Hello, peeps! In honor of the holidays, the upcoming new year, and iStill Psycho to air tomorrow, I'm posting this little addition to the iPsycho end scene I wrote way back when it first aired (though it has been tweaked since). Hope you enjoy!
"95 cartons of milk on the wall, 95 cartons of milk…"
Sam could feel a Hulk-like rage coming on, the repetitive lyrics slowly eating away at what little patience she had left. Sure it had been fun for the first, oh, eighteen seconds, but all this touchy-feely togetherness was liable to make a girl sick. Or seriously hurt someone.
"Take one down, open the spout…"
And while most people would just suck it up and let their friends enjoy the moment, gathered around the fire that Spencer had made (on purpose for once), voices raised in tandem if not in key, Samantha Puckett was not most people.
"Drinkedy drink 'til the milk runs out!"
"Well that was fun!" she blurted out with as much sarcasm as she could muster, clapping her hands for emphasis.
The chorus of voices trailed off and everyone shifted their disappointed gazes to her.
"What? You think I'm gonna sit through another 94 rounds of that chiz?" Surely they knew her better than that…
Spencer's lips formed a distinct pout. "Aw, come on, Sam! We were having fun…"
"Fun!" Guppy repeated.
Sam rolled her eyes. "Songs around the fire are for losers whose parents ship them off to geek camp every summer for forced social interaction." She stared thoughtfully off into space for a second before adding, "And hobos, I think."
"Hey! Camp is awesome!"
"A-greed!"
Said the losers who had gone to geek camp every summer, i.e. Gibby and Spencer. Sam shrugged off their indignation and turned to Carly with an inquisitive eyebrow. "Do you think hobos really sing around fires or, you know, just use them to cook and get toasty?" Without giving the brunette a chance to answer she continued animatedly, "We should do an exposé on it for iCarly; we can call it, 'Hey, hobo! What's that fire for?'" She waved a hand in front of her as though the title had appeared before her eyes.
Carly had to smile at her best friend's obsession with hobos. "Sure, Sam," she agreed with a laugh, handing the blonde another weenie. "We'll get right on that."
Sam knew she was getting the brush-off but it didn't matter; she would convince her later. Leaning forward to toast her meat she found her way back to the original topic. "Anyway, Mama's had about as much 'fun' as she can handle this weekend, thank you very much; trapped for two days with Nora Neurotic and Fredlumps here..." She tilted her head at the aforementioned lump, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Freddie had kept quiet at the 'geek camp' thing even though he'd suspected it was somehow aimed at him (Sam's comments usually were) but he wasn't about to let two remarks pass unchallenged. "Yeah, 'cause it was a barrel of monkeys for me," he countered wryly, "listening to you whine for two days straight." A caged Sam was definitely not a pleasant Sam. An uncaged Sam wasn't even a pleasant Sam…
"I didn't want to go to that psychopath's house in the first place," she shot back, eyes narrowed at his tone. "If it weren't for you and Carly and your bleeding hearts we would have been having real fun at WebiCon and you would have been signing your 'Oh-so-natural' picture for all of your three fans." She provided air quotes in case he somehow missed the disdain in her voice.
"Hey, look at us!" Carly broke in enthusiastically, hoping to head off an argument. "All home and safe and not trapped in a basement!" Teasing sessions between the two had a nasty habit of turning, well, nasty, and with tensions still high from their little foray in Olympia she was afraid of what might happen.
The others just watched the exchange as though it was a tennis match, glancing from Sam to Freddie and then back again.
Freddie ignored Carly's attempt at graceful mediation and smirked at Sam. "Riiiight. So us going had nothing whatsoever to do with the chocolate fountain?" The moment the words had left video Nora's lips he'd known without a doubt that Sam's 'nay' would miraculously become 'yay,' the lameness of games, karaoke, and clown quickly forgotten in light of a promise of chocolate-covered anything.
Carly shook her head sadly. She might as well not even be in the room for all the attention they paid her once they got going.
"You mean the chocolate fountain I never got to try?" Sam snarked, brandishing her straightened hanger like a saber. "Between being groped by a geriatric clown in his death throes, forced into doing an impromptu show for the friendless wonder, and, oh yeah, locked in a sound-proof, shatter-proof, SAM-proof recording booth…" She thumped his forehead with her other hand. "…it must have slipped my mind." Yeah, she was bitter; she'd missed out on chocolate-covered everything. She'd even brought her own marshmallows – marshmallows which were now a gelatinous mess at the bottom of her bag. Sigh.
"Uh…guys?" Let it never be said Carly wasn't persistent. Not that it ever got her anywhere…
Unbelievable! She was acting like hers was the only weekend that was ruined. "I don't know what you're so upset about – you're not the one who was forced to make out with the 'friendless wonder!'" Freddie mimicked her earlier air quotes (and disdain).
Spencer and Gibby exchanged a confused look, then shrugged in unison.
Waving an unsympathetic hand Sam reminded him, "You were taking one for the team." If Nora hadn't rolled that way (and for a minute there it had looked like she didn't) then it would have been Carly.
"You used my face as a window wiper!" Freddie hissed. He was still sore about it, figuratively and literally.
Sam rolled her eyes. It had gotten them food, hadn't it? She'd only done what needed to be done (and what they wouldn't do). He really shouldn't be complaining, anyway: "Not counting your pillow that's the most action you're going to see all year, Fredmunch."
It wasn't anything she hadn't said before (if there was a common theme to all Sam's insults it was how unlovable he was) but after everything they'd been through that weekend Freddie just couldn't deal.
Seeing the wounded look on his face Carly grabbed Sam's arm and squeezed.
"What?" Sam asked innocently, turning to the brunette. "He should just be grateful the girl be so loca she even found him attractive to begin with…" Feigning amazement she added, "Who'da thunk there was someone out there who could give the nub's mother a run for her money in the crazy race?"
Freddie's patience snapped. "You're just jealous my mother cares, Puckett."
Carly saw the brief flash of hurt in Sam's eyes before it was gone and the blonde had turned back to Freddie, hair swinging violently behind her. Sighing, the brunette deftly avoided the golden whip before it could blind her. This was not going to end well.
"My mom cares!" Sam defended. "She drove us to the train, didn't she?"
"Probably just so she could troll the station for her next meal ticket." Freddie placed a hand over his mouth, feigning shock at what he'd said. "Sorry – I meant boyfriend." Two could play the mom game.
Sam's mouth dropped open in a silent 'O.' As combative as they were sometimes she never could have imagined something so intentionally cruel coming from his lips. Hers, yes, but not his. "You know what, Benson?" she started venomously, then snapped her mouth shut without finishing, partly because she couldn't argue with his assessment and partly because even the mildest of what was on the tip of her tongue would have had Carly plugging her ears and going 'la la la.'
Carly sighed. Again. She didn't know how Sam and Freddie could be so hateful to each other at times and still consider themselves friends.
Watching Sam glare into the fire Freddie wished he could take it back, realizing too late he'd crossed the line. In his defense though he really had no idea where the line was with her, she moved it so often. "Sam…"
"Bite me, Benson," she growled, leaning towards Carly so she couldn't give in to the urge to punch him.
"I'm sorry about what I said..." He reached out to her, trying to get her to look at him so she could see he was sincere.
Sam's first instinct was to grab his wrist and twist it to breaking but she managed to stop herself, instead moving out of his reach and knocking his hand away. A little too hard.
Freddie's wrist hit the metal bar on the back of her chair with a dull 'thwack,' and he stared at her in shock for a second before getting up and making his way to the stairs. "I've got something to do on the server."
The others (save Sam) watched him go without a word, but not without concerned glances.
Gibby gathered up Guppy and their things, strangely disappointed with the anti-climactic ending. He'd been sure someone was going to end up in the fire. "Um, thanks for the interesting weekend?"
The brothers gone, Spencer took Carly's cue and (happily) escaped to his room.
As soon as her brother was out of earshot Carly huffed at the blonde, "Okay, what is wrong with you?"
Did she want the list alphabetically or chronologically? Not moving her gaze from the fire Sam hedged, "What do you mean?"
Ugh. Like she didn't know. "What's your problem with him lately?"
"No problem." No more than usual, anyway.
Carly scoffed in disbelief. "You threw a microphone stand at his head."
If Carly wanted to think she'd been aiming for his head then it was fine by Sam but she didn't miss; especially not from three feet away.
"And before you blame it on the kidnapping you were extra-insulty way before then..." At least a week now by Carly's count.
"Well, he was extra-annoying…" Sam justified with a shrug.
"You can't blame this on him, Sam." Freddie could fight his own battles but sometimes Sam took it too far and Carly felt she had to intercede. She hated being put in that position. "Every once in a while you get in this mood where you have to criticize everything he says and does. It's like he irritates you just by breathing…"
Sam couldn't really deny it so she said nothing, communing with the flames instead.
Forcing the blonde to look at her Carly drove the point home. "He was trying to apologize for something you started and you hurt him."
She knew Carly wasn't just talking about his hand, the surprise and betrayal on his face still fresh in Sam's mind. "What do you want from me, Carly?" Things were what they were.
Carly shook her head. "It isn't about me. If you keep this up sooner or later he's gonna walk away and he won't come back. Is that what you want?" She didn't think it was but the way Sam acted sometimes made her wonder.
God, she was melodramatic. "You've been watching soaps again, haven't you?" Sam accused dryly.
"That's not…" Carly wanted to say 'true' but couldn't bring herself to lie. "…relevant to the topic at hand." Resting her head on the blonde's shoulder she whispered, "You know I'm right, whether you want to admit it or not."
It was Sam's turn to sigh, struggling with the battle going on inside her brain. Her rational side, what little there was to it, knew that Carly was right; she was responsible for what had happened and she should try to make it right. Her stubborn side, however, the forget-them-all take-no-prisoners Puckett side, wanted nothing to do with making anything right. If he wanted things to be right then he could come and beg her forgiveness for the things he'd said. And maybe, just maybe, she'd give it.
Carly tugged a curl encouragingly, knowing by the lack of arguing that the blonde was close to giving in. "Go talk to him. You'll both feel better." He'd gone upstairs instead of home for a reason, even if he didn't realize it.
"Fine. I'll talk to the nub," Sam groaned. Since when did she ever let her rational side win?
Smiling, Carly pulled her friend up with her to stand. "You know what would help?" At Sam's questioning eyebrow she continued, "Maybe refraining from the name-calling? You know, nerd, geek, nub, stubrag? It might make things easier."
"Dude – I decided to talk to the boy, not get a lobotomy…" Sam rolled her eyes at her raven-haired friend before conceding, "Okay – maybe I'll tone it down a little." Carly's bright smile had her quickly clarifying, "but just for tonight."
"I'll take what I can get," Carly allowed, laughing. "Now go." Giving her friend a little push, literally this time, Carly shook her head in amusement as she watched Sam trudge up the stairs as though on her way to the guillotine. 'Only Sam' she thought as she went to fetch Spencer to put out his fire.
Sam watched Freddie through the studio window as he fiddled with the iCarly computer, his right hand lying idle on the cart, and guilt formed a heavy pit in her stomach like hunger. Sam loathed hunger.
As much as they'd hated each other when they'd first met (and they had – Freddie because of Sam's bluntness and blatant disregard for anything that didn't benefit her and Sam for Freddie's geekiness and singular obsession with Carly) over the years things had changed. She hadn't wanted them to but they had. Despite her random cruelty and flip attitude Freddie had accepted her. And it wasn't just because of Carly; Sam knew because actions spoke louder than words. Like when he would bring her a baggie of bacon, or a ham sandwich, or when he'd given up the cruise to save her from Missy (not that she'd needed saving from the pint-sized whack-job – she would deny that with her dying breath), or any one of a million other little things he did that she didn't always (ever) acknowledge. Couldn't acknowledge without undoing years of deliberate effort.
Sam had grown up watching her mother fall hard and fast for any man to show her any interest (low self-esteem – a present from Sam's dead-beat dad), and every time it didn't work out (which was always) it was Sam who was left to pick up the pieces. It was up to Sam to coax her mother out of her drunken stupors and support her through each violent depression only to have her back out looking for 'The One' before a week had passed, never learning from her mistakes or considering the effect the constant rinse-and-repeat process had on her daughter. And so, long ago, Sam had sworn to herself that she would never be like her mother. Never let anyone get close enough that they could break her or give them the power to turn her into a blubbering ball of weak. Instead of wearing her heart on her sleeve Sam would wear her personality like armor, use it to repel people so they wouldn't want to get close. And for the most part it worked.
Except no one made her have to work at it as hard as Freddie did. No matter what abuse she heaped on him - how relentlessly she tormented and mistreated him - he just refused to budge. Every now and then he even managed to worm his way in when she wasn't looking. It was then, when she found herself actively caring (which lately was way more often than she was comfortable with) that she had to work doubly hard to get him back out again. Remind herself why she couldn't care and remind him why he shouldn't. And in the rare instances when he did let her push him away (like now) she thought this would be the time he decided he was tired of pushing back. That he would finally give in and give up on her. And as much as she tried to tell herself it's what she wanted (needed) the thought always terrified her…
Shuffling into the studio she shut the door and leaned back against it, hands clasped behind her. "Hey."
Freddie turned at the sound of the door, then went back to what he was doing when he saw it was her. "Hey."
It wasn't much better than the silent treatment but she'd take it. She hated the silent treatment. Not as much as she hated hunger, but still. Moving to stand beside him she asked, "How's your hand?"
"Fine." There was no anger in his voice, just resignation. He didn't even care whose fault the fight was – he just hated that it always felt like there was this huge disconnect between them.
"You should probably run it under cold water or something," she advised, resisting the urge to reach out and check for herself. "You know, in case it swells…"
Normally he would take her suggestion as proof she did care but he knew she would just turn around and do something else to prove him wrong. He was so tired of being wrong.
Sam took a deep breath in the silence. "Look, I didn't mean to hurt you, alright?" Her hands moved, trying to gesticulate what couldn't really be put into words. Not without giving him her life story, anyway. "You just chizzed me off and when I'm like that I don't really like to be touched."
Freddie finally looked at her, eyebrow raised. "You mean there's a time you do like to be touched? 'Cause I've never seen it." He tried not to sound hurt when he added, "Not touched by me, at least." It was an exaggeration but not by much; most of the time he felt like she was surrounded by a ten-foot tall electric fence with a 'Trespassers will be executed' sign on the post.
"It's not you, Freddie." She needed him to know that, even if she wouldn't (couldn't) tell him anything else. "It's just…I've been in enough fights that I need a little warning." Jokingly, she added, "Survival instincts, you know?"
Something in her voice told Freddie she was talking about more than just the fights she got into at school. There was so much he didn't know about her life, and he wondered if even Carly knew what went on with her when she wasn't with them. Probably not, he thought; of Sam's (very few) goals in life protecting Carly from the world was right up there with consuming as much pork product as humanly possible.
"Freddie?" He was staring at her like he was trying to read her mind and it was creeping her out.
Suddenly he felt the need to apologize. Not only for what had happened downstairs but for everything. The stuff he knew about and the stuff he didn't. "I'm sorry, too."
Sam could breathe again, knowing that this time wasn't going to be the time. "That wasn't an apology, Fredbag, just an explanation," she corrected, tone light. "You've got at least another year before the next 'I'm sorry' leaves these lips." She pursed them for emphasis.
Freddie stared at her mouth for as long as he could without it being obvious, then forced his gaze back to her eyes. "Sam?"
Uh-oh. He had his 'I'm about to do something naughty' face on. She muttered a wary, "Yeah?"
"Consider this your warning…" When she didn't move away (or hit him pre-emptively) Freddie put his hands on her hips and moved towards her. At the last instant his own survival instincts kicked in and he raised his arms to hug her instead.
Sam hesitated only briefly before closing her eyes and letting her head fall to his shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. She was doing it for him, she told herself. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that it was the safest she'd felt in years.
Freddie barely had time to register the feel of her against him before she started to pull away. He chanced holding her a bit longer, inhaling the scent of her borrowed strawberry-kiwi shampoo, then released her with a pained sigh.
The sad puff of breath in her hair made Sam's heart constrict. She'd tried, she really had, but when she'd felt her defenses crumbling she'd had to put a stop to it. It killed her that she couldn't set her issues aside and be the kind of friend he wanted her to be. The best she could hope for was that he never realized she wasn't even close to being the kind of friend he deserved.
"Hey…" Without thinking Freddie tilted her face up to him – he could have sworn he'd seen tears in her eyes but then she'd blinked and they were gone. Voice filled with concern he asked, "You okay?"
Damn him. Damn him for making it so hard to put the walls back up and damn him for making her want to leave them down.
Freddie's eyes widened in surprise (and maybe a teensy bit of fear) when she grabbed the front of his shirt. He quickly dropped his hands and tried to back away. "Sam…"
"Relax…" she soothed, holding him in place. She hadn't meant to scare him – 'gentle' just wasn't her thing. Slowly closing the distance between them she pressed a feather-light kiss to his lips.
As quickly as it had happened it was over and Freddie wanted to kick himself – he'd been too stunned to even think about responding. Once his brain had rebooted he murmured, "What was that for?"
Sam ran a hand down his penny tee to smooth out the wrinkles she'd made (and buy herself time to think up an excuse). "For forcing you to make out with Nora, even if it was through transparent polycarbonate blah blah blah." She made a show of rolling her eyes so he wouldn't think she actually paid attention to his nerd babble. "Figured I'd give you something to replace the memory…" With a wink and an affectionate pat to his chest she made her escape. She had some major rebuilding to do.
Freddie didn't know what to say but he knew he didn't want to leave it at that; knew that as soon as she left the studio it would only be a memory. "Sam?"
She stopped in the open doorway and looked back at him, head tilted curiously. If he thanked her she was seriously going to have to hit him. Or kiss him again. It could really go either way.
Gathering his courage Freddie gave her a cheeky grin. "Two kisses in two years…" Her eyebrow rose in anticipation (warning?) and he subtly shifted so that the cart was between them. "…at this rate we'll be getting married when we're sixty…"
For the second time that night Sam had to blink back tears – he may have been a sentimental nub but he was a sentimental nub who was apparently planning on sticking around for the next forty-five years. "Make sure there's a big old chocolate fountain, Fredly," she breathed around the lump in her throat, "…and you've got yourself a date." Hell, she'd marry him if he managed to put up with her for the next ten. With or without the fountain…
Once she'd disappeared down the hall Freddie allowed himself a happy sigh. She put him through hell sometimes but he didn't care – every once in a while she made it up to him.
And that, my friends, is the non-dirty plot bunny that came out of the iPsycho chocolate fountain :)