iBlame it on the Alcohol

an iCarly story

by: EmilyHelene

Disclaimer: Did you know I am a compulsive liar? I OWN iCARLY! I OWN iCARLY! Ha-ha, just kidding. Neither of those statements is true!

I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't mean to be the worst updater but I've been through so much lately including a lot of family related issues and a few deaths so I haven't had the heart to write anything of value. Least of all this story, as it is my favourite. In a way, I don't want to give you guys anything less than my best so I hope you enjoy this chapter. To anyone who is still following this story, I love you. You are the best readers a writer could ask for.

(The Seddie Arc never happened in this particular universe (and it makes me so happy to need to say that! SEDDIE!)

Rated T for Language

Summary: "Please, I'm not some docile lightweight like you, dorkerella. Mama can take it."

"Yeah," I rolled my eyes at her, "that's exactly why you showed up at my door at three AM wasted out of your flippin' mind."

November 3rd 3:18am

15 Baron Street, Unit 2-B

Freddie POV

"Puckett, out."

Straightening herself up to the best of her intoxicated ability, Sam pushed past me and crossed the threshold to my dorm; if you could even call it that. Sam didn't waste any time in pointing it out like she did every time she came over.

"I still can't believe that a nubborito like you is staying in a place like this." She said her voice changing decibels and escalating slightly with each syllable. She dropped her shoes in the entrance way and I winced. Partially because I was afraid the noise would wake everyone within earshot but also partially because the floor in my apartment was rather dent-free and why change that?

"You can knock my mum all you want, Sam but when she is able to talk down the owner nearly four hundred dollars rent and have the whole place cleaned head to toe with a Bissell, you learn to count your blessings."

I started looking around for a place in the city in which I could live while I was going to school; my mother decided that her participation in my decision was imperative. I wasn't allowed to live in a dorm room with anyone else, "What if they don't have good hygiene?" or "What if they smoke? Freddie Benson, you know how I feel about smoking." As a result, I landed my own place with all the bells and whistles I needed and a view to boot.

As she headed into the living room she called over her shoulder, "Uh, blah, blah, blah, Benson. You're still a nub and your mum's still a psychopath."

"As if I could forget," I whispered under my breath. Even when she was drunk she could push my buttons.

After neatening up her death-trap shoes by the entranceway, I made my way into the living room where Sam lay sprawled out on my couch, raping my Netflix. I rolled my eyes and tried my best to resist the urge to strangle her for acting like she owned the place. I'm pretty sure the only thing that kept me from wrapping my fingers around her throat was the innocent way she scrolled through the genres and their respective movies.

"Oooh, look Benson, just your type. Romantic comedies! I wonder if they even have Sleepless in Seattle." They did, I knew they did because I'd seen it a few hundred times. But other than Kate Beckinsdale's smoking body and this really neat cinematography effect I was trying to learn for my film class, it didn't really invoke much interest from me.

I padded over to where she was and shoved her over, trying to regain at least enough room to sit on my own couch. I was met with minimal success. Grabbing the remote from her hand, I turned the television off and in the process, broke her drunken little heart.

I fully anticipated the blow as the screen went black. I did not, however, anticipate it in my kidneys. I inhaled sharply, trying to wait out the pain as Sam stood up, hands on hips with her mouth molded into a glare that was enough to make me sweat. My eyes wandered down from her face to her clothing, minimal as it was. It was then that I realized that if she was going to crash here, she would have to change into something made me feel a little less like an animal.

Well, that came out in a way I didn't expect. I'd be lying if I said Sam wasn't attractive but that dress kind of did me in just a little bit. It was tightly fitted and cut off mid-thigh; probably designed to leave a guy imagining what it kept hidden. If need be, I could vouch for its effectiveness wholeheartedly.

"Uh, Sam…you've got a little…" I motioned to the upper part of her dress that was doing little in the way of keeping her chest out of sight.

Her voice cut though the somewhat awkward silence like a machete in a jungle. "What the hell, Benson. Quit staring at me…"

Feeling rather confident I decided to just come out and tell her what the problem was. "Well you are kind of falling out of your dress…"

"The fu…" she trailed off before becoming completely aware of just how much Puckett she was showing off.

Her sleepy eyes hardened as did the rest of her face. "You didn't see ANYTHING, got it? I'm going to KILL you Freddork." This threat would of course have been a lot more menacing on a face that didn't look like Sam's which, in case you were wondering, appeared to be using every muscle available to secrete the glare etched in her features.

Then she turned away from me in an attempt to cover herself up, the faintest ghost of a blush creeping up her cheeks. I smirked, somewhat proud of myself for embarrassing the queen of obnoxious behaviour. The gentleman in me pointed out that it was just wrong to make fun of a drunken girl but the part of me that had been made vulnerable for so long was sick and tired. I had never laughed louder.

I anticipated that punch, too.

Turning serious, I racked my brain for some sort of solution. "Here, I've probably got something that you can crash in. One second."

With that I disappeared behind the door to my room and made a beeline for my dresser, reaching for one of my older t-shirts that had accidentally been run through the dryer twice, shrinking it to about half of its original size. If my estimates were right, which I assumed they would be, it would potentially fit her, albeit loosely.

My sweatpants would have swallowed her up completely so they were out and all the loose fitting shorts I had were in my laundry hamper, leaving only one option. Go figure.

I opened my underwear drawer very carefully, as if I were being watched. Peering in, I hunted for a pair of my boxers that would embarrass me the least. I found a holey pair I knew I needed to get rid of anyway so I tossed them over my shoulder in the general direction of my garbage can.

"Nice undies, Benson." I turned at the sound of her voice and paled at the sight of my worn boxer short underwear in her hands. She stood, slumped against the door frame as her eyes grazed the contents of my room and flickered with satisfaction in a way that was both infuriating and dare I say it, sexy.

"Nice room, nub." The sarcasm in her tone must have weighed a tonne.

In my own defense my room really wasn't that bad. It was typical dorm stuff; a bed, desk, dresser and tiny closet. My bed sheets were balled up near the end of my bed and dirty clothes lined the floor. Of course, these weren't what Sam noticed. No, she would notice the Galaxy Wars poster over my desk and my blue replica Sabre of Light I bought of eBay a few months ago.

A giggle escaped her lips. Gritting my teeth, I pulled out a relatively unthreatening pair and chucked them and the t-shirt at her head.

Sam puffed out her lower lip in a mock-pout, "I don't get a Galaxy Wars t-shirt, too? Well, shit. Don't you know how to make a girl feel special…"

I was getting pretty fed up at this point. On any given day I could handle a sober Sam. On a Thursday night after I'd just finished my midterm paper at three-something in the morning with a slightly less than sober Sam? Now that was just something that no one comes prepared for. "Look, Puckett. You don't have to stay here. But if you want someone to take care of your drunk ass, you should sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up." I let out a breath I hadn't known I had been holding when a witty retort didn't immediately come and was instead met with a looming lack of noise.

I'm not sure if the silence was a result of her wanting to hit me a third time for standing up to her or giving me a congratulatory punch in the shoulder for the same reason. With Sam though it was more likely to be because I dropped not one f-bomb but two and my mum wasn't around to clean my mouth out with soap until I died from high levels of glycerin in my digestive track.

"I would tell you to grow a pair but it seems like you already did."

Normally, I would have puffed out my chest in pride at this comment but I was just too tired. I also would likely have asked what it was about my previous statement that impressed her but I knew that if I did ask, Sam would regret having congratulated me in the first place. For someone who hadn't slept in a while, I was certainly capable of coherent thought and general common sense.

"Where's your bathroom? I want to go take a change and shower my clothes." I looked up startled, having almost forgotten that she was in the room with me. It's funny how your thoughts can just completely separate you from reality. I snickered slightly at her drunken abuse of the English language but decided not to comment on it this time.

I stared at her, unable to believe she couldn't remember. "It's the door next to my room, Sam. Use cold water, trust me." I couldn't help but wonder just how much alcohol she had actually had to drink.

As she walked down the hall, something struck me. Hard. Sam Puckett was drunk in my apartment and I was taking care of her.

"Well, fuck." Apparently f-bombs were becoming a trend of sorts. I got the feeling that that wouldn't be the last one I uttered before sunrise either.

November 3rd 3:27am

15 Baron Street, Unit 2-B

Sam POV

What a nub. Who's just sitting around in their apartment working on a stupid nubby paper this late? No one interesting, that's for sure. God, Freddie was so frustrating. Would it kill him to have a little fun once and a while?

I lifted a hand to my head and sighed soundlessly. The rhetorical questions and overall use of my brain for well, anything other than controlling my motor skills, would have to stop. After a few more seconds I closed my hand around the small glass handle of the bathroom door, pulling with all of my might. When it didn't budge, I resisted the urge to yell "Open sesame!" and pulled harder. Three more futile attempts later, I collapsed against the door only to have it open softly under my weight. So it was a push door. Huh.

It's safe to say that the door won this battle.

I traipsed into the bathroom and closed the door behind me, cursing that stupid fucking door for not having a label and began tugging my clothes off one by one. My black dress fell in a heap of cotton on the floor and I kicked it across the room, wearing nothing by my bra and underwear. The mirrored cabinet in the bathroom confirmed my suspicions: I did, in fact, look like shit.

I looked on at my figure in the mirror, criticizing every aspect I could find. My eyes were slightly uneven, my mascara was running from the water that Freddie and his lovely asshole of a neighbour had poured on my face, zits I hadn't seen since high school were popping up along my cheeks like flowers in the spring and then there was my body. A different story entirely, my body just didn't look the way I wanted it to. Not that I had any hopes to look like a nine year old boy, but would a flat stomach be too much to ask for? I sighed, of course it would. I was a mess.

It was a stark contrast of the neat and orderly set-up of Freddo's bathroom. For a college boy, it was pristine. I half-expected Mrs. Benson to jump out from behind the shower curtain screaming at me to get out, armed with a bottle of Lysol and rubber gloves. I laughed to myself and resumed stripping until I wore nothing but a pair of earrings and nail polish.

I bent over the side of the tub and let the water run over my hand, making sure the temperature was just right. Then I remembered what Freddie had told me and adjusted the dial until the water was just above freezing. Gritting me teeth, I pulled back the shower curtain and gave myself a pep-talk before stepping in to Alaska in liquid form.

My blood-curdling scream was probably heard by the entire block.

November 3rd 3:29am

15 Baron Street, Unit 2-B

Freddie's POV

I stared aimlessly at the television flippantly which likely would have been normal had it been actually playing something.

My Y chromosome could not help but force images of Sam showering in the washroom down the hall into my head and it was taking a lot of restraint to remain as calm as I was. I fell back against the worn fabric of my couch and let out a deep breath. Needing to distract myself, I got up and went to my room and got my paper. I figured that if I was going to be awake at this hour, I might as well get something productive done while I had the chance. A few moments later I felt my insides turn to stone as I heard Sam's scream echo across the apartment.

About a million worst case scenarios flashed through my mind, many of which involved her mangled body on the floor of my shower with broken limbs and lots of blood. Why hadn't I gone in there with her or at least turned it on or something? Sam was dead. She was dead and the fault was entirely my own.

"Sam!" At some point during that endless train of thought, I found my voice. "Sam! What happened? Are you hurt?"

I bolted to the bathroom and threw open the door, racing to the shower. I was just about to throw back the shower curtain when I remembered that behind that little piece of plastic, Sam was naked. Grabbing a towel, I took a deep breath and released it shakily.

"Sam, cover up what you don't want seen." Hopefully my voice came across as confident because I felt about as secure as a combination lock purchased from the dollar store. I shut off the water and tossed the towel in to her, turning away to give her some privacy.

"Are you decent?"

"…Yeah." She said, her words coming out as shakily as my own had. I opened my eyes to find her curled into a ball at one end of the tub, barely covered by the terrycloth. I held up two fingers.

"Two things," I started, "First off, what the hell? Are you injured? What happened? And two, you almost gave me a heart attack. I thought you were dead."

She just stared at me, her bangs damp and splayed across her forehead, eyes slightly distant. "The water was cold. That's all." I let out another huge breath and ran a hand through my hair.

"Of course the water- Seriously Sam? What the fuck? I honestly can't even believe it! You shouldn't even be here right now! I should be asleep right now but instead I'm taking care of your sorry ass who screams bloody murder when the shower water is a little cold. I mean God dammit, Sam!" I kicked the side of the tub in frustration at that point. Needless to say, that was one of my poorly made decisions.

"Sorry." Her voice was tired and barely above a whisper.

I was about to go on ranting and raving but I realized it would get me nowhere. Also, I was a little bit in shock having just received an apology from the girl who I, at one time, believed was the devil incarnate.

"Wh-what did you just say?"

"Jesus, I said I was sorry, okay? I'm tired and don't feel that great and now I feel like shit. Are you happy now? Maybe I'll just leave, get out of your hair. I'm sorry." She started to get up and wrap the towel around her body when her words finally got through to me.

"No, Sam. Don't be ridiculous. It's way too late to go anywhere, you can crash here." She looked up at me with a nearly undetectable hint of vulnerability and was it gratitude? She smiled at me and I froze where I stood as she mumbled,

"Thanks, Freddork." This night was getting stranger and stranger with each passing minute.

Suddenly and without warning her smile dissipated and it was replaced with the characteristic smirk and devilish gleam in her piercing blue eyes. She reached up to punch me in the arm while strategically holding her towel around herself with the precision of a seasoned professional. As I had expected, it hurt just as much as any other punch Sam Puckett could have thrown. I'll admit it was admirable.

"Good, then get out so I can grab a shower." I rolled my eyes but decided to bow out graciously of the small room, muttering a few choice words under my breath. "Towels are in the basket under the sink."

"Great, now get out." I had to chuckle at that, all the while doing my very best to rid the mental images of Sam in her towel out of my head. After all, I didn't need anything else to be teased about.

At last I was free to just sit down on the couch and relax. Between writing my paper and taking care of Sam, I'd had little time to shut my brain down. If I was lucky, maybe I'd be able to get a few minutes of sleep before she was done in the washroom.

But of course I wasn't lucky and could hear the ringing of little electronic bells from Sam's cell phone down the hallway. Groaning, I got up to go and shut the thing off.

I found it in her purse along with some cash, bobby pins, different tubes of make-up and a mickey of whiskey that was half-empty. Her bag was so tiny I hadn't a clue how she managed to fit anything in it, let alone a bottle of whiskey.

I stood there, aimlessly staring at the bottle deciding whether or not to put it to good use. After a quick analysis of my situation, I raised the bottle to my lips in silent toast to myself and the blond-headed demon down the hall. If this night was going to go the way I thought it might, I would need all the help I can get. I'd never been one for whiskey, but tonight nothing could have tasted better.

A/N: There are so many things I want to say but mostly it's just thanks! I wish you guys could know how badly I feel about this super late update!

Please review if you can, it is greatly appreciated and hopefully will make chapters appear faster! I estimate that there are about 3 or 4 chapters left. (:

I love you!

R & R, please! (: