(A/N I thought of this a long, long time ago when I was merely a guest on this website. It's going to have a ton of flashbacks and sthuff. Rated T for language, perhaps some violence, and sexual references. Also, we're going to see a lot of the character's children since they are older in this fic)
Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly. If I did, Seddie would've happened in Season 3 and would've STAYED THAT WAY.
Flashback:
(Freddie's POV) June 6, 2012. 3:02 P.M.
Freddie was never one to anger easily. He had always managed to keep a calm, collected attitude during conflict. He would sometimes break but that's okay. He was strong for the most part, dealing with years and years of Sam's abuse, a whole lifetime of his mother's smothering. Having his childhood and adolescence terroized by a frantic woman with creepy rhymes and jingles and a flash of blonde curls and blue eyes and pounding fists can't help but make him think he's seen the worst of life.
Like right now. He's stuck in some of the worst traffic he's ever seen. He glances at the clock in the car, and sees the time.
"I'm going to be late," he mutters to himself, since there is no one around to hear, anyways.
And yet he's still smiling because of tonight. Yes, he could be as late as he wanted to graduation. It doesn't matter at all. Because nothing, and he means nothing, is going to stop what happens tonight.
(Freddie's POV)
I'm late! Freddie screams in his head. He scrambles for the door, papers flying out of his briefcase. I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!
This is not one of those times when Freddie is calm and collected. He is half-dressed, unprepared, and still wearing slippers. He stumbles outside, the sun glaring down on his face. No, no, no! I can't be late for this!
He races to his car with his pants half on and his papers shoved in his mouth. He is aware of the other residents of his apartment staring at him, shooing away their children. He ignores them and smacks against his car, his fingers fumbling for the key.
He gets in his car, starts it, and drives out of the parking lot so fast he could hear the screech of his tires. Once he's on the highway, he begins to straighten up. He puts his pants on all the way. Fixes his tie. Organizes his papers.
What happened? He never used to be late. Freddie knitted his eyebrows in confusion as he thinks. How could he possibly be late for this important event? He had alarm clocks and sleeping pills so he could sleep through the night.
Must of been the nightmares, he mumbles to himself. Yes. The nightmares. The cause of everything.
He checks his phone. He groans when he sees all the missed calls from his fellow workers. He checks one of the texts that reads: "Where the fuck are you!"
He's too busy driving to respond to the texts, but as he reads beyond the questions on his location, he sees a text from an unknown number.
He opens it up, and it reads: "Meet me at Bushwell Plaza at 11. You will not regret it."
The text sends chills up Freddie's spine. He hasn't been to Bushwell Plaza formally in...close to 3 years. Who would want to meet him there? Not Carly, surely...if she wanted to meet, he'd just go to her house. Spencer? Nah, he still lives there, but why would he send that text from an anonymous number?
What if it is...!
He banishes the thought from his mind.
He always does this. He always hopes. There's always the cursed maybes? and the what ifs? and the perhaps? He does this to himself, over and over and over.
She isn't coming back.
He checks the clock in his car. It's nearly eleven.
Bushwell Plaza isn't too far away...And he's late already...
No.
She won't be there.
No one he cares about could possibly be there. His mother still lived there but she could call him if she needed him.
He read the text again: "Meet me at Bushwell Plaza at 11. You will not regret it."
He has the meeting at twelve. It's an hour and a half away. He would be so late. He wouldn't make it on time. He could miss his chance.
But the chances of her being there-
Some inner force makes Freddie twist the wheel, making the car turn in a 360. The tires are screaming, causing other cars to move away from him.
Oh well.
He's driving towards Bushwell Plaza.
Flashback:
(Freddie's POV) June 6, 2012. 4:27 P.M.
He was wondering why he's been so late all of a sudden. He has always been a perfectionist, always wanted to be on time. So here he is, strolling in late.
He remembers an article he read on the internet once. About how when couples are together for so long, they begin picking up each other's traits.
His girlfriend has been late for almost everything he can remember.
He shoulders his way into the crowd. He doesn't try to find her. To tell her congratulations for failing all through highschool and somehow graduating. She'll hear his congrats in a few hours or so.
He has his cap on, his gown. He's waited for this moment for too long. N.E.R.D. camp really helped him out with the scholarships. He remembers with a smile how his girlfriend really fucked everything up with his application. And how she fixed everything in the end. Responsible for once.
Freddie finds Brad in the crowd. He went to N.E.R.D. alongside him, and although Freddie excelled far more than Brad did, they both got scholarships to decent colleges.
"Fredward Benson!"
His name is called, and he quivers as he makes his way up the steps and recieves his diploma. There's cheering in the crowd, and he knows his little blonde's cheers are the loudest in the crowd.
He wants to leave now, but he has to stick around to see her get her diploma. Then he'll race home so he can surprise her with the shock of her life. Well, not really. But it'll be bittersweet.
Finally, her name is called, and no matter what, just hearing the name will send chills down Freddie's spine.
"Samantha Puckett!"
(Freddie's POV)
He had tried calling the number, but it was restricted. He drove up to Bushwell, and looked at the huge building. Wow. It has been a long time.
Is this a dream? He doesn't know...
The phone vibrates.
He opens it up, and sees that he recieved a text. He opens the text, and it says: "Looking good, Benson. Go down into the underground parking lot...or whatever they call those things."
The way this person is speaking is beginning to scare Freddie out of his mind. Even the abrasive way the person is speaking is reminding Freddie of...
He begins to walk down into the parking garage, and is soon inside the musty air. Hardly anyone uses this anymore. It's been abandoned and the only lighting is coming from a lightbulb being held by a thread. He goes closer to the light, his hair on edge.
"Hello?" he calls out, his voice rusty and fearful.
"It's been awhile."
He jumps at the sound. The husky voice of someone he once knew.
Okay, it's official. He's dreaming.
In the dusty darkness, he can hardly make out the shape of a girl. No, a woman, it must be so hard to think of her that way. Well, techincally...
This can't be happening.
After a minute or two of complete silence, the only sound being hushed breathing, the woman speaks again: "It's good to see you, Freddie."
He's looking into the ice-blue eyes of Samantha Puckett.
Flashback:
(Freddie's POV. June 6, 2012. 8:08 P.M.)
He practically sped to Sam's house just so he could wait. Lucky for him, he had a key and Sam's mother was...no one really knew. He knew Sam would wait for the whole thing, how she would savor every last minute of highschool. He couldn't wait to get out of there, while he knew those had been some of the best years of Sam's life.
He heard her car drive up, and he heard the car door close. He waited. And waited. He thought he could hear some kind of retching sound, but that might have been the radiator. Then, he heard this five-note whistle. It wasn't the first time he heard it. He doesn't know what it means, but everytime he hears it, he's always with Sam. Finally, the door to the house opened, and he heard Sam step inside.
He heard her pause, heard her cease breathing. "Hello?" she called, warily.
He stopped breathing so she couldn't hear him. But he knew she knew he was there.
She slowly walks past her kitchen table, looking around for him. She hadn't turned the lights on, so it was pitch black. Only the moonlight that shown through the window had visiblity. He couldn't see her, he could only hear her footsteps.
"Freddie!" she snaps angrily. "This isn't funny! Cut it out!"
He's still crouching beside the couch, poised to strike.
She walks slowly around her kitchen. "Where are you?" she calls. The moonlight coming through a window catches her for a second, and he can see the wavy blonde curls that fall down her shoulders. The careless purple flannel she changed into. The skinny jeans she kept on under her robe because she thought it was too girly to go without them. Suddenly, he's so excited and trembling, he's surprised he hadn't come out of hiding yet.
She is right beside him now, as she makes her way to the living room. Only a few inches away. "Fre-" she begins.
He doesn't let her finish.
He pounces at her legs, making her fall. For a second she's totally tense as she falls down, and he slides his hands under her head and neck to soften her fall. In one quick, breathless second, he grasps her until she's completely imprisoned in his arms. And he won't let her go.
She says nothing, although he can hear her heartbeat pounding against his.
Minutes go by. Finally, Freddie drops his lips down to her ear, and he whispers in the most husky, seductive way possible: "You know, anything that happens in the next few hours is now completely legal."
Sam looks up at him, and even in the complete darkness, he knows she's smirking. "As if that stopped us before."
Within a matter of seconds they're unbuttoning clothes, feeling each other, and making out all at the same time. It wasn't their first time, they have done it so many times they'd stopped keeping track, but they lost it with each other and were hoping to keep it that way. Sam's mouth tasted of mint and...something else, something he couldn't think of. Sam gripped his shoulders with her smaller hands, so icy cold to his bare skin, and pulled him down with her.
(Freddie's POV)
This isn't happening.
Three years. It's been three years since he last saw Sam Puckett. Those three years of lonliness and bitterness. She wasn't really here, was she? He had dreamt this dream far too many times.
Sam, or whatever his sick, twisted mind manifested in his mind to be Sam, looks at him and waits for a response. If this wasn't a dream, he would say that Sam looks kind of scared. Of what? What does it matter?
"Sam?" is the only sound that comes out of his mouth.
"That's me." came the shaky reply.
He's staring at her as if she was the angel of death. Maybe she could be. In this dark air, all he can see with the tiny lightbulb was dust particles flitting around. Her face looks dark, she herself looks dark. The only thing gleaming is her bright blue eyes.
There are over a million things Freddie wants to ask Sam. So, so, so many things. The list doesn't end. And here he is, standing face-to-face with the person he hasn't seen in three years.
Three sad, lonely, single years.
He and Sam have never, ever been good with words. So she seems to except his silence at first. Finally, he forces the words out of his mouth.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Even in the darkness, he can make out Sam's mouth moving in a grin. This infuritates him beyond imaginable. "Oh, just around." She says lightly, taking a very small step towards him.
"Just around?" He echoes. Just around? That's where she's been? She's been missing for three years and she's just around? He has been searching, and calling, and sobbing at night for her to come back. And she's just been "around"? "So, after all this time, you've just been around?" He takes a tiny step closer. "Do you know how long I've-"
"As if it was easy for me." Sam spits out. She seems to double in size when she gets angry. Her dark blonde hair was now visible as she takes another step closer.
Then he notices something else.
Bruises. Around Sam's eye. And her cheek. It suddenly strikes him that this isn't the eighteen year old girl who left him behind three years ago. If anything, she seems even smaller. Beaten. Injured.
He takes a step closer, to observe more. She seems to sense that and moves backward for a half-second.
"Sam," he says, his voice rough from shock at seeing her and now a new anger. Whatever put her in this condition is going to be fucked over. "What happened? Where have you been?"
"I just needed to see you." She says. Her voice sounds empty. "Is Carly and them alright?" She takes a step closer
"Sam!" Freddie hisses. "You need to tell me why you left! And what are you doing now?" He drops his voice. "What happened to you?" He takes a step closer
Sam grins for a half-second. He doesn't know why, but it's kinda scary. What's she going to tell him? She takes a step closer.
"You really did know nothing, did you?" Her voice, it sounds so fragile and broken. And yet she's smiling. Why? Why? "Your new job should'a told you by now."
"It starts today." Freddie felt himself growing impatient. "Tell me where you have been. Now. Do you need help?" He takes a step closer.
"Just go." Sam says. "You'll find out in good time." When she steps closer to him, they are practically brushing against each other. This is sending shudders through Freddie's body. He looks down at her, at her smiling face. What is she hiding?
Freddie just looks at her sadly. "You aren't going to tell me? Because I'll find out on my own if you're going to be this way. I'm not giving up on you now, Puckett."
She teasingly traces the pattern on his suit he wore. "All in good time, baby..." she murmurs.
"You always were a tease, weren't you?" Freddie says tiredly.
"You betcha." She rises on her tiptoes and kisses Freddie on his cheek, making him freeze. This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.
"Sam." He says. His voice is breaking now. He can't let her slip away from him this time. "Just tell me-"
Suddenly, he hears the five-note whistle. Sam's blue eyes widen and she pulls away from him.
"Sam, wait-" he calls.
He hears her turn her heel and dash away from him. The sound of her sneakers is heard for a few seconds as she distances herself away from him.
He attempts to run after her, but he doesn't know his way around in the darkness. He has no chance in finding her at the moment.
"Sam, come back!" He wailed.
Flashback:
(Freddie's POV) June 7th, 2012. 7:14 A.M.)
He opens his eyes, and he is immediately grateful that at least some time during the night he and Sam decided to take their "party" to the bed. He is aware that he isn't wearing any clothes, so he stays under the blanket. He turns to the side, expecting to see his girlfriend of over a year sleeping beside him, her golden curls fallen over her eyes.
But, she wasn't there.
Did she go to make herself breakfast already? He shuffles on some shorts he found on the floor (no idea whether or not they were from last night) and makes his way to the kitchen.
Not there.
Where is she? He looked around the house. "Sam?" he called.
No response.
He goes outside for a sec, looking. He calls her name again, and he spots something. In the bushes. He makes his way over to them, and sees that she through her cap and gown into them. Pulling them up, he also sees vomit. Was that were the retching sound was coming from? What's going on?
He calls her phone. Within seconds, he hears the monotone voice say, "We are sorry, but the number 503-664-0452 has been disconnected."
Now he's afraid. He searches through his house again, looking anywhere. Everywhere. Then he sees a note crumbled up near the table.
He jumps for it, and unfolds it quickly. But the letters in front of him make no sense. Just random letters.
No. Think. They have to mean something. This is Sam Puckett we are talking about. She spent her whole life living on rhymes and puzzles and guessing games. When is mother coming home? Well, she just got a new boyfriend, she just bought some Jack Daniels, and she's been gone for six hours. Six year old Sam Puckett would realize that she wasn't getting fed that night so she'd fight the cats for some garbage outside. She had to solve these kinds of puzzles for as long as she could remember. So leave it to Sam to bring the trouble, the puzzles, the games to him.
He tried rewriting the letters backwards. No luck. He tried writing out both their names so each letter stood for a letter of their names. No, that didn't work either. Finally, he tries making a chart that makes all the letters go backwards. Each letter in the alphabet stands for its opposite. And he gets the message:
"Freddie, I love you but I need to leave. I'm protecting you as I'm doing this. Goodbye."
Freddie had refused to except this result. He reported her missing, he and Carly searched for days alongside police. No, no, no, no! This can't be happening!
Days turn into weeks, which turns into months. Finally, after a month of searching, the grieved face of a police officer as he approaches Freddie means one thing.
Sam has left him for good.
Freddie drove to his apartment that night. He stumbled into his room, ignoring his mother and the world. He sat on his bed and cried.
And cried. And cried. And cried.
He cried for Sam, hoping that whatever made her leave could be killed because he'd fucking destroy it when he has the chance. He cried for himself, having his heart broken by the girl he loved.
And he cried for the ring in his pocket he was going to give her once they had woken up.