Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly.
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Spencer's sculpture just wasn't coming together. The idea in his head refused to take shape in three dimensions and his usual fallback, sticking random parts together until they turned into something, wasn't working either. He couldn't sleep and was sick of infomercials, so he ended up doing laundry at 3 AM. He carried a warm, folded stack of clothes up to Carly's room. He knocked softly on the door before entering, not wanting to wake the girls, but not wanting to walk right in if one of them happened to be awake. He set the clothing on top of Carly's dresser, and his eyes were drawn to Sam.
She was lying on her back, mouth slightly open, hair spilled around her on the pillow. The covers had been pushed to the floor, and thank God she was wearing pajamas instead of just a t-shirt because he really shouldn't be looking at her like this. Carly's face was nestled up against Sam's neck; her arm around her waist; a leg flung over her thighs. Almost like—well, it was probably nothing. He picked up the comforter and covered both girls, then quietly left the room, pulling the door closed with a soft click.
By 10 AM he was up again making omelets. He nearly cut his thumb while dicing onions because he was yawning too widely to watch his hands. Carly had come downstairs showered and dressed, but Sam was still in her pajamas, and Spencer suspected that only the smell of frying bacon had convinced her to get out of bed at all.
Tired as he was, Spencer didn't have much to say, and it took him a long time to realize that the girls were unusually quiet too. Sam ate, well, like Sam, but Carly mostly pushed her food around on her plate. "You're quiet today," she finally said in the perky voice she used when she was trying to smooth over an awkward situation.
"Yeah," said Spencer. "I had a late night. I might take a nap later."
"Freddie's coming over to tape iCarly this afternoon," she said to keep the conversation going.
"On Saturday? Didn't you do a webcast last night?"
"There's a school dance this Friday," she said casually, picking at her omelet with her fork. "So we're going to tape iCarly now and run it at the regular time."
"Who are you going with?" he asked, suddenly interested.
"Just some guy from English class."
"I'll drive," he said. Carly opened her mouth, then shut it again. Spencer grinned. "I see that my wise little sister has learned not to argue with her overprotective older brother. I'll try not to embarrass you too much."
Sam spoke for the first time. "Can I borrow some clothes?"
"Sure," said Carly.
"And a toothbrush?"
"Ew, no."
Spencer got up and rummaged around in the junk drawer. "Here," he said, holding out a new toothbrush. "Don't throw this one away. I'm sure you'll need again."
Sam grabbed it, said, "Thanks, dude," and disappeared up the stairs.
For just a moment her hand had touched his. He needed to stop noticing things like that. Spencer shook his head to clear it and remembered the hunch he'd had last night. "Carly, if you ever need to talk to me about anything…."
"Spencer, this isn't the sex talk again?" she asked lightly, but he thought he could see a slight blush on her cheeks.
"Not exactly. I mean, it can be if you need it to be." Think, Spencer. Tell her it's OK, but don't embarrass her in case you're wrong. "I guess I'm trying to say that I can remember being a teenager and I know it gets rough sometimes. I just want you to know that you can tell me anything and I won't judge you."
Her expression was unreadable. He tried to keep his face neutral. When he was certain that she wasn't going to tell him anything, he stood up and started to clear the dishes.
"Spencer?"
He turned back to her. "Yes?"
"Thanks."
***
Sam stepped out of the shower. She buried her face in one of the towels Spencer had left on the dresser last night and breathed in the scent of laundry soap and fabric softener. She borrowed Carly's clothes just to carry that scent around with her all day. It was almost as good as the smell of Carly herself. Late at night, when Carly's slow, even breathing assured her that Carly was sleeping soundly, she would nuzzle her face against Carly's neck and just breathe. She wondered idly if it was a genetic thing, if Spencer would smell almost the same, the same-smelling skin mingled with a different shampoo and a more masculine tang of sweat.
She realized that she'd been standing there long enough to feel a chill on her damp skin. She dried off and wrapped a towel around her wet hair.
A few minutes later, she was dressed and running a brush through her long, tangled hair. She hated how much time it took to tame it every morning, and she had considered getting it all cut off, but Carly had talked her out of it, saying that if she cut it too short, kids might "talk about her" behind her back. She suspected that they already did. Not that she did anything obvious, like staring at girls in the locker room. Just because sooner or later rumors started about any girl who was tough and athletic, who didn't take any crap and didn't date much. She wondered sometimes if that explained Carly's crush of the week. She genuinely seemed to want these guys to notice her, but she never dated any of them for very long. Never long enough for the boldest guy to do anything more invasive than stick a tongue in her mouth. So Sam ignored them, the way you do when a friend commits a minor social blunder—like burping or farting in public.
When she headed back downstairs, Carly wasn't around. She heard a gentle snore. Even though Spencer was too tall to fit comfortably on couch, he'd fallen asleep there. She watched his face for a minute, realizing that he was the only person she knew who actually looked less childlike when he was sleeping. She was considering a prank, trying to think of something more creative than tying his shoelaces together or covering his face in shaving cream, when he mumbled in his sleep. By the time he opened his eyes, she was halfway up the stairs.
When she reached the studio door she paused to listen. Carly and Freddie were bouncing ideas for the show off each other in that comfortable not-quite-flirting tone they used when they were alone together. Whatever. Freddie still hit on Carly, and Carly still turned him down, but he wasn't desperate anymore. The whole routine felt like an old married couple still fighting after the passion was gone.
She walked into the studio and Freddie said, "Late as usual, I see."
"Better late than lame," she answered back.
"Are you ready?" asked Carly, brushing a strand of hair out of Sam's face. "We're doing the Tibetan hitchhiker, the recipe for hobo chili and the dancing possum video-clip."
Sam nodded at Carly. "OK. Let's go people," she shouted, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet and shaking out her arms.
Freddie picked up his camera and started the countdown. "In 5… 4… 3… 2…."
They'd done it so many times she could almost do it sleepwalking. Sam watched Freddie behind the camera watching her. She saw how he smiled and stared and smiled some more in a way he'd never do without the safety of a lens between them. She loved, not Freddie, but the way she could make his face show any expression she wanted. She loved the fact that she was standing right next to Carly, their arms nearly touching, and Freddie was watching her.
About halfway through the show, she looked out past the camera and saw Spencer standing in the doorway. The instant she caught his eye, he looked away. She kept on talking and smiling, not quite hearing the words coming out of her mouth. Suddenly Carly was looking at her expectantly.
Damn. She'd been thinking too much to know what came next. To stall for time, she hit the "random dancing" button on her remote. She whipped her hair around her head, flung her body through the air, and somehow it wasn't enough. It didn't begin to use up the energy she felt. For the last few weeks the loft had felt so full of possibilities, but she wasn't sure of any of them. Pushing the button again, she gathered up all her pent-up longing and let her body explode.