A./N.: I own not even the kitchen sink. Or anything else. All characters belong to Dan, and Fallen belongs to Sarah McLachlan. This little story takes place after iLY and somewhere during/after iQ—probably soon after. All reviews, even flames, ARE WELCOME. Flame on. (If it seems a little disjointed, it's supposed to be.)
Heaven bent to take my hand,
Lead me through the fire,
If you were going to 'mutually break up' with anyone, she decided, Freddie was a good choice.
He wasn't mean, or spiteful, or bent on revenge, he wasn't mopey, or soppy, or prone to sulking all day. He'd accept it cheerfully, fully wishing you the best. He'd slip right out of love, and back into the friend zone without so much as a note in your locker or that awkward friendly hug that lasted just a little too long to be entirely friendly. He'd never had a relationship that lasted more than a week or so—well, with one minor exception. After so many rejections, she wondered aimlessly, did it really matter to him whenever a break up happened?
Be the long-awaited answer
To a long and painful fight
She shook her head at the callous assumption, hating herself a little. Stupid, of course it matters a little. Every breakup, even 'mutual' ones were sad, she supposed. She just wished it didn't matter so much to her.
Truth be told, I tried my best
But somewhere along the way
I got caught up in all there was to offer
Was it possible to re-deaden yourself? Not that she'd ever consider herself dead, exactly—anyone at school would tell you that she was anything except dead—energetic, fiery, rowdy—but never boring or dead. Sure, the speeches at the birthday party had hurt—but then, she supposed, they hadn't all hurt, some had just annoyed her. The one that had finally hurt had come almost last, when her walls were slightly relaxed and she was in her most dangerous state—bored. She wishes that she could've numbed that one out before the painful makeover that ensued, but that one, at least, didn't cost her that much.
And the cost was so much more than I could bear.
Regardless of what anyone would say, she really didn't lie—flat out, unashamed, for-her-own-benefit lie—much at all. To teachers, nosey cops without warrants, or Melanie—who always wanted to know if everything was 'all right'—sure. But (almost) never to Carly, to Spencer, to F—
Scratch that last one. The last time she'd been honest with him…she thought back, leaning on the comfortable seat and looking up at the sky, the stars blackened out by the bright neon signs of Seattle at eleven. It would've had to have been before the—before. The last time she'd consciously told the truth, not telling a lie when she was tempted to…that would've been the 3 words she said to him outside the elevator. Before that…the last time was midnight at the lock-in.
Lying, she figured was more than not saying something untrue. You got points for full disclosure, and she hadn't told the entire truth for a long time.
Though I've tried, I've fallen
I have sunk so low
I have messed up—
Better I should know
To be fair, she really didn't mean for anything to actually happen when she jumped on him. She figured it'd blow over and she'd shut him up with an insult or two. They'd be back to arguing and it'd be easier to lie to his face.
Really, the lowest she'd sunk (other than running the child-factory in the basement on a stupid dare—that was not worth the 30 bucks from Rodney) was saying that it was okay, that they could—no, should, she'd said should—break up. If she'd been a puppet, her nose would've grown a foot. Nothing was louder than the silence outside that—blasted—elevator than Carly's voice screaming in her head: "Maybe you shouldn't be dating at all!"
Yeah, like she didn't know that. Everyone except for him seemed to know it. The difference between the two of them (one difference, anyway) was that when the idea was presented to him, he'd weighed and considered it. She'd run. Fast.
So don't come round here
And tell me 'I told you so'
Honestly, she'd known when she'd run away at 12:03 that night. She'd known that dating him would be a Bad Idea, complete with capitals and italics. She hadn't really fought against it, though. Sure, there was that whole quesadilla-punctuated talk, but she hadn't said 'no' to his face. She'd thought that maybe God—Karma—whatever—would give her a break.
Idealism (along with optimism) was the same thing as lying, in her book. At least, it was now.
The lonely light of morning
The wound that would not heal
What had she been thinking about? She wondered. Something to do with him…
Of course, that was par for the course these days. Those days, too. They all seemed to blend together. She felt…detached. That was it. She felt like she was drifting off, close enough to see and hear what was going on, but not close enough to do anything. She laughed at the thought of more action. For once in your life, Sam Puckett, haven't you done enough?
There's a foreign concept for her. Done enough?
It's the bitter taste of losing everything
That I have held so dear
Until things were fixed, she hadn't done nearly enough. But what was fixed? She knew—she knew—that he thought everything was fixed. Carly was slightly puzzled by their break-up, but didn't say anything except the usual 'oh-I'm-so-sorry-I'm-sure-there's-someone-out-there-for-you' speech that she felt like she had to give anytime Sam had a minor disappointment. But him? He was normal. He was reasonable. And, as she'd always known, he'd end up with Carly someday. She shouldn't have tried to upset the status quo by indulging herself—selfish, selfish, selfish. Was that what happiness was, when you boiled it down, past the feeling of soaring and floating? She grinned ruefully, blinking hard once or twice. When it involves someone else, yes. When someone else loses from your happiness, there's no excuse. That's just selfishness.
Cheerful, cheerful! She smacked her cheeks lightly, bringing her back to the inky sky and the soft chair she'd brought up on the roof. Bushwell had the best view in the inner city, after all. Cheerfulness is key.
At this point, it didn't matter to her that the cheerfulness was a half-lie, too.
"…You alright, Sam?" The voice didn't make her jump—Pucketts didn't jump—but she felt like closing her eyes in exasperation. Karma, I really don't know what I did to you, but I'd appreciate a little less revenge.
"Are you taking a survey, Fredward?" The familiar nickname—name, really, she reminded herself—burned her throat coming up, but her face remained impassive. She hoped. Please please please!
He chuckled lightly. "Sure. Spencer's insane—and flammable, Carly's spazzing, and I'm the only normal one."
"Your mom's neurotic," she reminded him, her eyebrow raised, "And I'm fine. Why, do I look deranged or something?"
"Deranged would get me hit, I think," he laughed again, "So I'll go with 'or something'. Carly wants us down 'right now' for the show."
The show? She laughed suddenly, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. "iCarly?" She asked through her giggles, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
He looked at her, somewhere between amused and concerned. "Is it too late to mark you down as deranged?"
She shook her head, laughing as she slumped down in her seat; wiping tears that she wasn't sure were from the laughter—no, she knew they weren't from the laughter. iCarly seemed so…mundane. The normalcy of it all made her ache with a feeling she hadn't had in a long, long time, but she couldn't quite place it until he grinned, expecting a comeback.
Homesickness. She was homesick. Not for her house, per say—that wasn't really a home. She was homesick for the familiar things in her life—school, Spencer setting something on fire, arguing with him—Freddie, she reminded herself. They were 'friends' again. 'Friends' use each other's names—and iCarly. Small, warm, familiar things.
"Hey." His voice was the tiniest bit gentler. "Are you seriously alright?"
She nodded, wiping away the tears that she hadn't realized were still falling. "I haven't eaten in a while."
He snorted, rolling his eyes like normal, but something in his face still looked unconvinced. "Let's go, or Carly's going to—" His phone rang, and he answered it cautiously, holding the phone six inches away from his ear. A voice screamed out of the speaker, sounding like a much younger version of Mrs. Benson.
"FREDWARD BENSON! TELL SAM THAT IF SHE'S NOT DOWN HERE IN THE NEXT MINUTE I'M GOING TO—"
"Coming, Mom!" He laughed into the phone, then tossed something at her. "Catch." The small pack of peanuts fell lightly into her hands. She stared at it for a minute as they walked down the stairs, past the freight elevator and down another flight to Carly's floor.
Karma, she thought, as she looked at the back of hi—Freddie's head, was never really kind, even when it was doing something good.
Heaven bent to take my hand
Nowhere left to turn
A.N: I know that this is like my 3rd post-iLY fic, but seriously, the ending of that…left a lot of questions for me. And, on an after-NaNoWriMo high, I wanted to write something. Please, please review—it only takes a few seconds to tell me that I should never type again or that you liked it. Also, if there's a part of Sam's character that you don't think I'm getting, please tell me. She's the easiest to write (Carly's hard!), but I'm probably missing something. Look forward to (sometime before 2012) an iCarly one-shot featuring Spencer! And possibly a Carly based one…
Also, to make this author's note REALLY FREAKING LONG, if anyone has a part in the Seddie Arc that bugged them (especially with iLY) that they want a oneshot about, I would love some inspiration/ideas! Leave a comment!