Chapter 1

Freddie

"Here we are," announced Sam as we stepped out of the transit station. "The Windy City."

I frowned at her, pulling the fur lining of my jacket's collar closer around my neck. "That's Chicago," I corrected. "This is Milwaukee, where I'm pretty sure the nickname has something to do with beer."

She shot me a trademark shut up look. "Whatever. It's windy, and I'm cold already. How far away is the hotel anyway?"

I looked down at my phone's GPS. "Really close actually, we can probably just walk it."

Her gaze went pointedly down toward the three travel bags she'd brought. "Dream on, Fredstina. Unless you want to lug two of these babies all the way down to the Bilton."

I was shivering by now, and as cold as it was I had no interest in getting in an argument with Sam that I'd lose anyway. Which is how I ended up dragging my own luggage plus most of hers uphill toward the Bilton hotel. And her bags were heavy, the kind of weight that clothes can't account for. Knowing Sam, I was almost scared to ask what she had packed.

"Move it Freddie!" Sam called as she flounced ahead of me with just one suitcase to hold. I gritted my teeth to keep from saying anything that would get me a black eye. She didn't seem to notice. "I'm freezing and we were supposed to meet Carly at the hotel like five minutes ago!"

"Maybe, you could show a little understanding since I'm the one carrying all your luggage," I retorted.

"Yeah, or maybe not," she said dismissively. She clapped her gloved hands together. "Now c'mon, less talky more walky."

I wisely didn't respond, which made the rest of our trek at least somewhat bearable. When we finally got inside the hotel lobby, it was all I could do not to collapse on the carpeted floor.

"Reservations for Shay, Puckett, and Benson?" clipped the woman at the front desk.

"That's us," Sam said. "Minus Shay, she should be here soon."

"I see." The woman tapped a few keystrokes at her monitor before letting out a small gasp. "Oh dear."

I frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Well. . ." she wrung her hands apologetically. "It looks as if the Benson room is undergoing some. . .aggressive redecorating."

"What kind of aggressive redecorating?"

The woman looked very concerned. "Tibetan beetles. The previous tenant must have been traveling with them and they escaped. The entire floor is being fumigated actually. We've had to relocate all of those customers to different floors. I'm afraid then that we only have one room left. That being the case-"

"We'll take it," Sam interjected.

"Sam!" I hissed. "One room? For the three of us?"

"Oh, grow up," she muttered. "Like you've never had to share a room with a girl before." As a matter of fact I hadn't, but now didn't seem a good time to point that out.

"Fine, whatever," I said.

"Are you sure?" asked the woman, her speculative gaze bouncing back and forth between Sam and I.

"Yeah yeah, we're sure!" Sam was impatient now. "Can you just give us the flippin' keys already?"

I suppose I should back up and explain what the heck we were doing here in the first place.

You see, a recent iCarly episode in which we managed to interview the music sensation Jason Bieler literally was the fourth most-watched live webcast ever. Now, I'm not personally much of a fan of Jason Bieler. He sounds like a fourth grader to me and it's impossible to listen to the radio nowadays without hearing his bubblegum lyrics every five minutes. Still, fame is fame and that single interview catapulted iCarly into the stratosphere.

After that, we became the definitive young adult web show. Hands down. Even Dingo Studios' practically unlimited budget couldn't put Totally Teri, the web-broadcast iCarly rival they'd developed, on top. By now it was practically obsolete. Suddenly, we were getting invited to interviews with everyone from Jay Leno to The View. Ad sponsors were clawing tooth and nail for a slot on the website. And iCarly was getting ratings that looked more like television than web show.

So an exec at a certain major broadcast corporation had the idea to syndicate us, turn iCarly into an actual TV show. Crazy, right? But Vincent Lee (that was the guy's name) wouldn't give up. He was on a weekend deadline to get a primetime slot filled, and the stale, formulaic sitcom the network would put in if he didn't was apparently too horrible to contemplate. What he asked of us was simple: come to the regional offices and present some of our best work to the board of directors.

Well, okay maybe not that simple at all. I for one didn't think iCarly could ever work as a TV show and I didn't think any network would seriously consider making it one. Surprisingly though, Carly and Sam were kind of. . .invigorated by the idea. Especially Sam, she was practically salivating at the thought of having a dressing room with premium cable and a never-ending supply of T-bones all day. Carly was a bit more reserved, but she still wanted to check it out.

So we put together a portfolio of sorts, a collection of some of our best ideas for skits, on-air contests, jokes, and even a new fake news segment that I had suggested. I grudgingly put all of this into a slick presentation for Vincent's board meeting, and the three of us got ready for a trip back to. . .yes, Wisconsin.

I looked out the window of the hotel room and immediately wished I hadn't. Snow was coming down outside and it wasn't the pretty kind. Fat, wet clusters that were clouding up the window and covering street and sidewalk alike. Moving around down there was not gonna be fun.

I heard a phone snapping forcefully shut behind me. I turned and realized that the whole time I'd been lost in my thoughts, Sam had been on the line with someone. If the look on her face was indication, she did not like what she'd heard. "Who was that?" I asked.

"My Aunt Bethula," she snapped sarcastically, tossing her phone to the bed without any seeming regard for whether it survived the fall. Oh, and yes, that's bed. Singular. Part of me had been hoping that the single room might have double beds and even a divider curtain. Not so much. Just one queen size bed across from a TV and a rocking chair near the window. That's certainly gonna be awkward.

Whatever Sam had heard on the phone call must have really hit her because her shoulders slumped and she actually looked directly at me. "Sorry," she muttered. "That was Carly. Her flight got canceled."

"What?"

She nodded. "Freak snowstorm or something like that just hit Seattle. All the flights are grounded and the earliest she'd be getting here would be tomorrow afternoon."

I threw my hands up in frustration. Fumigated rooms and freak snowstorms. What else could go wrong today? "Well, she might as well cancel the flight altogether then, because by tomorrow afternoon it'll be too late. Shoot, we might as just stay here and-"

"Nuh uh," interjected Sam. She stood up, which despite the fact that I'm a lot taller than her now is still very intimidating."We're still giving the presentation Freddie, it'll just have to be me and you."

"No way," I shot back. You know how much I suck at the public speaking thing. And let's face it you'd just scare 'em all away. Besides, I've thought this was a dumb idea from the start."

"But you still agreed to it," she pointed out.

"Yeah. With Carly actually giving the presentation."

She paused. "Well, what about Vincent?"

"He'll get over it."

"His job might be on the line," she countered, knowing that one would stop me in my tracks. Stupid idea or not, we'd agreed to help Vincent out and the thought of going back on that didn't sit well with me.

Sam cocked her head to the side, apparently satisfied with my response. "You still have Vincent's emails right?"

"Yeah. And his phone number actually. We should check and make sure they still want the presentation without Carly."

She gave a dismissive snort. "Good idea, hopefully you being up there won't be too much of a turn-off for 'em."

I pretended I hadn't heard her. "At least the room won't be as crowded," I said, glancing once again at the single bed.

Sam's gaze followed me and she immediately jumped on the mattress, glaring at me. "Don't even think about it, Fredwipe. You're on the floor."

"No fair!" I protested. You were the one who was all, 'oh yeah the three of us can squeeze into one hotel room just fine!'"

She didn't look convinced. "Well, I'm sure as fudge not sleeping on the floor!"

"Me neither!" I clipped back. It was an argument that probably would have ended with me being beaten with hotel room furniture, were it not for the blaring ringtone of my PearPhone. Startled and a bit confused, I whipped it out to see an unknown number.

I held it up cautiously. "Hello?"

There was a hiss of static on the other end. Then, "Freddie Benson, I presume."

"Yes. . ." Realization dawned. "Wait, is this Vincent Lee?"

"Yep, last time I checked! How's it going Freddie, did you guys get into Milwaukee yet? Man, don't let all this snow scare you, this city can be an awesome place. Especially downtown- hey we should grab dinner at this place-"

"Vincent," I said abruptly.

He stopped mid-sentence. "Yeah?"

"Carly couldn't make it. Her flight from Seattle got canceled." I cast a sideways glance at Sam, who seemed to be holding her breath like I was. What if that did end up being a deal-breaker for Vincent? Surprisingly, I found myself hoping that we would have the chance to make the damn presentation. Especially having gone through so much trouble."

Vincent ended the long pause on his end with a laugh. "Okay," he said.

My eyebrows shot up. "That's it? 'Okay'?"

"Yeah. You have the presentation portfolio with you right?"

"It's all on my laptop," I assured him. "Plus Sam Puckett is here as well."

"Shouldn't be a problem," he said smoothly. "Hey, listen, why don't we meet over at this great restaurant I know called LeFranc, dinner on me. It's just a few blocks from your hotel and I can get a company limo to pick us up from there after we chat a bit. Sound good?"

"Um, yeah!" I stuttered. "Thanks so much Mr. Lee."

"Just Vincent," he corrected good-naturedly. "How does seven work?"

Seven? I mouthed to Sam. She gave a quick nod.

"That works," I said. "Seeya then."

"Yup, lookin forward to it." And with that he clicked off, returning me back to Sam and the hotel room with what must've been the world's most dazed expression plastered on my face. "He's still interested," I breathed. "He still wants us to do the presentation."

"Of course he does," said Sam, matter-of-factly. "That's cuz we're the chizz." She frowned. "Why does he want to meet at some cafe anyway? Wouldn't it be easier just to take us straight to the regional office?"

"He's paying for dinner," I reminded her.

"Ohhh." A wicked grin spread across her face. "Nice. He's gonna regret that one."

How Sam managed to keep a flat stomach with her eating habits was a complete mystery to me. Still, I didn't doubt her for a moment. "Sounds like a fancy place Sam, hope you brought something other than jeans and tennis shoes."

She rolled her eyes again. "Relax, I can clean up pretty well Fred. You might wanna find a good comb though".

Alarmed, I darted to glance at the nearest mirror. "Really? Cuz it looks fine to-" With no warning Sam strode over and ruffled my hair, ignoring my yelps of protest.

"Now you need a comb," she pronounced smugly, reaching up flick a stray lock even further out of place. Then something in her expression changed. "Cripes, Fred, when'd you get so tall?" she murmured, as if just noticing it for the first time. The question caught me so off guard that I was speechless. What did that have to do with anything?

Then, the expression, whatever it was, disappeared. She shook her head quickly, as if clearing something from the corners of her mind. She broke eye contact and seemed to have a newfound interest in the carpet. "Whatever. Um, I'm gonna get showered and changed then."

"Cool. I'll um. . .take a quick nap til you get out."

I nodded slowly, still a bit confused as to what had just happened. "Yeah. . ."

As she shut the bathroom door behind her, I found myself thinking that Sam and I had been having a lot of those moments lately. Scarily enough, they reminded me of our shared first kiss, right in the aftermath when we'd both been trying to process what had happened. True, that night was years past, but if I was honest with myself I'd have to admit that ever since the dynamic between Sam and I was. . .different somehow.

I plopped down on the bed. All these mental calisthenics were giving me a headache. For now, it was best to just focus on the task at hand. I could worry about Sam and whatever was going on between us later.

Sam

What have I gotten us into?

Okay, so despite all that talk out there, I honestly had no idea how we were gonna pull this off without Carly. Even with her the TV thing had seemed like a long shot. Apart from that. . .well, me and Freddie aren't exactly known for our charisma.

What else have I gotten us into?

Right. The hotel room sharing thing. Even taking a relaxing hot shower with an actual showerhead (most of the motels I've stayed in, that was a luxury) couldn't get my mind off Freddie. I tried to tell myself that bein' all close and stuff was nothing new, but the truth? It kind of was. Freddie being so freaking tall, for one thing. . .when had that happened? Or his shoulders. Since when did Freddie have such broad, strong-looking shoulders? Since when could I even think that without wanting to wash my brain out with soap?

Truth be told, I didn't even know when I'd started noticing all these things. But lately, I had been. And I wasn't the only one- Mr. Oblivious there never picked up on, but a lot of the female student body had been giving his student body extra attention as of late. They never tended to act on it (Carly thinks because I scare them), but I definitely wasn't the only one sensing that Freddie had grown up a little bit.

Under the jet streams of hot water, my breath seemed to catch in my throat. Did that mean I liked Freddie? Like that? The thought was so disorienting that immediately tilted my head up into the shower. That was ridiculous! Of course not, it was just. . .

A pounding on the door. "Hey Sam, you've been in there for a while! Think it might be someone else's turn?"

Chizz! And when did his voice get so deep? I felt like a silly schoolgirl all of sudden, and the feeling itself was beyond repulsive. I couldn't even reply to Freddie. Rather, I shut off the shower, threw on a towel, collected my things, and yanked the door open.

His eyes widened comically, dropping to the towel, and then quickly darting up to some point above my head. He cleared his throat, blushing. "Um, thanks Sam."

"Just hurry up already," I snapped. "Don't want to have to spend more time in here with you than necessary."

Another thing, my zingers just didn't faze Freddie anymore like they used to. More often (case in point), he'd just arch a knowing eyebrow and continue on about his business. I watched him disappear into the bathroom and yelled out a parting. "Don't open the door anytime soon, I'm changing!" In response I merely heard the sound of running water.

Satisfied that he wasn't coming out for a while, I rummaged around for my 'nice clothes'. Black dress pants, moderate heels, and a long-sleeved turquoise blouse over a black undershirt seemed fancy enough to me. If not, well it was the dressiest outfit I'd brought with me. It would have to do. I went similarly modest on the makeup and decided to put my hair up. Nightmarish as they were, I was finding these concessions to fashion easier and easier. And thanks to my pageant days I could get dressed and prepped in practically no time.

A half hour later when Freddie exited I was already dressed, ready to go, and watching TV. I wasn't prepared for a shirtless Freddie, but that's exactly what I caught in my peripheral vision before he quickly slid a T-shirt down and over what I had to admit was a pretty nice form. If he noticed what had to have been an obvious reaction, he didn't show it.

"Dressed already?" he asked, a tinge of admiration in his voice.

"Yeah," I said nonchalantly, switching channels on this unfamiliar cable scheme. The next station, wouldn't you know it, was the Dingo channel.

"Nancy Nevada?" snorted Freddie, "I thought you hated that show."

"I hate this whole channel," I said. "But yeah, that especially goes for Nancy Nevada." I hurriedly flicked to a different station and glanced back over the resident tech producer, who seemed to be having a difficult time with his tie. He was fumbling with it, clearly at a loss for how to make a good knot. It was endearing, I have to admit. But regardless, we needed to get going and he wasn't going to get it anytime soon without help.

"Here," I said impatiently, walking over to stand in front of him. "Let me."

He looked dubious. "You can tie these things?"

"Yeah. . ." I hurriedly unraveled the knotted mess he'd made and measured up the two ends. "Geez Freddie stop fidgeting."

"Sorry, it's just. . ." where'd you learn how to-"

"My mom. Don't ask why." I looped and threaded and pulled, and tried to ignore the fact that up close he smelled really good. I could feel lean muscle whenever my fingertips brushed the fabric of his shirt, which in my opinion was completely unfair. Geeks weren't supposed to be all toned and whatnot.

Long as it felt, finishing up the tie only took about thirty seconds. I stepped back when I was done, allowing Freddie to examine my handiwork in the mirror. He looked impressed. "Not bad, Sam."

I gave a casual shrug. "Just a Double Windsor. No big deal. It looks nice."

He smiled. "You're not looking too bad yourself, Puckett."

"Well, of course I do," I said matter-of-factly. "Now come on, Freddie." I was already shrugging on my coat. "Don't wanna be late, right?"

He shut his mouth, but the smile didn't fade completely. "Right."

Freddie

If anything, when we ventured back outside it had only gotten colder. Or rather, windier. It was like a constant icy attack on my face, and I promised myself that I'd invest in a pair of earmuffs and a good hat next time I got the chance. And some gloves. Jamming my hands in my coat pocket was not working all that well.

"I hate seeing my own breath," Sam was muttering, half to herself. "Some things you should be able to see. Breath? Not so- Oh thank God!"

I looked up at her sudden exclamation and realized that we'd arrived. About time. I practically skipped the last few steps to the door, my mood brightened enough that I even held the door open for Sam.

Inside the restaurant was warm, which is about the only charitable thing that could be said about the interior. Clearly, it had once been a factory and any renovations since then were only at ground level. The lighting was artificially reddened and provided by ugly little bulbs that dangled from the impossibly high ceiling. Annoying French pop was being spewed out of similarly dangling speakers. That combined with the knockoff Baroque paintings that somehow passed for décor almost made me want venture back out into the cold.

"I love it," Sam whispered.

Figures. I approached the maitre d', a middle-aged mustachioed man in a cheap tuxedo. "Hey-"

"Bonjour, monsieur." The flat Midwestern snerr behind his accent made me want to cringe. He looked down at an important-looking leather portfolio. "Monsieur Benson e Mademoiselle Puckett, I presume."

"Puckett, like bucket," Sam corrected him. "Not 'Puck-ay'. And yeah, that's us."

"Magnifique!" he beamed. "Your table is right there, toward the center of our dining room. I have been told to direct you there immediatemente by a Mr. Vincent Lee. May I take your coats and bag, by the way?"

"Thanks, but that's not necessary," I assured him. "We'll just meet our company if that's okay."

"Of course, and I hope you enjoy your meal," he called after us.

Vincent wasn't hard to spot. He was even younger than he sounded over the phone, maybe early twenties with short, jet black hair and a matching goatee. He wore a suit and tie, making me glad I'd thought to wear one myself. And he recognized us immediately. Genially, he beckoned us over to his booth.

"Freddie, Samantha, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," he began, extending a hand first to me, then Sam. Hers he shook a bit longer than was necessary, and smooth or not he was clearly checking her out. A bit irked, I cleared my throat.

"You too Vincent." I looked around. "Interesting choice of venue."

"It's one of my favorite restaurants," he confided. "Overpriced American food prepared by Hispanic chefs in what used to be a factory for German beer. And yet they try so hard for the French affectation, it's amusing really."

"Yeah," Sam eagerly agreed, though I suspected she didn't really follow him either. "Any recommendations on what we should order?"

"A glass of wine to start, perhaps?" he suggested. "On me, of course."

Sam perked up at this. "Sounds great!"

Shocked, I nudged her in the arm. "Sam, this isn't the time to be drinking-" I hissed.

She jabbed me back hard enough to bruise. "It's just a glass of wine- I can handle it."

Looking slightly amused, Vincent beckoned a waitress to our table. "Two glasses of the house wine," he said. "That'll be it for now." Once she'd left, he turned his attention back on us. "You know I've been of your show for quite some time," he said frankly. "Ever since my high school days in fact. You guys are going on what, five years?"

"Yep," I said proudly.

"Wow, that's really something. I can't imagine how you can keep putting out fresh material show after show. It's like you got creativity on unlimited tap or something."

"Well," said Sam modestly, "I think a lot of it is just the humor and fun we see in our everyday lives."

He laughed. "I wish my life was so interesting. Working in broadcasting is a lot more dull than you might think. Though it's always nice to have moments just like these, the opportunity to bring raw talent to a huge audience."

The guy could certainly flatter. "Well," I began, "do you think we could honestly make transition to TV?"

"Of course we can," Sam cut in. She smiled apologetically at Vincent. "You'll have to forgive Fred here, he's kinda timid sometimes."

"Oh, no problem at all, it's an excellent question." Vincent steepled his hands together. "I think iCarly would make a phenomenal TV show. And I'm rarely wrong about these things."

As if on cue, the waitress arrived with two glasses of wine for Sam and Vincent, and a glass of water for me. The blood red drinks looked interesting. I'd never had alcohol before but in all honesty I was a bit tempted.

Vincent raised his glass in the prelude to a toast. "To iCarly," he said warmly.

"Hear hear." We all clinked our glasses together.

He turned to me. "By the way, you did bring the laptop Freddie, didn't you?"

"Yep."

"Mind if I take a look?"

I unzipped my bag bringing out my computer. "The portfolio is all under the 'TV Material' folder," I explained. "It's all in there, jokes, special segments, rough takes of some new skits, even ideas for celebrity interviews and guest appearances. Lotta work went into this baby."

As he skimmed through the files, he nodded. "I can tell, this is some quality stuff."

Sam gave me an I-told-you-so look, sipping from her wineglass. Clearly it was a taste to get used to, if the way her eyebrows shot up was any indication. I smirked at her and turned back to Vincent, who by now was perusing some of the video clips.

"Amazing," he murmured. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. Funny, inventive, original. . .this would just about kill any other program like it on a primetime slot. Why-"

I heard the sound of glass colliding with table and jerked my head to see Sam, hand trembling, face rapidly going pale. Her eyes were wide with alarm. "Sam?" I began uneasily.

She put a clammy hand to her throat, then stomach. "Whabrrghh." Her voice was raspy and garbled, and she suddenly slumped to the side like a marionette with its strings cut. What the heck?

"Oh no," spoke up Vincent. "I think she's going into anaphylactic shock."

"You mean like from allergies? I don't think-"

"Quick!" He reached across the table, grabbed both my shoulders, and looked me straight in the eye. "Go find the manager. Ask for an Epipen, they should have at least one in the back. Get it bring it back here ASAP."

I was confused, but not too confused to follow simple orders. "Yeah, sure. I'm on it." A felt a lump in my throat as I rushed toward the front desk. Please be okay Sam.

Sam

My tongue felt like it had been inflated and set loose in my mouth. My vision was going fuzzy, my hands clammy. I felt like I'd just been thrown from a roller coaster off the edge of a cliff. What the chizz?

"Quick!" I head Vincent say. "Go find the manager!" Or something like that. I couldn't tell because at that moment I felt what I still had in my stomach coming back up.

Oh gross, I thought just before heaving. Freddie'll never let me live this one down.

I heard the laptop click shut. Confused, I looked back over the edge of the table, ignoring the cries of other customers who'd witnessed what I'd done. Brian was closing the laptop and putting it into his bag. Freddie was still nowhere to be found.

"What'reyou. Whadbllggh" I still couldn't speak. But I could see well enough and what I saw was enough to make my blood freeze. Vincent no longer wore a nice, genial smile. It had turned cold and cunning. He regarded me with bored apathy as I struggled to formulate a basic word.

"I have no idea what you're saying," he said calmly. "But if you've guessed by now that I put something in your drink, well. . .I truly am sorry. Perhaps you should have listened to your boyfriend there." He leaned in, amused by my helplessness. "Don't worry, the effects will wear off soon enough, I promise. I just needed a distraction to get my hands on this." He patted the satchel that now held Freddie's laptop. "Welcome to Brew City, Samantha Puckett. Dingo Studios sends its regards."

I could only watch in mute fury as he strode off in the midst of all the mayhem and confusion.

::Author's Note::

Any canon mistakes are mine of course, unfortunately I haven't had the opportunity to see every episode. Hopefully they don't detract too much.

Well, there goes the first chapter. Conflict, tension, a lil romance. . .hopefully you enjoyed. And if you're reading this then thanks for making it to the end of Chapter 1. Please, review and tell me what you thought (the good, the bad and the ugly). And if you want to see more of course. . .

Til next time!

-C