Watching



Freddie pushes the door to the apartment open wearily. It is almost four in the morning; he, Neville, Lars, and Shane had managed to complete most of their work. Freddie is looking forward to a blissful weekend free of work before it all repeats again on Monday.

The joys of being an adult, Freddie thinks to himself, even though he is only twenty-six and that is plenty young enough according to Spencer.

Freddie stumbles into the kitchen, scouring the fridge for a late night snack. He is ravenous and would even choke down one of Sam's horrible sugar-and-fat snacks. Freddie instead grabs a soda and a bowl of watermelon. He heads over to the kitchen island and settles down, yawning sleepily. He realizes he does not have a fork too late and is too tired to fetch one. So he eats with his fingers, something that normally would have repulsed him. Freddie mechanically eats half of the bowl before he hears it.

"Duke…I am…your uncle!" a raspy voice declares.

Freddie blinks, wondering if he is more tired than he originally thought. Because he swears he's hearing Galaxy Wars. Abandoning the bowl and grabbing his soda, Freddie shuffles into the living room.

The TV is on, its bright picture reflecting off of the glass doors that lead to a balcony, a perk of living on the seventh floor. Freddie's jaw drops slightly at the sight before him. The top of Sam's head peeks over the edge of the couch. He cannot believe it. This has to be a dream. Sam would never willingly watch Galaxy Wars.

Freddie has to bribe her and threaten her with no bed-sharing—of the two he is the more with more restraint, big surprise—for days before Sam usually gives in. He has resorted to giving Sam the silent treatment to get her to watch it with him. Freddie is standing in front of the couch, blocking Sam's view of the TV before he realizes it.

"Sam?" He whispers. His soda is cold and his fingers are icy, but he doesn't make any move to sit down next to Sam on the couch and set his soda down on the low coffee table. He is standing in front of the coffee table, his knees brushing up against the wood. "What are you doing?"

Freddie wants to know what she is doing home, what she is doing watching Galaxy Wars, and what she is wearing; because she is clad in his national fencing championship shirt and his sweat pants, both of which are too big on her. She looks adorable, though she would punch Freddie for saying so, and he gets a slight thrill from watching her wear his clothes. It's almost like a mark of ownership, except for Sam's completely her own person. Freddie suddenly notices something else. She is also clutching a big, neon orange stuffed octopus Freddie won for her senior year at a cheap carnival.

Freddie had not even known she still had that octopus toy. He had forgotten about it. After that night, they had come home and it had mysteriously disappeared. Freddie hadn't thought to ask about it. He had assumed Sam had thrown it out.

Knowing she had kept it all this time…Freddie feels a warm sensation flood through his chest and he smiles tenderly down at Sam. "Sorry," he apologizes. "The guys called me down to the office. There were some things we needed to fix."

She is fighting to keep her eyes open, he can tell, but she still manages to look up at him and smirk cheekily. "Fredweird, you're home," she remarks casually, her voice raspy with sleep, as if she had not heard his explanation and had not been waiting up for him—because Sam is indifferent to everything but food, and doesn't care if Freddie gets home a little late.

But Freddie knows the truth, and it makes his smile a little smug.

Sam glances at the screen pointedly, where the credits are just beginning to roll. "I'd invite you to join me in watching Duke Air-runner defeat Gareth Shader, but I just don't feel like rewinding." She yawns and stretches her arms out above her head. The octopus tumbles from her lap in the process.

Freddie bends down and picks it up. He sits on the edge of the coffee table—something that would shock and appall his mother, but he hasn't lived with her for years; and yet he still feels like a rebel for doing so—and places the stuffed toy on Sam's stomach.

Her arms protectively curl up around it and she tries to distract Freddie from noticing this by saying, "I got the job. Me 'n Ronny wore them down good." A smug, proud smile curls her lips and Freddie resists the urge to kiss her.

"Congratulations," he replies sincerely. Sam needs a job, something to do to keep her busy, and Freddie is glad she is doing something she loves. Sam likes to make people laugh, and her sarcastic, tough love humor appeals to many people. Her fame from iCarly has given her a start in the comedy business, but Sam's talent has kept her there. "When are you starting?"

Sam groans, conveying that she doesn't appreciate the third-degree. But nonetheless she answers, "Two weeks, maybe. Got a trial run sometime before that." Sam looks at Freddie and rolls her eyes, knowing instantly from his look that he expects more details. Sam caves in under Freddie's gentle, pleading look and gruffly adds, "It's five days a week to start off, from five to six, and then eleven to midnight."

Freddie considers this. In his sweatshirt pocket, there is a velvet box, and he wonders. If he asks now, what will happen? They will have to wait until Sam has settled comfortably into her job. They will have to wait until Sam even agrees. So Freddie's confidence wavers and he doesn't pull the velvet box out. Instead, he smiles at Sam. "That's great." He feels like he should be using a pet name like "dear" or "honey" but knows that those words don't fit with Sam and him.

Plus, she will hit him if he ever dares to call her sweetie or something else fluffy and cute.

"You're going to like it," Freddie continues, already seeing Sam bringing a crowd to hysterics. "Everyone's going to love you." His grin stretches wider and he directs it at Sam, who turns her gaze away from him. She complains constantly that his happiness is infectious, and she doesn't like to smile more than four times a day.

"It's a job," Sam mutters, adjusting her grip on the octopus toy.

Freddie is fluent in Sam-language and reads between the lines. Sam is happy, too. She likes the idea of being employed, of doing a job that makes other people happy too. His grin goes wider. He leans over and pecks Sam on the forehead before heading into the kitchen. "You want anything?" He asks, knowing Sam is always up for food. "Or are you heading to bed?"

He pulls out a Tupperware box that had once been filled with tofu-loaf. His mom gave it to him a few days ago, knowing he had been hooked on it in high school, and Freddie has already eaten it all. Still, he opens it. He had scrubbed it clean yesterday, and the Tupperware is the perfect size.

"Naw," Sam says, and Freddie hears sounds that indicate she is standing up and walking towards their bedroom. "I'm gonna hit the sack. I'm bushed."

"Okay, night," Freddie calls back. He digs around in his pocket and removes the velvet box. "I'll be there in a little bit." There is no reply from Sam, who is probably already asleep.

Freddie carefully wraps it in a stray Low-Fat Fatty Cake wrapper—Sam detests them, saying they are unnatural and taste like sawdust; Freddie had bought them on a whim and secretly shares Sam's opinion—and places the wrapped velvet box in the Tupperware. He puts the whole thing in the freezer underneath a bag of peas. It as safe of hiding place as Freddie will get in this apartment.

He grabs a Popsicle randomly from the freezer, since he did tell Sam he is getting something eat, and tears the wrapper off. He heads over to the trashcan but pauses, staring at a cabinet drawer. It is mostly used for Freddie's stray and spare computer parts, something Sam has no interest in, but Freddie had hidden Fatty Cakes and some Choco-Blasters there from Sam. He pulls open the drawer, wondering if it is a better hiding place than the freezer, Tupperware, and Low-Fat Fatty cake wrapper.

But then he see there is nothing in the drawer save some old computer chips, a screwdriver, a shiny disc, and a purple sticky note that simply declares, "Finders keepers, nub." Freddie smiles and throws his Popsicle wrapper in the drawer before closing it and walking away to watch the ending of Galaxy Wars again.

He sits in the dark room, watching very fake-looking spaceships zoom around a starry dark sky, with the sound very quiet and an orange octopus toy beside him.