Freddie stretches in the wide, airy terminal, glad to be in Seattle, finally. The flight was long—longer than what JetBlue had advertised—and twice, when Freddie gratefully found himself falling asleep, the boy in the seat in front of him had woke him up.
"Hey mister!" the boy, too old to be climbing backwards in seats, had hissed at him.
Freddie had opened one eye.
"Is this your first time riding in an airplane?"
"No." Freddie had decided to humor him. "Is it yours?"
"Yes, and I'm not scared!" he crowed triumphantly.
"Well that's good. Airplanes are one of the safest forms of travel," Freddie said around a yawn. The lady to his right who had rosary beads clutched in her hands shot him a glare. He shrugged.
The boy had eyed him warily. "Nuh-uh, cars are."
Freddie tried to hide his incredulous laugh. "Believe me, planes are safer than cars."
"Then how come my cousin didn't die in a car?"
"Huh?"
"My cousin, Ron, died in Afri..can…istan. He was flying in a jet when someone shot him with a missile. His plane went boom, kapow, screech…" Freddie smirked as the boy's sound effects got more creative until the lady next to him, presumably his mother, smacked the back of his head to get him to lower his voice. Upon spotting the grin on Freddie's face, the boy had whispered, "You can't laugh! That's against the rules!"
When Freddie hadn't answered, choosing instead to look out the small window at the clouds below him, the boy continued.
"We're plane buddies. Best friends! You can't laugh at me when I get punished by mom."
"Why not?" Freddie asked, not bothering to conceal his bored tone.
"Because I'll stop being your friend."
"Try me," Freddie had muttered under his breath, but then he had pulled on the provided headphones and settled back to watch some lame Lifetime movie on the small television screen. The boy had, seemingly, gotten bored after a while, and sat back in his seat with a visible huff.
A short while later, as Freddie found himself dozing off yet again, the table hanging off the back of the seat in the front of him jerked, and lukewarm coffee spilled across the crotch and leg of his jeans. "Crap!" he exclaimed, foolishly trying to brush the liquid off with his hands, to no avail.
"Oops!" the boy said around a toothily grin, and his mother shot Freddie a sympathetic look before passing him napkins that she dug out of her huge purse. Freddie waved them away and stood up. It took a bit of maneuvering around the catholic lady who decided to ignore the fact that he wanted to leave his seat, but he finally made it to the aisle. As he was starting down to the bathroom, he heard the boy yell at his mother, "Lemme out, mom! I wanna go help him! He's my best buddy, and that's what friends do!"
Freddie came back from the cramped bathroom to see the boy pouting heavily next to his sleeping mother and sighed when he saw the resolute look on the face of the catholic woman. He mumbled, "Planes are completely dangerous."
That seemed to do the trick; the lady smiled and stood up for him to get back into his seat. He had sat back with a groan and wished fervently for this ride to be over.
Freddie smiled as he walked through the terminal and picked up his bags. When he turned from the belt, he barely had a second to smile before his mother's arms were thrown around his neck.
"Oh, Freddie," she said as she planted kisses on his cheeks, one after the other. Freddie blushed, but allowed himself to be squeezed by his mother, leaning into her hands caressing his cheeks.
"Hello to you, too, mom."
"Oh, goodness, how was the flight?"
"Long," Freddie shrugged, adjusting the bag across his chest. "Boring."
His mother pulled a device akin to a walkie talkie out of her huge purse, and pressed a few buttons, bringing up what seemed to be a timer. "Well, you're right. This flight was thirty-six minutes and fourty-eight seconds past the time it was supposed to arrive, so." She tucked the object back into her bag. "This airplane company can expect a call from me about punctuality."
Freddie laughed and rolled his eyes at her fussing over him during the car ride home. Once in the garage of the Bushwell Plaza, Freddie jumped out of his mother's car and whistled when he saw the 1997 pickup truck model sporting a fresh blue paintjob and gleaming rims, different from when he last saw it. He nearly screamed when he peered into the window and saw the leather upholstery complete with what he deemed to be the most awesome set of accessories ever.
"I can't believe this!" he cried, running his hand along the gleaming door.
"That death trap?" his mother asked as she walked past him and into the building, eyebrow raised.
"Spencer did an amazing job! Oh man." He pulled his hand across his hair. "I have to go thank him now."
"Not before you bring your bags upstairs, take a long, hot tick bath, and eat lunch will you be going to visit anyone, Fredward Karl Benson!"
Freddie shook his head. Twenty years old, and his mother was still forcing him to take tick baths.
::: ::: ::: :::
Carly doesn't see him coming. Her back is to the door as she lounges against her spot on the beanbag chair, and from the angle Freddie gets as he's standing behind her, he can see Gabe resting in her arms, pacifier working in his mouth as he sucks on it.
Freddie doesn't pay attention to what's on the TV, just slowly drops to his knees and wraps his arms around the brunette.
Carly shakes her head and laughs. "Just because I'm holding your baby does not mean that you get to hug me like that." She shakes his arms off.
Freddie chuckles, low in her ear, asks, "I don't remember getting anyone pregnant." He laughs at the way Carly jumps out of her skin, and she looks at him, eyes wide.
"Freddie!" A smile blooms across her lips. "What are you doing here?"
He rearranged his position so that he was kneeling by her and not behind her. "Well… I was feeling guilty for missing Christmas break, so I thought I'd come for Presidents' week. Gotta make it up somehow."
Carly gives him an understanding look. "We know that you were swamped with term papers, so we completely understand. If you had come home in December, you would have probably failed half your classes."
Freddie sucks in a sharp breath and smiles when Gabe peels open one eye to look quizzically at him.
"How is NYU treating you, anyway?" Carly asks.
"Fair."
"Cool," she nods, then looks back up at the TV. Freddie glances at it as well.
What he sees on the screen are small fingers pointing out various bright and glittery stickers, sees the camera being jerked around by inexperienced hands while a child's voice says, "And that's my Hello Kitty sticker that I got from Auntie Deb last week. Mommy didn't want her over because she argues a lot with Daddy, but I let Aunt Deb in anyway when she gave me this sticker. Isn't it cute? Say yes." The camera bobs up and down as the girl tries to imitate nodding, and she giggles. The camera turns, and Freddie finds himself looking into a face with wide green eyes nearly covered by dirty blonde bangs. Her mouth is stained blue and there is a lollipop in one hand. She smiles, and Freddie finds himself smiling back.
"Who is she?" he asks Carly.
"Skylar Anderson. She lives on the—wait. I'm not sure which floor she lives on. Sam never told me."
Freddie's heart jumps at this, and he has to gulp to keep from gasping. "Sam?"
"Mm-hmm," Carly nods, shaking her finger that is tightly clasped in one of Gabe's tiny hands.
"Hey, munchkin," a painfully familiar voice yells, and Freddie looks back up at the TV, settling down more comfortable on the floor. He dangles his arms over his knees. "What are you doing with that sugary concoction of blue dye near my precious camera?"
The girl smiles at something over the camera, and shrugs. "Carly doesn't mind? Do you Carly?"
Carly, seated beside Freddie, lets out an amused snort.
"Yeah, well, Carly didn't pay for this." The camera is snatched up into the air, and Freddie gets a glance of bright pink sneakers and acid wash jeans before the camera is settled down.
Freddie feels a sort of excitement building in his chest when the older girl moves back from the lens. Time slows down for him as he watches her go farther away, until all of her t-shirt is exposed, until she only has to take one more step before he can see her face.
Carly shoots him a glance and he smiles tightly at her.
The girl takes one last step back, and Freddie's breath is knocked out of him.
She's… beautiful. Even more so from the last time he saw her, in her teal dress with her long curly hair spilling down her back. He tries not to remember the last image he had of her tight, pained face, and instead focuses on this one.
The first thing Freddie notices is that she doesn't have the long hair that made her stand out once upon a time. Instead, it was straight and short and lighter, platinum blonde, cropped close to her chin where it spilled out of her small ponytail. It was such an extremely different look that Freddie exclaimed, "Whoa."
Carly smirked at him. "Different, right?"
"Um… understatement." Freddie shook his head.
Sam is barely smiling, one corner of her lips tilted, one hand coming up to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear. Her eyes are intense in its focus, and Freddie could literally feel her stare burning his chest, down into his core.
Her lips begin moving, and it takes Freddie a while to concentrate on what she's saying.
"… has got these awards for being the greatest forward on his soccer team. I mean, he led his teammates to win four games. Count 'em. Four. Can you believe it? He is the greatest guy ever."
"Who is she talking about?"
"Rick, her boyfriend," Carly coos before rolling her eyes. "She swears that she's not head over heels in love with him, but I can see it."
Freddie swallows down his disappointment. "How long has she been with him?"
Carly pulls a face. "I don't know. They seem to be on and off."
Freddie turns back to the video, hears Sam prattle on in that way that she only knows how about the goings on in her life, the prospect of her promotion at her job, the car she bought, how she's thinking of painting the walls of her bedroom yellow and some other things. By the time the film cut off, Freddie's head was reeling with information, more than he would have liked to take in during one sitting, but enough to have him satisfied and more. Craving to know more about this girl who had become a mystery to him more than two years ago, who had went on to become the star of the beautiful nightmares that kept him waking at odd times in the night.
Carly sighed. "I really miss her."
Freddie didn't want to admit it—because she had been the selfish one to walk out of their lives so many years ago-- but he missed her as well.
Carly handed Freddie the baby and stood up, stretching. "I'm gonna go get some water. You want something?"
"No thanks," Freddie answered.
He stared at the TV, at the frozen image of Sam leaning over to turn the camera off. Her eyes seemed impossibly blue in the way that is sliced through his skin, and he had to concentrate on breathing.
