A/N:
I know, I know, I know…I have three unfinished stories and I'm posting a O/S – don't throw sharp objects! I'm finishing the other (you guys know I always do), I just needed a little something to spark the muse and sometimes a new story is just the thing for writing stagnation.

So, I think we've all (or most of us) resigned ourselves to knowing that 1) Dan will likely not end Seddie in a way that makes any of us very happy, 2) Freddie's brief foray into 'loving' Carly again will go unexplained, 3) If we want it done right (or at least satisfying) we've got to do it ourselves. This story is my way of looking at how the events of Season Five could possibly still end in Seddie.

And I should say, this story is based on a photo Mr. Schneider tweeted a while back with a nice little piece of dialogue in it that just got the wheels of my writer's mind turning. Thanks Danny Boy.

Hope you enjoy it, if not…the not throwing sharp objects request still stands.

Disclaimer: The material that inspired this story isn't mine. iCarly isn't mine. Shay, Puckett and Benson aren't mine. But a love story that make sense….yep…all me.

XXOO-TheWrtrInMe

Too Late to Love Me

"Spencer!" Carly screamed from the kitchen where she had been cutting lemons for her special lemonade, though it was likely no one would drink it but her. "Spencer, get out here!"

"I'm in the shower!"

"Hurry up!"

"But I'm really dirty!"

"It's an emergency!"

The door to the bathroom swung open, steam spilling out into the hallway as Spencer, wide-eyed, burst from the bathroom clad only in a short blue robe, holding a pink loofah.

"What's wrong?!" He ran toward Carly, sliding in the puddles of soap that had slid from his body and falling behind the sofa, spread eagle, in a completely undignified position.

"I think I broke something!" he groaned.

"Only one injured sibling at a time."

Spencer pulled himself to a kneeling position and peered over at her. "You're injured! Well why didn't you say something?" He ran over to her, more careful this time, to avoid the puddles of water he was creating.

"I did say something! I said it was an emergency!"

"Well," Spencer said, leaning on the breakfast nook, "There are all sorts of emergencies. Remember that time you got your toe caught in the faucet? Well that was a real emergency but then there was the time you made me go to the store for…lady stuff? That wasn't…"

"Spencer shut up! I'm bleeding!"

It was then that Spencer noticed Carly was holding her hand in a towel.

"What happened?"

"I was cutting lemons for…"

"Your icky lemonade?"

"It's not icky."

"Worse," he said. "Your lemonade is where icky things go to die."

"Focus, Spencer."

"Right…cutting lemons."

"And the knife slipped and I cut my finger and it really hurts!"

"Let me see it." He said, and Carly gently lay her hand on the counter, unwrapping the towel from around it.

Spencer burst out laughing. "You got me out of the shower for this?"

"What do you mean 'for this'? I'm injured! I could have cut my finger off!"

"Carly," Spencer said, raising her hand in the air in front of her face, "This is barely a scratch. Look…it's not even bleeding anymore."

Carly looked at her hand. Spencer was right, it wasn't really bleeding anymore, but that didn't stop it from hurting. She pouted.

"Well, it was bleeding a lot before…you'd have known that if you'd come when I first called you."

Spencer put Carly's hand back on the counter. "I'm going back to finish my shower."

"What am I supposed to do about my finger?"

"Put a band-aid on it! And some Owie cream!"

"Where is it?" she said, walking toward the living room.

"We don't have any!" Spencer said, shutting the door behind him.

'Great' she thought. She lived with the world's most accident prone adult and didn't have any first aid supplies. Lucky for her she just happened to be best friends with a boy whose home was like the first aid section of a pharmacy.

"I'm going to Freddie's," she called out to Spencer, opening her door to head across the hall. Before she could knock, the door opened and Marissa Benson rushed out.

"Hey Mrs. Benson."

"No time to talk Carly," she said shortly, barely giving Carly a cursory glance as she turned to lock the door.

"Oh, I was hoping you could help me," she raised her hand and showed her towel-wrapped hand to Marissa. "I cut myself."

Marissa sighed and turned back to face Carly. "I am on my way to the hospital, to help people who really need it." Her tone was clipped. Carly started to explain but Marissa cut her off. "Door is open. Freddie's inside, first aid kit in the hall closet." She gave Carly a once over. "Please try not to bleed on anything," she turned her nose up, "…or further destroy my son's belief in true love." With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the elevator.

Carly stood, staring after her. She might find the things Sam said about Freddie's mom to be rude…but she couldn't deny their accuracy. Marissa Benson was three different kinds of crazy.

Carly walked into the Bensons' apartment and shook her head. No matter how many times she was in here, she just couldn't get used to it. Not to how neat it was, or the way it always smelled like bleach, or to the shrine Mrs. Benson had to Freddie –his pictures from birth to seventeen taking up ever spare inch of wall space. As strange as Freddie might be sometimes, she really had to say – he was strikingly normal given the bag full of crazy that'd given birth to him.

She walked down the hall toward Freddie's room, reaching for the doorknob, "Fre…"

The sound of Freddie's voice carried from a crack in the door to his room. He was talking to someone and she knew it was wrong but the nosy busybody in her couldn't resist the opportunity to eavesdrop.

Before Sam and Freddie had dated, she wouldn't have needed to do this. They all told each other everything. No matter how big or small, the three of them didn't keep secrets. Then Sam and Freddie became 'Seddie' and things changed. They spent time alone, without her, shared inside jokes and pet names, and even though she'd told them they needed to learn to handle their problems without her there to referee, afterwards she missed it – being a part. They were an us and she was just –her.

But that was over now. Or at least Sam and Freddie being a couple was over. The secrecy – the feeling that there was some secret they shared she hadn't been let in on-that had stayed. It wasn't anything they said. If anything, they barely spoke, and when they did it had an almost desperate awkwardness to it. Sam's insults were either half-hearted or shockingly venomous and Freddie took every chance he could to point out every fault – real or imagined – he saw in Sam. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but what bothered her most was what they didn't say. They never talked about dating. At all. One day they'd been kissing and holding hands, the next it was if it had never happened. Not one word was ever uttered about it—as far as they were concerned, it simply never happened. She tried to talk to Sam, whose eyes went dark and guarded – she told Carly in no uncertain terms that when they were alone, the topic of Freddie, or their relationship, was off limits. Freddie had been just as closed off when Carly had tried to talk to him.

But while they went on living life as if their being a couple had occurred in some alternate universe, the way they looked at each other – usually when they thought no one was watching – let Carly know that as much as they avoided talking about each other, neither of them had forgotten.

She'd hoped, for a while, that it was just a phase. They'd get over it, make up, and return again to the equally awkward world where Carly had to get used to her best friends swapping spit – and God only knew what else. But it never happened. Then things got really weird.

Sam started hanging out with Gibby – he of the goofy shirtlessness. And if that wasn't strange enough Freddie had started to act…weird. She'd come home one day to find him already waiting in the hall for her – the way he did a million years ago when they were kids and his crush on her had been suffocating. She chalked it up to his being bored and, with Gibby and Sam hanging out, Carly being his only social option. But then a couple of weeks ago they'd been in the middle of a conversation when he'd blurted out "Is it too late for you to love me?" Or at least that's what she thought he'd said, since when she'd asked him to repeat himself he'd covered, changed the subject and never mentioned it again. But those words had been running on a loop in her head ever since.

Was it too late for her to love him? Of course it was! The idea that he'd even consider, after all this time, that them being together was an option boggled her mind. Her initial confusion had eventually turned to fear…and then guilt.

What if it was her fault? What if the real reason he and Sam had broken up was because he was still in love with her? What if she was the reason her best friend was so busy trying to convince the world that she wasn't miserable?

"I know you probably don't want to talk to me about this…but just hear me out."

Freddie's voice pulled her attention back to the door and she crept closer, quietly peering through the crack. Freddie stood in front of his dresser, his hands hooked into his belt loops. He looked nervous and his voice shook as he continued.

"I should have said this before…I should have done a lot of things differently. I know that now."

He sighed and looked down at the floor before taking a step closer to the mirror. Carly leaned closer to the door and it creaked. Freddie glanced up and Carly held her breath, ducking out of sight. After a minute he continued, but this time his voice was stronger.

"I love you…"

'Holy chizz!' she thought, 'This is bad…so, so, bad!'

"…I don't think I've ever stopped…"

'No, no, no!' Carly's thoughts were racing. He could not still be in love with her! It was a crush and it was supposed to be over! 'I've got to get out of here.'

All thoughts of her cut hand and the original purpose of her visit were forgotten as she attempted to leave. She plugged her ears, not wanting to hear any more than she already had, and took a step backwards, silently cursing herself for finding the one squeaky floorboard in the Benson house. She stopped and waited, hoping Freddie hadn't heard, frantically searching for a way to hide as she heard Freddie's footsteps approach his door.

"Carly!" he flung the door open, his face filled with shock, an embarrassed flush rising in his cheeks. "What the hell are you doing creeping around outside my door?"

"Oh, uh, hey Freddie!" she said, trying, in vain, to look nonchalant. "What's up?"

"What's up?" he said, grimacing. "Since you're the one creeping around in the dark in my hallway I think I should be asking you what's up."

"Oh, well I was making lemonade and, um, I cut my hand, and we didn't have any Band-Aids and I saw your mom and she said to come in here and get the first aid kit and…"

"Are you okay?" he said, his annoyance changed to worry, and he rushed towards her gathering her hand in his, trying to unwrap the towel.

"I'm fine!" she said, louder than necessary, ripping her hand from his. "See, barely a scratch!" She waved her finger in the air and started walking backwards as he approached her again, trying to get a look at her cut.

"Carly, if you're hurt let me help you…"

"No, no…I'm good. No help needed…good as new!" She tripped over her own feet as she turned and tried to head for the door.

"Why are you acting so weird?"

"Who? Me? Weird?" she laughed uncomfortably, "I'm not acting weird…okay, well I'm just gonna go now…"

"Carly, wait!"

She stopped with her hand on the door handle and closed her eyes. 'This is it,' she thought, 'Time to break Freddie's little nerd heart…again.' she sighed and turned back to face him. "Yeah?" she said.

Freddie eyed her suspiciously. "How long were you standing outside my door?"

She shook her head. This wasn't going to be fun. "Long enough."

"Long enough for what?"

"Long enough to know…your secret."

"My secret."

"You're in love." Freddie's eyes widened and he took a deep breath.

"You heard."

"Listen, Freddie," Carly said, her voice sweet, trying to soften the blow. "I understand how you feel."

"You do?"

"Of course I do! I mean, I've been there…and honestly, I'm flattered."

"Flattered? Wait, Carly…I think…"

"No Freddie, let me finish. This is going to be hard enough as it is."

"No Carly, you don't understand."

"I do understand, Freddie. But you have to understand – Sam's my best friend and I think you're just really confused right now. You think you love me but…"

"Love you?"

"Yes…you said you were in love with me."

Freddie stared at her for a moment, and then started laughing so hard that by the time he caught hs breath tears were forming in the corners of his eyes.

"Carly, I said I was in love…I never said it was with you."

"Freddie it could never wor…wait, what did you say?"

Freddie straightened up and looked Carly straight in the eye. "I said I was in love…am in love. But…I'm not in love with you."

"You're not in love with me?" Carly's voice rose in relief

"Nope."

"But you are in love?" Freddie nodded, "With…"

"Sam." They said in unison.

A wide smile slowly spread across Carly's face and she launched herself across the space between them, throwing her arms around Freddie's neck.

"I knew it!"

Freddie stepped back and laughed.

"Oh really? You knew it while you were busy telling me how I was in love with you?"

"Yeah…sorry about that," she said. "But what was I supposed to think? You've been acting weird and then you said that thing about it being too late to love you and I come in here…"

"Sneak in here."

"I did not sneak! Your mother invited me in!" she protested. "And I hear you giving your little speech. And I just thought…"

"I get it," he reassured her. "But…you do know it's not like that…between us I mean. You're my best friend and I do love you…like a sister."

"I know…now I do anyway." She smiled and sat down on the couch, patting the spot beside her. "So, you're still in love with Sam. When are you gonna tell her?"

Freddie rubbed the back of his neck, his face in a frown. "I don't know, Carly. Maybe I shouldn't."

Carly yanked his hand, forcing him to sit beside her. "Are you nuts? Of course you should tell her! You should tell her right now!"

"Calm down, Carly. I'm just saying…things with Sam and I have been…"

"Unbelievably weird, awkward, really, really bad?"

"Yeah…all of that." He sighed and fell back against the couch cushions. "I mean, we don't really talk and when we do it ends up in a fight."

"And that's different than how you've always been with Sam, how?"

"It is different, Carly. It's like we're both trying to pretend that nothing every happened between us. But it did. And I just…can't forget it. I can't forget how I feel about her! And I've tried, believe me I have tried. It's just…"

"You love her," Carly said, patting his knee. "You can't just walk away from that."

"But I've said some awful things…we both have. And now she thinks I have a crush on you."

"What!" Carly said sitting up. Sam had neglected to share that fact. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, she asked me about it and I didn't know what to say. And then the whole mess with us both working at Pear. I just wonder if it's too late, ya know?"

"Trust me Freddie…I see the way you look at each other, and all the things you don't say. It's not too late. Not if you really love her." Carly looked down at her watch, "It's six o'clock on a Tuesday. I may just happen to know where a certain meat-loving blond is hanging out tonight and if you hurry you might be able to catch her."

Freddie slipped into the darkened room, the air was dank and stale and he had to take a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness. All around him, boys and girls of varying ages hunched over old-school video games, acne-filled faces staring into the screens with practiced concentration. It was one of Sam's favorite places, a room filled with people happy to fade into anonymity. Here, avoiding personal interaction wasn't just appreciated – it was expected.

He scanned the room, looking for a familiar head of blond curls. Stepping further into the room, he heard someone call his name.

"Freddie!"

He half expected to see Sam when he turned around but instead he came face to face with a boy who looked like he'd spent well more than one afternoon in the dim depths of the arcade. His skin was pasty white and dotted with acne scars. He wore a dingy gray t-shirt with the words 'Gamers Do It Better' and a baseball cap was perched precariously over a wild mop of bright red hair.

"Uh, hey," Freddie said, the wide smile on the boy's face making Freddie wonder if they knew each other.

"Dude! You're Freddie! Freddie Benson!"

"Yeah…do I know you?"

"Gah…I wish!" he reached out and clapped his hand over Freddie's shoulder. "But I know you! You're on iCarly!"

Great…a fan. It was nice sometimes to go places and have people notice them – to hear there were people who appreciated the hard work they put in to make the show what it was. But at times like these, when he had something to do, when he really wanted to just be regular Freddie – too normal to be noticed-it was annoying.

"Oh, you watch the show. That's great. Listen…"

"Watch it?! Dude! I live for that show! You, Carly and Sam…she's so freaking hot!"

Freddie felt his face begin to flush. He had no desire to stand here talking to Crazy Fan Dude and he really didn't want to hear him commenting on how hot Sam was.

"Okay…well, I've actually got something to do, so… it was nice to meet you…"

Crazy Fan Dude was not to be deterred.

"Oh man, I was gonna go to Gamer's Paradise, you know, over on seventh? But something told me to come over here instead. And look what happened! It's like that thing, what do they call it? Ser…seren…"

"Serendipity?" Freddie said, trying to mask his annoyance while looking over the guy's head for any sign of Sam.

"Exactly! Serendipity! Me and my friends watch your show…well, Carly and Sam's show – do they ever let you out from behind that camera?" Crazy Fan Dude laughed, "I even record them sometimes. Hey!" he cried, reaching into his pocket. Freddie was nervous at first, wondering what the guy was reaching for, but then he pulled out an pearPhone and moved to stand beside Freddie, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Can I get a picture?"

Not having been left much choice, Freddie took a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of corn chips and too much cologne wafting from Crazy Fan Dude, and gave a half smile into the camera.

"Okay, well, it was nice to meet you but I gotta go…"

"Oh, sure! Probably gotta get back and practice for this week's iCarly, huh? Do you think I could get an autograph?" he asked. Freddie had run out of patience.

"Listen, I'm actually sort of busy right now. I'm here looking for someone and…"

"Is it Sam? God that girl is hot…can't believe you used to date her."

Freddie rolled his eyes…the last thing he needed was to stand here and share his plans with some random dude.

"No, I'm just looking…for a friend."

"Really…cuz it looks like Sam's standing over there." He nodded his head in the direction of the Mrs. Pac-Man machine and from the look on his face he was about three seconds from imploding. "Oh my God! Freddie AND Sam…in one freaking day!"

Freddie turned and standing directly in his line of sight, across the room, was Sam. She was leaning over the machine, the corner of her bottom lip tucked into her mouth – the way it always was when she was concentrating. He forgot all about his unwelcome companion for a moment and drank in the sight of her. He wondered to himself, as he often did, if she had any idea just how beautiful she was.

"Sam! Sam Puckett!" Freddie watched as the wild head of red hair took off toward where Sam stood. Freddie shook his head. This guy might be a fan, but he obviously didn't know Sam if he thought that running at her screaming at the top of his lungs would end in anything but pain.

Freddie walked slowly toward the two of them, laughing as Sam whipped around just as Crazy Fan got to her. The look on her face was priceless and he wished he could take a picture. Her face was pinched, eyes narrowed and she was clenching and unclenching the fist she was making with her 'punchin' hand'. This guy was in for it.

"Who the hell are you?" He heard Sam's voice carrying over the din of noise in the arcade.

"I'm David…D-Dog182 on Twitter…I follow you!"

So Crazy Fan Dude had a name. Poor clueless schlub.

"Listen 'D-Dog'" she said sarcastically, "You've got about ten seconds to back off or…"

Freddie quickened his pace and walked up to the two of them, placing a hand on Crazy Fan D-Dog's shoulders.

"You'd better listen to her."

"Okay, okay," Crazy Fan raised his hands in surrender and started to back up. "I'm going, I'm going…"

"You don't want her to bring out the buttersock," Freddie said.

"Oh, my God! Do you have that…like here, with you?" he whipped the baseball hat off of his red hair, holding it solemnly over his heart, "Can I touch it."

"Beat it!" Sam screamed.

An arcade worker, noticing the scene they were creating walked over, standing intimidatingly behind Sam, looking down at all three of them.

"Someone bothering you, Sammy?"

Sam narrowed her eyes at Crazy Fan Dude before turning to the wall of a man standing behind her.

"Nah, Nate. Just some wazzbag who doesn't know what back off means. I can handle it."

"Did you hear that?" Crazy Fan turned to Freddie, his face blissful, "She called me a wazzbag. Sam Puckett called me a wazzbag. Best. Day. Ever."

Sam rolled her eyes and looked back at the arcade worker, "I take it back Nate…get him the hell out of here."

Freddie watched as Nate grabbed Crazy Fan by the arm and dragged him off, protesting all the way.

"Wait! Autographs! I forgot to get their autographs!" His voice was quickly drowned out by the sound of the games around them as Nate pulled him toward the door, depositing him near a Mortal Combat machine, giving him what looked like a pretty stern talking to.

"Wow…we are really popular with crazy people." he said, turning to Sam with a smile that she did not return.

"Why are you here, Benson?"

"Looking for you."

"Why? Didn't think you'd want to hang out with a criminal, delinquent with – how did you say it? Oh yeah, 'with bad table manners.'" She spit out the last words, her shoulders squared. She was looking for a fight.

"Sam…"

"I don't want to talk to you Freddie. I don't want to talk to anyone right now…that's why I'm here. So why don't you leave so I can beat this game in peace." She turned back to her game, slamming her hand down on the start button.

"Sam, I just want to talk to you."

"And I just want my mom to stop making questionable choices in men…we can't always get what we want Fredlumps."

"If you just hear me out…"

"What part of 'I don't want to talk to you' are you having trouble with?" She raised her voice but never once turned back to look at him. He was frustrated – if he let her have it her way they might never talk again and that wasn't an option for him. He'd come all this way to say something to her, something important, and he refused to let her stubbornness get in the way this time. Without thinking he made a move – one that, in hindsight, could have gotten him killed. Reaching out he put his hand over hers, pushing down the button until 'Game Over' flashed across the screen. Sam turned to him then, her eyes were flashing and for a split second he wondered at the wisdom of his actions.

"Alright Benson – you've got exactly one minute." She leaned back against the game, arms crossed over her chest, "And you owe me two bucks."

"That game only costs fifty cents!"

"But hotdogs cost a buck fifty. Forty five seconds left…you wanted to talk," she said, "so talk."

He sighed. This was not how he'd practiced it. This was not how it was supposed to go. But what choice did he have. It was now or never.

"Sam, I'm sorry…"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Thirty seconds."

"Sam…"

"Twenty seconds…you're wasting my time Freddie."

"Why are you being like this?" he said, "Why can't you just let me talk!"

"Because maybe I don't want to hear what you have to say!" she said. "Maybe…maybe what you have to say doesn't matter." She broke eye contact. "You know what, forget it…I'm out of here." She turned and started to walk away. Reaching out, he grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him.

"You don't mean that."

"You don't know what I mean…you don't know me."

"Don't know you?" he laughed, his voice raising. "I know you better than anyone Sam." he tightened his grip, pulling her closer to him. "I know that you come to places like this when you're stressed out and you want to be alone. I know that you write Carly a letter on her birthday every year – not because you're cheap but because you think store bought cards are lame. I know that you save the fortunes from your fortune cookies because you think it's bad luck to throw them away." He lowered his voice, staring into her eyes. "I know you have a strawberry shaped birthmark on your hip and you always wear cherry lipgloss and when the light hits your eyes they're the bluest thing I've ever seen. I know that every second of every day since we broke up I've regretted it. I know that walking away from you was the stupidest thing I've ever done."

Sam ripped her arm from his grip. "You know what I know?" she asked. Her eyes were piercing and tinged with the beginning of tears. She opened her mouth to speak and hesitated, finally looking down at her watch. "Your minute's up." With that she turned and began to walk away.

"Sam, wait. Sam!" he called after her.

She whipped around, her hair spinning in a blond halo around her. "Wait for what, Freddie? What could you possibly say that's gonna make this…any of this, any different?"

He stood silent; this wasn't how he wanted to tell her. He'd wanted to give the speech he'd practiced, sweep her off her feet, gather her in his arms and tell her. Now, surrounded by people in an unfamiliar atmosphere, he was frozen.

She narrowed her eyes. "That's what I thought." She shook her head, "Later, Benson."

He panicked. Watching her back as she headed for the door, he did the only thing he could think to do. Fear crept up his back but he fought it down. This was no time for hesitation.

"I love you damn it!" he screamed after her. "I love you, Sam. I never stopped."

She stopped in her tracks and he saw her head drop as he prayed that having the courage to tell her how he felt would be enough.

The minute he spent watching her stretched on endlessly. He walked towards her until she was close enough to touch.

"Sam?" His voice was soft. "Please."

She shook her head, never turning to look at him, and walked out the door.

Freddie stood, staring at the door even after she'd disappeared through it. She hadn't looked back, hadn't hesitated. She'd listened to him pour out his heart…and then just walked away. He felt someone standing near him but he didn't move – just continued to stare at the space where Sam had stood.

He was suddenly very aware of a hundred sets of eyes staring at him…and laughter that had started as a snicker growing into a wave of humiliating sound washing over him. Great – not only had he been rejected, he'd been rejected in front of an audience.

He didn't think things could get any worse. He was wrong.

"Dude." A familiar voice came from behind him. A mop of bright red came into view, a hand lapped Freddie on the back.

"That was harsh. Like way harsh."

Freddie nodded. Calling it harsh was the understatement of the year.

"So…" Crazy Fan Dude said, his voice hopeful, "how's about that autograph?"

Freddie walked into Bushwell Plaza, feeling worse than he had in a long time. In fact, the last time he'd felt this bad was the night he and Sam broke up. Just like tonight, his stomach had been in knots, and just like tonight, he'd stared into her face and wondered if he was making the right choice. But there was one major difference. That night, standing there looking into her eyes, he'd heard her say she loved him too. He knew that wasn't true now.

Ignoring Lewbert's screaming, he walked toward the elevator at the back of the lobby, leaning back against the cool metal of the elevator wall. He took it straight up to the iCarly studio. He figured that if he had to nurse a broken heart, he might as well be productive while he was doing it.

Stepping off and into the quiet studio he closed his eyes. Even standing here alone he was embarrassed at the memory of how Sam had reacted. He'd expected her to be a little angry, maybe even call him some names. He hadn't expected her to look at him like what he'd said meant nothing to her – and he hadn't expected her to run. He'd been left standing in the middle of the busy arcade. While he was talking to her, he'd almost forgotten that they were surrounded by people – people who were more than happy to watch his humiliation unfold. After Sam left, the sounds of the games running around him were joined by first one snicker…then another, until finally the room was filled with laughter. Someone yelled out 'Dude! Sucks to be you!' and he didn't even respond. They were right.

It did suck to be him.

He shouldn't have listened to Carly. Why did he always make himself do everything she suggested? He shouldn't have taken the chance. He should have just left well enough alone. Sure, his interactions with Sam were awkward, and it hurt to know that part of the blame for the disaster that was the end of their relationship lay with him – but it might sting a little less if he hadn't just tried to fix it – and failed miserably.

"Took you long enough."

Freddie jumped, reaching for the light switch, ready to pounce even as his mind began to register whose voice was calling to him in the darkness.

"Sam?"

"Where ya been, Benson?" Across the room, leaning against the giant car prop, a Groovy Smoothie cup in hand, was Sam. With only half of the room lights on, there was a shadow cast across his face but it looked to him like maybe…she'd been crying.

"I…took the long way home. Didn't think you'd be here."

"Where else would I be?"

"Someplace away from me. I thought…" He hesitated as she stared at him. "I thought you were…done with me."

Sam nodded her head silently and set her smoothie on the car's hood, walking slowly toward where Freddie stood. He didn't move. This could end badly, and if it did, it was better that he be close to an exit door.

"You didn't think I was going to make this easy for you, did you?"

The comment made him angry and he narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, because pouring my heart out in front of a hundred strangers in an arcade while the girl I lo…while you run away was really easy!"

"Easy isn't us Benson. Easy is for sappy chick flicks…" she stalked toward him, "and those creepy fan fiction stories people write about us."

"So you don't do easy. And you don't do talking about your feelings. And you don't do sticking around and dealing with uncomfortable situations. And apparently…you don't do being with me either." He spit out the last part with as much venom as he could muster. "So why are you here Sam? Want to humiliate me some more? How about I turn on the webcam and this time we let the whole internet watch you reject me." He sighed and stared at the floor, deflated, "I get it…you don't want me. You made that crystal clear."

"Who said I didn't want you?"

Freddie's eyes rose to her face. She looked serious but he was scared to assume what her words might mean. "But…"

Sam quickened her pace, coming to stand in front of him. With both hands she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her – their faces a fraction of an inch apart. She smelled like blueberries and cherry lipgloss, and he fought the urge to kiss her senseless. First he needed to know if this meant what he hoped it did.

"Tell me again."

"Tell you what?"

Her face was so intense that she almost looked angry, her blue eyes dark and flashing.

"What you said…in the arcade. Tell me again."

"Sam…"

She pulled on his shirt, drawing him still closer and even if it would have ended in death he thought it might be worth it just to feel her lips against his. "Just do it!"

He had a choice to make. He'd put his heart on the line for Sam before – more than once, and it had always ended badly. Not more than an hour ago he'd told her – and at least a hundred pale, acne-faced gamers, exactly how he felt – and she'd run away. No one would blame him if he bowed out, turned around, and walked away from her – from the memory of what they were, and what they could be. He'd be justified to give up, to chalk it up to experience, and go on trying to find a new normal between them.

But he couldn't do it.

"I love you," he whispered, his eyes focused on her, gauging her reaction. She stared straight into him, barely moving – barely breathing. "I never stopped. I don't think I can."

She said nothing, holding herself still as if she were waiting for something. And he knew what she was waiting for. The first time…all those months ago, she'd made the first move. She'd taken the chance. And when it was over, he'd been the first one to utter the words that ended them. She was scared – he was going to have to take the step.

Without hesitation, he raised his hands, placing them lightly on either side of her face, pulling her towards him. He pressed his lips to hers and kissed her for all he was worth. He wanted there to be no doubt…she was worth every chance he had to take.

When they finally separated, both of them breathless, Sam stared up at him, a smile spreading across her face.

"You mean that?" Freddie nodded, grinning like a loon. "And you don't care that I'm – abnormal?"

"As long as you don't care that I'm too normal."

"And this time no walking away? No…saying goodbye?"

"Sam, there will be a lot of promises I can't make. I can't promise that we won't fight or you won't get on my nerves or that, at some point, you won't want to toss me off the top of Bushwell. But I can promise you this – if you give us another chance…I'm never saying goodbye."

She smiled, grabbed the front of his shirt, and closed her eyes. "Then what are you waiting for nub…lean."

A/N2 – The end. Short and sweet. I just had to make sense of that whole 'Is it too late for you to love me' nonsense. Hope you liked it…leave me a review!