Your Call

Chapter 9

Author: Carla, aka cali-chan
Rating: PG-13, mainly for some language.
Genre: Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.
Pairings: Freddie/Sam.
Canon/timeline:Post-series. Hopefully.

Note: For those of you who had problems seeing chapter 8 last Thursday, I'm so sorry! I found something I wanted to edit and accidentally uploaded the wrong file for about two seconds. I fixed it immediately, but the website took like an hour to update the link, so some of you couldn't see it. Thank you so much to everybody who left me a note saying there had been a mistake, it's appreciated. The correct chapter is up now, in case you didn't get to read it last week. Sorry for the inconvenience!

Disclaimer: Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, working, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

Summary: "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just called."

.

.

The third time Sam Puckett called Freddie Benson, it was also the last time.

She was hungry and she was on the hunt for food. This was nothing new, of course, more like Sam's natural state. What was new, however, was that she was on the hunt for food in the seventh floor of a fancy Seattle hotel, wearing a bath robe and slippers.

The hotel staff was too well-trained to be curious, and other than the occasional "May I help you with anything, miss?" they mostly left her alone. She still got a few odd looks from some hotel guests, but Sam was Sam and usually a threatening glare from her was enough to get them to look elsewhere. It was a testament to her temper that she managed to get people to back off even with all the make-up plastered on her face and her curls pulled up in a princessy 'do- to be honest she felt a little ridiculous, and very much like a porcelain doll. Which was not something Sam particularly liked feeling.

However, it wasn't like she could just up and call room service. The gaggle of girly girls back at her room wouldn't let her, and she couldn't just go to one of the restaurants downstairs because she didn't have any money on her at the moment. She briefly contemplated knocking down a waiter and stealing the food, but something told her getting arrested on this particular day wouldn't go well with everybody else.

So instead she decided to go look for a familiar face- a charitable soul who wouldn't mind giving her some food, if possible, but wound up lost in the hotel's maze-like pattern of rooms. She thought Freddie's prep room was somewhere in the seventh floor... that would make sense... but she couldn't find it. That's when she realized she had no choice but to call him.

It took him a while to pick up, and when he did, he greeted her with a bewildered "When did you change my ringtone?"

She had to think about it for a few seconds (she still played so many pranks on so many people on a daily basis, it was hard to keep track of each one), but then she remembered and smirked. It was a small annoyance in the grand scale of things, but the smallest details were always the most satisfying. "Oh, did you like it?" she asked him, deliberately ignoring his question. She would not reveal her tricks.

He didn't deign that taunt with an answer. "Thankfully none of the guys were around to hear Celine Dion blasting out of my cell phone speaker," he let her know, half amused and half vindicated.

She frowned. "Ah. Damn it, bad timing," she moaned. Oh well, at least she could be sure he'd spent at least a minute stupidly wondering what that sound was before realizing it was his cell phone. The mental image was worth it. "Anyway, hey, are you on the seventh floor?"

"No, fifth," he corrected. She rolled her eyes; what idiot would put him two floors down when both her room and the salon were on the seventh floor? "And aren't you supposed to be getting dressed?"

"I snuck out, I couldn't stand it anymore," she whined. "Those fashion Nazis won't let me eat anything! They insist I can't, because I'll ruin my make-up," she huffed. She took a left at the end of the hallway in (what she hoped was) the direction of the elevators.

"Well," he started in that smartypants tone she both hated and loved at the same time, "you wanted your dress to be purple no matter what, so now you have to compromise and wear the fancy make-up. You can't get out of it, you promised Carly," he explained in a 'rubbing it in your face' tone, and oh, he was such a stupid nub.

"I didn't know that meant I wouldn't be able to eat," she muttered, teeth clenched. Surely keeping her hungry today of all days had to be some sort of crime. "I haven't eaten anything since lunch! And that was like four hours ago," she protested. "It's like Chinese torture!"

"You're being over dramatic," she could almost hear him roll his eyes.

"No, I'm cranky. Because I'm hungry," she corrected him pointedly as she pressed the down button and waited. "And my head itches from all these bobby pins," she also pointed out, trying to scratch her scalp without bringing down the entire up-do. She hated it, but she didn't want Carly to get on her case for it.

"Oh, and I'm also freakin' horny because that crazy old bat wouldn't let us sleep under the same roof for a week because she thinks you're still pure and innocent and shouldn't be deflowered until today," she added, snorting as she said the word "deflowered" like it was an insult, and thankfully humans cannot actually drown in cynicism because there was enough of it in that sentence to flood the entire elevator. "Seriously, we've been living together for how long? She can't be that stupid."

Freddie cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to explain the train of thought behind that particular decision. "It's just... she's very adept at convincing herself of things," he finished feebly.

Sam scoffed. "Delusional, is more like." She shook her head and warned him that she was going in the elevator and the call might get cut off.

There was some noise on the line, but apart from that, the signal remained strong. "Either way, Sam," she heard him say as the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, "that 'crazy old bat' happens to be my mother. And, you know, you're eventually gonna have to learn to deal with her, because I can assure you, she is going to be around."

She shook her head. "I already know how to deal with her. When it comes to Marissa Benson, avoidance is the best policy," she quipped, looking around the rows of rooms she'd come to. She knew his room number ended with 23, she'd just had the floor wrong. Now if only she could figure out which direction she had to take to get to 523...

She heard him sigh on the other end of the line. "Still. You could at least try. Just humor me here," he offered, trying to sound conciliatory. It was a point of contempt between them that Marissa did not approve of Sam as her son's significant other. Freddie had made it more than clear that he was going to be with her regardless of his mother's opinion, so Marissa was not openly confrontational to her, but they weren't exactly on the best of terms either. And Sam knew her attitude probably didn't help- but hey, could she be faulted? The woman was nuts.

She grunted. "Geez, dude," she complained. "I already said I'd marry you, but now you want more than that." She tsk-ed. "Can't you ever be satisfied?"

She heard him chuckle and she just knew he'd be smiling that goofy smile he got whenever the topic of marriage was brought up. She guessed he'd been sporting it all day, probably. It was such a dork thing to do, but it was also kind of adorable. Not that she would ever admit that to anyone. "You know," he started, in a teasing tone. "Normal people usually consider this the happiest day of their lives," he informed her.

"Eh, normal's overrated," she replied with a shrug. Because, seriously, when had their relationship ever been normal? And somehow, it worked. The mere fact that they were here and she was all dolled up despite how much she hated this make-up was enough proof. Finally she caught sight of a little sign that pointed her in the direction of the 520's, and hurried down that hallway. "Anyway, do you have any food?"

"I think I have some sandwiches left over," he let her know, helpfully. He was used to being a supply of food for her, he often told her; it kept her happy, and that kept him from ending up injured. "But Sam, you're going to have to send someone for them, we're not supposed to see each other before the wedding-"

"Too late," she interrupted him, finally coming up to 523 and knocking on the door twice.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then he groaned. "Fine," he muttered, and she heard him shuffle about, both through the phone and through the door. "I'm going to open it just a little bit, give you a sandwich and then you can go back to your room, alright?" he said, and she heard him unlock the door and open it just a sliver.

She rolled her eyes at his wanting to stick to absurd traditions. Clearly, he was the girl in this relationship. "Don't be such a sissy, Benson," she said, and started pushing against the door to get it fully open. "Just let me in. It'll be easier in the long run. Mama wants a sammich!"

She felt him attempt to push back. Unfortunately for him, though, she was still stronger than him, so she eventually managed to push him off and entered the room (which was very similar to her own, she noticed, except completely devoid of annoying girls with makeup kits), to find him a few feet away, holding onto the corner to keep himself on his feet, while his phone was on the floor beside him. She flipped her own phone closed and smirked. He glared at her. "Sam..."

She shrugged off the glare like it was nothing. "Oh, hey!" she exclaimed, walking up to him as she caught the sight of him in his tuxedo. "I remember this," she said, tugging experimentally on his bow tie. "Yeah. It makes you look like a penguin," she added, letting out a chortle. His glare intensified. "Now, where are those sandwiches?"

She made herself comfortable on the desk chair, picking up the entire tray of ham and chicken sandwiches and digging in with gusto. To her credit, she was trying her hardest not to mess up her make up- she could always reapply her lip gloss later on, anyway. After about a minute, he walked up to her, no longer angry, and stared at her serenely as she ate. "I like it," he said about her hair, and he added to his point by tugging on a curl that was hanging by the side of her face; it bounced back like a spring as he let it go.

She shook her head as she took another bite. "Well, don't get used to it, 'cause it's going down as soon as I go back to my room," she told him, her mouth full. It was an itchy hairdo, anyway.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Must you always defy everything?"

"It's too much unnecessary work," she shot back. Of course, it was all nice and easy for him because all he had to do was put on his tux, comb his hair and be at the altar, but she had to wake up at eight to start getting ready and it was now four in the afternoon and she wasn't even wearing her dress yet. It was just ridiculous.

"One day you might want to look back at this and be happy that it was a beautiful event," he lectured her as she finished the last sandwich in the tray. She'd eaten like a dozen.

"Say," she said as she swallowed, completely ignoring his last sentence. She stood up, took a paper cup from the basket that held the coffee machine, and moved to the bathroom to get herself some water. She was parched. "How do you feel about elopement?" she asked, making her voice louder so he'd hear her all the way to where he was.

She didn't have to, 'cause two seconds later he was resting against the doorway of the bathroom, hands in his pants' pockets. "My Mom would die, and Carly would kill both of us." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you want to be responsible for three deaths?"

"Is that a trick question?" she asked back, gulping down half of the water in her cup.

He tried to roll his eyes, apparently, but he couldn't keep in his laughter. Deep down, she knew he loved her crazy antics. "You're one of a kind, Sam," he said, his eyes shining in amusement.

"You know it," she said as she threw the paper cup in the trash. "Well, Fredwick," she quipped, wiping her hands on her bathrobe. "It's been fun, but now I gotta get back before Carly sends in the Missing Persons Squad. That would be annoying."

She moved past him and toward the door without as much as a goodbye. He managed to catch her around the waist as she walked, though, and pulled her to him, leaning in to give her a sweet kiss. When he pulled back, he was smiling. "I... will see you at the altar," he let her know.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Maybe," she said as she disentangled herself from him and moved out of the room. Oh, of course she'd be there- she was past the point of cold feet now- but either way it was her job to be difficult, from the moment they met and now for the rest of their lives.

He leaned his head out the door to watch her walk away. "And don't say 'maybe' when the Priest asks you if you take me as your husband!"

"Maybe!" she shot back, not even bothering to turn back to look at him.

She couldn't see him, but she knew from his tone that he was grinning. She could pinpoint every nuance of his voice after so many years. "Love you!" he finally exclaimed, and she gave him a backward wave as she took a left at the end of the hallway, on her way to the elevators.

As she got in, she pocketed her phone, which she'd been holding this whole time in her hand. Yes, that had been the last time Sam Puckett would ever call Freddie Benson. Because in a couple of hours, she'd no longer be Sam Puckett. Frankly, she was sure she'd never get used to that; but it was going to happen.

And, now that she thought about it, switching to a joint minutes family plan was going to be a bitch. She just knew it.

.

.

Author's notes!-

Smallish note: I have no idea which religion they'd be, so I just randomly assigned them mine- Freddie could probably be Catholic since he's talked about church on the show, and I figure Sam may very well have some Italian ancestry; girl does sometimes act like she'd fit right at home with the Mafia! LOL. xD Anyway, if that's wrong, let me know and I'll change it.

And we've come to the end! ;_; Man, this thing flew by faster than I ever expected. Thank you, Dan Schneider and Schneider's Bakery and Nickelodeon for allowing me another of my very few fics to be finished. In case that doesn't convey how rare this is... it's really rare for me to finish a multi-chapter. That's why I mostly stick to one-shots, in fact. But this one came out quickly, and I rather kinda liked it, which is also a rare thing in the mind of Carla. So thank you very much, iCarly!

I really hope you liked this, guys. And be sure to leave me your comments! I have a few more ideas for Freddie/Sam fanfics, that I hope to be able to write eventually. So any encouragement is more than appreciated. Please review!