Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly
Finally, her eyes opened. Sam didn't know where she was, or who she was. All she could remember was the previous night.
Eighteen-year-old Sam Puckett entered the bar. Men all around her were staring at her long legs, bare and open in her frayed denim shorts. Her tank top was also drawing attention to her weak chest.
Sam never did this sort of thing. Really. But with a bunch of rival web shows practically sending her's down the tube, she found this necessary. "A martini, please."
After her drink came, she sauntered over to the pool table. A familier face caught her attention.
"Spencer?"
"Oh, hey, Sam." Thirty-one-year-old Spencer walked over and put his arm around Sam. "Aren't you a little young to be here?"
The martini was loosening her up. "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not." She punched Spencer playfully on the arm.
"Woah, no violence here." Spencer tugged at her top's straps.
Is he flirting with me? Sam though. Nah, he's Carly's older brother, a grown man. He wouldn't do that…right?
The martini began to go to Sam's head. She felt woozy, and surreal, like she was watching herself from across the bar. Her right arm moved around Spencer's waist, and then her left. His hands were clutching her waist. He kissed the top of her head, her neck, her nose, her lips. His breath smelled of the achohol he'd been chugging.
Sam knew that what she was doing was wrong. Spencer was thirty-one, for God's sake! But this moment felt so, well…intriguing.
The last few moments in the bar were fuzzy. All she remembered was the brief moments of her and Spencer kissing before she passed out….
Sam opened her eyes. She was in a small, cramped apartment on a brown leather sofa with a comforter on top of her. The room had a warm glow about it, despite the mess. She poked her head up, noticing a huge flat-screen. She picked the remote up off the coffee table and flipped the TV on.
"Thought you'd find that sooner or later."
Sam looked up, startled. She could hardly believe her eyes. "Freddie?! I thought you were at college!"
"I was." Freddie hadn't changed much, except he'd grown a bit of stubble and had bulked up since they last saw each other. "I was back in town for a visit when I saw you in the bar last night, passed out on the pool table. Care to explain?"
"Well…."The words spilled out of Sam quickly. Freddie stared at her, listening, nodding at all the right times.
"So, wait," Freddie said tentatively when Sam finished. "You're sure this was Spencer?"
"Yup."
"Wow." Freddie sighed. "That just doesn't seem like him." He grimaced, then grinned. "So, how have you been, besides drunk, of course?"
"Shut up." Sam punched him on the arm. "And to answer your question, not good. Carly's new boyfriend is the new tech producer, but he's nowhere near as good as-" Sam caught herself just in time.
Freddie looked curious. "As good as who?"
Sam blushed. "No one."
Freddie was clearly enjoying this. "Who was it?"
Sam took a deep breath. "Might as well say it," she mumbled. "Carly's boyfriend…he isn't as good of a technical producer as you."
Freddie smirked. "Thought so."
A thought struck Sam. "Freddie, what were you doing at the bar in the first place?"
He shrugged. "I had a feeling."
For some odd reason, Sam didn't crack up. "And what did you do when you saw me unconsous?"
"I picked you up off the table. Spencer had been slapping you with his pool stick while you were zonked, by the way. Anyway, I got you off the table and Spencer started hitting me, but it didn't matter because all I cared about was your safety. I drove you back here to my apartment."
"So, why'd you do it?"
"What?"
"Why'd you take me in?"
His lips found hers. When they broke apart, he said, "Because I love you."
