Author's note: I know I was supposed to write a follow up for i2i first but this little notion crept into my brain and refused to let me rest until I jotted it down. If you write fan fiction (which I assume you do, since you're here) you know how that is. So with that in mind let me tell you a little bit about this piece of FF. It is a Seddie fic. While trying to keep to keep to their given characters, I also tried to put my own spin on Freddie and Sam's relationship. Remember this is a new situation Freddie and Sam find themselves in. So of course they are going to act a little differently than previously dictated. Well anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it.
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Sam stumbled into the elevator, giggling as she half-tripped onto a poor couple dressed in nice clothes.
"Didjou guys go ona date?" She asked, terribly slurring her words. When they didn't answer she went on. "You're a luffly couple." She patted their shoulders and took a drink from a questionable bottle in her hand.
You see, Carly and Spencer were away visiting their grandpa in Yakima and since all Sam ever did was hang out at Carly's, she had nothing to do. Today, Sam had been sitting watching TV at home, bored literally to tears when she decided to go out. She had walked only ten minutes when she came upon a cheap, almost deserted bar. The bartender made no objections to her age when Sam ordered a Jack Daniel's on the rocks, happy instead that he even had a customer. After a few drinks Sam just bought the whole bottle, using money she had filched from her mom's purse.
Since the bartender was not very good company, Sam left shortly after buying the Jack bottle and wandered the streets in a drunken stupor. At point in her walk, she had gotten on a bus and found herself at Carly's apartment building. Forgetting that Carly was away, Sam figured she'd just go up to say hello to her best friend.
"'m goin' to see m' best friend Carly," Sam continued. "D'you know 'er?" She asked waving her bottle at them. The couple simply shook their heads, trying to no avail to ignore her intoxicated state. "Well ya should, she 'nd I havea verry poplar interweb show." Sam took a swig from the bottle.
"That's. . .nice," the woman said quietly, inching closer to her date.
"Nice. . .? It's awesome!" Sam exclaimed as the elevator doors opened. The couple started to leave the elevator when Sam stopped them. "Y'know iCarly is watched by thouthands of peo-ple! I don' need yur approval." She grumbled as she pushed her way past them into the hallway. "Aw, Damn. Do you guys know where Carly lives?"
They said nothing, only hurried into their apartment and locked the door.
"Fine!" Sam shouted at their door. "You're no luffly couple! I bet yer gunna split up in a month!" Sam took another drink and swayed unsteadily. She stumbled up against the hallway wall and slid down into a sitting position. "Watch iCarly!" She yelled again.
A little ways down the hallway a door opened up and Freddie stepped out. He looked around and did a double-take when he saw Sam sitting alone. He walked over to her with a puzzled expression.
"Sam was that you yelling?" Freddie asked as Sam struggled to her feet.
"Hey Fredward, where's Carls? These stupid people wouldn't tell me where she is." Sam put the hand that wasn't occupied by a booze bottle on her hip.
"Carly and Spencer are visiting their grandfather," he told her, taking not of how unstable she was and the bottle of alcohol in her hand.
"Oh ya," Sam laughed.
"Sam are you drunk?" He asked folding his arms across his chest.
"No! What would make you-" Sam pointed the bottom of the bottle at him, spilling Jack Daniel's all over herself, "-think that?" He merely pointed to her soiled clothes. "Aw shit!" She swore and lost her balance. Freddie quickly moved behind her and caught her before she fell backwards.
"Okay, yeah, you're coming with me," Freddie said gently pulling her toward his door.
"No way, Fred-weird, I'ma just g'home." She protested and wrenched herself free of his grasp. That action sent her back into hallway wall and again Freddie caught her.
"Yes way, I'm not going to unleash a drunk Sam on the public, I wouldn't even wish a sober same on them." He told her as her led her down the hall.
"'m not tha' drunk," Sam protested.
"You're plastered," Freddie chuckled, secretly wishing he had his camera with him to capture all this. "Now be quiet, I don't need my mom finding out about this."
"Surething mama's boy," Sam taunted and Freddie gave her the "shut up" look. She stuck her tongue out at him and put the nozzle of the bottle to her lips.
"Give me that!" Freddie whispered harshly, snatching the bottle from her hands mid-drink and spilled more alcohol on her. He set it down on the floor across from his door. He quietly led Sam into his apartment. Mrs. Benson was busy cooking dinner in the kitchen and didn't turn around when Freddie came in.
"Freddie, who was yelling out there?" She asked him, engrossed in cooking.
"Just some drunk person," Freddie told her and covered Sam's mouth when she started to laugh. "They left their bottle in the hallway." He pushed Sam toward his room. It wasn't exactly a lie. . .
"Oh alright. I'll call you when dinner's ready," She called after him.
"Okay!" He closed his bedroom door and turned to see Sam fiddling with one of his many tech toys. Freddie quickly pulled her away from the technology and sat her down on his bed. He stepped back and thought about what he should do next. "You're going to need to change, or you'll make my whole room smell like alcohol."
"At least it wouldn't smell like Freddie anymore." She pointed out and giggled at her own joke.
"I don't believe it, she's intoxicated and still cracking on me." He shook his head. Sam stood up,
"That's cause ya took away mah drink," she pushed him. Her slurring took away the sting from her words and her drunkenness, the strength from the shove. "Yer just lucky 'm drunk er yer blood would be all ov'r the hall." she said waving her finger in the direction of the hallway. Freddie scoffed and shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. Just then Sam got a weird look on her face.
"Uh-oh," Freddie said when he recognized the look on her face and pulled her roughly into the bathroom where Sam threw up in the toilet. He held her hair back as she retched. "You owe me big time," He mumbled to himself.
"No chance o' that happenin'," Sam said lifting her head bowl. Freddie got her some clothes to change into.
"Here, why don't you take a shower and clean up, alright?" He said putting the clothes on the counter and closing the bathroom door. He sat down on his bed and turned the TV on.
"Freddie," his mom said peeking her head in his door. "I thought I heard someone throwing up, are you alright?"
"Yeah mom, it was just the TV," he covered up smoothly. She nodded and closed the door. Freddie sighed relieved that his mother wasn't suspicious and also worried about the situation. Why in the world would Sam drink? What should he do now? He heard the shower turn on followed by a scream. His mother rushed in again. "Just the TV again, sorry, I'll turn it down," he said. Now she looked suspicious, but she said nothing about it, only told him that dinner would be ready in a few minutes and then left the room.
Freddie rushed into the bathroom to find Sam sitting in the shower, fully clothed, soaking wet, and shivering.
"Aw Sam!" He exclaimed, frustrated. He turned off the water and wrapped a towel around her.
"Yur sh-shower is col-cold." She trembled. "You should g-get th-that fi-fixed." Sam stood as he dried her off.
"The shower's fine." The words he intended to sound harsh, but they lost their bite in the execution. In truth, Freddie felt sorry her, pitied her. Sam looked so helpless standing there, intoxicated and shivering. She looked so un-Sam-like. "You turned the cold water on instead of the warm water," he explained softly.
"Oh. . ." she said meekly. There it was again, that pathetic tone in her voice that made taking care of her tolerable. It pleased him a little to know that she wasn't invulnerable, that she had weaknesses.
"You've got to change," Freddie said at last, pulling himself out of his train of thought before it took him where he didn't want to go.
"Fine then, getout," Sam said, shooing him with her hands.
"No, I don't trust you alone when you're like this. I don't want you to hurt yourself."
"Look, you can do it yourself, or I'll do it for you. Either way I'm not moving. Take your pick." He smirked, for once feeling confident around her. Sam gingerly picked up the clothes and made a face at him.
She experienced little trouble slipping out of her wet clothes. Freddie was careful to avert his eyes when she stripped down to her undergarments while also keeping a an eye on her to make sure she didn't fall. Getting into the fresh clothes proved to be a tougher task than slipping out of the soiled ones. Sam nearly fell into the tub when she tried to put on the pajama pants he had provided for her. Luckily he was watching and prevented the fall then helped her into the pants. She put on the shirt, fairly easily, slipping her arms into the sleeves with only a little difficulty. But Freddie kicked himself for picking a button-up shirt for this was the hardest for Sam. After she attempted buttoning two buttons (putting each in the wrong hole) Freddie just gave up on "trying to let her do it" and just buttoned the rest of the shirt for her. Sam kept her face blank as he preformed a task for her, showing only frustration that she couldn't do it herself. Freddie could tell she was fighting the urge to hit him or call him names or cause him some sort of harm.
After the tense changing, Freddie once again sat her down on his bed and gave her a bowl to use if she had to throw up again.
"Now I'm going to go have dinner, I'll be back as quickly as possible and sneak you some food. Until then, lie down and try to relax. If you have to throw up again, use the bowl or the toilet." He paused to sigh. "Will you be alright?" Sam laughed and said, "Sure Fredward."
"Okay," He said and as an added precaution, changed his clothes, then left the room.
His mother was setting the table when Freddie walked in. He could already tell what she had made because the air was think with the smell of homemade bread and Chicken Alfredo. Whatever suspicion Mrs. Benson had earlier was gone, or at least expertly hidden.
"Oh Freddie, I was just about to call you. You must have read my mind.
"Guess so," He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, trying to act normal. Apparently it was working because she laughed and sat down.
Throughout dinner, Freddie snuck pieces of bread into his pockets when his mother wasn't looking when his mother wasn't looking. He ate quickly, trying to speed up the meal while not eating to fast. He didn't want to raise suspicion again. When both of them finished, Freddie told his mom that he would clear the table and put the leftovers up. Blind to his ulterior motives, thinking instead that he was only being kind, Freddie's mother thanked him and went to her room to take a bath.
Freddie heaved a sigh of relief when her bedroom door closed . He pulled out all the pieces of bread out of his pocket and heaped more of the chicken onto his plate. He poured a glass of water and then took the meal to his room.
Sam was dancing with an invisible partner when Freddie walked in with her food. He stopped dead in his tracks, stunned.
"Sam. . ." he asked
"Hm?" She continued to dance.
"What are you doing?" He asked, surprised that she didn't stop.
"Dancing," She replied, scoffing as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be doing and he asked the silliest question ever. She waltzed around his room, bumping into furniture and knocking over things. Freddie set the food and water down and moved in front of Sam to stop her dance with the air.
"Look, Sam," he said sitting her down at his desk, "you need to eat something. You're probably dehydrated so you'll also need to drink water." Sam dug into the food without a word, only hungry moans.
"Water blows," she complained still slurring her words, "I need something with moe substanence."
"No way, I know what you want and you're not going to get it." Freddie told her forcing the glass to her lips and making her drink the water. Sam devoured the meal with her usual zeal, making a very large mess.
Once she was done, Freddie cleaned up the mess Sam had made and cleaned the dishes he and his mother had dirtied.
Sam was still sitting at his deck when Freddie got back. He sat on his bed across from her and sighed. Now came the time to ask the question that had been burning inside his brain since the started. The question that was festering, just hanging on his lips.
"Sam," he started, pausing to search for the right way to put it. "Why were drinking."
"Cause you're a dork," Sam giggled.
"I'm serious," he replied sternly.
"Aw c'mon, you're such a dead blanket!" She complained.
"Wet blanket, the term is wet blanket. And you still haven't answered my question." Freddie was in no joking mood.
"Maybe I was bored." Sam shrugged.
"Bored, that's not a reason, you're just about always bored. At least when you're not hanging out with me and. . .Carly," He realized the significance of his words. "Have you been dunk before?"
". . .maybe," came the timid reply.
"Oh Sam! Why?" Freddie asked softly, pitying her more and more.
"Maybe 'm not as per-fect as Carly," Sam shot back, standing up. "M'be I don' have a great brother who looks after me. M'be I don' have no one. . .no one." She paced around the room as she spoke.
"Sam. . ." Freddie started to say and reached out his hand to her but Sam hit it away.
"No! Carly doesn't need to know that without our friendship, I have nothing. She doesn't need to know that I get shit-faced when she's not around. She doesn't need to know that 'm jealous of her. She doesn't need to know, ok?" Freddie could see the tears welling up in her eyes.
"Ok. . .ok. I won't tell her. It's gunna be alright," he assured her. Sam fell to her knees, whether out of sadness or unstableness, Freddie couldn't tell. She began to cry and he knelt down and put an arm around her shoulders.
"It's not gunna be ok." She sobbed pathetically.
"Sam, pull yourself together," Freddie told her trying to make light of the situation. Sam made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. She brushed away the tears briskly, as if they might burn her skin.
"There," he smiled, "that's bet-mph!" Sam cut him off mid-sentence by pressing her lips against his. Freddie gently pushed her off. "What are you doing?" He asked, shocked.
"I'd think it would be obvious," she said and kissed him again. He again pushed her away.
"Sam, you're intoxicated, you're tired, and you're emotional. The Sam I know wouldn't do this," he reasoned with her.
"Then you don't know me," Sam replied and continued her pursuit. Freddie let her kiss him for a few more moments, finding it hard to pull away because he did like kissing her. But finally their lips came apart.
"No, Sam." He said firmly. Sam whimpered and rested her head against his shoulder. Freddie could smell the alcohol on her breath.
"Aren't you tempted by me?" She asked. He thought about it for a moment. Despite her obvious intoxication, Sam did have a sort of loveliness tonight. The answer was yes, he was most certainly tempted by her. Her blond curls, still wet from the shower incident, her eyes with their thick lashes, and her cherry-colored lips. But what should he tell her? Sam's normal high self-esteem was lowered significantly tonight. She was vulnerable and needed reassurance. Freddie picked her up and said to her, "You are very tempting." She wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her to his bed. Freddie set her down on the bed and tried to leave her there, but Sam did not let go of him.
"Don't go," she whispered, "I need you."
"I'm right here," he told her and lied down next to her. Sam put her head on his should and quickly drifted off to sleep.
***
Sam awoke the next morning with a crippling headache. At first, before she even opened her eyes all she could sense was pain. Next came the wonderment at her location and the reason for her excruciating migraine. She opened her eyes and tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea hit her and she fell right back down on the pillows.
Even in the dizzying swirl, Sam could tell it wasn't her room, or even her house for that matter. But it did look familiar. Hadn't she seen this room before somewhere? She blinked a few times, letting her eyes focus. Oh my God . . . She thought, horrified at what it might mean. She sat straight up and ignored the fresh waves of nausea. Sam focused on trying to remember what happened. She could recall a cheap bar and a bottle of Jack Daniel's. Vaguely Sam remembered walking around the city and oh god, why couldn't she remember anything else? Perhaps there was nothing significant to remember. Maybe Freddie just let her crash on his bed. But why was she wearing his clothes? She refused to ponder the matter any further, scared of where her reasoning might lead.
Sam looked out the window. It was still dark out. But how late was it? Freddie's clock read three fifty-five. Good, maybe she could just slip away unseen . . .
"Oh, you're awake," Freddie stated, just walking in as Sam was about to execute her plan.
"No shit," Sam replied. She could see he was holding something in his hands.
"And back to normal," he sighed then after a moment, clicked his tongue briskly. "Well, I washed your clothes for you." Freddie handed them to her. Sam took them roughly and walked into the bathroom to change. She ignored her throbbing head and raucous stomach, refusing to humiliate herself further. Inside the bathroom she had to grip the counter to steady herself as she caught her breath. Drunken stupor gone, and replaced with a bitch of a hangover, Sam thought bitterly as she dressed. She grimaced as she pulled her shirt over her head. Her clothes smelt like Freddie. It wasn't a bad scent, in fact she rather liked it, but she hated that smell on her. Sam finished and stepped out of the bathroom.
"Well, if that's all, I'd better be getting home," she said as she headed towards the door.
"What, no thank you? No 'what happened last night?' I can tell you don't remember."
"What the hell happened last night?" Sam demanded turning back to him.
"You were drunk off your ass and lucky me got to cover for it," he said.
"I didn't ask for your help," she snapped back at him.
"Well what was I supposed to do, Sam?" Freddie retorted, raising his voice. "Turn you away and let you wander the streets alone and intoxicated? Do you know what could have happened to you?"
"Don't talk to me like that," Sam shouted at him. "You're not my father!" Freddie cringed slightly at her rage.
"No," he replied softly after a moment, "I'm not. And I didn't expect a thank you either. Just remember, I'm not going to help you again." Freddie was smart to keep his tone dispassionate. He knew how she would prey upon his emotions and throw some clever remark back at him. He wanted her to believe he meant his words. Indeed, he wasn't sure if he meant them himself.
It seemed his strategy worked for Sam fell silent. She stood still, looking at her feet, anywhere but at him.
"I'll walk you out if you really want to go, but I think it'd be safer if you waited for daylight," he suggested.
"No, no, I-I should go." Sam didn't want to be here any longer. She needed to be free of him. She needed to be home.
Freddie said nothing, only led her quickly out of his apartment. They rode silently in the elevator, but both of their minds were far from quiet. Sam's mind whirled as Freddie's words echoed endlessly. Freddie's mind was churning as tried to guess what Sam was thinking. Exactly how much did she not remember?
He walked Sam all the way outside and made sure she got a taxi and money for the cab-fare. Freddie held the door open for her and expected her to get in without a word. But Sam surprised Freddie one last time. She put her hand on his cheek and said, "Thank you, Freddie." She kissed the cheek her hand wasn't resting on. Sam's lips were so close to his that they almost touched the corner of his lips.
Sam got into the taxi, leaving behind a bewildered Freddie.