Author's Note: So sorry, guys, about the long absence. School is back, so updates will be slow. I really like this plot line though, so I'll try to stick with it. Plus there's maybe a few one-shots I'll post later on. Again, sorry in advance for the slow pace. (Side note: the iCarly gang are all going through the summer before their junior year age-wise.)

Warnings: There shouldn't be anything too graphic in here, language or otherwise; lots of cooking and eating though.

In the Kitchen

Prologue

It'd been Freddie's mom's fault, really.

Marissa Benson was always encouraging her little boy, her little Fredward, to go out and try new things. Most of the time, however, she tagged along and all of the time the new things she suggested were completely sane—and therefore utterly boring. It didn't help that whenever a chance to do something interesting came along, like cutting up a shirt in tie-dye class, his mom protested, saying scissors were too dangerous. The blonde haired girl Freddie's age, the only cute girl in the class, had been among those who had laughed at Freddie for his mom's comment. Freddie didn't want to hurt his mother's feelings though, so he went to the mom-son tennis classes, the pottery lessons, the book clubs, the sock puppet groups, and everything else.

Freddie had sucked in his male pride on more than one occasion for his mom. He knew she had some issues, especially when it came to his dad, so Freddie tiptoed around her most of the time. He loved his mom and she loved him. She just had a really clingy, really strict, really embarrassing way of showing it.

Plus his mom was kind of insane—or at least she acted like it, the majority of the time—and Freddie knew that better than anyone. He also knew it was best if you didn't get her riled up about something; because than she went beyond insane. Sometimes Freddie wondered how she hadn't been carted away to the nuthouse yet, especially after that ice cream, duck, purple marker, redheaded twins, sandbox, and glitter incident. Everyone had walked away from that scarred for life, except for Freddie's mom, who had reverted back to normal, if you could call her behavior normal, instantly after the incident, pretending it had never happened. Freddie never wanted to see his mom like that again, so he never brought home or ate Rocky Road ice cream in her sight. He tried to keep all glitter out of the house. There were just some things that should never happen twice, or even once.

But the point of this all was that Freddie wanted a little independence. He wanted a little space, to breathe, to grow, to come into his own. Ever since he had befriended Sam and Carly, his mom had slowly been giving him some leeway. She had grudgingly accepted his fencing lessons, him going out to see violent movies (Sam's favorite type were gore, surprise), and his commitment to the web show. But Mrs. Benson had only one speed. And since she couldn't fit herself into every aspect of Freddie's day, she tried to compensate by suffocating him when they had time together. Freddie, quite frankly, was absolutely sick of the mother-son activities, clubs, and events they attended. He was always the oldest kid there and ended up babysitting some brat who threw stuff at him.

It took one long book club meeting, in which the moms gossiped about the author's affair with some old movie star; while Freddie sat in the other room, watching screaming children chase each other around, brandishing Sharpies and pretzels and Fun-Dough, that Freddie finally decided he had had enough. It didn't help that it had taken a week for the blue Fun-Dough to eventually get out of his hair. Freddie stalled, making up legitimate excuses to avoid going to further meetings and clubs with his mom. It seemed a godsend when her job picked up, making her too busy to go as well. Freddie enjoyed the bit of freedom his mom's busy two weeks offered. It was just before summer vacation, and Freddie's classes were letting up. With his free time Freddie was free to hang out longer at the Shay's, edit some stuff for iCarly, and spend time online talking to the pretty girl in his Spanish class.

It was a blissful two weeks, which ended with school letting out and his mom's job slowing down.

Freddie knew he had to take a stand, before his mom started filling his summer up with "safe, approved" things to do and mother-son time. He knew from past years that the latter would gobble up the majority of his summer. So Freddie had prepared to confront his mom about it. He had practiced his speech to Carly and Sam, had it approved by Spencer, the resident authority figure, and had even practiced using a mirror, to make sure his expression was mature and serious. If there was one thing his mom respected, it was being presented a case clearly, logically, and somberly. Freddie couldn't crack a joke in the middle or mumble, because then his mom wouldn't take him seriously.

And Freddie needed her to take him seriously; otherwise his summer was going to suck. Freddie wasn't going to spend the summer before his junior year scrapbooking with old women and eight year olds who glued smiley faces to his butt, like last year. Freddie was going to man up; he was going to tell his mom he required space and wanted to spend his summer however he pleased.

There his mom was, right in front of him, looking at him expectantly. Freddie had already lead into his statement, and was about to go in for the kill. Then, suddenly, he froze. His mind was barraged by images of his mom yelling, angry, or sobbing, stricken. Freddie didn't want to hurt his mom, however misguided her idea of raising a proper teenage boy was; so he quickly formulated and improvised a Plan B.

His eyes darted around the kitchen, landing on the pile of mail. It was mostly brochures, from past summer camps and classes Freddie had taken, and from some new ones. Freddie grabbed one at random, shoving it in his mom's direction. He scanned the front of it while his mom held it up, trying to sound convincing. "Mom, I want to take cooking classes." Freddie inwardly winced, knowing that Sam was going to really give it to him later when she found out. 'Cooking' didn't scream 'masculine', after all. Freddie cleared his throat, heart beating fast. "I don't want to spend this summer scrapbooking or in a book club. I just want to cook and relax."

He waited anxiously, watching his mom. She seemed to read every word ten times before moving on to the next; it took her what felt like an hour to Freddie to observe the brochure. Finally, after an eternity, Mrs. Benson looked up at her son, her gaze piercing. Freddie swallowed nervously; sometimes he could read his mom, predict what was coming.

But she still had a few tricks up her sleeves, and this was one unreadable look Freddie couldn't decipher for the life of him. He tried to look serious about this, and attempted to momentarily forget he was asking to take cooking classes. What he was really asking for, underneath it all, was space. He only had two more years with him mom, anyway. She needed to start letting go, letting and trusting Freddie to do more things on his own.

"Okay," she said calmly.

Freddie blinked his eyes rapidly, floored. He had hoped, but he hadn't expected to get his way so easily. He had been prepared for something—maybe a shouting match or his mom to get all teary eyed. But his mom was shrugging, flipping back through the brochure idly. She looked up at him and smiled sincerely, and maybe there was a sad edge to it. But she didn't seem torn up or furious about it.

"Fredward," his mom said, stepping forward and placing her hands on his shoulders. She had to slightly look up, as Freddie was growing taller. "I understand. If cooking is something you want to do, fine. If you wanted to spend your summer lazing about, doing nothing, I would be fine." She leaned in and hugged him, the familiar gesture comforting to both of them. "You're growing up, as much as I don't like it. I can't stop it, and I won't try. You do what you want."

Freddie gazed dumbly over his mom's shoulder, thunderstruck. His mom probably knew him better than anyone else in the world; but Freddie had always assumed she was deliberately playing dumb to his need for space, for his own time. He was now touched and delighted that his mom was giving in so easily, and admitting that she knew he was growing up. Freddie hugged her tighter, wondering how his mom had gotten so much smaller, so much older. He realized that it was him, that he was just bigger and older, too. Things had to change.

Mrs. Benson drew back to beam at Freddie. "So I'll go call this class, and we'll get you all set up," she chirped happily, obviously pleased that Freddie wasn't going to throw his whole summer away 'doing nothing'. She was willing to give Freddie leverage, but she didn't have to be pleased about it; plus Mrs. Benson hated laziness almost more than she detested germs. "I think you'll like cooking, Freddie. There's food involved!" She laughed and scampered away, presumably to get her phone and register him for the class.

Freddie stood there, frozen, as it dawned on him that if he had stuck to Plan A, he would have had the whole summer free. But since he had chickened out and taken Plan B, he would now be taking cooking classes; Freddie didn't even know how much of his summer the classes would consume, since he hadn't even read the brochure. He'd just glanced at the title while handing it over to his mom. Freddie groaned, running a hand through his hair, wondering why these kinds of things always happened to him.

And then, really, really belatedly, Freddie realized that he had no idea how to cook.