story: iOnly Lied a Little
author: sundroptea
disclaimer: Not mine. For realz.
rating: M for language and inappropriate… thoughts?
note: I'm sorry this has taken so long. I keep wanting to make this smuttier and it just keeps getting angsty/plotty. Which, please note, I never intended. I hope you enjoy it! J
Well, fine. Let's just think this through, shall we?
Now:
She's not quite sure where she expected this to go. She's at a loss. Her mouth is open and she thinks that the situation might have gotten away from her a little. She sure didn't think that the consequences would be catching up with her quite so soon- like before she's even done the deed yet. She winces, the deed indeed. Get out of here! This is what she's thinking at the moment, on the street.
Her phone is being fairly crushed in Freddie's fist and she can hear Derek saying, "Hello? Hello? Sam?" in a tinny voice on the other end. She isn't positive, but she thinks that maybe her face is red. Freddie's is, that's for sure. Her mind is blank. Escape is unlikely, considering she's forgotten everything she ever knew about feet, and having them, and what they're for. She just exists in an interminably long moment of utter surprise.
Involuntarily, she takes what for anyone else would be called a hasty step back, except Pucketts never retreat. It's so quick she actually raps the back of her head on the wall of the Bushwell. The pock-marked brick digs into the exposed parts of her back, but she doesn't feel it. All that glorious resentment from earlier has fled, like a meat thief in the night. She is completely empty, and thinks, 'Welp. Everything's over. That's just it.'
She feels strangely detached, and wonders if the end always feels like nothing at all. Or maybe something, she thinks, when she registers Freddie's expression. She's never seen him so angry, his lips peeled back in what could almost be termed a snarl.
But his voice is measured, even, as he brings her phone to his ear.
"Derek? Sam is going to have to call you back."
Her throat goes ever so slightly dry.
Ballz.
And before:
"What the lump was that?"
"Shut up, Carly. I'm not in the mood."
"You're not in the mood? You just jumped all over Sam out of nowhere! What sort of mood do you think she's in, now?"
"That's not any of my business, is it?"
"Really? That's your answer? Where was that attitude two minutes ago when you just called our best friend a dirty wh- unclean woman of limited virtue?"
"I don't care! If she wants to run around with guys, then she's going to get a reputation. She should know that if she's going to continue."
"Continue WHAT?"
"You know damn well what! Her and Derek-"
"Ended weeks ago! What's got you all in a-lather about it now?"
"Oh, so because it didn't last long it's okay to just jump into bed with whoever happens to slow down long enough for you to hop on?"
"What?"
"Don't what me, Carly. I know all about it- no thanks to you, by the way. You could have told me!"
"Told you what? Nothing happened!"
"That's not what I heard."
"Wait, has Derek been saying that he and Sam... you know?"
"Like I would ever talk to that... that... stubhump!"
"So then who's been saying that Sam and Derek… you know? Because I will have to go set them straight and I might need to borrow the butter sock to do it."
"I don't know. People."
"Oh, people, sure. Which people?"
"Carly..."
"There are no people! You just made up people!"
"You just don't-"
"You have nothing, not even idle gossip, to back you up! Of all the nasty, petty, nasty, jealous... Oh my god."
"Shut up, alright?"
"You shut up! No! Wait! Don't shut up! You go apologize to Sam right now."
"For what? You heard her. She's got plans. I wouldn't want to interfere."
"You are an IDIOT, Fredward Benson. You and your stupid jealous face! Good! Don't interfere! Be like that!"
"I just-"
"No! You leave her alone! For the first time ever, I think Sam should totally screw you over. Whatever fresh hell she thinks up for you... It's only fair!"
"Carly!"
"At least Derek never made her feel like trash! That's right! I hope she's meeting him right now and that he's... slowing down, if you know what I-"
The door slammed so hard the glass across the belly of it cracked.
And much earlier (an interlude):
"What are you doing up so late, nub?" Her hair is tousled from sleep and he thinks he sees a streak of Bar-B-Sauce smeared across her cheek, but it's dark in her room so he can't be sure. She's beautiful
"It's only two in the morning!" he protests, not wanting her to sign off just yet. She rolls her eyes at him.
"'Only' says the boy who's lights go off on a timer sharply at 8pm every school night."
"Hey. I thought we agreed that our moms are both nuts and therefore cancel each other's crazy out. No mom jokes." She scrubs the heel of her hand across her forehead.
"Benson, that wasn't making fun of your mother. But whateves. It still doesn't explain why you Skypeared me at onlytwo in the morning. Momma was catching z's like the Lohan chick catches cases."
"I don't know. I thought you might be up?" It's lame, and he knows that she knows it.
"Try again."
He goes with diversion. "Do I need a reason to want to hear my girlfriend's voice? Or see her pretty face?"
Said face crinkles in confusion, and slight horror. "Pretty face? What in the hell are you talking abou- Ohmigod. Are you having the faps-"
"WHAT? No!" His jaw drops open. How could she-
"Because I am not a piece of meat, Fredward Benson! I am not here because your wet dream was too dry!"
"SAM! That isn't- You're- I'm not! Look! Both hands!" He waves them frantically over the dim glare of his illicit flashlight. (Night is night and day is bright, that's why we turn off the lights!) He stops when he registers her snickering laughter.
"Chill, nub. I'm joking. You would never." He doesn't know what that's supposed to mean, but then he rarely does, with her.
"But seriously, what's so important that we had to facechat right now, when we're going to be kissing each other good morning in, oh, about four hours. Did you have a bad dream, or something?"
"Or... something."
"C'mon. Tell Momma."
"It's just been so busy lately. I was up, thinking-"
"First mistake!" she interjects. He gives her a dirty look and she immediately looks contrite. It's not a common expression for her so he knows she means it. "I'm sorry, baby. Go on. I'll be good."
He loves when she calls him that.
"I just started to worry that..."
"Worry what?"
"Worry that you and I weren't getting enough time to..."
"To...?" She never usually has to drag feelings out of him, so this must be very difficult for her. He's the one who she calls Mr. Feely-McTouchy-In-That-Order.
"To just... To just be, you know?" This is a strange conversation to be having. He isn't expressing himself correctly. He doesn't know how to say what he wants to say. What he wants to say feels an awful lot like, "I lov-"
"I sorta get it. It feels like it's so rushed right now, with school and iCarly and other things, like all we have time to do is make out. Like, hardcore. Which, don't get me wrong- I'm all about. Who knew you had those lips in you? And that tongue. Whew."
"Sammy..."
"Are you blushing? You're blushing! After what you did with my bra opener the other day, you have no right to blush, Benson!"
"I just wanted to talk! Okay? It feels like even when we get to see each other we don't even get to be with each other and I just wanted to be able to see you and talk for a few minutes, just so that I could go to sleep... happy."
"I... make you happy?" Her face is the softest he's ever seen it. She's all shiny blue eyes and pink, pale cheeks and he wishes he were next to her so that he could brush his lips across them to see if they're warm. Something is slowly unfurling behind her gaze and it makes his heart skip and then beat triple time.
"You make me... elated," he confesses. She bites her lip and he wants to do it for her. "A smile from you is... It's worth... You're kind of worth everything."
"Even the beatings?"
"Even the beatings! They're not so bad. And it's mostly Gibby now, so-"
"Shut up!" He laughs, but then he quiets again. Without realizing what he's doing, he reaches out to touch the screen. She pauses a moment, and then does the same.
"Sometimes, I just want to see you and know... that you're mine and that... you're happy, too."
"Oh. Well." She clears her throat, and drops her hand, and he knows that's all the Feely-McTouchy he's going to get out of her tonight. "That's fine then."
"Yeah?" He knows what she means, because she doesn't look straight at him, and her face (it's definitely bar-b-que sauce) is still a little pink.
"It's only two, Freddie. I guess I have a moment to talk."
Presently:
Alright. This doesn't have to be a thing. He's made it abundantly clear that they are nothing to one another except a strategic annoyance. This can just be part of the fight from earlier, and will end cleanly, and quietly.
Which would be great, only he isn't saying anything, just glaring at her, like he's daring her to make a move. She doesn't. She's still pressed back against the side of the Bushwell, watching him warily. For once, she doesn't know how to attack.
Maybe if she just... "Soooo, can I get my phone ba-"
"No."
So, no. It looks like they're just going to stand here for awhile then. She doesn't understand why this is so awkward. She gets caught red handed all of the time. Her palms are scarlet with her own delighted treachery. Her seat in detention has a plaque with her name on it. Her parole officer brings his family over on Thanksgiving. She is on a first name basis with trouble- Why hello, Trouble! What brings you here? Me? 25 pounds of tuna, Ms. Brigg's car, and a slimjim? Now what on earth would make you think I had anything to do with that? Fingerprints? Aww, horsepucky.
And she remembers that he has no right to be standing there, too close to her, hands fisted at his sides, with that look on his face like she's the one doing something wrong. She is free to do as she pleases, to do what (who? She shudders) she pleases, and he doesn't get to be mad about it. She remembers all of this but she has yet to move, because she's still riding that wave of numbness so unfamiliar to her and she doesn't know how to work this new, phone snatching, fire breathing version of the boy she-
She tries to swallow but it feels like that time when Gibby had dared her to eat the Jawbreaker in under an hour.
Whatever. This is ridiculous. She huffs and starts to sidle to the right of where he's looming, apparently content to stand there and glower. He can't be serious. She isn't a child he needs to discipline.
"Keep the phone, nu-" She's cut off by Freddie's palms slapping the bricks on either side of her head. Holy chiz. The plastic on her phone's case makes a grinding noise from the pressure of it scraping the wall.
"Don't you dare walk away from me. Not this time."
Oh, there's the anger! It's back. She sighs in relief. She thought maybe the knot in her stomach from earlier was something she'd heard of once or twice... guilt, she thought maybe it was called? No matter now! She's ready and in the ring again, leading the bell.
"Because I'm all about listening to random assholes who order me about on the street."
She moves to duck under his arm, but he brings his elbow down and presses closer, boxing her in. Now it all makes sense, she thinks. It didn't work out because he has a secret desire to be a lady, and he's asking for my help with the sex change. She feels like violence and it's so familiar she could spit with glee.
"Get. Off. Me," she breathes, to no effect. He doesn't move. "I'm not going to say it twice, stub."
"Why? Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have plans?" He leans so heavily on the last word it gasps a little and sinks to its knees under the weight. She fights the urge to swallow and decides it's time to throw him off.
She braces her hands behind her and shoves very deliberately off the brick, forcing Freddie to either step back or basically velcro their bodies together. He gives her an inch, maybe. She decides to work the joint. "I will, big ones, as soon as you get your goddamn hands off my phone."
She doesn't know if the hit lands. His expression doesn't change.
"Is that so?" he asks, mildly. He steps back, finally, and she doesn't know how to weigh the small shiver of hurt that courses through her that he's come to his senses against the wash of relief that this bizarre encounter is finally over. She decides that not thinking has worked well for her for so long where he's concerned, that she's just going to keep on keepin' on. She meets his eye, and shrugs, letting go. It's done.
He keeps her gaze, steadily, as he brings up his arm, but he has to break contact when he pivots and spikes her goddamn Pear Phone 2 into traffic. Her jaw flaps open. He resumes his observation of her, coolly, and it's like he doesn't realize he's pretty much just signed his own death warrant.
"What the hell?" she explodes, shoving him savagely, and dimly notes that this might really be it, for both of them, because he doesn't so much as flinch but keeps flexing his fists like he's just as ready for violence as she is. He cocks his head.
"I guess now you have a moment." His voice is level. "To talk."