Author's note: First, a warning—this chapter pushes up against the limits of this story's 'T' rating. Reader discretion is advised. Coming up now, I've taken some inspiration from OneHorseShay and I'll take some time to reply to your comments.
- calvinhobbesliker, when watching through the series, I always got the feeling that Freddie knows a lot about Carly, but she hadn't bothered to listen much about his private life. I'm glad she got a chance to look back with him on some happier times. As for the rest, Sam is jealous, and her reaction cost her dearly—it'd be too much of a spoiler to reveal any more beyond that.
- L Gull, thanks for the praise. I'm writing what I want to see in this case, and it ain't Seddie.
- Guest, thanks for the praise. Read on—I think you, as well as everyone else, will be pleased with this latest installment of A 'Pearing' Made In Heaven.
"Sam went off the deep end. I might be going to the hospital; will keep you updated."
The moment Freddie's text pinged her phone, Chelsea found herself unable to properly focus in any of her classes. She'd seen the destructiveness of Sam's antics on iCarly, but until now, pushed it down as an act. Worse, Freddie had insisted that she not cut class to rush to his side; she had begrudgingly acquiesced, and she had suffered for it all day.
She barely sees the light at the end of the tunnel in her last class. Her history teacher drones on in the background as she mulls over last night's conversation with Freddie. She can't help the tears that brim at her eyes as his words hit her like a train.
"Do all your friends treat you like crap?"
"They don't treat me too bad…considering, after all, that I am a nerd."
"Miss Wiggins," the teacher prompts, jerking Chelsea from her train of thought. "Unfortunately, the Battle of Gettysburg wasn't fought in outer space."
"I'm sorry, Mister Young…my mind is somewhere else." She flashes an apologetic glare at the teacher amidst her classmates' collective giggles. He attempts to continue his lecture, but is interrupted by the dismissal bell.
"Remember to read chapter twelve!" he belts out before his pupils collectively squeeze through the door.
As Chelsea attempts to follow her classmates' lead, she's beckoned over to the teacher's desk. She knows he saw right through her apology and explanation—Bill Young and her father had been family friends since before she existed; needless to say, the man can read her like a book. She's not so nervous about the impending talk as she is about the reason for it.
"You're not usually the type to zone out like that, Chelsea," Mr. Young drawls as she steps toward his desk. "Anything going on?"
"Yeah, actually," she frankly answers. "This guy I just met…well, he's got some bad stuff going on at school right now." She sighs before taking a seat.
"Does he go here?" he asks, furrows carving into his forehead.
"No; he goes to Ridgeway High," she answers. "You know Freddie from iCarly?"
"Yeah, it rings a bell," he says. "My daughters watch them all the time, despite my objections. He's the tech guy, right? The one the blonde picks on all the time?"
"That's him," she sighs, letting out a large breath. "And that blonde very nearly handed him his six o'clock this morning. Sounds like he was able to put her down, but he ended up going to the hospital afterward."
A look of surprise dominates the educator's countenance. "I really do hope he's alright, then…I've seen enough of what that delinquent can do."
"I'm actually about to leave and go see him," she announces with a ghost of a smile. "He told me he's a little banged up. But from what I know of him, it's about time he stood up for himself."
"You don't usually go for the fighters, Chelsea. Does the good Admiral know of this Freddie?" Bill asks with a broad smirk.
"Yeah, Dad knows," she answers with a toothy grin. "We just met yesterday, though! He works at the Pear Store on McGraw."
"So he's a techie in real life, huh? Seems like a pairing made in heaven!"
Both teacher and student devolve into belly laughter like the family friends they've been for years. Chelsea finds herself happier for getting the situation off her chest, and it shows in her smile.
"Speaking of the Admiral, I need to call Harry up one of these days; he owes me a drive in that new Cadillac of his. It's been too long since I've seen the ol' brute."
"I'll tell him myself!" Chelsea laughs as she makes to rise from her seated position. "I've gotta buzz, though; Freddie's probably getting a little antsy."
"See you in class tomorrow, Chelsea," the teacher says. "Make sure you do your reading—I can't promise there won't be a pop quiz tomorrow over the first three sections."
"Thanks," she chuckles with a conspiratorial smile before threading her way through the byzantine network of desks.
"Oh, one more thing…take good care of that Freddie you've found."
"I will," she smiles.
§
Over at Apartment 8-D, Freddie feels a little better for wear after a long midday nap. The morning rain hadn't let up at all—in fact, he swears it's raining harder now than when he started the day—but the steady atmospheric pressure had kept potential pain from his titanium augmentations at bay. The cursory medical examination at the hospital, where Mrs. Benson had been surprised to receive her own son as a patient, had revealed nothing that a couple weeks' time wouldn't heal. However, those injuries, minor as they were, had earned Sam a misdemeanor charge of assault causing bodily injury; that left the tearaway rotting in the Seattle Police Municipal Jail and the iCarly namesake raving mad.
Carly barges into Freddie's bedroom, only to find her tech producer under the covers and perusing new SplashFace videos on his phone. As she walks into his line of sight, Freddie gives his angry former flame a glance before setting down said phone.
"What can I do ya for, Carls?" he coolly asks.
"You're gonna drop those charges, right?" Carly demands.
"Are you kidding?" Freddie scoffs with an exasperated squint, not prepared for this battle. "Have you seen my janking ankle? Or my forehead? Or my black eye?"
"But what about the show? I can't do it without Sam!"
Red mist clouds Freddie's vision as he ponders his response to the showrunning brunette. "But what about the fact that I probably won't be off crutches until Sunday?" he angrily prods. "Even if I cared about the show right now—and to be honest, I don't—I'm probably not gonna be able to do my job come Friday. I'm not mobile enough."
Carly raises her index finger to make a retort when Marissa Benson storms into the bedroom. The new arrival tightly clutches at a bag of prescription medication from the drugstore.
"First you," she growls at Carly with a menacing point, "and now Sam. You two are destroying my Freddie and it's unacceptable!"
"Mom, it's just a black eye and a few scrapes!" Freddie retorts. "Sam's locked up, so I'll be fine in no time."
"And a badly sprained ankle! Might I add, Mister 'I'll be fine in no time', that's what you said after the Mexican food truck, yet it took you eight months to heal!"
Carly blanches at the mention of the infamous food truck incident; many memories of her and Freddie's brief romantic relationship flood her mind. She recalls, in vivid detail, the kisses they shared on his very bed…the deepness of their contact, how tender he was toward her, the chasing away with a sock. A stray tear wells at her eye in mourning of the relationship that never was, as she remembers how happy he'd been to have her hanging off his good arm, but also for the private moments they'd shared. As mother and son continue their verbal combat before her eyes, the tear does roll down when she remembers the agony she'd been through once she found out about Sam's nefarious role in the breakup.
"Mother…I'm really not in the mood to argue this," Freddie says, more as a defense of Carly than anything else. The webstar gratefully smiles before wiping that stray tear from her cheek.
"But I am, young man! And I argue that you don't need any more girls in your life!"
The doorbell suddenly rings, ending the verbal sparring match long enough for Marissa to check the front door camera.
"Speaking of more girls…if that's who I think it is, I insist she be let in." Freddie stares at his mother in defiance, not expecting her to cave until the moment she starts pounding out the disarm sequence.
"Leave your shoes in the hall," she calls out to the entering guest.
Chelsea enters Freddie's bedroom and immediately gasps at the blackening around his left eye as well as the redness of his nose. Disregarding the other females present in the room, she rushes to the tech producer's side, gingerly taking a seat at the edge of his bed before rubbing his shoulder. Freddie smiles broadly at the contact, gleefully ignoring everything and everyone else in his room.
"Excuse me, miss…do I know you?" Freddie's mom asks of the attractive brunette. The latter person jerks her head around to finally take in Marissa's stressed countenance, glancing briefly at the other brunette's downcast one.
"I seem to have forgotten my manners!" she panics, extending her hand for the Benson matriarch to shake. "I'm Chelsea Wiggins, a friend of Freddie's."
"Marissa Benson…" she trails off, shaking her hand politely. "Remember, Freddie was my boy first."
Chelsea chuckles awkwardly before turning her attention to the sad brunette in the room, now with jealousy clouding her eyes. "I'm assuming you're Carly Shay?" she greets, extending her hand to allow the same courtesy.
"Yeah," Carly sniffles before offering a pasted-on smile and a handshake. "I've gotta go now, so I'll see you guys later?"
"Yeah," Freddie half-smiles, sensing her distress. "See ya later!"
Marissa's stress visibly unravels upon Carly's hasty departure. "No funny business," she sternly reminds the two teens before likewise exiting the bedroom, leaving the door open and the pair to their own devices.
Freddie offers a broad smile to his newfound friend. "See? Told ya you didn't need to cut class."
"On the contrary…" Chelsea sighs, offering her hand to hold. "What the hell happened? I saw you texted me about the particulars, but I never got to read it."
He gratefully takes her hand and squeezes. "I went to breakfast with Carly this morning. Sam saw us arrive, and Carly says she hounded her about what we talked about. After that, she came into our homeroom and pretty much just went for me. Sprained my ankle tripping over a desk, and everything else is because I couldn't defend myself as well as I'd have liked."
"Jeez…" the sweet girl trails off. "Sam did get arrested, right?"
"Yep," the tech producer confirms. "She's in Seattle city jail right now…I betcha Carly has already asked Colonel Shay to pay the bail. Three thousand bucks."
Chelsea's mouth is agape at the revelation. "How'd she manage that?"
"Well, there's assault with bodily injury, and they also managed to bag her on a warrant. Petty larceny or something."
She snorts. "Sounds typical…I do have to make sure, you dated that chick?"
"One of the worst decisions I've ever made," Freddie sighs. "Carly pressured me into it, iCarly fans pressured me into it. If you ask Sam, she dumped me, but we mutually broke it off."
Chelsea is gobsmacked as she lets his final statement sink in. "Why does she tell that story?"
Freddie shamefully turns his head away from her soft gaze. "It's a courtesy I allowed her. I didn't want to see her even more hurt, but look where that got me…"
She lets his response linger in the air as her eyes drink in the damaged boy's appearance. His eyes are closed in shame from his retelling of his life's recent events; however, his countenance reflects a ghost of a smile from his newfound friend's soft, gentle contact. As she kneads the back of his reddened and sore hand, he moans softly in relief.
Upon hearing the clumping of Marissa's orthopedic shoes against the apartment's hardwood floor, Chelsea nervously lets go of the boy's hand. As if on cue, Freddie's mother enters the boy's room; Chelsea's confusion grows as she takes in the sight of the boy's mother in her nurse's garb as opposed to the casual housewear she donned not ten minutes ago.
"Freddie, I need to head into work—they're a little short-staffed this evening," the frazzled mother explains. "Chelsea, I suppose I can let you stay for a while. Ten o'clock is Freddie's bedtime; make sure he gets a shower before then."
The tech producer, for his part, doesn't bother covering for his mother. He has an oddly pleasant feeling that Chelsea won't be mortified by his mother's demands, and upon hearing his friend's cheery acquiescence and his mollified mother's departure, he feels rather vindicated.
Chelsea, on the other hand, is surprised at being entrusted with Freddie's care. The girl's cursory evaluation of her friend's mother told her to expect the worst in overprotectiveness. She pushes those feelings to the side, however, as she realizes one way to take the victory: rising from the bed, she flashes Freddie a small smile, watching him track her movement around the foot of the bed toward the other side. As she reaches for the covers, Freddie's countenance suddenly becomes alarmed.
"Only if you want," she reassures the boy with a soft smile.
He flashes a similar smile, pulling back the covers to allow his friend access. She slides into his bed, quickly snuggling up to the boy's right side. He allows his arm to snake around her midsection before once again closing his eyes. As a comfortable silence overtakes the pair, Freddie lets out a deep breath and allows himself to finally relax in Chelsea's warm and comforting presence, suppressing the anxiety arising from having a sweet girl cuddled up to him.
Her eyes remain open, and she can't help but concentrate on his swollen left eye, tears threatening to spill over once again at the world's treatment of her sweet friend. Before she can restrain herself, she leans around and plants a ghost of a kiss just below his afflicted eye.
The tech producer's eyelids blow open at the unexpected kiss. His lips curl into a vibrant smile, which becomes slightly shy once her blue eyes meet his brown ones. As his heart begins to pound in his chest and his breath becomes choppy, he can't help but be drawn deeper into her comforting embrace. He lifts his left arm to join his right one wrapped around the sweet girl's midsection, slightly angling his head for the kill, his eyes closing at the feel of her warm and gentle breath on his face.
Freddie and Chelsea both moan happily as they yield themselves to the softness and the tenderness of their first kiss. The setting isn't as romantic as he'd dreamt the night prior—in fact, his feeling of deja vu is strong given his physical state and the setting—but the sparks are there all the same.
As slowly as it happened, the pair noisily separates from their chaste lip-lock. Chelsea is first to open her eyes, and she giggles when she finds Freddie's lips still slightly puckered. Eyes still closed, he smiles as he steals another kiss from her lips. She finds herself pleased to kiss back, and she does, separating quickly with a smoky expression.
No words are exchanged as she quickly maneuvers herself onto his lap and slams her lips onto his. He instinctively latches onto her waist as they move to deepen their kiss; their tongue action quickly escalates from gently caressing to exploring each other's mouth to battling for dominance. Her hands grip at his sides, not ever wanting to let him go, moaning deeply into their kiss once she realizes he feels the same about her. She lets herself slowly gyrate against his pelvis, guided by the sweet boy's gentle kneading of her rump, as she attempts to suck and nip gently at his lips.
Once she begins to kiss down his jawline, he's beyond caring about his growing excitement pressing into her. He lets out a long, guttural groan as the sweet girl sucks and tongues gently at his pulse point, letting a hand drift upward from her rear, across her waist and up her midsection, to barely graze the side of her chest. She allows her right hand to meet his left at the side of her breast, slowly guiding his hand (initially meeting a little resistance and shyness from him) to the work of the divine potter. Returning her swollen lips to his, she gasps with him as he gently squeezes.
She moans happily as she feels his free hand gingerly move to cup and squeeze her other breast. In her excitement, her right hand drifts slightly downward and to the left, intending not to stop until she feels his maleness, until her mind catches up with her actions.
Chelsea abruptly pulls away from the kiss and rolls off the boy, taking deep breaths to regain her composure. Freddie spares a glance at her surprised face; his own face blanches in realization as both his arms and his excitement go limp.
"Holy hell…I'm so sorry, Chels…" he trails off as he slips out of bed and limps into the living room of the spacious apartment.
The sweet girl chases after the suddenly-shy boy, catching up to him as he collapses into a sitting position on the loveseat. She takes a seat next to him, allowing their thighs to touch as she reassures him with a soft kiss to his unscathed cheek. She slightly adjusts her bra and smooths down her shirt before explaining herself.
"I didn't say that kissing you, nor the other things, was unpleasant—nor was it unwanted," she smiles, quickly stealing another kiss on the lips from the anxious tech producer. "I just thought we might be going too fast toward the other things."
"Yeah, I agree…" Freddie breathes. "Listen, Chelsea…I'm sorry I let that happen so soon. Believe me, I don't wanna seem like I was taking advantage of your comfort; I'm not that kinda guy. I'm so, so, sorry that I let—"
Chelsea cuts off her boy's nonsensical babbling with another sweet, soft osculation, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. It's nowhere near as intimate as what just happened, but the gentle contact makes his heart swell.
When they break apart once again, she impishly giggles, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Sorry I cut you off…I just knew I wasn't gonna get a word in unless I did that." She firms her hold on Freddie's waist and takes a deep breath of her own before continuing. "I figure I'll be honest…I didn't just kiss you or let you do all that to help make you feel better. Well, that was a part, but, ah…" she trails off with giggles.
Freddie just smiles expectantly. "But…?" he prompts.
"I'm getting there!" she chuckles. "I know we haven't known each other long, Freddie, but I really like you. You're really sweet, you're loyal to your friends, you're incredibly smart, you stop at nothing to make the people you care about happy, you're a damn fine kisser…shall I carry on?"
"Not unless you wanna try greasing my ego through the door," Freddie jokes, the blush on his face growing. He quietly continues, "How far would you have let me go if you hadn't come to your senses?"
"I don't know," she honestly answers. "I've gotten so comfortable with you, but I'm not an easy person. I promise." She smiles gently, laying her head on Freddie's shoulder.
"When Sam and I dated, I never let her follow me to my bedroom…I still didn't trust her to respect me or my boundaries." He sighs before continuing. "I got so comfortable with you so quickly, I wouldn't have minded us going further, but I'm kinda glad you stopped us. The way I was raised, I'm supposed to put a ring on your finger before we do that."
"See?" Chelsea chuckles. "Two more reasons why I like you! You've got morals and you stick to them, even if we did just get a little saucy." She winks and gently squeezes his shoulders. "Plus you're a marriage kinda guy…I hate dating just for dating's sake."
Freddie looks down in regret, taking a deep breath before his response. "I'm ashamed to say I dated Sam for dating's sake. I saw myself possibly marrying Carly one day, but she never saw me that way, so that went south, especially after Adam and Steven. I have to see something in a girl for it to work."
"What do you see in me?" she asks after a beat, nervously twiddling with a loose thread.
He looks up to meet her twinkling eyes. "I see a girl who works her rear off to make a name for herself. I see a girl who treats me with compassion and likes me for me, when everyone else uses me for my talents, or hero-worships me, or pities me. I see a girl who's gentle and kind and sweet. I see a girl who I can spend time with and deeply enjoy her company. I see potential with us."
Tears brim at the sweet brunette's eyes as she wraps the boy in a solid hug. "You really think all that?"
"Yes, I do," he breathes, returning her hug with a smile. "I'm surprised that there's someone who thinks the same about me."
Chelsea squeezes harder in an attempt to keep sadness from her face. "Maybe you'll just have to get used to it?" she flirts.
Freddie surprises himself by pecking his sweet girl on her lips. "Perhaps," he smirks.
She glances at her watch, the time rapidly approaching eight o'clock. She flashes a worried smile in Freddie's direction as she reluctantly releases him from their embrace, leaving a stray kiss on his forehead before rising to her feet.
"I'm surprised Dad hasn't called," the brunette remarks, glancing at her phone. "But he's probably at the fencing studio right now."
Freddie rises as well, grabbing at his crutch for support. "Your dad does fencing?!" he asks with an incredulous expression on his face.
"Yeah; he just picked it up. Gets him outta the house, which really helps his mood, especially after Mom died."
The tech producer limps over to her, laying a hand on her shoulder to help steady himself and to comfort her. "I know how that feels…Mom actually changed careers after Dad died of leukemia. She used to be an accountant, but she couldn't stand watching other people die like she did with my dad."
"I guess that's another thing we have in common," she sadly jokes. Freddie lays a kiss on her cheek, causing her anguished smile to soften.
"Perhaps we can talk about it another time?" the boy shyly offers. "Maybe on a date?"
Chelsea chuckles at Freddie's slight awkwardness as she finds her shoes, taking her time to slip them on. "Probably not on a date itself…but I'd love to talk about her sometime."
He smiles before reaching for his crutch and offering his free arm. "Walk you to your car?"
"As long as it won't hurt you," Chelsea accepts cautiously. "Need some support?"
Freddie answers her by wrapping himself around her, taking a deep breath to steady himself (and perhaps catch another waft of her clean scent) as Chelsea wraps her arms around his midsection. Reveling in their embrace, they nervously lean in to share a long and sweet kiss. As they break for air, she begins giggling, which sets his laughter boiling over. By the time the last peals of laughter subside, he's supported his left side with her shoulders, and her right arm is wrapped protectively around his waist. They begin gingerly walking toward the front door in a glowing silence, his crutch awkwardly in tow.
§
A certain brunette web-star watches through the peephole as Freddie locks up 8-D with Chelsea quite comfortably wrapped around him. This time, she can't stop neither the tears nor the jealous feelings as she watches the pair hobble toward the elevator.
"I'm sorry," Spencer apologizes from the kitchen. He feels a few tears well in his eyes at his baby sister's predicament—and he's sure it's not just because of the onion he's dicing up.
"It's okay," Carly unconvincingly mopes, turning away from the peephole. "Freddie told me about her this morning."
Spencer unceremoniously dumps his prepared onion into a bowl, setting it aside and retrieving a green bell pepper. "Huh…I thought you'd still be broken up about Sam, what with Dad not wanting to bail her out. Who's her?"
"Sam kinda made her own bed there," she sighs, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Freddie made me think about that earlier. As for him, he met someone at work last night, Chelsea. She's supposed to be some girl wonder of video."
"Someone he can geek out with?" he inquires. "I know it's hard to enjoy a hobby when you can't really talk about it with people. Ever wonder why I hang around Socko so much?"
Carly chuckles for the first time since her and Freddie's morning breakfast excursion. "Yeah, I guess." She sniffs curiously as she walks toward the kitchen, the smell of sage sausage working its way through the apartment. "You making spaghetti tacos?"
"Just spaghetti," Spencer sadly answers. "The taco shells caught on fire on the way home."
She saunters up to her older brother and places her hand on his shoulder, giggling all the while. "Of course they did."
Carly makes to grab another cutting board and chef's knife, setting up her workstation alongside Spencer's. She flashes the man-child a warm smile before retrieving the green bell pepper between them.
"Helping your big bro out?" Spencer cries in glee. "That's awesome!"
"It's been a long day like you wouldn't believe," Carly sighs. "I need something to take my mind off all this."
"Well, this spaghetti won't cook itself!" Spencer informs. "We'll grab the sausage out of the oven and cut it up before we sear it with the veggies."
Carly smiles as she begins to section and chop her bell pepper. "You know, Spence, we might have to cancel iCarly this Friday—Freddie won't be able to work the camera, what with his ankle."
"Perhaps it'll be time for another one of Spencer's famous inventions?" he chuckles as he retrieves the aforementioned sausage. "I could build a camera dolly with a couple trips to the junkyard!"
"I think Freddie needs a break," Carly admits. "I learned my lesson ever since the iCarly after he got hit by the truck. He was just so exhausted after that show."
Spencer pulls a face, unreadable to Carly, that suggests she's glossing over something. "You know, that was right after you two broke up. That might have had something to do with that." He slowly chops the sausage links into little cubes.
"Don't remind me," Carly testily shoots back. "Still, I think I'll cancel the show this week. Besides, Sam's still in jail, and I dunno who will bail her out this time."
"To be honest," Spencer begins amidst a mouthful of sausage link, "I'm not surprised Dad won't bail her out. She's screwed up one too many times, and I also know damn well I haven't done my part to stop her violence toward Freddie on my watch. I'll also say this," he swallows, "I'd rather not have her in the apartment until she shapes up."
"But Spencer—"
"I know the show is important to you, but if you don't want Granddad on our case…" he pauses for effect, reading her pained expression. "I think you get the idea."
Carly acquiesces to Spencer's point as she finishes on the bell pepper. She slides the bell pepper from the cutting board into the onion bowl, handing it off to Spencer to add the sausage and a touch of garlic before tossing its contents on a waiting oiled skillet.
"Sam's being…arr—ar-eye—" Carly hesitates.
"Arraigned?" Spencer prompts, silently fist-pumping his abbreviated law school experience. He works the spatula, stirring the meat and veggies in his skillet.
"That's the word! Arraigned, on Friday morning." She smiles hopefully. "Are you coming with?"
Spencer pulls a slight face. "I guess, especially if I'm driving you there. I'm not speaking on Sam's behalf, though."
Carly sighs in regret. "Yeah, I understand."
Spencer hands her a large can of diced tomatoes. "Wanna help me finish the sauce?" he gently prompts.
Carly wordlessly opens the can, plopping its contents into the veggie pan before adding a small selection of spices. The smile slowly returns to her face as she turns down the heat and stirs, the girl recalling happy memories of making her mom's sage sausage spaghetti with her brother and dad. It was the only thing that kept her spirits up after her mother died.
Spencer fetches two plates from the cabinet, dishing out some noodles onto their plates before setting them next to the range. A couple minutes later, when the sauce is up to temperature, Carly ladles a generous helping of sauce onto each of their plates of noodles. She takes them to the table, where Spencer sits in wait with two tall glasses of Wahoo Punch.
As she sits down and brother and sister dive into their food, Spencer finally speaks up. "I promise, everything will eventually work out."
"I know," Carly smiles.