A/N: Yay, I'm updating. I'm actually posting up three things tonight, so I'm happy =D. And I hope you enjoy tonight's installment of another Seddie chapter. This chapter is shorter than some of the others-at least it felt that way while I was typing it-so I hope you still enjoy! Thank you sooo much for all of my previous reviews and it makes me feel so awesome to know that there are still people out there hanging on with me through this long journey. Okay, onward to my story.

DISCLAIMER: (Dan Schneider): Hey! You don't own iCarly! I do! (me): I know that. Thank you, Catherine Obvious! (Dan): ...What? (me): I said "thank you, Catherine Obvious!" (Dan): ...it's "Captain" Obvious (me): You mean, it's not Catherine! (Dan): No! Who would Catherine be! (me): ...Catherine could be a captain! -Victorious reference...sorry-


Spencer danced down the hallway to his apartment door moving the grocery bag back and forth in his hand. The song he heard on the radio permanently stitched itself into his brain, and he couldn't stop the funk from coursing through him. He didn't feel like it either. No one, after all, can stop the funk of Spencer Shay.

"Babaay won't you take me back," he sung as he was turning the key to his door, "I said it, I said it, I said it, I said it, I—HEY," he shouted in surprise as he paused and stepped inside. "It's two familiar looking teenagers sitting in my apartment and eating my caramel popcorn."

Sam lazily raised her hand up as a quick greeting, and Freddie filled his mouth with more caramel delicacies.

"Sup Spence."

"¿cómo te va tio?"

Spencer could do nothing but shrug his shoulders and kick the door closed behind him. "Usually in this moment I would question why this would be—specifically how Sam was able to unlock both locks on the door—but because of my laziness I'm just gonna sigh," he sighed, "and walk away," and he headed over to the island in the kitchen.

Freddie lifted his head. "Hey, how do you know it wasn't me who unlocked the door?"

But Spencer smiled and pointed to his face, clearly finding the question comical. "Does this expression tell you what I'm about to say to that?"

Freddie slumped back down. "Yes."

"Nice try, Fredlumps, but the thought of you tryin to pick a lock of anything is too laughable to take seriously."

"Your face is too"— But Sam shot him one of her menacing glares that made Freddie rethink his insult. "Too…pretty and such things…"

"Good nub."

"So…" Spencer started once he was finished putting up toilet paper-underneath the kitchen sink questioningly. "Why aren't you guys goin out to those sock hops and soda parlors or whatever teenagers do nowadays?"

Sam laughed. "Dude, they didn't even have sock hops and soda parlors when you were a kid."

"There is supposed to be this senior party tonight," Freddie started while turning the TV.

"Yeah, but Freddie's too chicken to go," Sam sighed and threw a caramel corn at his head.

"I'm not chicken! It's just that my mom is gone on one of her Aggressive Parenting conventions and I don't want anything bad to happen while she's gone."

"Your mother is gone for the next two days and you think this is a bad time to go to a party? Replay that sentence back in your head and tell me if that makes sense."

"Sam's got a point," Spencer butted in, leaning against the counter top. "If there was a perfect time to sneak out and do some awesome stuff, it would be now."

Both Freddie and Sam gave him puzzling looks.

"And yes," he continued. "I do realize I am an adult telling you this."

Freddie pursed his lips in thought. "Eh…I don't know." Sam was about to hit Freddie with one of many reasons why they should go, but was halted from speaking when Spencer got a text on his phone.

"OMG, it's her, it's her, SHUTUUUP!"

"Dude, no one's talking—"

"Shhh…."

Sam rolled her eyes and Freddie glanced at the two. "So who is it, anyway?"

"Laaiiiiney," Spencer cooed.

"Who's Laaiiiiney?" mocked Sam.

Freddie lifted his head. "Oh, isn't that that new first grade teacher who moved in downstairs?"

"Maybe. Possibly. I don't know. Shut uuup," but his smile gave it away and he hid his head behind his phone to hide his rising blush.

Freddie grinned tauntingly toward Spencer. "Aw, someone looks smitten."

Sam chuckled. "Smitten. You know that is such a funny word."

"Rhymes with mittens and kittens."

She smiled as she caught on. "Yeah, hey: the smitten kittens couldn't find their mittens."

"So they asked their mama who was cooking in the kitchen."

But she lost her smile and slugged back down on the couch. "Great."

"What?"

"See? You just ruined it."

"How did I ruin it?"

"Dude, kitchen doesn't rhyme with smitten, kittens, or mittens."

"Uh, yeah it does: kit-chen, smit-ten."

"No, not all the way. The rhyme is slanted."

"Your head is slanted."

"Your mom is slanted!"

"Spencer! Sam called my mom slanted."

"Well, she is pretty mentally askew…" and he walked toward the door signaling for his teenage friends to leave. "But now it's time for you guys to slant yourselves right on out of here."

"Aw…I'm too tired to exert energy into my legs though." But the classic Sam excuse did not faze Spencer. He simply shrugged and hauled her small form over his shoulder, carrying her out of his apartment. Ah…it felt good to remind himself every so often that he was in fact, stronger than Sam when he needed to be.

"Ugh, dude!" She yelled as he set her down outside the hall.

Spencer turned back to Freddie. "Do you want me to haul your small form over my shoulder and carry you out of my apartment?"

"Uh, no thanks, I'm good," and he followed Sam's path outside. It didn't hit Sam until the sound of the door closing vibrated in her ears: she was alone on a Saturday night with nothing to do. Alone…with a Freddie.

"Ahh, that's it!" She tugged on Freddie's arm and dragged him to the exit. Freddie started to panic.

"Uhh, Sam, where are we going?"

"66 Harbor View Lane: aka to that party!"

"Bu-but Sam, I said"—

"And I don't care. All I know is that I'm not gonna waste a Saturday alone with my cat, or with you sitting in nothingness."


"Alright! Now this is what I'm talking about! Hundreds of sweaty crazy teenagers dancing it out on old people furniture!"

As always, against his will, Freddie and Sam were now at the senior party, and in the midst of unrecognizable seniors and alcohol. Sam jumped up and grabbed on to his shoulders. "You smell that, Freddie?"

He sniffed the air. "Uh…axe and teenage hormones?"

"No! Armpit sweat!"

"Ew," and he shrugged away from her odor and walked away from the cramped living room and into the kitchen. He was impressed. It was recessed lighting everywhere with an open bar and marble counter tops. In spite of his lack of comfort here he had to admit: if there was one house worthy of throwing a house party in, it would be this one. There were at least ten prize statues in the foyer alone that begged to be broken and a gigantic pool in the back yard that was waiting to be turned into a half-pipe. Freddie decided to take a seat behind one of the kitchen counters, but decided against it when a couple started devouring each other's tongues beside him. "Um...excuse me," he coughed awkwardly and scooted two seats down. He swiveled in his stool to gaze out at the huge crowd in the living room. Hm...he couldn't see Sam anymore.

As long as she's not lighting something on fire I'm sure she's fine, he thought, then flinched, or someone...

"Hey bartender!" Freddie turned back when hearing that familiar call. "Let me get a sparkling apple juice-on the rocks."

Freddie shook his head. Of course: it was the one, the only, the Gibby.

One of the guys talking behind the counter paused and turned to Gibby. "Uh, dude," he laughed. "This isn't a bar, I'm not a bar tender, and what the hell is sparkling apple juice on the rocks?"

Freddie leaned his palm against the counter top, interested in where this was going. Gibby tugged at the ends of his polo and pulled it over his head-once again exposing his entire flabby man chest.

"How bout now?" he smirked. But the three guys in front of him were not amused and walked away, occasionally pointing back at the shirtless weirdo and laughing harder.

"Aw, mustard..." Gibby sighed and walked behind the counter to find his own beverage. He pulled out a golden can from a cooler and eyed it for a second before shrugging. "Eh, I guess this is juice," and popped open the tab. Freddie shook his head while watching all of it, and finally decided to intervene for his friend. He leaned across the counter and pulled the can away from him.

"This isn't juice, Gibby, it's beer."

Gibby paused. "Oh... Well, mind if I take a seat?"

Freddie sat the open can down in front of him. "Go ahead, I'm sure you'll give me better company than that couple over there," and he pointed to the two from before, seconds away from ripping each other's clothes off. Gibby stared before looking away. "Steamy. So um, where's Sam?"

"Eh, somewhere over there. Being Sam. You know I didn't even wanna come here, but she dragged me. You figured she could've just come alone if she wanted to be here so badly."

"Yeah, right. You guys are like, always together somewhere."

"Yeah, but she's always having the fun. I'm the one paying the fine or suffering from the physical abuse."

"Well what do you expect from a girl like Sam? Even as your girlfriend she still treats you like that."

Freddie choked on his spit-yes, spit, that's how shocked he was-and gave his friend a skeptic look. "Um...girlfriend?"

"Um, yeah."

"You think...Sam is my...my what now?"

Gibby kept nodding in confusion. "Yeah, isn't she-wait...so you guys aren't dating?"

"Nu-oh!"

"Oooohhhhh..."

"Why on earth would you ever think I would date a…a…a Sam Puckett?"

"Well Carly's not here and people have been noticing things and you two still do everything together and you guys laugh a lot and please don't kill me, I'm squeamish!"

"Gibby?"

"Huh?"

"Run."

And in a matter of semi-seconds Gibby was gone. Freddie was seriously contemplating on running after him but decided against it. He was still in shock from his words, after all. Was that the opinion of only one Gibby, or did everyone get the idea that him and Sam were an item?

An item...

HA!

He had to message Carly about this: this was hilarious. He was about to reach for his phone but paused. Wait...what exactly had people thinking he and Sam were together anyway? Sure...they spent almost every minute of the day somewhat in each other's company whether it was through texts or actual contact, but that was because it was just Sam with him now. Carly was gone, and that affected Sam just as much as it did him. It was just a common thing to hang out since that was all that was left, right? And Sam was his friend. Sure, she was evil and vicious, but it wasn't as if his world would collapse if he didn't admit that very true fact. She was a best friend. Why was it written in stone that two people couldn't stay friends without there being some secret underlying feelings between them? He changed his mind: it would be more hilarious if he told Sam first than Carly. She would probably laugh even harder at the thought.

In fact, that's what he wanted to do: laugh. He was positive Sam was out there somewhere enjoying her night, so why couldn't he? He shot a glance at the beer can that was still in front of him. He saw too many after school specials that warned kids of the dangers of drinking at a high school party, and he definitely wasn't stupid enough to actually get drunk, but maybe he could become just careless enough to take a sip.

Yeah...one sip.


Sam elbowed all the passing people in her way and tried to make it out of the entry way. She caught their friend Wendy trying to call out her name behind her.

"Hey, Sam, they're starting a water basketball game in the pool! You wanna play?"

"Eh, not now. First I have to go find Fredweird."

"Alright," and they went their separate ways. Sam kept pushing until she found herself in the kitchen. She had to pause as she soaked in the marble counter tops and all its glory. "Wow…Now I could cook a crap load of meat in here." She had to hand it to whoever was the host of this party. He sure knew how to take advantage of his parent's wealth by inviting hundreds of crazy teenagers inside. When searching some more she spotted a slumped over figure in a red flannel shirt over on one of the barstools. She knew immediately that that was Freddie. She smirked at how tired he looked. They've only been there for about an hour and already he was passed out in boredom. "Typical dweeb," she sighed, made her way over, and shook his shoulders.

"Yo, Fredifer, get up and play some basketball with me!" But he moaned and turned to his side, grabbing a hold of Sam's hand and tucking it under his head. Sam flinched.

"Ughhh…" he rasped out. "But I don't want my vitamin powder in my fruit sauce, Mom…"

"Uh, dude," she snickered realizing he was dreaming, "wake up."

"Fine…" and he started to stick her fist into his mouth before she snatched it away.

"The hell! Wake UP man!" and she pushed his head harder. He slurred for a moment before fluttering his eyes open.

"Sam…? What are you doing in my fruit sauce?"

"Uh, I think you have some fruit sauce in your brain," she quipped, but lowered her tone when she saw the crushed beer can in his right hand. "…and I think it was laced with alcohol."

She snatched the can away and waved it around his face. "You had a beer? Since when did you get that daring, Fredward?"

"About the same time you got...that...that...ugh, it's not fair you always get to have the better comebacks!"

Sam threw the crushed can at his head so as to wake him up from his stupidity. Clearly he was drunk; otherwise she would've seized the opportunity to make fun of him further for being so reckless. Why torment him when he wouldn't be able to remember it? She pulled him away from the counter instead and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, carrying most of his weight as she made her way to the backyard. Freddie hiccupped as they walked.

"And whe—where are y—you taking m—me?"

"Home. Where you should've been all along. Jeez, Benson, I can't take you anywhere."

"Oh c-come on, Sam, I just wanted to have a l-little fun."

"A little fun? You're drunk, dude."

"Drunk? O-oh no…my girlfriend won't be too happy about t-this."

"What girlfriend?"

"I don't know. Gibby said I had one."

"Well Gibby's one layer short of a lasagna. Now I just gotta go out by the pool for a minute. I think I left my jacket on one of the chairs," and they soon reached outside in front of the pool.

"Here, use mine," and he began unbuttoning his shirt as if it was a jacket. But Sam hurriedly tugged away and moved his hands away from his chest.

"Quit it, Freddie, that's not a jacket!"

"It's not…?" But he pulled her shoulder back when she was about to pull away.

"Hey wait," he held on to her arms and stared, but in a way that made her extremely uncomfortable. His bloodshot eyes grew wide and his jaw loosened as he inched closer. "I can't believe I didn't notice it before…"

"Notice w-what…" It was Sam's turn to stutter.

"Your face…it's really…" and as he spoke he moved closer, closing the gap between them until noses touched. Temporarily losing his footing—and his sanity—Freddie fell into Sam and brushed his lips on hers. The sensation shook Sam all over, but it was cut short when she pushed him off and accidentally into the pool. She clasped onto her mouth as she watched him splatter in the water, and was very willing to leave him there in punishment of his stupid, STUPID move, but figured leaving a drunk person to fend for himself in a pool wasn't very wise—not even on her part. She blew out in heavy frustration and jumped into the pool after him, saving him so that she could murder him later on.


"Gimme your key."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's in my pocket."

"Well I'm not reachin in there! You get it!"

"I can't—It's in the pocket of my other jacket in my room."

Both were now in the hallway of the Shay's and Freddie's apartment. Sam reluctantly drove him home and carried Freddie to her door, but after hearing that, she lost her patience and dropped him onto the hard floor to massage her temples. "This is just great…"

"OW!" he singed in pain as he hit the hardwood. "My head is about to implode and you just made it worse!"

"Shut up, Freddie!"

Her lips were still tingling with the memory of that…incident…and she wanted nothing more than to drop him off and permanently erase what happened from her mind. Instinctively, she reached in her hair and plucked out a bobby pin to pick his lock. After tugging off the top chain from the wall, she barged in and hauled the intoxicated nub over her shoulder and up his stairs, wanting desperately to haul him off and run away from the awkward that was enveloping them. Well, her anyway. He still had a glazed over look in his eye as she threw him on his Galaxy Wars comforter set.

"There," she called over her shoulder as she started to exit. "You're at home now so let it stay that way. I'm out."

"Wait," he called back, one leg hanging over the edge of his bed and his face muffled in his pillow.

"Whaaaat?"

"…Thanks…" he coughed.

...

Damn it.

She was so close.

She was so close to turning that door handle and rushing out the room. But watching him lay like that, clutching onto his short russet hair and sighing in pain, gave her a stinging feeling in her chest. Whether it was her conscience, or gas, she couldn't fight it and she ended up closing the door and sitting on the floor opposite Freddie's bedside. She positioned herself so that she wouldn't be able to look him directly in the face, and leaned against the wall in a huff.

"You got two hours," she grumbled. "So I suggest you take advantage of that and don't mess with me again." She found herself touching her bottom lip gently.

"Ahh…" he whined as he squirmed around on top of his sheets. "I only had one can of that stupid beer…"

She smirked. "Only you, Freddie, would get drunk off of one can of beer."

"Yeah, and I'm never gonna do it again."

"That better not be the only thing you're never gonna do again."

He poked open an eyelid. "Huh?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"No, not really."

She raised a brow and moved closer to him with caution. "Wait…so you really don't remember anything?"

"Well, I remember getting water in my ears…and a twisting feeling in my gut"— and as soon as having said that, he jerked up and covered his mouth. "Oh no…"

"What?"

"It's coming back. OH MOMMY!"

And at the sound of that, Sam needed to know no more and she raced for the waste basket in the corner, and ran back to shove it under Freddie's chin and watch as he immediately spewed pink and brown chunks into the can. She couldn't believe she was here: Freddie was drunk and was puking his heart out into a matching Galaxy Wars trash can, and she was there right alongside him to guide him through it all. Since when did she grow to be so considerate?

And she should've been ecstatic that he didn't remember the kiss…but her lips still could not stop from tingling.


A/N: This chapter was a bit fun for me since I could portray Freddie as the "drunk one" in opposition to Sam in my other story, Speak Low if You're Sober. Next chapter will explore Sam's feelings about the kiss a little more, which will be more interesting! I really hope you enjoyed it once again!

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