Sorry for the wait. This is exactly why I'm not going to upload the Fred/Hermione fic that I've been dabbling on in my spare time any time soon. I'm going to finish out this one and my Draco/Hermione before I start ANY new projects. It would just be cruel, because you all and my Before I Fall readers already have a long enough wait inbetween new chapters without me adding a new story to the mix.

By the way, I got a job. Yay me, I know. But unfortunately it cuts down more on my free time since now whenever I'm home all I want to do is sleep. I'm not even lying. I slept until one in the afternoon today.

"Sam, come on. I know dress shopping isn't your thing, but this is Homecoming. You can't just wear shorts and a penny tee." Carly said, clearly exasperated with her hellion of a best friend. It was two weeks before the Homecoming dance, and they were supposed to be shopping for dresses for her and Sam.

Supposed being the operative word.

Sam was no help at all, immediately rejecting all of Carly's attempts at dresses. Carly had chosen one for herself at the second store they'd tried, a light lavender dress that twirled prettily when she moved and would look great on the dance floor.

That was six stores and one mall ago.

"Oh god, no. Why would you even think I would wear that? It looks like something a daffodil would wear." Sam was horrified at the pink frilly dress that Carly had pulled from the rack. It had more ruffles than Sam could possibly know what to do with.

It didn't even look like a dress. It looked like a very decorated cake.

"It's not that bad. It's cute!" Carly defended the dress/dessert's honor.

"Just put it back on the rack and back away slowly. It might strangle you with all those ruffles. You should be very, very afraid. I know I am."

Carly huffed, frustrated. She was beginning to think that Sam would never decide on a dress. Carly had been nice in the previous years and let Sam skip out on the dances, but not this year. This year Sam had Freddie, so there wasn't an excuse for either of them to miss Homecoming.

Carly saw Sam open her mouth, presumably to suggest that they abandon this store and move on to the next one (or even forget shopping altogether) when something along the far wall of the shop got her attention. She watched her best friend literally run across the store, bowling down a girl from their science class and grabbing a red dress that the girl had her hand on.

Sam sauntered back to Carly, looking pleased with herself.

"I found one." Sam smiled.

Carly snickered. It was just so typically Sam to maim a classmate in the name of fashion that she hadn't wanted to pursue in the first place. "Was it really necessary to knock Cassie Schriber to the floor though?"

"She had her eyes on the dress I wanted! But, if you want, I can give it to her and we can spend another endless amount of time searching for another dress as perfect as this one." The vicious but lovable blonde kept a firm hold of the dress and made her way tot he dressing rooms in the back of the store. Carly waited patiently by the mirrors, waiting for her friend to emerge with the dress that had been worth so much to her.

When Sam finally came out, Carly had to agree that the dress suited Sam perfectly. It was a scarlet red, flapper style dress that hit Sam mid-thigh and had row upon row of dangling beads that swished and swayed whenever Sam moved even the slightest bit. The neckline was sweetheart style, and complemented Sam's chest without seeming slutty.

"Oh, Sam. It's perfect."

Sam twirled in the mirror for the first time in living memory. A part of Carly wanted to whip out her phone and record what had to be the girliest moment in Sam's life, ever. But she refrained, because she knew that Sam wouldn't repeat it for the rest of her life it she got wind that Carly had documentation of this.

"It is, isn't it?" The girls dallied in the dressing room until the initial thrill of Sam's discovery wore off and the impatient blonde demanded food and then a return to the apartment.

Carly could only laugh. This was Sam, after all.

000

"No."

"Please?"

"Absolutely not."

"."

"Don't me. It's not happening."

"Please? For me?"

"I said no! I agreed to the manicure and the pedicure and letting your fabulous hairdresser do that thing with the foil on my hair. I'm even wearing one of those special bras for dresses with straps. But NO WAY am I going to let you force me into those death traps you call shoes."

"Don't make me do this, Sam."

Sam squinted at her best friend. "Do what?"

Carly said nothing, instead choosing to type out a quick text on her phone. She sat on her ice cream sandwich couch and stared at Sam silently.

"Stop staring at me, Shay. It's worse than your puppy dog eyes."

Carly didn't stop.

Sam was beginning to wonder who Carly had texted when the unmistakeable sound of knee-high boots hitting wood got closer and closer to Carly's bedroom door.

Oh, god. She didn't.

But she had.

Carly had called in reinforcements in the form of Carlos.

"Why is it that I only get an SOS text if it's a fashion emergency? The next time I get a text demanding that I come over, it better be to be featured on iCarly or heads are going to roll."

"Noted, Carlos. What's up?" Sam asked, grinning. She hadn't seen Carlos in weeks, and it felt like forever. He was right; they really needed to have him on iCarly.

"Don't ask me what's up, Samantha Joy Puckett. Carly says you refuse to put on the shoes that will match that glorious dress of yours?" Carlos asked, hands on his hips.

"Carlos. Those aren't shoes. Those are immediate death in shoe form. What sadistic jerk invented stilettos anyway?"

"Stop trying to deflect. It's not going to work. Here's what's going to happen, though: you are going to put on those gorgeous shoes and walk downstairs to where that hot hunk of meat you call a boyfriend will be waiting for you. He will see you in those shoes and his brain will explode and you will have a fabulous time tonight. Do you understand me?" Carlos said in his best military commander voice.

"Yes sir, Your Almighty Fabulousness! Right away!" Sam stood and saluted Carlos, who in addition to Carly burst out laughing.

"Not so fast, Sergeant Sarcasm. Your hair and makeup still need to be finished." Carlos quickly pushed Sam back down into the seat.

Forty-five minutes later, Sam looked like a girl straight from a Prohibition Era speakeasy. Carlos had worked some crazy wonderul magic with her curls, making them frame her face in an Old Hollywood kind of way. Red lipstick that perfectly matched her dress covered her lips, and her blue eyes were lined with liquid liner.

Carly was dolled out too, in her lavender dress and pin straight chestnut hair. The lucky girl wasn't forced into painful shoes, instead being allowed to wear a pair of black studded booties that playfully contrasted the daffodility of her dress.

"Aww, look at my two knockouts. Now go show the rest of the world what I've done and if any of your female friends ever need a personal stylist, give them my number." Carlos said, shoving them out of the bedroom and down the stairs towards their dates. Sam noticed her reflection in a mirror and had to admit that the red stilettos were a great touch.

000

The shoes drove Freddie wild, in any case. After Sam and Carly had descended the staircase, Sam thought that Freddie would lose his pants. The way he had looked at Sam as he tied the corsage to her wrist made a swarm of butterflies assault her stomach for the whole duration of Spencer forcing her, Freddie, Carly and Brad to pose for pictures in their fancy attire.

That was just under an hour, and the violent butterflies were back.

Sam had to admit, the dance wasn't that bad. Sure, the food sucked and she was pretty sure that Mrs. Briggs and Mr. Howard were making out in a dark corner somewhere, but it could have been infinitely worse. Sam and Carly had made a point to dominate the dance floor when the DJ played Sam's favorite dance songs: I Like It by Enrique Iglesias, Telephone by Lady Gaga, Glad You Came by The Wanted, and Starstrukk and Don't Trust Me by 3Oh!3.

The DJ had eventually had to switch to slower songs, which is where she was at that pointZ: the middle of the crowded dance floor, esconced in Freddie's arms as Enrique Iglesias crooned about wanting to be her hero.

"This wasn't the worst way we could have spent a Saturday night." Freddie said, tightening his grip on Sam's waist.

"Nope. I'm not saying that I'm going to turn into a raging party girl and spend every weekend living it up, but once in a while might not be so bad. There are only so many action movies we can watch in one night." Sam teased, smirking up at her boyfriend who had the playful decency to act shocked.

"What are these blasphemous words of which you speak? I seem to recall that you took a very fond interest in my Marvel movie collection..."

"Nub, it's hot, muscled guys in skintight suits with superpowers. I'd have to be catatonic to not appreciate that."

"Touche."

The DJ switched from Enrique Iglesias' "Hero" to "Hello" by Lionel Richie.

"Dang. This DJ knows his chiz. I love this song." Sam sighed, resting her head on Freddie's chest.

"'Cause I wonder where you are, and I wonder what you do. Are you somewhere feeling lonely, or is someone loving you? Tell me how to win your heart, 'cause I haven't got a clue." Freddie sang obnoxiously off-key.

"So help you, Benson, if you ruin this song for me I will ruin the possibility of children for you." Sam threatened and then snickered when Freddie immediately stopped singing. She knew that he knew that she wouldn't actually hurt him, and that nowadays it might actually be a fair fight should push come to shove, but that didn't stop him when it came to playing with her.

"You know what, Sammie?"

"What, Fredward?"

"Regardless of all of your threats on my life and the fact that you constantly take my food or make me buy you food and that this is essentially an abusive relationship, I kinf of love you. Weird, huh?" Freddie said. He looked down into Sam's eyes, which glittered with words that he knew that Sam considered far too girly and muchy to ever actually say. He knew they were there, though, and that's all that mattered.

Sam rose on her tip toes and pressed her lips lightly to Freddie's. She wanted to take it a smidge further, but the room full of swaying teenagers was a slight buzzkill.

"It is weird. I'm not sure how it happened, but I kind of love you too."

000

As Freddie helped carry a sleeping Sam into the Shay's apartment that night and tucked his exhausted girlfriend into her bed, he remarked mentally exactly how peaceful she looked. A small part of him wished that she could just be like that forever, and be eternally guarded from the evils of the universe.

The much larger, more manly part of him smacked the smaller half and told him to stop being a sissy, because Sam could protect herself just fine and might possibly hurt Freddie for bothering to think such gushy thoughts.

"Freddie?" Sam murmured sleepily in a small voice more appropriately suited for a five-year-old. It automatically ranked as one of the cutest things Freddie had ever seen.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Can you stay with me? I know your mom is working tonight."

Freddie debated his options. He could either return to his own cold, dark, empty apartment in his own cold, dark, empty bed or he could crash with his warm, soft girlfriend. He knew Spencer wouldn't care and would cover for him if his mom came calling.

"Sure, Sam. I'll stay."

"Good. Now come here so I can sleep." Sam ordered. Freddie laughed and shed his shoes, jacket, tie, vest and belt. He climbed into Sam's bed and wrapped one arm over her midsection, using the other to pull up her covers around them. Sam twisted in his arms so she faced him and her face tucked neatly in the crevice between his neck and shoulders.

"Night, Princess Puckett." Freddie kissed Sam's forehead, brushing her hair off her face so that it wouldn't tickle her nose as she slept.

"Night, Prince Nubbington."

There you go. The idea of Homecoming has been bouncing around in my head for months now. I hope it was okay.

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