"Welcome to the Pear Store!" the bubbly redhead sales associate greets, practically bouncing on her tip-toes. "How may I assist you today?"
"I've got a problem with the FireWire port on my PearBook Pro," the small, slender brunette replies, clutching her infirm silver laptop against her chest. She looks around the redhead's shoulder to see a stout young man standing toward the far left of the Brilliance Bar—'Freddie from iCarly?'—before continuing, "I've heard that y'all are really good at chasing down bugs."
She's interrupted from her looky-loo as the redhead, with a knowing look in her eyes, smiles and answers, "You've come to the right place."
§
"What a day," Fredward Benson mumbles to nobody in particular as he ambles through the back door of the Pear Store, his brown leather messenger bag slung over his right shoulder and his car keys brandished in his left hand. Deep in thought, he makes his way toward the far corner of the small parking lot, where his old Nautic Blue Volvo V70 station wagon awaits him.
He still has no idea how Ashley convinced the Magnolia Pear Store's management to hire him, much less place him exclusively on the Brilliance Bar—something for which he was grateful, after about three weeks of failed job interviews due to his disastrous day under Natalie's tutelage at the downtown location. He felt thankful that his new co-workers were all affable, kind, and friendly; not once during his extended six-hour shift had he suffered so much as a snide remark—something foreign to his relations with the iCarly crew and his classmates. 'Heh…Carly and Sam are probably waiting at home, wondering where I was at for rehearsal,' he muses.
Speaking of Carly, she had gotten somewhat defensive of Sam after Freddie's firing, even though Sam had shown absolutely zero remorse. Carly had tried that 'wild chimp' speech again, but this time, Freddie wasn't having it. As much as he adored Carly and wished she'd return his love, her constant defense of Sam (almost always at his expense) proved to be too much. However, the bulk of his frustration with the iCarly namesake was not due to the rote excusal of Sam's behavior; rather, it was because of her implicit rejection of his romantic advances. Even knowing he was never entitled to her love, he begins to wonder why she wasn't straightforward with him…why she said 'no' four times after the taco truck incident by way of Adam, Kyle, Steven, and Trey, respectively.
'How does cuteness repair a computer?' he ruminates, beginning to fume as he recalls Carly's story about Trey, the shy nerdy dude-turned-lecherous pervert. He had transferred to Freddie's Pear Store location just one week before Freddie was re-hired, in an alleged bid to work closer to his family in Magnolia as opposed to having to go all the way into downtown. However, as it turned out, the real reason was to quietly get away from some of his former downtown Seattle clientele. A few internal complaints had arisen that he had been pulling the same stunt that he tried on Carly. Three nights after the transfer, though, Trey had scurried a little too far down the rabbit hole of sexual assault.
While Freddie couldn't help but be slightly gratified at the sight of Trey being led out of the establishment in handcuffs by a member of King County's finest, his overarching emotion about the whole situation was, and is, anger. Anger at Trey for treating Carly as less than the queen she is, anger at Carly for not reporting him sooner and letting his behavior slide, and anger at himself for assuming Carly would do the right thing. However, that anger abates the moment he remembers Chelsea, the smart, sweet, incredibly attractive brunette that Brenna (he thinks he's got the name right) had greeted, just an hour after Trey's arrest at the beginning of his shift.
§
…the redhead, with a knowing look in her eyes, answers, "You've come to the right place."
Freddie had just completed a ticket on a middle-aged man's new PearPhone XT that wouldn't connect to cellular data…apparently, he had turned off the phone in the middle of a carrier update. A quick factory reset later and the ticket was closed. It was a little more exciting than the constant stream of forgotten Pear ID passwords, internet browsers that wouldn't load due to too many add-ons, and broken PearPhone screens.
He looks up from the Brilliance Bar's shiplap-clad counter and surveys the landscape; the bubbly redhead who had enthusiastically befriended him during his training is talking up a customer, probably around Ashley's age, if not a little younger. 'And what a customer!', he ogles, paying close attention to the way her dimples flex while she talks to the sales associate and the way she holds that silver PearBook Pro against her chest.
Shaking his head and focusing on the computer screen in front of him, he mentally chides himself for seeing too far into a situation even before words can be exchanged. He misses Brenna's point and glance, so he doesn't know that the brunette has walked up to the counter until he hears someone distinctly female clearing their throat.
"Hi…Freddie?" she nervously greets, setting her laptop down on the counter with a soft smile on her face. He nearly flinches at the sweetness of her voice, a sweetness he's unused to hearing.
"That's my name," Freddie replies, returning the smile and needlessly grabbing for his name badge for emphasis. "How can I help you today?"
"My Cutting Room Flow won't do a live import," she informs. "I've changed settings, I've rebooted, and nothing works. I think it's my FireWire port." She opens her computer and logs in before presenting the specimen to Freddie for inspection. Her left hand briefly brushes Freddie's right hand as he reaches over to manipulate the trackpad.
He blushes as he tries to swallow his awe and maintain a cool composure. He isn't even so much impressed by her seventeen-inch PearBook Pro Cornea—a rare sight in its own right—but by the fact that a girl with a voice so sweet and skin so soft knows so much about video work.
"Were you able to try with a different camera?" Freddie barely chokes out, given the sensation of her fleeting touch still bouncing around in his mind. When she answers in the negative, Freddie nearly jumps at the opportunity to retrieve a piece from the Pear Store's troubleshooting war chest: a high-def Canon camcorder similar to his retired workhorse.
"I do a lot of live streaming with iCarly, of course," he nonchalantly explains as he returns to the counter from the back room, camera in hand and composure (mostly) regained. "Sometimes, a certain format mismatch between the camera and the computer can cause Cutting Room to go berserk."
"I didn't know you used Cutting Room as a capture tool for the broadcast," she mentions. "What do you use for the graphics? They always come out really, really good."
"You've watched the show?" he inquires, feeling rather flattered.
"Yeah, I have, and I do," she grins. "That's kinda what inspired me to start doing videography myself."
"Wow…" he trails off. "I never knew my work was such a huge influence."
"I betcha that there's other people out there that think the same way…not all of us fans worry about who you're dating. Some of us wonder what graphics you use…"
"I was getting there!" he chuckles. "As far as graphics, I use Brickhouse's Effects Room, actually—it's simple, but it's lightweight and it adds next to no latency to the video feed."
As the brunette looks on in awe, Freddie connects the Canon to the Pear's FireWire port, making it pop up in Cutting Room's camera menu. Turning the camera's LCD viewfinder toward her, he shows her that the camera is configured for the proper setting, and then configures Cutting Room's settings to match.
"What do you do that requires streaming?" he curiously asks.
"Usually kooky motivational speakers," she supplies with a chuckle. "I've done three documentaries—I just did one on Cuddlefish, actually—but the corporate events are what help me save for college."
"Is that the one I saw on TV a couple weeks ago? That's awfully impressive!"
"Thanks," she blushes. "I worked on it with my AV club advisor; it was a labor of love."
"It was quite good," he beams. "I liked hearing some of the stories from their early days." He taps a couple of buttons and gets a picture, making her quite surprised. He grins before cutting the feed and disconnecting the camera, setting it aside.
"But I thought changing the settings on my end would have helped," she nearly whines. "I thought the settings on my camera stayed the same…" she trails off.
"What kind of camera do you use?" Freddie knowingly asks. He explains that the Panasonic camcorder he uses for the broadcast had that problem about three weeks ago after he updated its firmware. It had reset all of his settings, including for recording format, and Carly and Sam had pestered him for two days straight while he tried to solve the problem.
"…the same one," she sheepishly answers, blushing slightly. "And I did update the firmware a couple days ago."
"That'd do it…" Freddie trails off. "Why do you use the FireWire port, anyway? I usually run a wireless pack or go straight from the camera's video out."
"I would take my feed off the video out, but that hardware is really expensive."
Freddie scoffs. "I know…I just replaced the capture card I use for the show about six months ago after our stupid intern, Cort, fried it along with everything else." He looks down, almost in shame, before continuing. "Several thousand dollars' worth of damage—the capture card alone was a thousand bucks—and I don't even get one word of thanks."
She gazes at his defeated posture, feeling pity for the sweet boy in front of her as she takes in the sadness present in his big, brown eyes. "They ought to thank you, Freddie. Without you and your knowledge, iCarly wouldn't exist."
His head whips up and his face begins to blush at the compliment. "Nobody's ever told me that before," he softly admits.
"That's a mistake," she sweetly responds. "Sounds like you need some nicer friends."
Freddie chuckles and grins before taking the bait. "I've been working on that…maybe, if you're interested…?" he shyly trails off, heart beating faster than normal.
"You're the first guy I've ever talked to for tech support who hasn't laughed at me or tried to talk down to me," she half-groans, shutting the lid of her laptop. "Of course, I'm interested!"
Freddie slides a pen and notepad toward her; he's transfixed by her hand as she scribbles down her phone number in her uniquely loopy handwriting. He shivers with excitement as she sets down the pen and looks up at him.
"I'm Chelsea Wiggins, by the way," she introduces, holding out her hand for Freddie to shake. He hesitates for a moment before shaking it, making her smile and blush at his shyness.
"Freddie Benson," he awkwardly greets back, his mind trying to process the softness of her touch. "Although you already know my name," he adds, drawing attention to his nametag again. He deeply blushes before looking down at his computer screen.
"You didn't know our last names rhyme, though," she laughs and winks. Freddie's eyes look back up at her sparkling blue-green ones before she continues. "Shoot me a text after you get off of work…maybe a smoothie will calm your nerves? I promise, I won't bite." She smiles before turning around and heading out of the busy store, laptop in tow, leaving Freddie in a practically catatonic state with a stupid smile on his face.
"Match made in heaven, huh?" Brenna asks as she saunters up to the Brilliance Bar a moment later. Freddie can only mutely nod.
§
Freddie is so deep in thought that he realizes he's forgotten to actually get in the car. He unlocks it with the remote, first walking around to the passenger side to deposit his bag in the footwell, before taking the wheel. He slides the key into the ignition and twists it to light off the Volvo's turbocharged five-cylinder engine. As the engine settles down to an idle and the a/c gently kicks in, he turns his attention to his phone. He surveys the situation: eight missed calls and six voicemails from Carly, three missed calls and a text full of derogatory epithets from Sam, and even a missed call from Gibby. Deciding that he doesn't want to ruin his good mood by responding to any of them, he begins composing a new message.
9:08 p.m.: 'Yo, Chelsea, it's Freddie. Just got off of work—wanna meet me for that smoothie? :)'
Her response is almost instantaneous…and Freddie is pleased by both the response and the speed with which it was generated. He quickly texts his mother to let her know about his whereabouts (even though he has his own suspicions) before depositing his phone back in his pocket. With a broad grin on his face, he snicks the Swede's five-speed manual into first gear, lets out the clutch, and pulls out of his space. Setting the downtown Groovy Smoothie in his sights, he clicks up the volume on the radio, and an old Cuddlefish album (a gift from Carly two birthdays ago) wafts from the stereo speakers.
Across town, in Apartment 8-C at Bushwell Plaza, its sole female occupant feels a strange pit in the bottom of her stomach.