Carly was freaking out. Even Sam had admitted that this hotel, suggested by her mom, was probably not the best choice for the fastidious teen. Now that she had run out of actual complaints, she was just repeating "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," over and over, her pitch rising with every repetition. She turned wildly, possibly trying without success to find a clean corner of the hotel.
"Hey, anyone else see the problem here?" Freddie said, turning the group's attention away from Carly's hyperventilation.
"What, that there's a hobo in the bathtub, there's probably roaches under our feet, or maybe that there's dirt up on the ceiling?" Carly snapped, balancing on one leg in order to contact as little of the dirty hotel as possible.
"Excellent points," Freddie said, "But no. There are two beds, and four of us."
Carly slowly touched her other foot down to the floor. "Oh. Right. Um..."
The four glanced sideways at each other.
"Well, if it's all the same to you, I think I will share with my sister," Spencer said. "I tend to...mumble in my sleep, and I know she sleeps through it. So..."
"Mumble? You flat-out yell about soap and prime ministers all the time!" Carly accused her brother. Sam and Freddie looked at everything but each other, trying not to laugh. All the nights that they had spent waking up Spencer were a secret to both Shays. Then they turned toward each other in utter horror as they realized what Spencer had implied.
"But-we-" they said simultaneously, then launched into full protest while turning toward the Shays.
"She might kill me as I sleep!" Freddie exclaimed vehemently, his voice cracking.
"I might bruise my hand as I punch him in my sleep!" Sam exclaimed with equal indignation.
"Please, I don't want to die!"
"You can't put me with the dork!"
"SHUT UP!" came a deep voice from the bathroom. The room filled with a silence.
"Come on, guys, for one night? The beds are big enough you don't have to contact each other at ALL," Carly pleaded to her two best friends. "Please?" The belligerent two relaxed into normal standing positions and looked at each other once.
"Fine," Sam conceded.
"Alright," Freddie sighed.
"But I am not responsible for anything that happens while I'm asleep," Sam said, pointing her finger inches from Freddie's nose.
Spencer clapped his hands together. "Well, now that that's all settled," he said brightly, ignoring the death glare between Sam and Freddie, "Let's get some sleep before we have to go lay down some justice on these copycats."
The four climbed into bed under thin blankets, Sam and Freddie teetering on opposite edges of their bed.
"I won't be able to sleep with this...disgustingness...all around me!" Carly's voice came from the other bed. "Yeah you will, you'll be out like a light in a minute," Spencer said, yawning. He was right, a few minutes later both Shays were breathing deeply.
Sam and Freddie, however, could not sleep so easily. They could feel the silent darkness, heavy with the awkwardness of sleeping next to your worst enemy, hanging over them.
Freddie shifted a little so he was facing upward. "You asleep yet?" He barely whispered."Of course not," Sam whispered back, "This hotel smells."
"It's not SO bad..."
"It smells of Benson-nub."
The silence came back, reminding Freddie that Sam Puckett was right next to him. In a bed. He felt awkward and scared for his life at the same time.
"That's not cool," he finally whispered.
"So touchy at night," Sam taunted.
"I just don't enjoy being ridiculed as I'm trying to sleep."
"Yeah, well, just because we're sharing a bed..." Sam shivered with disgust. "Just because we're sharing a bed doesn't mean that I get to be nice all of a sudden."
"Can we truce for the night?" Freddie whispered.
Sam lay silent for a few moments. Too tired to argue, she caved. "Okay, Benson." She turned over to her other side and faced him. She could barely see his outline. "Shake on it?" She shifted around, held her hand out, and waited.
"I can't see your hand at all," Freddie said, waving his hand around the middle space between them.
"Come on, use your sense of smell or something," Sam said, impatiently holding her hand out.
Eventually, he brushed the edge of her hand. "Here we go," he muttered, grabbing her whole hand and squeezing it in discovery. They shook hands once.
"So, please don't punch me as we sleep," Freddie whispered.
"Don't..." Sam said, then realized that she didn't have any specific warning for him. "Well, watch out. I move in my sleep," she finished.
The cheap pillowcase crinkled as he nodded. After a moment, they let go of each other, the deal sealed.
"Think there's really a frozen head in Dingo headquarters?" he asked, seeming more comfortable that there was an agreement keeping them civil.
"I think so," Sam said.
"Hope we can find it," he said, his voice growing slurred with sleep.
"Mhm," Sam said, beginning to drift off as well. She turned her head and watched the clock with heavy eyelids. 11:45, 11:46, 11:47...
~4 AM~
The first thing Sam noticed was the LCD screen of the clock reading "4:01 AM". The second thing she noticed was that the numbers seemed farther away than they were four hours ago.
The third thing she noticed was that she was snuggled up against Fredward Benson, his arm around her shoulders.
"Ah!" she stifled a yelp as she scooted away from him. Heart beating, she scooted over to the absolute opposite side of the bed. She was about to start beating him when she realized that he was in the same position she had last seen him in. He hadn't moved a muscle since midnight. So that meant...she went to him? She fell back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling, murderous rage falling away as Freddie slowly slipped off the edge of the bed. No. She hated the dork. After what seemed to be an eternity of her mind spinning, Freddie landed on the floor with a thump. "Ah!" he grunted, disheveled head popping up.
"I had nothing to do with that, I swear," Sam said, trying to hide her nervously shaking voice. "But it doesn't stop me from appreciating it."
"Sam, I don't really care at this point, I just want to sleep," he said crankily, clambering back onto the bed.
"You just don't appreciate humor," Sam taunted, voice growing stronger as her mind reverted to insults. Insults were easy, feelings were not.
"Sam, you-" Freddie started angrily, but cut himself off as he saw Spencer sit up in bed.
"One spaghetti taco, hold the potato boots please," Spencer sighed, and fell back down. Freddie and Sam looked at each other, and Sam felt herself relax as they shared some stifled laughter.
"Kinda cold, huh?" Freddie whispered more amicably, rubbing the arm that had been around Sam.
"Yeah," Sam murmured as Freddie rolled over to go back to sleep. She felt a little cold, and a LOT scared. Freddie was facing away from her now, and she eyed the back of his head. Why did she have to move over to him like that? Did she...no. She wasn't even going to entertain that possibility. She was going to hate him forever. She was not going to like him. She was not going to like him. She might have been rather comfortable under his arm. No! She was not going to like him. She was not going...
~ 3 AM ~
Freddie woke up. He found himself looking at where his blonde-haired nemesis was. Under his arm, her head against his chest. He felt a wave of fear course through him, he was sure that he was about to get a limb broken for touching her, but then he realized that she was fast asleep. He started to lift his arm away from her, but realized that letting go would result in him falling off the bed, so he tightened his grip around her. He worried briefly about what would happen in the morning, but there was nothing he could do at the moment, so he just relaxed against her, watching her breathe softly. Plus, he reasoned with his half-sleeping mind, he was extremely comfortable, and not willing to move...
Freddie woke up again as he hit the floor of the hotel. "Uh!" he grunted. He lifted his head so he could see where Sam was. She was on the far end of the bed, in the same position she had been in when they truced, watching him crawl back on the bed in delight. He must have dreamt it.
So he put it out of his mind as he traded insults with Sam, and laughed with her at Spencer dislike of potato boots on his spaghetti tacos.
But as he turned away from her, toward the curtain-covered window, he found himself dwelling on what happened. Did he really dream it? He could feel the absence of her heat. It felt very real, but he knew that she definitely did not feel what he did-wait, what he did? What did he feel now? He felt something confusing, much like the feeling he got right after they kissed. He could feel the oppressive weight of the silence forcing him to admit that sleeping close to her wasn't half bad. No! He couldn't like her. She hated him. She hated him. She...
"WAKE UP YOU GUYS!" came Spencer's crazy-man yell, as he flung open the curtains, letting light stream into the hotel room. Sam jolted awake, checked that she was not, in fact, under Freddie's arm, and sighed with relief.
"Let's go take on DINGOOO!" Spencer continued to yell. Freddie turned over, but didn't get up. "Yo, Freddo, let's go!" Spencer yelled.
"I got this," Sam said, grinning fiendishly. She crawled across the bed, and crouched down carefully to his sleeping form. "WAKE UP, FREDDORK!" she yelled into his ear, and pushed him off the bed onto the floor.
"Ow! Sam! Hey!" he yelled, tangled in covers on the floor. Sam laughed as he thrashed his way out of the covers to give her a death glare. Amazing how a little light could change a situation.