She wakes up again in a shiver of hot confusion, her dreams a jumbled mess. Three nights in a row, she feels Freddie's hand pressed against her cheek and sleeping, she leans into the touch, her mouth falling open in a happy sigh.
He smiles at her and Sam Puckett feels joy like a rainbow arcing over the sky just before awakening, in every color imaginable.
Back in the dark, Sam's heart pounds. Her mouth is ridiculously dry and she can't stop trembling.
This is ridiculous, she mouths silently, but Sam isn't stupid.
What's truly ridiculous is that she could ever have dared to believe she didn't love the boy.
0o0o
The worst part about this entire self-awareness thing is that the anger is gone.
She no longer has the slightest urge to prank, berate or torture Freddie. There is nothing attractive anymore about baiting him into a flushed show of anger, of touching him with a vicious hand simply because not being able to touch him - somehow - is so much worse.
Sam can accept keeping a physical distance, if it means she can hold onto her secret love honestly. It's a perfect situation, she thinks, except that it becomes nearly impossible to stay away from him for any appreciable amount of time the longer, and more insistent, her feelings become.
Eventually, she ends up following him almost everywhere he goes and there's no embarrassment in it - it's nothing but thrilling to walk Freddie to the computer lab, to assist him in small ways throughout the day and hand him things gently, a hundred tiny peace offerings given from her soul.
He doesn't notice, of course.
The status quo is what it is and how can Sam blame him for his apathy? Regret starts to creep in slowly in spite of good intentions and weeks later, Sam finds herself punching her pillow at night, hating herself for all the things she's done, as well as what she hasn't.
Even her parole officer gives her a second chance without her asking outright for it, she thinks bitterly. But she keeps following Freddie anyway, feeling strangled with sorrow with every nonchalant look, every shrug and mild joke he throws her way.
He simply doesn't care.
Hate would be better than this, maybe. It's too bad she can't muster up the acting skills she needs to drive him over that edge, not to mention the fact that it would kill her to have him actually hate her outright. Instead, she loves and follows, is lost and strange and the weight of the universe seems to have landed squarely on her chest, making it hard to breathe every time he's near.
Is this what love is, she wonders? Because if so, it sucks.
To add to her woes, Carly is being oddly obtuse, bordering on useless, but that's not her fault either. She'd probably fall over in a dead faint if Sam opened her heart to her in all its fullness. Carly isn't good with drastic change, even if what Sam's feeling isn't really a change at all - it's just a change in how she expresses it, if that makes any sense. Not that anything about love ever makes any sense.
In all, it's a hopeless situation, but Sam keeps having the same lovely dreams every night, bringing hope with every sunrise until she's flying with it, counting the seconds until she can see his eyes again.
Somewhere a balance is found, between friendship and secret love. Her friends grow suspicious, slowly, but Sam doesn't care. This is who she is, he is the one she loves and someday she'll get that second chance. She has to.
In the meantime, she'll let the intern make her fudge and help Freddie with his science project. The lockdown is tonight and the thought of twelve hours spent by Freddie's side is making her smile already.
She might make guacamole even. Just for tonight. Or again ...
If he likes it.
0o0
end