Genre: Romance/Drama/AU
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I own nothing! Just my imagination and if iCarly was mine, it would be called iFreddie by now, so. Dan Schneider (Le Nickelodeon Troll) owns everything.
Pairings: Sam/Freddie – Seddie! Brad and Carly – Barly. Maybe Wendy and Gibby, but I don't know who you call that… Wibby?
Summary: They live in an alternative universe, above ashes of war. The horror seems to stop when a religious organization takes over the entire nation, organizing the chaos. They live under new rules now; everything should be organized and properly prepared. Even the marriages should be carefully planned. Alternative universe, maybe a bit OCC, I don't know yet. Inspired in this amazing THG fic called Five Loaves of Bread: Dark Toast
"So? How should we do this?" I ask her.
"I don't know… do you have… uh… what's needed to… you know… do this?" She bites her lip, unsure.
"Yeah. I have some back in the workshop. The question is which color do you prefer?"
"Uh, I haven't thought about that yet."
"We can go out and buy some more." I suggest.
"Okay. We can… if you sure."
"I'm sure, Sam." I smile, rubbing her arm to assure her. "It's about damn time we put some color in this house."
"Yeah… these beige walls are driving me a little crazy." She chuckles, that adorable, sweet chuckle of hers.
"You got that right." I say, fishing for my wallet in between the couch's cushions.
"It's about time you stop sleeping on this couch, Freddie. It can't be comfortable."
"It's not that bad…"
She took one look at me, and she knew I was lying. It was fascinating how she learned to read me so well, my emotions, my expressions, my lies, everything. I could almost say we're starting to connect; it's true I guess… we're starting to share this… weird connection. For instance, the other day, when she came downstairs for breakfast, I could tell something was off. She insisted she was fine, but somehow I just knew. I pushed a little and she gave in, confiding on me, she said she had a nightmare, and instead of pushing me away she actually talked about it. Not about it, about the details of her dream, but she actually let me comfort her. Now, she's starting to read me, like a book.
"Come on, Freddie. I know it is. Why don't you sleep on one of the extra bedrooms?"
How do I explain this to her? Oh, it's because these rooms are for the kids we have to have, but also the ones I don't want to? There's no good way to tell her I don't want kids, because we both know this needs to happen. And I don't want to make it even harder on her, by letting her know I don't want kids. When we have them, I don't want her to remember how I never wanted kids, I don't want her to think I won't love them, even if it's true.
"It's just… I don't know, doesn't feel right. But come on, let's go, let's buy some paint." I say, dodging the bullet in the best way I can and grabbing my jacket.
I know she didn't buy it, but she didn't say anything else.
It was Saturday, a week after our first date, and I can definitely say things are improving between us. We are talking more, laughing more and even joking a bit. Things are definitely looking up for us. I can't lie and say I'm not excited for what's next, a kiss maybe? Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves here, but I don't know, can't a guy dream?
I offered to paint the living room because Sam came home in an awful mood. She was upset because of the classes down at the Community Center, apparently they teach women how to be great wives, and that wasn't Sam's thing. It was kind of funny, seeing her all worked up, cursing the teachers and stuff. And I knew the color in the living room annoyed the hell out of Sam, just like it irritated me, so I decided to improve her mood by painting the damn walls. I had a feeling this would be fun, just me and her, playing with paint and drinking lemonade all day. If things go as planned, we can maybe barbeque outside in the backyard and spend the rest of the day talking about our favorite TV shows from when we were kids.
Okay, okay, maybe I'm planning too much. Perhaps I should just let her rest and do the same, but I kind of want to spend time with her, fun time. We get into the car and drive silently to the construction warehouse. Truth is, I don't really care about which color we should pick, I just don't like beige. Everything in that damn house goes from beige to wood, so plain and boring. It was the standard colors where I worked, but that doesn't mean I liked them, or anyone else I know by the way.
"So? You really made all of these houses?"
"Not all of them, and I just draw and supervise the blueprints. Sometimes I supervise the constructions, but I don't actually build anything."
"Oh. I thought you kind of… you know, worked like a construction man or something."
"No…" I chuckle. "I don't think my right arm can handle this kind of action."
"Your right arm?" She asks, running her digits softly over my arm.
Her touch is soft, and careful, as if she's afraid to hurt me or something. It sends all kinds of good shivering feelings down my spine, and it feels very nice. Our eyes meet for a short period of time, and every single time this happens, I feel something warm inside my chest. And each time, it only grows stronger. Sam clears her throat and retrieves her hand. Too bad, I was enjoying it.
"Uh… well, that's my bad arm."
"What happened to it?"
"I'm ambidextrous, but I used to aim and shoot with my left arm, leaving the right arm to defend myself when I was in combat without anything else to protect myself. Bottom line, it broke three times and got shot once. It's not a very good arm. I wonder how it's still hanging."
I notice her discomfort, and quickly try to do something to clean the air.
"But I can only make good eggs with this one, so it has its perks. Besides, I can do pretty much everything, maybe not construction work every day, but eventually. I built the workshop we have on our backyard."
"I saw. It's funny, that little house on the backyard of our house." She snorts.
"Yeah, I know."
"What do you do in there anyway?"
"I draw, build some miniature houses and stuff."
"Like a dollhouse?" She smirks.
"No… yeah… well, a little, but it's for pure architecture purposes."
"Oh, right." She chuckles. "Freddie builds dollhouses!"
I stop at the red light, and glare at her, but she doesn't see because her eyes are closed and she is clutching her stomach, laughing her ass off. Nice, she's laughing at me… wait, she is actually laughing and it sounds beautiful. Oh my God! I'm ridiculous!
"Mock me if you will, but my hands are magical, they can build all sorts of things. Just so you know!"
"Ah… dollhouses."
"They are dioramas! Models for work!" I argue, but she just laughs away. I smile and keep driving.
"Okay, if you can build all sorts of stuff, build me something. Not a dollhouse, because the last one I had burned." Sam says, while looking at paints. "I burned."
"Why would you do that?"
"It was fun to watch it burn. I wanted to set fire on a tree, but my mother didn't allow me. The next thing I could find, that was made of wood was the damn dollhouse. I hated it anyway."
"Why?" I squint, looking at the painting catalogue.
"It was pink." She says flatly.
"Oh, I see." I chuckle. "Okay. I'll build you something much more extraordinary, give me four days."
"Fine. Four days."
"Great. Now, what do you think about… orange?"
"I like it, but for the whole wall? I don't know."
"Listen, just pick one, I'll be good with any color you choose. I'm going to look for brushes and I meet you here in a few. Okay?"
"Alright."
She seems unsure at first, looking from side to side, as if she doesn't want to be alone in here, but she agrees anyway. I put my hand on her shoulder and squeeze, lightly, reassuringly.
"I'll be right back Sam. Busy yourself with the painting shop. I'll be right back. You won't even miss me."
I see her nodding before I leave, saying something to herself in a low voice. Sometimes I'm so sorry for whatever the hell happened to her, and sometimes I'm thankful for not being the only paranoid freak here. Not that I think she's a paranoid freak, but you've got my point. Anyway, I have to leave her, there's this antique shop just around the corner from the warehouse and I want to get started on my gift for her tonight. It won't be a surprise if she sees it, so I hope she engages herself with the painting situation so I can go and buy what I need. I have pretty much everything I need back in the workshop, except for the main ingredient, some details and my tools.
Since that night, the first night with Sam, Brad took my tools and didn't return them. He was afraid I was going to do something stupid and dangerous with them, like hurt myself, or kill myself. I wasn't going to, but better safe than sorry, right? I walk as fast as I can, without alarming people, and spot the antique shop open for business. There's this old man that runs the shop, he's pretty nice and quiet, he seems lonely. In fact, he's the way I figured I would be at his age, before Sam came along.
He has his back turned to me when I walk in, doing something I don't care enough to know. The bell rings and he leaves whatever he's doing and fixes his glasses before looking at me dead in the eye.
"How can I help you?" He has an accent, French, probably German.
"I, uh, want to build something for my wife and I need…"
I list the things I need, and he gets them for me. Surprisingly, he's got everything that I need right here. When I'm paying for it, he seems to finally give into curiosity.
"How do you know how to build this?"
"My dad taught me. He made one for my mom, when I was little and he taught me how to do it."
That was truth. My dad made one for my mom when I was seven. It was a big surprise for her birthday, and that was the first secret I've ever kept. Those Sundays with my dad were a dear memory I kept in my head, all for myself. What I've learned those days, I'll never forget. He said to me Freddie, when you're older, you'll meet a special girl and you'll be able to make one of those for her. It will be a special gift, so make sure you found the special girl to give this for. If Sam is my special girl or not, I don't know yet, but she's the only girl I have, so she might as well be special.
"It's a pretty trick thing to make." He says.
"Oh, not so much. I can be delicate enough to work the paper."
I could be, I think. The war made me anything and everything, but delicate. My skin and hands are rough, there are more burnt and scarred patches over my body than any smoothness, but my hands can be precise and light.
"Alright. Here you go." He hands me the paper bags.
"Thanks." I take a final look at the old man, and leave.
Sometimes I just look at people and wonder how they got where they are and how life treated them. It's a little weird thing I developed when I was at war. I always wondered, always questioned, always thought about everything. Sometimes, I make up stories, for these people and for myself a little. This man, however, I cannot find a good story for him. Dead wife and kids? Cliché. Lost his memory in the war? Cliché. Never had a family. Cliché. Everything seems wrong and I can't find a story for him.
But that doesn't matter right now. I run back to the car, drop the bags under the driver's seat and go back to Sam. Before, I grab some random brushes to take with me so she won't suspect anything. I feel ridiculously giddy about this present for Sam, it started more as a dare, but I really want to do this for her. I never gave her anything, maybe I'll start now. The truth is, I really just want to see her face when she lay eyes on my fabulous handmade… gift.
"Hey, took you long enough…" She scowls and crosses her arms against her chest. "All this time to get… three brushes?"
"Well, uh… I kind of lost track of time looking at some… tiles for my next construction."
"The next dollhouse?" She chuckles.
"Whatever!" Now it's my turn to scowl. "So, what did you get there?"
"Turquoise. You like it? I think it would go really great if we paint the wood white." She shows me the can of paint. It looks heavy so I grab it from her.
"We can make a panel on the fireplace wall and leave the rest white. What do you think?" Sam suggests.
"Great idea."
"So, I've been meaning to ask." She hands me the other can of paint after taking the brushes from my hand. "What are you going to build me?"
"Oh missy, that's a surprise. So don't even try to get that from me, because you won't get anywhere!"
"Fine. But you should know, I hate surprises."
"Oh, this one you're going to like." I sure hope so. "Trust me."
"When are we going to paint the rooms? Or room."
"We could do it today, but what about next week? Next Saturday is good for you?"
"Let me check my calendar…" She presses the end of the brush against her bottom lip, and I become extremely jealous of the piece of wood. Ridiculous, I know.
"Yeah, I'm free."
"So? No major appointments next Saturday?"
"Nah, just the same old same."
"Okay." I laugh. "Let's get going then, and get this painting thing over with, maybe, if we're not too tired later, we can barbeque in the backyard."
"Really?" I love how her eyes light up the mention of meat, or just food in general.
"Yeah. Come on, let's pay for this."
We get home and prepare the room for painting. I've done my share of painting in this life, but I'm not the best guy with a brush you'll find. Yes, I manage to paint a wall, I do, but anything else is beyond my abilities. Like a picture, I can't paint a picture to save my life, but I don't think Sam wants to paint details in the wall. I bought us two white jumpsuits, even though Sam said I looked stupid and dorkish with it. I don't mind she saying this, it's kind of funny actually. I always thought of myself as kind of a geek, to be fair, I was a hardcore nerd back in the day, so I don't mind her calling me dork.
"Yep, it's real my friend. You look very stupid in it."
"Why thank you Samantha. You look very sexy yourself." I say, wiggling my eyebrows.
"Alright, alright." She laughs, but I can see the ghost of a blush in her cheeks. "Let's paint this bad boy."
"Let's."
I move the couch while she puts the papers on the floor. It's not like I read any of this Visualize bullshit, so I might as well just use it for something good. I hand Sam her brush, and pick up mine so we can start the work. The color she picked was nice, I like blue, so let's go with blue. Although turquoise is not the best shade of blue in my opinion, navy blue wouldn't look so good either.
About twenty minutes into the whole painting thing, I get thirsty, so I ask Sam if she wants something.
"Oh, I wouldn't mind drinking a cold lemonade."
"I don't know how to make lemonade." I announce, and she scowls at me. "Hey, I'm just saying."
"There's any soda in the fridge?"
"Yeah, I guess. I'll get you some."
"Not diet!" She yells over her shoulder.
"I got it!"
Winter is gone like the wind. The weather is pretty fucked after so many nuclear shits they dropped during war, so you never know when will be summer or winter, or spring, or whatever. It starts as a perfect day, and ends up with a motherfucking storm trapping everyone inside their houses. So it doesn't matter if right now it's hot, it can rain or snow at anytime. That's one of the things I hate the most about the war, this fucked up weather. I miss the time when you just knew it was December and the snow was coming very soon.
Me and my dad would wake up every morning of the first snow and go outside. We would open our mouths and let the first flakes come down on us. Call us crazy, but they actually tasted pretty good. Sweet memories pushed to the side, it's no time to reminisce my old life, I have to concentrate on the new one. I come back to the living room bringing Sam some soda, when I spot her on a ladder, trying to reach the highest corner of the wall. I came to find… cute, how short she is. She's like this little doll that can surprise you and kick your ass anytime.
She's trying so hard to get there, it seems funny, how much effort she's putting just to reach the damn corner. I try not to laugh, I don't want her to think I'm mocking her, and don't want to give away my position. This is too funny to end so soon. I put the sodas in the coffee table and place my hands on my hips watching her. Sam struggles and curses the ladder, actually threatening to toss it away and buy I bigger one. I snicker, quickly covering my mouth with my hand, but it's too late, she already noticed my presence.
"Why are you just standing there while I'm doing all the work?" She scolds me.
"Well… this is too funny, I just couldn't stop watching." I shrug.
"Funny?" She asks, turning her body a little to the side, and the ladder shakes a little. This can't be good. "Do you think this is funny? There's nothing funny about it Fredward!"
The way she says my name it's like an insult. To be honest, I kind of think so. What on earth was my mother thinking when she named me, I don't know, and why my father allowed it, it's beyond my knowledge. Maybe she was too high on medication and broke his hand, he was scared of her breaking his other hand and didn't say anything. Or maybe she just hated me because of all the pain I caused her. In which case, they screwed me pretty good.
"Aren't you going to say anything?"
Sam removes her hands from the ladder and it shakes even harder. Now I'm afraid she's going to fall and hurt herself.
"Sam… the ladder. You better get down…"
"It's just a stupid ladder. Now go on and give me my soda!" She crosses her arm and moves a little, making the ladder shake again.
"Sam. I mean it, get down from there!" I'm starting to feel a little nervous.
"Oh. Does wittle Fweddie scared of me falling down the big, bad, ladder? Is he now? Is he?"
She's making cooing sounds, mocking me with her hands too, and it's inevitable, the ladder shakes harder this time.
"Ah!" She screams.
It's all very fast, the damn ladder gives in and falls to the side. Before I can blink, she is in my arms, safe and sound. I don't know what came over me, and if Clark Kent loaned me some of his super powers, but I'm fast as fuck and catch her before she falls with her ass on the ground. She is so small, and looks so delicate, not that she is anyway, but I don't know what could've happened if she had hit the ground. She could've broke a bone or something, and but that's not an option. I won't let her get hurt. Ever. Not if I can help it.
Sam has her arms wrapped around my neck tightly, as if she's afraid to let go, and I don't mind one bit. Her head is buried against my chest, her hot and shaken breath against me, and it feels so right. I hold her bridal style, the way I should've done on our wedding night, but then again, I didn't do anything I was supposed to that night.
"Hey. It's okay." I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of her head.
Her hair smells so frigging good, and it's so soft. I want to touch it. I'm dying to touch it.
"I said I wasn't going to let you fall, don't you remember?" She nods, and I smile, nesting her against me.
After a while she comes back and lifts her head up. She seems embarrassed, and her face is red. I don't know if it's because she cried, or because she was pressing her face tightly against my chest. It doesn't matter really, I don't care.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah… thanks for… uh, catching me."
"I said I would, didn't I?" I offer a smile, in hope to make her feel better.
"You did."
We are silent for a while, just staring at each other. It didn't hit me before, how close we actually are. Damn it, she's in my arms, she's never been here before. Not like this.
"If you tell this to anyone, I'll murder you in your sleep." She whispers.
"I wouldn't dare, Princess."
That is enough to make us laugh our asses off. Sam buries her face on my neck and shakes with laugh. I just find an excuse to bury my face on her hair. We lift our head back up and look into each other's eyes again. If I move a little close, I can kiss her.
"You're a good spouse, Freddie Benson." She states, and I feel so warm inside, knowing she really thinks that.
"You too, Sam Benson."
Her eyes are so navy blue it's insane. I could spend an indefinite amount of time looking into those blue irises. My heart races, not in the same way it used to in the battlefield, or after a nightmare. It wasn't a bad feeling, it was just new. By the way she was pressed against me; I could tell she felt it too, because I certainly could feel her shivering a little. This feeling is so new to me, I never, ever felt it before, and if I ever did, wasn't with this intensity. I hope it's not one-sided. I don't know why, but I want her to feel the same way about me, it's important that she does, for some reason.
I lean in, she leans in and I can feel her breath on me. My heart is like a brakeless car, speeding up with every second. She's so close, and I can see her face, every little detail of her. To say she's perfect, I'd be lying, and one should not lie. So said my mother. She is, although, imperfectly perfect. Her beauty leaves me breathless, and I wish I could tell her that, but the words won't come out. If I could just tell her with my eyes… if she could read them, she would know. But words are just words, anyway.
I can see her eyes closing. Her blue eyes slowly hiding behind her eyelids, and I'm so ready, so ready, when… there's scream and a bang. She jumps off my arms, and I know my moment is over. Only God know when I'll get another chance at this.
"What was that?" She asks, tugging on my arm. "Did you make that sound?"
"Of course not, Sam. I don't scream like a girl!"
I didn't mean to be harsh, I'm just frustrated, that's all. I rub my temple and sigh.
"Sorry. I didn't make that sound. It came from outside. Do you want to go there and check?"
"Yeah… let's go."
Whatever the sound was, it better be something important, otherwise I'm going ballistic. Sam walks in front of me and opens the door. It's immediate; as soon as I'm near her she grabs my hand tightly. What the heck is going on?
TBC
A/N: Don't hate me yet. I'm sorry for not posting, but weather here is fucked up. It's January, or as I'll say "rain time!" Turns out, rain here is more like a storm. So, we are pretty much living in an island, the lobby of my building is a pool. The cars can't go anywhere, and we're trapped at home. When it rains hard, the power dies. I've been out of power for days on end, that's why I haven't written or updated. So, I'm sorry guys. Now only God knows when I'll be able to update again, because only god knows when the power is going to be gone and back again.
Oh, and I kind of need help. Some people have been complaining about the grammar. Well, I said it before, I'm no writer, I never wrote anything before in my life and this is the first time I write something longer than a sentence in English. So will you find errors? Yes. Can I correct them all? No, I have no time, I really, really don't. Someone said I needed an editor, someone who can correct the grammar errors for me. I'll credit every chapter. I don't know how to find one, so if you know anyone, or you want to be my editor, let me know!
If Eyes Could Speak – Devon Werkheiser
