Here's a Seddie moment. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews!


Serving


Freddie is ditching the empty box of Popsicles into the trash. He and Sam had made short work of the few Popsicles in the box, as coffee and the flavored-ice had gone together surprisingly well.

He is pouring the last coffee in the pot in his cup when Sam beckons him over with a hand. Thinking she is out to steal his coffee—even though her cup is full to the brim after he had refilled it moments ago—Freddie sighs and goes over to Sam.

He sets his coffee down on the counter, waiting for Sam to reach out and claim it. Instead, she looks at him. Freddie internally frowns, trying to place the look. Sam has so many different looks, and Freddie is only human, can only remember so many of them. But Sam reaches out with both hands suddenly. For a moment Freddie is shocked and thinks she is going to hug him. Sam is not normally an affection person, but stranger things had occurred in the early morning, when Sam is not fully herself.

Then Sam grabs the edges of Freddie's shirt and lifts it up, smoothly taking his shirt off in such a swift mood that Freddie only realizes what has transpired when Sam slips his shirt over her own head. He gapes at her, though he really shouldn't feel surprise, especially after living with Sam for so long. Sam just smiles too innocently at him, saying in her defense only, "I was cold, Freddork. So shut it."

Freddie has learned it is better not to argue with Sam on certain matters.

As he fetches Sam another piece of toast and starts another pot of coffee, Freddie feels her eyes roving over his naked torso. Freddie tells himself he is not whipped. He knows better than to believe it though, because Sam is a force of nature and the truth is—Freddie kind of likes the satisfied, appreciative, possessive look she gives his muscular chest as she accepts a piece of toast buttered to perfection and another cup of coffee. All of that fencing has not gone to waste, and Freddie's firm washboard abs are proof.

However, Freddie does not like the friendly and demeaning smack on the butt Sam gives him as he turns away. Freddie shoots her a half-felt glare, but she is already looking away, sipping at her coffee. Freddie exhales through his nose heavily and goes into their bedroom to fetch another shirt. It's partly punishment for Sam and because it is actually quite cold in their apartment; but that may just be because Freddie doesn't have a shirt. He grabs one at random, puts it on, and returns to the kitchen, where Sam has already polished off her toast and is working on his coffee. They both suffer from a relatively severe addiction to coffee, for which Freddie blames Sam, as her addiction has rubbed off on him.

Sam raises her eyebrows meaningfully, and Freddie automatically goes to re-fill their cups.

Freddie still wonders, sometimes, where his male authority has gone. Then he looks at Sam and remembers that it ran off screaming the moment Sam had appeared to return Freddie's interest and affection.

So after draining their coffee pot and making another batch, Sam and Freddie are both equally awake and sitting on the couch. Sam is draped across the couch, her feet on Freddie's lap and her head leaning against the other side of the couch. Freddie doesn't mind it; personal space and boundaries had long since disappeared between him and Sam. They are watching the morning news.

Or, rather, Freddie had turned on the morning news. Sam had sat there submissively for a full minute (a new record), before she had lunged, grabbed the remote, and turned it onto cartoons—something about a talking taco-obsessed armadillo fighting with his neighbor, a grumpy pink platypus who fancies himself an amazing photographer.

Freddie's just thankful she isn't forcing him to watch MTV. He could only stand a marathon of Jackbutt for so long; that show had a nasty habit of the wild stunts hurting the guys in a certain place, and sympathy pain had Freddie wincing every time a stunt ends that way.

If Freddie's acts more like the girl in some respects, Sam certainly acts more like the man. She is bossy, and Freddie complies most of the time—when she is being reasonable. He doesn't mind much, because Sam likes to lead and loves to have someone follow. Freddie will do anything for Sam. He loves her; but even if they hadn't been dating, Freddie would still do anything for her. He's more than willing to donate his kidney or shave his head or withstand a thousand insults or put up with having her steal his food.

Freddie loves Sam, after all.

Freddie does not love Sam's habit of not committing to anything or forgetting when she actually does.

"So, are we still on for tonight?" Freddie asks idly, watching as the animated armadillo on the screen tee-pee's his neighbor's house.

It brings back memories of being threatened by Sam into helping her vandalize Mrs. Briggs' house and several other teachers' homes and/or cars. It had always been fun, there had been a rush of adrenaline and the exhilarating feeling you get from doing something you weren't supposed to be doing.

Freddie realizes after a beat that too long of time has passed for Sam to answer. Suspicions rising, Freddie turns to Sam expectantly.

Sam looks at him, face entirely too innocent and compliant. "Of course," she bluffs.

Freddie narrows his eyes at her. "What time," he says pointedly, "did we agree on again?"

Sam thinks hard for a moment. "Seven-thirty," she answers, but her tone is too questioning and she knows it. Her face crumbles into an annoyed expression and she curses under her breath.

Freddie sits up, turning to face her, and shoves her feet off of his lap. "Sam," he sighs in the way he knows Sam hates, because it makes her feel guilty. In this case, she's supposed to be feeling guilty. "I made reservations a week ago, at Burke's, for tonight. Did you forget?"

Sam doesn't say anything, but the way her eyes avoid Freddie's is answer enough.

Freddie sighs again but is determined to get past this. "Okay, well, tonight at seven." He cracks a half-smile. "You were almost right."

"Seven?" Sam bites her lip, tilting her head to the side. Freddie inwardly rolls his eyes. He loves when Sam does that and she knows it. She's doing it to suck up, and Freddie hates that it working. "I'm doing some show stuff with Ronny, but I can make it." She sticks her tongue out at Freddie. "But you're buying me the snails again. And no skimping on the bread," she orders imperiously.

Freddie chuckles. "No skimping," he agrees, and stands up.

He's still wearing his new shirt and boxers. He looks down at himself while wondering what he should do until seven. He's got nothing major planned. He could always get some work done—but he shies away from the idea. It's the weekend, and he's going to enjoy it.

Sam stands up as well, stretching like a cat. "I'm going to Carly's to help her unpack stuff in her new place," she informs Freddie, "then we're heading out for appliance shopping." At the evil, last word, Sam shudders exaggeratedly.

She doesn't mind shopping, as long as it's her type of shopping: in and out, with no distractions or meandering. Freddie thinks Sam's efficient when she shops, but has banned her from grocery shopping; it's the one type of shopping Sam actually enjoys, for countless reasons. Freddie has lectured Sam on not opening stuff and eating it in the store so many times he has lost count. Those lectures do not hold a candle to the times he has scolded Sam for putting things in the cart that are not on The List.

"Then I'm meeting Ronny," Sam continues, hopping over to Freddie. She pokes him. "And then I'm meeting you!" She smiles charmingly, hoping to buy back some points.

Freddie nods, grabbing her poking finger before she could snatch it away. He uses it to grip her arm and uses that to pull her against him. He looks down at her and she stares up challengingly at him, brows raised. Freddie can't stand how cute that expression is, but knows Sam won't like to hear the word "cute". So he kisses her thoroughly instead, enjoying her few seconds of surprise before she begins to kiss him back.

Later, they are both fully awake and getting dressed for the day. Freddie has decided to call Spencer to catch up while doing some fencing. Sam is debating on either taking Freddie's car or going in her own beat up, familiar Mustang. She loves her car, but can park Freddie's more easily and the parking near Carly's new apartment is horrific. Freddie makes the decision for her, reaching over and plucking a pair of keys out of her hands. He pecks her on the cheek and shoulders his equipment bag hurriedly, and is out the door before Sam can react.

Freddie shuts the door to the apartment, cutting off Sam's loud, affection curses, and takes the elevator down to the ground floor; as he gets into Sam's car, shoving some fast food boxes and a movie poster off of the seat, Freddie is grinning ear to ear.