A/N:

I am absolutely in love with the Seddie pairing on iCarly. I think it's just because Sam and Freddie have the potential to be such complex characters. I love the development of their relationship, and when they finally kissed. . . it was unreal. But anyway, this is my first fanfic on and it's through a sudden inspiration to write a bunch of moments of Sam and Freddie's relationship while still trying to keep their personalities as real to the show as possible.

Holding Fingers will explore both Sam and Freddie's lives together from the time they decided to be a couple and beyond. I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them.3

-Raeven

HOLDING FINGERS

01: needs;

There isn't a time where Sam looks like she needs something; someone like Sam never looks like she ever needs anything. She may say she needs that bacon strip belt she saw at the mall, or that whole ham in the grocery store deli, but Freddie knows what needs are, and he knows her saying "I need" only means "I want". But he likes to believe she needs him to hold her against his chest sometimes, to encase her hands in his and kiss her neck while she closes her eyes and just savors it all. Alot of times, he envies her exterior of strength and stabilty. She does it so well.

But this i need you. . . this three word text he's staring at, is blaring in front of his eyes, as real as ever. . . and it scares him.

02: wants;

Freddie stands by the couch in the empty studio of Sam's mom's place where Sam is, her lax body under some thinning mix-matched blankets. She's laying there with her legs slung every-which-way on the loveseat, her arm covering her eyes. Her lips read nothing; she's straight-faced, but Freddie knows she's uncomfortable, even as her body looks as if it can melt right into the distressed cushioning of the couch.

"I just wanted you here," She says to Freddie for the third time that night.

"But your text specifically said 'I need you'," Freddie says. He actually sounds frustrated. Probably because Sam looks perfectly fine where she is, according to her own circumstances, that is. She doesn't move her arm from her eyes because he still doesn't get it. At times like these, she achingly wishes guys just knew, preferably without having to say a word.

"I don't need you, Freddie," Sam drawls, and she's glad her arm is covering most of her cheeks too because she can feel them flush with color, an involuntary blush heating her face. "I only texted you that to scare you into coming over, get it?"

It's been quiet for too long and Sam figures his feelings are hurt. She almost wants to punch him for thinking so hard, imagining him standing there in his newer pjs, those v-neck t-shirts he wears with some simple cotton pants, and how nicely his now matured body fills them. She doesn't move while she waits for him to say something and when he doesn't, she still doesn't move.

"Do I need you to make me sandwiches?" She asks, her voice level with reasoning, and her only resort for lightening this growing tension that isn't intended to be there. She can almost swear she can hear the smile in Freddie's voice when he speaks.

"Maybe you do, I mean, I've seen you try to make-, "

"Shut up," Sam whines, but she manages to also make it a demand, something she has the ability to do. "Just come here,"

Freddie would like to feel like he has some choice in the matter, but he is obedient and fills the space in the crevice of the lumpy couch, where Sam readjusts herself, tucking her bare feet under the blankets more. Freddie tries to get comfortable, his arm resting at the base of Sam's head. He watches her.

"No covers for me?" He says. Sam just grunts and mumbles, twisting her body toward him, burrowing into his warmth. "Alright then," He comments quietly. His fingers lace through the spindly curls of her hair, surprised they haven't gotten caught in tangles, the way it looks. Warm pulses of Sam's breath seeps through his shirt.

He looks down at her and realizes she does need him here, when he remembers the door being cracked ajar before he let himself in, and how empty and dark the apartment is right now as they lay in the middle of its open space, and how Sam's pink-rimmed eyes shows she'd been crying. His eyes soften and he uses his other arm to trail his fingers up and down Sam's back, almost holding her now, and he's grateful that Sam doesn't react negatively.

"Where's your mom?" He asks, attempting to sound completely conversational on this touchy subject.

Sam sounds breathy, sleepy when she says,"She went out." She doesn't want Freddie to hold weight to her answer, to get concerned over something she wouldn't have the patience to explain. She presses her face against his shirt, breaths in, and loves how solid he his. He won't be going anywhere. She's so glad he's here.

Freddie squirms against her; Sam can feel the question on his mind with a smirk. "And no, she won't be back tonight, don't worry. . . " She says, trailing off. The air turns serious. "In fact, she probably won't be back tomorrow either. Trust me."

"Mmm," Is all Freddie says. Sam doesn't speak any further. She's comfortable now and within minutes, she's dozing. Freddie hasn't stopped rubbing her back, but his rhythm slows as he looks up at the ceiling, uneased by the dark hidden meaning in her words, and just wanting to do something about it.

With her hand resting against his hipbone, loosely clutching the ends of his shirt, her face still pressed against his chest, Freddie is now certain. Sam Puckett-at least, for right now-needs him.