraid," she said in a kind of trance-like tone.
He brought his hands onto her waist and his thumbs found their way under her blouse, stroking the cool flesh. Some kind of charge passed between them. "You were afraid of the Nub King?" his voice was sweet, inviting honesty, offering a safe place to close her eyes, a darkness that held no threat.
"Yes," she hissed into his cheek.
"When?" he mumbled as his drew his chin stubble lightly against her neck.
"Back then, when we'd kiss and I'd pull away," She was relaxing into him, letting herself dissolve into the man who knew her highs and lows and embraced the wholeness of her without judgment. "What I felt for you was so strong, it scared me, made me crazy. Missing somebody who irritated me and I admired all at once."
He kissed her again, slowly, luxuriantly tasting her lips, his affection manifested in physical connection, "Thank you," he said.
She sighed, toying with his thick brown hair, curling it down around her index finger, "Are you going to thank me again for kissing you at the lock-in?"
"Yes."
"When are you going to stop that?"
"Never," And he rubbed his lips in her golden curls, in the bright hall light he saw strands of white, a vision of the future that made him feel like he was in the hands of something bigger than his small mind, something that defied manmade concepts of beginning and end, something eternal and perfect. Somehow she granted him a glimpse outside of his world, "C'mon, let's go make a new story you can't tell the boys," he said.
"We need to wait to be sure they're both asleep," she said.
"No problem, it's Friday, we've got all night."
An hour later they were a snarl of clothed flesh on the sofa. Hands were strategically placed for passion, but both sets of eyes were closed and quiet snores buzzed in the fire lit room.
The flames contained in stone continued to twirl and lick sending out twisting, performing shadows that told a strange, silent story filled with the deepest meaning for those who took the time to watch and reflect. The fire in the stone had a deep core and was stoked to last but would eventually cool and perish. It was natural law.
The fire in the living burned hot, beyond natural law, beyond even the lives that contained it.
Forever.
A/N
This story fits into the Knightroverse after "iApuckettlypse" and "iValentine Sometime," future fics of mine. The history Wayne refers to is addressed to a degree in "iApuckettlypse." The letter Sam mentions is "iCan't Send This" the second story in my seddie chronicles. My current multi-chapter, "iLove You So Now What" explores at tedious length the events after the break-up.
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