Disclaimer: Neither iCarly nor Victorious is possessed by my grasping claws of want.

/

"Sam?"

I wake up groggily, nose buried in Cat's soft hair, a gush of red filling my gaze.

"Sam!"

Closer now, followed by heavy, unsteady footsteps, and I snap awake, arm tightening around Cat's bare waist. She makes a soft sound, body curling up tighter. I sit up, a soft curse cutting my lips. "Shit."

I jog Cat's shoulder, trying to wake her up, chewing at my lip. She murmurs my name, rolling onto her back, elbows propping her up, as the bedspread slides forward, barely covering her breasts.

"Cat, get dressed. Quick." I hiss at her, scrambling out of bed, fumbling for where my shorts are crumpled on the floor and tugging them on, not bothering with underwear. I toss a shirt at Cat, as she blearily rubs her eyes.

"Sam? What's going on?" Her voice is soft, confused, still muddled with sleep.

I hold a finger to my lips, wriggling into a blue shirt, mentally crossing my fingers. Fuck. Why don't I have a lock on my door? I glance at the splintered wood on my door frame. Right. I did have one once. It didn't last long. I race around the other side of my bed, throwing a pair of shorts onto the bed as Cat daintily slips into the red shirt. But the doorknob's already twisting, hinges already squealing as the door opens.

"Sa- What the fuck?" Mom's voice is harsh, slurred with alcohol, and I shield Cat behind me as she struggles into her clothes. "Is that a girl?" She bobs her head forward, makeup smeared, blonde bangs plastered across her forehead. "Is that a fucking girl in your bed?"

"It's none of your business." I snarl, shoulders set. She always comes home drunk, calling for me like some yowling cat, slinging her arm around me, whispering that I'm her Sammy girl, that we don't need a man to be a family. That's what I call the nice phase. She's slipped right into the next phase now though. The bitch phase.

She pushes the door open wider, hand swiping clumsily at my shoulder, as if to push me out of the way so she can see Cat better. "Like hell it's not. My daughter's no fucking dyke. Did you fuck her, Sam?" She wrinkles her nose, voice dropping to a whisper, dripping with bile. "I can smell her all over you."

I glance behind me, Cat quaking, eyes wide and scared where she's perched on the edge of the bed, clothes wrinkled and awkward on her. She looks at me helplessly, hands curled in her lap.

Mom follows my gaze, shouldering past me roughly, frame all sharp bones and saggy skin, and I stumble back, almost tripping over my own feet. She grabs Cat's wrist, fingers circling around the delicate joint like a talon, a handcuff clicking closed. Cat flinches as she's yanked to her feet,, cowering like she expects my mom to hit her. And a part of me expects it too. But instead she just grimaces, a look of disgust on her makeup-encrusted face, clothes even more dishevelled than our own, as she spits vitriol at Cat. "Get the fuck out of my house."

She shoves Cat forward, toward the door, pushing her along down the hall, cans and bottles rattling underfoot.

"Leave her the fuck alone, Mom." There's this hot, swirling, crawling anger rolling through me, hissing through my veins, wriggling through my skin, fanning it's fingers wide, shooting tendrils into my brain and making me scrabble forward, trying to slip past my mother's bony form, and cursing, not for the first time, my shortness. And my stupidity. That feeling of safety has long since fled, that feeling of calmness has dissolved, replaced by this rage, this helpless fucking rage I'm so accustomed to feeling.

Mom flings the front door open, claw of a hand shoving Cat forward, bunched in the small of her back. Cat stumbles, fingers peeling from the doorframe, and I'm flashed back to when we stumbled inside, laughing and breathless, just hours before. Cat's eyes are wide now, rimmed with tears, and I stand trembling with suppressed anger behind my mother, her gangly frame cutting my view of Cat into pieces. "My daughter's not a fucking lesbian. If I ever see you here again, you'll fucking regret it, dyke." She spits the last word, ichor dripping from her lips, and I wince as I see it hit Cat, as hard as a slap. She slams the door shut, whirling on me. "What the fuck was that, Sam?"

My hands curl into hard fists, knuckles strained white, and the gentle caresses they gave before are all but erased, violent memories returned. "It was nothing." I try to keep my voice steady, that rage choking me, clawing at my lungs, rattling my heart around and howling.

"Don't you pull that fucking shit on me, Sam. I won't have a fucking dyke in my house." She raises her hand, like she's about to slap me, and I set my shoulders. It wouldn't be the first time she's hit me, but it'd be the first time since I got big enough to hit her back. Her lips uncurl, loosening their rictus, and her hand lowers slowly, like I'm not worth the effort. "Go to your room." She spits over her shoulder, turning and shuffling to the fridge. I force my muscles to obey, from where they're clenched taut, turning and walking stiffly down the hall, hearing the hiss of a can opening behind me. Another beer. Just the thing to calm her down. I slam my door as I enter, kicking a rumpled shirt aside. She won't check in on me. She'll just drink until she passes out.

I grab my phone off the bedside table, shoving it in my pocket, sitting on my bed to tug on a pair of sneakers. If I hurry, I can still catch Cat. I shove open my window, clambering out onto the fire escape. It's not the first time I've crept out, but it's the first time I've been in a hurry. My feet rattle on the narrow metal steps, rounding flight after flight until I can slide down the ladder, steel freezing my hands. I drop the last few feet, landing heavily. I round the dumpster that blocks half the alley, jogging out to the front of my building, a cramp in my side digging at me, angered by my haste. "Cat."

She's seated on the kerb, elbows resting on her drawn up knees, face buried in her hands, and I slow my jog as I get near, feet slapping the ground heavily, a tear in my voice. "I'm sorry."

Cat peers at me through parted fingers, sniffing, and I offer her a hand, helping her stand. She managed to get shoes on, at least. She swipes a hand across her reddened eyes, taking a shaky breath, and I tilt her head up, fingers planted under her chin. "Hey, are you okay?"

She manages a little nod, and I let my hand fall away. "Was... was that your mom?" Cat says in a soft, broken voice, cheeks wet with tears.

I shrug, kicking at the ground, a pebble skittering across the pavement. "Yeah. Don't listen to what she says. I don't."

Cat's lower lip trembles. "She's scary."

I'm reminded again of how much a child she is, how sensitive she is, and right now, that fucking anger pulsing through me hates it. It just wants to tell her to grow up, to stop being such a baby. But I push it down, shove it into a hard little ball, and wrap my arms around Cat, pulling her close. She lets out a little sob against my shoulder, and I hope she doesn't notice how stiff my arms are, how straight I'm holding my body. But she just melts closer around my body, ignoring my stiffness, and I feel myself relax slowly, that little ball of anger curled and buzzing inside me. Not gone, but under control. "I just wanna go home." She sniffs, voice muffled against my shoulder, blue material of my shirt stained dark with her tears.

I sigh heavily, chest burning. "I know." I just want to do something. I just want to go and beat some kid up who doesn't look at me the right way, I want to go smash some glass, vandalise something. I want to beat this anger out of me until it's lying bloodied on the ground. The last thing I want to do is babysit Cat while she cries and mopes. But for the first time, I can feel where that rage is clouding my brain. It's not mixed into every breath like it usually is. The brief time without it was like having a sheet ripped away, having the clouds over my brain part, when I didn't even realise they were there. But I can feel them now, stroking sparks over my brain, infecting every thought. I can sift it out, just a little. "We'll go to the Groovy Smoothie, you can call your Mom, okay?"

Cat nods, pulling back, a tentative smile on her face. "You're so nice, Sam."

I stare at her for a moment, fingers clenching in the material of her shirt, ribs running under my palms, so fragile. "No, I'm not."

By the time we reach the Groovy Smoothie, Cat's cheer is back, grating against me. The darkness hides most of my annoyance, and I make the right sounds when she glances over. The tears on my shirt have dried as I sit her down at a table, slicking a smile over my face. "I'll just be a minute, okay?"

Cat nods, a bright smile on her face, and I slip away to the bathroom, pushing open the painted wooden door heavily. The tap hisses as I turn it, cold water pouring into the basin, and I wash my face and scrub my hands until they sting from the chill, but it doesn't do any good. I still have this restless writhing in me, this rage that wants to be let loose, that curls my fist until my knuckles strain white. It pisses me off that I can't get rid of it, and I pace over the aqua tiles, sneakers squeaking on the damp floor. I roll my shoulders, hands clenching and unclenching, until I can't stand it anymore, grunting and throwing a fist into the tampon machine fixed against the wall. I hit it again, and again, until the plastic front is cracked, jagged edges slicing my knuckles with every hit, metal sides tremoring, a few tampons rattling free and pattering to the ground. I raise my fist again, panting, only to let it drop in disgust, knuckles starting to ache and pulse. I examine the damage, face feeling flushed, hair sticking to my face. My index and middle knuckles are bright with blood, swelling from the multitude of little cuts. I wiggle my fingers, joints feeling stiff and shocked, blood sticking them together, threading over my palm. But I feel better. I feel calmer, and that twisting anger in me has subsided for the moment.

I wash my hands off, soap stinging the fresh cuts on my knuckles, and I grit my teeth at the pain and scrub harder, getting every trace of blood off. My right hand is throbbing as I turn the tap off, blood welling shallowly, droplets of water diluting it pink, and I rip off a ream of paper towel and hold it to them, yanking the door open. I walk out into silence, the half a dozen or so people turning their heads away from me and starting an uneasy chatter, T-Bone approaching me cautiously, a stick speared with bananas held out like a peace offering. "Your tampon machine is broken." I say flatly, swatting the stick out my face.

I sit with a grunt, Cat staring with wide eyes, seated across from me. "Sorry." I say bluntly, red started to bleed through the paper towel stuck to my knuckles. She reaches a hand out as if to touch them, where my hand is resting, curled on the brightly coloured table.

"Did you get angry at the wall?" She plucks at my fingers carefully, spreading my hand out flat and glancing up at me. "Did it have something bad written on it?"

I shake my head, wincing as she tugs at the paper towel, touch cautious. "Tampon machine."

She nods solemnly, leaning in. "It's okay." She glances from side to side, as if she's telling me a little secret. "I don't like 'that time' either." Cat giggles, making little quotation marks in the air before pulling back, hands sweeping her hair forward. I wonder if anything really keeps her down for long.

I shed the smile that threatens to creep onto my lips, gesturing to two tall cups beside Cat. "You got us smoothies?"

Cat nods enthusiastically, sliding one over. "I thought you might be thirsty..." She trails off, looking at my abused hand. "Or hurty."

"Thanks." I flex my hand before bringing the smoothie over to me, taking a short sip, eyebrows digging down. I really don't get her at all. She's so easily upset, yet I come out with a bloody hand, and she's not phased at all. It seems wrong to be so confused about her, to know so little about what goes on in her head, when I know so much about her body now. So much about what she can do. About what I can do to her. I swallow hard, blueberry-flavoured smoothie sliding down my throat, and it seems so unreal, seems so unbelievable that just hours ago, she was naked on top of me, her fingers inside me, and now we're just chatting like everything's normal. Like nothing happened. It seems like something should've changed, like I should love her, or not be able to stand her, or something. But there's just this like, that throbs over the anger and makes me contain myself around her. The only other person I feel that around is Carly, but it's different. My stomach drops. Carly. Shit, she must be worried sick. I dig around in my pocket, yanking out my phone, Cat taking a dainty sip of her smoothie across from me. It's still switched off. "You rang your parents? They're on their way?"

Cat nods, hands circled around her cup, head lowered. "They sounded mad." She says softly, eyes closed.

"It's pretty late. They're just worried."

Cat chews at her lip, raising her head, eyebrows turned up. "Sam... about what your Mom said..."

"Hey, I told you not to listen to her. She's a fucking alcoholic." My voice comes out sharp, and Cat flinches as the curse word leaves my mouth. I soften my voice, lowering it. "Just forget about it. It doesn't matter."

Cat nods, raising her cup to her mouth again, sipping at the straw.

"I've just gotta make a call, okay? I'll only be a minute." I touch her hand lightly as I stand, switching my phone on as I cross to the exit, slipping outside. The chill in the air bites at me, pavement shadowed blue, eating at the square of light the Groovy Smoothie throws out. I dial the number, holding the phone to my ear, rolling my knuckles again in front of my eyes. She picks up on the fourth ring.

"Sam?"

"Hey Carls. Whatcha up to?"

"What am I up to? I've been ringing you! Why didn't you answer? Your phone didn't even ring!"

I shift uneasily. "I was... with Cat."

"Doing what?" A moment of silence. Then Carly's voice, more impatient. "What were you doing with her?"

"Nothing. Just... stuff."

"Stuff?" I can almost hear the raised eyebrow in her tone.

"Just stuff. Look Carly, can I stay over tonight?"

She laughs, voice incredulous. "What? You skip school, avoid my calls, and then just ring me up asking if you can stay over? Sam, are you high?" She pauses. "Wait, are you high?"

"No! I just... it's really important. I can't go home tonight."

Carly's voice softens. "What happened?"

My mouth twists, knuckles throbbing as my hand curls into a fist again, rapping against my leg. "I don't wanna talk about it. I just really need somewhere to stay tonight." It's not the first time I've made this sort of call to her. Carly understands the situation with my mother better than anyone else. But I don't tell her everything. I'm not sure she really wants to know everything. She doesn't ask much, just accepts when I tell her I need to stay over. I wonder if her imagination is worse than the reality, or if it doesn't even come close.

"It's okay, you can stay. I'll leave the door unlocked. But come talk to me before you go to sleep, okay? I'm... I'm worried about you, Sam. You're my best friend, and I don't know what's going on with you."

I let out a long breath, head lowering. "I know."

"Promise me we'll talk."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Sam."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, eyes closing. "Okay! I promise."

I end the call with a sigh, phone slipping back into my pocket. I open my eyes as I hear the door of the Groovy Smoothie open, a whoosh of warm air rushing over me. Light pours out over Cat's hair, running gilt fingers over the ruby locks, stained almost purple by the darkness.

"Did I interrupt your call?" Cat's eyebrows turn up worriedly.

I shake my head, running a hand through my blonde curls. "No, it's over. What are you doing out here? It's cold."

Cat's points down the street, arms folding against the chill. "My Mom rang while you were out here. She's waiting."

I squint down the street, trying to catch a glimpse of glowing red tail-lights without success. "Why'd she park so far down?"

Cat licks her lips, taking a few tiny steps forward, shoulders shrugging, face turned away from me. My eyebrows furrow down. It's not like Cat to avoid a question. I purse my lips, thinking back. That's not entirely true. I learned in her room that there's some things she's hesitant to answer. But I wonder why this is one. It's a simple question. I shrug mentally. I'm reading too much into it. Cat's probably just quiet because she's tired. She's been through a lot today. I glance down at the blood-soaked paper towel clinging to my knuckles. So have I.

Cat turns back to me, the planes of her face lined and sculpted by the yellow light of the Groovy Smoothie, blue shadows staining where it doesn't spill. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Even in the shifting light, it's hard to miss the hope in her face. It still confuses me. I don't think things could've gone worse, but she's still sticking by me, she's still happy to see me. She's still not seeing me for who I really am. My eyes flick down to my shifting shoes. But she's already seen more of me than anyone. I nod, looking back at her, a soft smile spreading across her face. And then her arms are sliding around me, hands linking behind my neck, and she's giving me a soft, slow kiss that feels far too intimate, far too drugging, and my hands are flush on her waist, already moving there instinctively. My knuckles twinge as they flex on her slim waist, and I wince, breaking the kiss, Cat pulling back, her hand taking mine and bringing it to her mouth. She kisses my fingers softly, just before my knuckles, before lowering my hand, fingers slipping away from mine as she turns.

I feel a soft twist inside me, hand reaching out to circle her wrist, Cat turning back, head tilted. "Wait." I pull Cat back to me, other hand slipping around her waist again. I hesitate a moment before her, lips hovering before hers, and it's Cat that closes the gap, that meets me softly, a smile curving her lips. I press closer against her, eyes shut tight, lips moving hotly, and it makes my head spin anew. Kissing her isn't like kissing Freddie, like kissing any other guy. Those moments were hard, pressed lips and fumbling hands, but this... this is soft. Her lips fit against mine so well, move so gently, so sincerely. It's not an awkward first kiss, a hurried second and third kiss. It's patient, and perhaps what gets me most of all, is that it's intimate. It's vulnerable. It makes me forget everything around me, just for a moment, but it does. I break the kiss reluctantly, breath caught in my throat. "Okay." I run my tongue out over my lips, hands slipping from her hips. "You can go." My voice is husky, coming out gruffer than I want it to, but Cat smiles anyway, giving a little giggle.

"See you tomorrow, Sam." She gives a little wave before the darkness swallows her, and I let out a long breath, tasting her strawberry smoothie on my lips.

It's been a long day. I turn in the direction of Carly's, feet starting to move wearily. I swear I could find her place from almost anywhere in the city, instinctively. I hug my arms to me, moving in and out of the sickly streetlights, the occasional car roaring past, the night chill starting to eat into my bones. I realise at some point that that anger that hummed inside me, coiled into a tight sphere, has disappeared, eased by Cat's lips, numbed by my knuckles. I jog across the street, breath puffing from me. I should feel tired, but mostly I just feel like my skin's crawling, like it's buzzing with all these thoughts that just want to come out, that want to hum and gossip around my ears, and all of them are Cat, Cat, Cat. Like if I opened my mouth to speak, that's all that would pour out. A red river of her. How she feels, how she smells, how her back arches, how she laughs. How all these things I know now, things I never intended to know, are bursting out of my brain, and it's overwhelming me. I wonder what Carly will think when-

I freeze, feet almost tripping over themselves. Shit. Carly. I promised her we'd talk. She's gonna want to know about Cat, about what happened with my mom, about... about everything. My stomach shifts sickly. Cat might be all on that's on my mind, all that's crawling in my veins, but... can I really tell Carly that... that we... that I slept with her? I've shared everything with Carly, ever since we were little, but I've always steered clear of anything that was... well, girly. Anything romantic, that showed I have a heart. I mean, I know Carly knows I have one, but... I just don't like to talk about that stuff with anyone. I'm not soft, I'm not sweet, not in words and not in actions. But I was with Cat. I was soft, and I was sweet, and I was everything I'm not, and it felt good. Maybe I can tell Carly, maybe not everything, but maybe I can tell her some things. I frown, steps slower now, hesitant, taking me closer and closer to Carly's apartment. What will she think? I realise I honestly don't know. Carly's always supported me before, but this is big. This is huge. This is vulnerable, and it was hard enough to make myself that way with Cat. Carly's too important to risk that with. At least Cat made herself vulnerable too, at least we both could've been hurt. I can't lose Carly, I can't.

I think for a moment about just going somewhere else, about maybe breaking into the school and sleeping there, or going to some all night fast food place and sitting over a cup of coffee. It wouldn't be the first time. But Carly's already expecting me, and I've jerked her around too much this week already. I reach her building with a sick stomach, tongue running out over my lips and bringing me a reminder of Cat. I'm not gonna think about this too much. Whatever happens, happens. It's the same reasoning that brought me tonight. A wry smile curves my lips. And look how that turned out.

I push open the main door, light spilling onto me. At least I'll have Cat tomorrow. But even a part of me is worrying that that's such a comfort.

/

A/N: As always, here is the part where I crawl on my knees and beseech you to review. Why? I hear you ask, talking aloud to yourself for some reason. Why should I review, you know your story is good/bad/purple, you wrote the damn thing. And then you spit, soiling your carpet, but confident in having taught me a lesson.

Well, I beg and plead because your sweet words are like pets on the head of a puppy dog to me. And much like a dog, I can't judge the quality of a story. Feedback is important.

When you read my fic, you climb onboard the demondreaming express, and it's your lovely words that tell me "MOAR ANGST IN THE FURNACE. THEY WANT LESS CHICKEN SMUT DINNERS AND MORE BEEF CUDDLING MEALS. IF ANOTHER FICTRAIN LEAVES TORONTO AT MIDNIGHT, TRAVELLING AT 190mph, HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE FOR A MOTH TO EVOLVE TO RIDE ON IT?"

And such things like that. So you should review, just so it'll stop me talking. Also, I don't have a license to drive a train, so... you know, hang on.