The Ties That Bind
Note: I skipped ahead a couple of years to get to where Carly, Sam, and Freddie are in the summer right before high school here.
Seeing as how Rip-Off Rodney is in 9th grade in season one, and Carly, Sam, and Freddie are in 8th, I'm thinking they go into High School during their 10th year. That would make them about 16 when the fic begins. Let me know if I'm wrong!
Also, issues regarding homosexuality are going to come up (though it'll take a while to actually get there), so if that offends you, you should decide whether you choose to read or not now. It's not really the main focus of the fic, but I thought I'd give a fair warning. Keeping with the theme, this shouldn't go above a T rating. Also, this is probably going to get pretty long.
Oh, and "Laura" is Sam's mother. If anyone knows her actual name, feel free to correct this! :)
Disclaimer: I really wouldn't be doing this if I owned the show. :(
I. New Beginnings With Familiar Ends
"Didn't anyone ever tell you that if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all?"
"And didn't anyone ever tell you that if no one's gunna listen to you – and that means ever – because you'll always look like a pre-pubescent tech nerd, you shouldn't say anything at all?" Sam retorted lazily.
The third floor of Carly's apartment was full of thick, billowing fog – the result of an iCarly experiment gone horribly, stupidly wrong – and she just couldn't bother with Freddie the Dweeb. On the other hand, though, he was all blurred from the mist, so she'd never liked the sight of him more. That sight being pretty much out of her sight.
"Come on, you guys," Carly said as she swatted away fog like it was a swarm of bees, even though it was a fruitless task, even though she probably knew it was a fruitless task.
The fog even gathered in corners – was probably breeding, for Christ's sake – but there was this thing that being all tightly strung chords of nervous energy provided Carly with, which was that she had all these involuntary quirks and twitches. Kind of like drinking bottled water in a frenzy because Freddie wasn't in the studio on time.
"Do you really want to be fighting while we're about to be swallowed up by some insane nuclear cloud?" she asked in an almost frenzied calm, then coughed once and made a sickened face in conclusion.
"I'm cracking open a window," Sam announced and strode over to the far wall. The rows of stained-glass were darkened with the sky, looking like teeth in the upside-down mouth of a giant.
Now was one of the times when Sam wished that all the windows could open, the last time being when she'd somehow gotten an entire roasted chicken lodged under the Mustang bench Spencer had built and didn't say anything about it - beside to blame it on Freddie - for over a week.
"Thanks, Sam," Carly said, sounding oddly like she had cotton balls lodged in her mouth. "We should probably all go downstairs before we suffocate or something."
"Yeah, come on, Carly," Freddie asserted. Sam opened the second window and looked back toward the doorway. As she expected, there was a Freddie clogging it up, holding the door for Carly. "We'll leave Sam to the windows."
Carly strode to the middle of the room, still waving an arm in front of her face most of the time, and picked up an orange folder by one of the beanbags they'd dragged out to the middle of the studio.
"Coming, Sam?" Carly asked giddily, grinning innocently as Freddie's mouth dropped open. Now if only Sam could get her to use that I-smile-angelically-as-I-stab-you-in-the-back tactic against society, they would be set.
Also, Sam was crossing her fingers for a fly to dive into Freddie's gaping mouth. "Ugh, why do we always have to have her around?" he whined.
Sam jumped down from the window seat. "Wrong," she cried like a game show buzzer. She strolled over to Carly and threw an arm around her neck, pulling her close. "It's, why do Carly and I always gotta have you around."
"Oh, please," Freddie spat. "Like she'd really –"
"Guys," Carly screamed, way too close to Sam's ear. "Can we please go now so we can not continue this conversation downstairs?"
Freddie squinted his eyes at Sam in what Sam thought was supposed to be a glare but made him look more like a discontent hamster. "You got lucky," he grumbled, turning on his heels and heading out the door.
"If I really got lucky, you wouldn't be here at all," she grumbled, a perfectly fine insult that got Carly's bony elbow stuck in her ribs.
"Ow!" Sam whined. She pulled her arm from around Carly's neck and gaped at her in mock indignation. To Sam's chagrin, Carly just gave her the I-smile-angelically-as-I-stab-you-in-the-back shrug. "Treason!" she hissed, stalking after Freddie.
Behind her she could hear Carly stifling a laugh, and against her good sense, Sam smiled.
-
Sam stared at the sadly blackened TV screen dreamily. She was nearly right in front of it, so if she could just inch over a bit without being noticed –
"Sam, are you even paying attention?"
"What?" She slowly turned her head toward the kitchen. Carly was sitting in front of the computer monitor, leaning back on the counter in that still-too-stiff-to-be-truly-relaxed relaxed fashion she'd had forever. "I'm paying attention. You said something about macaroni," Sam said in defense, though granted, macaroni was never the best defense in any situation.
"She would only hear the part about food," she heard Freddie grumble from where he was seated closest to the door, which was almost right. He should have been on the other side of the door, though. "Throw 'er out," he said. "She's not even contributing."
"I am too," Sam protested. "I was just thinking of an awesome idea for the next iCarly episode."
"Yeah, what is it?" he challenged.
Oh jeez. She'd forgotten it was always a bad idea to tell people she was just sitting there thinking. They always got suspicious or worried that they were going to wake up to find all their hair gone. (In her defense, though, it'd only happened once.)
"It's uh…well."
"Just give it up. You've got nothing," Carly sighed playfully.
Sam hung her head in acquiescence. "I know," she dragged out matter-of-factly.
"I don't blame you," Carly shrugged, plucking at the bright edges of the orange folder in her lap. "I know how you get when you're forced to focus on one thing for too long."
Now Carly was a good friend.
"Now that's not fair," Freddie Not-So-Good At Anything voiced loudly. "She doesn't even do anything beside lie around and eat all the food, and you're just letting her off like that?"
"That is not true," Sam protested. "I bring personality to the show."
Freddie looked toward Carly incredulously. "It's true," Carly shrugged. "And anyway, Freddie, not everyone can be as disciplined as you are."
Freddie swelled with pride and looked about to burst. "Well," he said loftily. "My mother did instill a great love of rules and structure through her unorthodox methods."
Sam snorted derisively. She really did have no choice but to puncture his ego.
"Yeah, she really instilled how to be hopelessly unskilled at real life and die alone with those twice-daily body checks." Or maybe it wasn't so much puncture as stab ruthlessly, but whatever. She was flexible.
"Oh, that tears it!" Freddie said, shooting to his feet and sporting his whole three-foot-whatever height. He was absolutely seething. "I refuse to put up with this any longer!"
"Freddie, she didn't mean it," Carly said wearily. She looked exasperated, and Sam almost felt bad for inadvertently causing it. "Sam, apologize." With that, she pointed her folder in Freddie's direction, as if Sam might think there was another person who was hopelessly unskilled at life and destined to die alone in the room.
Freddie was still on his feet, bristling like a wet cat and looking at her expectantly.
She crossed her arms defensively, as if to say, No deal. "I'm not gunna apologize to that," Sam said obstinately, reaching for the remote and switching on the TV.
Carly leaned far over, reaching over Sam to grab it from her hand and then slapping her on the wrist for good measure. With a final end-all-nonsense motion, she switched off the TV.
She sighed, switching to the fondly exasperated face she got when she felt she had to play Sam's mother. "Apologize or go home."
She knew Carly didn't really mean it, but still. Sam gaped. "I can't go home. My mom's got a new boyfriend, and the walls in out apartment are really thin," she pleaded, adding the extra little flare of emphasizing 'really' with her thumb and index finger. Carly just looked at her, eyebrows cocked amusedly and her lips pursed in a stiff line. "Alright," Sam relented. "I'm sorry."
"I meant look at Freddie and say it to him."
Carly, Sam decided unhappily, was a slave driver.
Freddie looked triumphant and had his arms crossed over his chest in a sickening manner. She wanted to punch him. "I'm sorry I said that you were hopeless and would die alone," Sam said in a never-wavering monotone. He actually smirked at that. "And I'm sorry you look like a chipmunk that got his head chopped off and are just about as tall."
"Hey!" he shouted. "I've grown a whole eight inches since we've started iCarly!"
Sam quirked an eyebrow in disbelief.
"OK, it's seven," he said nastily. This time Sam smirked. "Five then! Jeez, at least I'm not you. At least I don't look like something that needs to get its head chopped off."
"Can't you two stop fighting for at least a few minutes?" Carly complained. "I want to get the preparation for this week's show done, and it's not going to happen if you two are at each other's throats every second."
There was silence in all directions, and a vague discomfort rented out the room, driving nails through their walls as it waited for them to come back into the moment. Whatever, Sam had proved before that she could live with discomfort.
Of course, though, The Rodent spoke first. "I'll agree if Sam agrees."
Sam rolled her eyes. "You'd agree to anything Carly asks, you whipped, little –"
"What was that, Sam? " Carly asked sweetly, and if she was any more sarcastic, she'd have sworn she was Sam. She was impressed despite herself. "You say you want to go home now?"
Of course, Sam really should have been getting home soon, but – well, when did she ever really do what she should? Anyway, Laura was out with a new boyfriend, which probably meant she had "forgotten" to mention she had a daughter, and they'd probably be going back to the apartment after whatever low-class romp they were attending with boxed wine, which definitely meant Sam didn't want to be there.
So really, it'd be a rotten time to start doing what she should.
"Sam, you need a ride home?"
Suddenly Spencer was standing at the end of the couch nearest to the armchair where Freddie was seated, swinging his arms like two, giant pendulums.
He had some crazy wired headgear buckled around his forehead. The wire rods came out from the strap around his temples and above his eyebrows and all wrapped around to the front of his face where they held what looked like two slices of cucumber with holes cut into the center of each one. One cucumber slice was placed in front of each of his eyes, and he blinked owlishly from behind them.
"What is that?" Carly half-chuckled. Even Sam couldn't help smile, but with Carly, her eyes always seemed to brighten when her brother was around. It must have been a nice feeling.
"I've got a date tonight," Spencer said in poor explanation, adjusting his cucumbers. "Yep, met her on the internet. And yes, she's real," he intoned, dragging out every syllable and varying his speech as if his voice had to reach every note before he finished speaking. Then, he added as a quick afterthought: "And online dating is not safe practice for minors."
"But why do you have holey cucumbers on your face?" Freddie asked in befuddlement.
Spencer sniggered and scrunched up his face. "Holy cucumbers," he giggled before sobering abruptly. "These," he said pointing to his face "are for the puffiness under my eyes. I've been up late. Workin' on my sculpting."
"You mean staying up late chatting with your online girlfriend?" Carly teased.
"Somewhat, yes," Spencer amended pensively. "See, I don't have enough time to be layin' around with cucumber slices over my eyes, so I figured I whip up a brilliant contraption, and this way, I can go about my business while still treatin' my eye puffiness."
"But isn't part of it actually resting your eyes?" Carly piped up, obviously amused.
"No," Spencer said mysteriously. "Cucumbers have healing powers." He nodded widely at them as one who was in on the elusive secret of the cucumber.
Sam involuntarily looked over at Carly, knowing the amusement she'd find there over her brother's usual kookiness, but when she looked over, Carly was already trying to catch her eye. They shared a grin and then looked away.
"Now Sam, you need a ride home?" When she looked back toward Spencer, his head was cocked, cucumbers looking at her inquisitively.
"Yeah, Sam," Carly said, imitating Spencer's tone. She had an eyebrow raised, and her face was saying, Your mom, her boyfriend, and paper-thin walls. "Do you?"
Sam sighed deeply. "I agree to you terms," she relented sulkily.
"Alright," Carly said, looking satisfied. Then she quickly changed her gaze to Spencer. "Sam's spending the night. Is that ok?"
"I approve," he said grandly.
"Great, now go get ready for your date," she said playfully.
"I shall. But first, I crave a snack. To the kitchen!" With that announcement, he made long, lunging strides for the whole four and a half steps it took him to get there.
"Good," Carly said, twisting the shape of her face so that in the next second, she was all business. And really, it was kind of freaky the way she did that. Sam totally approved. "So first up," she said, "I wanted to ask you guys about the carnival coming up in August. You know, the one the high school holds in the parking lot every year for incoming students.
"We'll be able to attend this year, so what do you guys think about opening a booth for iCarly there? There was a notice in the newsletter saying the school was looking for the students to fill five of the booths not designated to clubs and other highschooly stuff."
"That sounds like a great idea," Freddie said sycophantically, and at the same time Sam asked, "There was a newsletter?"
"Doesn't it?" she directed at Freddie. "And yes, there was a newsletter, Sam," Carly sighed, changing her tone especially for her. Sam chose to believe it was more out of fondness than just pure exasperation.
"What? My mom never gives me my mail! She's probably paranoid that Child Protective Services is trying to contact me."
"Well, you can look at mine," Carly offered, frowning slightly.
Sam thought on it for a second and then wondered why the heck she was thinking on it. "Nah, not interested."
"I'll share with you, Carly," Freddie said dreamily. She could practically hear him drooling.
Carly laughed. "Why? Your mom makes you recite it to her every night so she won't be worried about you not being prepared for high school."
Sam threw her head back and laughed.
"Carly," he whined. "You said you wouldn't say anything."
Carly curled a hand over the equally curved upward-twist of her mouth, as if everyone wouldn't still be able to see her smiling. "Sorry Freddie, it slipped." She straightened in her seat, as if she were somehow stretching off her giddiness before she spoke again. "Anyway, all we have to do if we want to set up a booth is fill out an application by next Friday, and they'll contact whoever they've chosen about a week before the carnival."
"Ugh, I can't believe you want to work while there's going to be a carnival going on," Sam groaned.
"Hey," Freddie said self-righteously. "Some of us actually care about iCarly."
"I care. It's just. Work," Sam said, throwing her head back against the couch, because the one hideous word explained it all.
Carly twirled her orange folder sadly in her hands. "Well, if you don't want to -"
"No, I'll do it," Sam said. She was going to anyway. Carly didn't have to make wretched faces at her. "Just don't say I don't care about the show." At that, she looked pointedly at Freddie.
"Great." Carly finally reached into her orange folder then, as Sam knew she's been waiting for all night, whipping out two sheets of paper fast enough to cut through someone's arm.
"So you've already decided we're doing this since when?" Sam asked lazily, sulking lower into the couch.
"We're out of butter!" Spencer suddenly yelled from the kitchen, voice muffled. This was probably because he had his entire head in the refrigerator.
"Top drawer!" Carly yelled back. Then "'Bout yesterday morning," she said in answer to Sam's question, a complacent smile shaping her lips.
"And you kept it a secret since then? Wow," Sam said, impressed.
Carly made a sound of indignation. "I can too keep secrets!"
"She can indeed," Spencer said in agreement as he walked back to his room with a bowl of cereal and an entire stick of butter in his hands. There was also something that looked like icing globed onto one of his cucumbers, probably from when he stuck his head in the refrigerator.
Well. "You're right," Sam relented. "You can keep little, inconsequential things to yourself, but when things gets big, your jittery little nerves can't handle it. Like the time I switched your grade in the school computer."
"That was huge," Carly said defensively. "I had to tell Spencer before all my hair fell out! You saw it! It was fallin' out all over town!" Sam just quirked an eyebrow. "OK, you're right," Carly said quickly.
"Of course I am," Sam said. "Who else knows you better than I do?"
"Me," Freddie chimed in desperately. Great. With how quite he'd been in the last few moments, she thought he'd gone. She and Carly both turned their heads in his direction. "Hello!" he said like a haughty little girl. "In love with her, remember?"
Sam rolled her eyes and turned back to Carly. "So what would we do at this sick perversion of a carnival?"
"Aw, don't say that," Carly pouted. "I'm really looking forward to it,"
"Oh, come on. It's a carnival for school. What kind of sick mind came up with that?"
"I know!" Freddie screamed abruptly. Rude! But then, she couldn't blame him since he probably felt some kind of camaraderie for sick minds and had to announce it before his head exploded. "We can do a kissing booth," he stated.
One look at him made Sam lean away from his direction. He was looking a bit crazy around the eyes.
"OK…" Carly dragged out, unsure. "What exactly does that have to do with iCarly?"
"Nothing, but I suggest we get a lot of practice before then," he said, putting on a face like someone'd just poked him between the eyes. Sam wondered if that was his idea of suave. "Just in case."
Carly laughed, albeit a bit nervously, clearly not seeing him for the menace he was. And at this point, all Sam could really do was say, Whatever. She'd tried relentlessly over the years to teach Carly the evils of The Freddie, but for some reason it just didn't stick.
And clearly it was time to resort to electroshock therapy, because she made a fatal mistake then: "Yeah, sure," Carly chuckled sarcastically. "Let's practice right now."
Freddie was on his feet before she'd even pronounced the last syllable, shouting "OK!" and making a mad dash toward Carly.
It was lucky, Sam realized, that she had very good reflexes.
She reached out and grabbed the little perv roughly by the collar as he swished by in a tumbling fury of excited nerd-dom, causing him to make some choked noise in the back of his throat. "Hold up, Bilbo Baggins," Sam said lazily. "I think it's time you went home and took a cold shower. Don't forget to put the stop in the bathtub drain and lie on your stomach the whole time."
"Hey!" he choked around the shirt collar pressing into his throat as Sam began yanking him toward the door. Thankfully she was still stronger than him, even though they were probably matched in height now. "Carly!"
"She's right, Freddie," Carly said, clearly tired. Finally. She was standing now, her arms crossed over her chest in a decidedly uncomfortable gesture. "It's getting late. Let's just finish this up another time, because we're obviously not getting anything done tonight."
"But you said, OK," Freddie whined defensively. Clearly he'd missed out on a few steps to reaching masculinity. Well, he'd missed out on a few steps to reaching humanity, too. What can ya do?
"You heard the lady," Sam said. "It's probably past your bedtime anyway."
With a great yank, Sam dragged Freddie backwards, going toward the door as Freddie's flailing limbs trailed behind like tin cans tied to trail behind a car. He distinctly accentuated each step with a loud, "Ow." It was like music to her ears, and Sam applauded him by throwing open the door and then throwing him harder so he landed out in the hallway and on his face.
Quickly slamming the door, Sam leaned against it and turned the deadbolt lock. That done, she turned and pressed her back to the door.
Carly was still standing over by the computer, looking torn between throwing out all her foolish pro-Freddie sentiments and thanking Sam or sticking to her guns and perhaps slapping her on the wrist. Again.
But after what Freddie had tried, she knew a part of Carly approved, even if it were just a tiny bit. One thing was for sure, though. Carly didn't make a move to let him back into the apartment.
Sam smiled her most winsome smile, the one that was all cheek rather than bloodied lips and sharp teeth.
"Welp," she said beatifically. "Looks like it's just you and me, kid."
Thanks for reading! Reviews appreciated. :)