This story is A SEQUEL to my other fan fiction, "iKiss, iMiss". If you don't read that fic first, this story won't make a whole lot of sense. I finished this chapter on Sunday, but the site was having issues, so I couldn't post it. L

If you didn't read my other fic first, then here's a few things you should know:

This takes place after iKiss.

Freddie and Carly dated at one point, as did Sam and Jake.

Freddie and Sam have admitted their feelings for each other, and are now dating.

Okay! I think you're good! Enjoy "Meet The Bensons".

I shifted in my cocoon of fuzzy blankets, a lazy smile twisting the corners of my lips. My mind wandered aimlessly, and I didn't bother trying to follow my train of thought; I let it derail completely.

How long had I been sitting in this position? An hour? Maybe two? It was complete heaven- I felt as though my depraved two year old self had come back to claim its nonexistent childhood happiness. I could stay like this forever.

"Sam," a warm voice murmured at my left ear. I would've groaned in disapproval at the disturbance of my sleepy haven, but the voice was so familiar, and as comforting as the blankets.

"Mmph," I mumbled. My eyelids weighed a ton at least; to open them would be like lifting twin elephants… with my eyes. The image was so ridiculous, I couldn't help but laugh.

"Sam, you gotta get up," the voice said. I frowned.

"No," I sighed, drawing out the word until it stretched to five syllables. The voice snickered; I cracked open an eyelid, entranced by the sound.

Freddie Benson was splayed across two bean bag chairs opposite me, grinning fondly at yours truly. It puzzled me for a moment, why he was there; then I remembered. Oh. This was his house; his room, to be specific. I was the guest, so I couldn't order him to leave and let me drift further into the pleasant depths of my unconsciousness.

"How long've I been here?" I asked, yawning generously and stretching. A blanket fell from my right arm, and the cold air startled me. "And why am I wrapped up like this?"

"You've been here, at my house, for two hours," Freddie said, flipping off the bean bag chairs and crawling closer to me. "You been like that, wrapped up in every blanket in the house, for about half an hour. You've been asleep for fifteen minutes at least."

I gaped at him in horror. "And you just let me sleep?"

He shrugged. "You looked peaceful."

I threw a blanket at him, then whined for him to give it back. "It's cold," I complained. "Why is it so cold?"

"Because, Sam," Freddie said. "It's eleven at night, in the middle of winter."

"Is not," I argued. "Winter ended. That groundhog, Phil something, didn't see his shadow."

Freddie burst out laughing. "You really are sleepy!" he said, handing me back the blanket I had chucked at him.

"Yes, I am," I said. "So, if you had a kind bone in your scrawny body, you'd fill me in on a few things I've forgotten."

"Like what?"

"Like why the hell am I in your room, at eleven o'clock at night?"

Freddie crawled still closer to me. "You really don't remember?" he asked. I shook my head; the motion dizzied me, and I fell back on the floor.

"Okay," Freddie said. "You might not believe me at first, but once you wake up…"

"Talk, Fredward."

"All right. We went to the school dance. Do you remember?"

I thought for a moment. Memories, disconnected and random, flitted through my mind, yet quickly disappeared. My pensive expression must have tipped him off.

"Okay, you don't remember. You went with Jake, I went with Carly."

Ugh. Carly. I remembered something; hatred towards my best friend, unnatural yet quite explained. She had danced with Freddie… A dance contest…

"We competed in the school dancing contest; afterwards, I asked to speak to you alone. We spoke; you… you said something to me. D'you remember anything?"

Freddie's hangdog expression was killing me. Why was it killing me? Didn't I usually love to crush the nerd's spirits?

And then, like a tidal wave, the night's events came crashing over me, each memory scrambling to be recognized and understood. I had blurted out to Freddie that I loved him, and, surprisingly enough, it was true. After chasing me down (I had run, apparently; that's why my feet hurt so much) Freddie had admitted something of the same nature. We had gone back to the dance, had a nice evening, walked to his house, broke the news to his mom, blah blah blah.

"Oh," I said softly. Freddie's eyes were brimming with fear and concern; the concern I could understand, but the fear?

"You okay?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Are you?"

I surveyed Freddie carefully. "Why are you upset? I just have a little bit of a memory lapse. It's no big deal."

He relaxed, releasing a breath I hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I thought… I thought for a second…"

Realization punctured through the last of my drowsiness. "You thought I didn't love you?"

Freddie flinched. "You don't have to say it like that."

I lunged at him, though my skin cried out for the warmth of my blanket cocoon the minute I left. I crashed into Freddie, and we toppled to the floor; I smothered his face with quick, shallow kisses, much like he had done to me earlier that evening.

"S-Sam!" Freddie gasped, trying to push me away. "I can't breathe here!"

I laughed, wrapping my arms around his stomach and bringing him down on top of me. We flipped backward; I hit my head painfully on his bedpost. Trying to numb the throbbing pain, I grabbed Freddie's shoulders to keep him from rising.

"This is nice," I mumbled, the weight of Freddie on top of me somehow relaxing. Speaking of Freddie's weight…

"You're heavy!" I complained, pushing him away. Freddie stifled his laughter with the sleeve of his shirt.

"You are the most confusing person I've ever met," he sighed. I wagged a finger at him threateningly.

"Hey! Don't say confusing. Say confuzzling. Confuzzling is better," I demanded. Freddie raised an eyebrow.

" 'Confuzzling' isn't even a word," he said.

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too times infinity!"

"Sam, if you look up 'confuzzling' in the dictionary, you wouldn't-- hey!" Before he could finish his painfully nerdy statement, I slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Con-fuzz-ling," I said, stressing each syllable. "Get used to it."

Freddie rolled his eyes, pulling my hand from his mouth. I grinned.

"You just can't win," I said triumphantly. "I thought you'd learned that by now."

Freddie took a deep breath, his eyes burning with the careful fire I had grown to love. Leaning in, he wrapped one arm around my neck, one around my waist, and kissed me, his lips curling against mine, trying to fight a smile.

"I win," he said, drinking in my punch-drunk expression with a smirk. I tried my best to glare.

"This could be a problem," I muttered. He nodded.

"You're telling me! Now, whenever you start to get annoying, I have to kiss you," he complained, a laugh choking off the last few words as I grabbed a pillow, beating his chest and head thoroughly.

"Fredward Benson!"

We both looked up, supercilious smiles fading from our faces. Mrs. Benson, glowering with her hands on her hips, stood like the messenger of death in the doorway.

"Sorry, mom," Freddie mumbled. "We were just fooling around."

Mrs. Benson's eyes had never left my face; she glared distinctly at my hands, which were still clutching the pillow I had used to beat her son. I dropped it as though it were lit on fire.

"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Benson," I said sweetly, trying my best to look remorseful. "Freddie and I were just having a pillow fight. We'll clean up."

Mrs. Benson stared frankly at me, surprised that 'Carly's rude friend' had finally showed her some respect. "All right," she said uncertainly, and left without another word.

As I bent to pick up a bundle of clumped blankets, Freddie threw himself at me, his arms tangling themselves around my waist.

"Whoa, there!" I exclaimed. "What gives? I'm trying to clean, here. Don't interrupt my concentration; I think I've forgotten how. It's been a long time since I cleaned anything."

"Except Carly's fridge," Freddie mumbled. "Oh my god, Sam, thank you so much! You were, like, a lady, practically! I thought this was gonna be an issue."

I stiffened. "You thought my manners were going to be an issue?"

Freddie removed himself from my ribs, looking uncomfortable. "No. No, of course not. But- Sam, y'know how my mom is. I thought for sure you two would have some problems."

I nodded, shrugging off the slight insult for the time being. "Are you gonna help me clean or not?"

Freddie snatched the blankets from my limp fingers and tossed them over my head, keeping a perfect deadpan expression. "There."

I growled ominously, my smile hidden by the layers of colorful fabric.

"Oh no!" Freddie cried, laughter bubbling from both our throats. "It's the blanket monster!"

I pulled the blankets from my head. "Seriously, Freddie?" I said. "Blanket monster? You couldn't have come up with a better name than the blanket monster?"

Freddie blushed. "Throw those on my bed. I'll deal with them tomorrow."

A thought struck me, one so terrifying it ruined my scarily good mood. "Freddie," I gulped, "where will I sleep tonight?"

"Here," he said without missing a beat. "I convinced my mom while you were curled up in your blanket nest. You'll sleep on the floor- if that's okay- and at no time during the night will we be touching."

"Your mom's words, I hope," I grinned. He nodded.

"If I so much as step on your head while I'm getting up to get a drink, we're both dead," he said.

"If you step on my head, you better believe you're dead!" I growled, trying my best to look intimidating. It didn't work.

We cleaned in silence- and by 'clean' I mean 'toss all of the crap on Freddie's floor to the end of his bed, hoping his mom wouldn't notice'. I thought to break the eerie quiet a few times, but there seemed to be no need for speech, so I held off. Freddie examined a blanket moodily for a few minutes, obviously lost in thought.

"Clean," I yawned, presenting the cleared floor space with a wave of my hands. "Or as clean as it's ever going to get, with me helping."

"Hey, help me set up the cot," Freddie said, grabbing a folded cot from his closet. We expanded the metal frame, placing the surprisingly thick mattress over it to complete my 'bed'. I spread my favorite blanket over it all, placing a pillow at the top, and stepped back proudly to observe my work.

"It's beautiful," Freddie said dryly. I stuck out my tongue at him, and jumped onto my bed, feeling extremely grateful that I had changed into an old T-shirt before I had fallen asleep.

"Hey, Sam?"

Freddie's tentative voice almost scared me; he sounded like he had in fifth grade, when I was his worst nightmare. "Uh, yeah?" I stuttered.

"Let's not mention this to anyone, okay?" he said quietly. "It'll seem weird, you sleeping over my house, leaving in the morning wearing one of my T-shirts."

I felt my stomach drop. "Oh. Yeah. Makes sense," I mumbled. "Oh, Freddie," I gasped, a thought striking me unexpectedly. "Carly's right across the way. How will I leave in the morning without her seeing?"

Freddie's eyes shined with guilt; he bit his lower lip, his head bending slightly to look incredibly pathetic- and lovable. My eyes narrowed.

"She knows, doesn't she?" I spat through gritted teeth. He held up his hands in defense.

"It's not my fault!"

"That's what they all say."

"What are you, a cop?"

"Freddie…"

He sighed. "My mom forgot to get the mail today. I was going to check our mailbox in the lobby when Carly showed up with Jake--"

"Jake knows?"

"--and Jake left automatically," Freddie continued, his voice rising. "We never did get along, you know. So Carly began bugging me about you, and…"

I buried my face in the pillow, lips pressed together so tight they became white. I rose slowly from the fabric, fixing Freddie with a hardened glare. "Okay, I guess she'd find out somehow. But still…"

"I'm sorry." And Freddie's voice did indeed sound sorry, so broken and repentant that I couldn't stay mad.

"How about this? If you let me go to sleep, then you're forgiven," I suggested. He smiled.

"Sounds good." We both crawled into our respective beds; I twisted and turned for a moment, getting comfortable in the unfamiliar mattress. Freddie lay still, finding a comfortable place immediately. He hit the light switch next to his bed; we were shrouded in darkness, so complete and impenetrable it looked thick; even solid. I reached a hand in front of me, grasping at air.

"Looking for anything?" Freddie's smirking voice rang out from somewhere to my left. I blushed, my hand retreating under the blankets again. Freddie's eyes adapted quickly to the dark, I noted.

"You step on my head, you're a dead boy," I warned. "Understand that, Benson?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Shut up."

"Can do."

I grinned into my pillow, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.