story: iOnly Lied a Little

author: sundroptea

disclaimer: Still not mine. Although the copyright has to expire on this bad boy eventually, right?

rating: M for language, kids.

notes: It occurs to me that I made mention of a friend's wedding in an earlier chapter's author's note and that is a horrifying thing, because that means in the time it took for me to churn out this story someone I know has not only gotten married but had a child, one who now walks. It genuinely seems like only yesterday that I started this, and I think about it all the time, so man. I'm a jerk. Sorry about that. I can only feel terrible for people who have started Now and Then (which, P.S. I also think about all the time) because they've had a longer wait and less reward. Thank you for coming along with me on this. I really appreciate all the comments and especially those who stuck with it all the way. Cheers, loyal readers and iCarly fans!

The End of the Beginning of the Beginning of the Future:

God, he's so old, Sam thinks and is startled. She stands just outside of the circle of light cast by her own porch lamp, and takes a moment to study the boy- man?- in front of her. His head is bowed, sharply shadowed and blocked off, his fingers laced tightly together at the back of his neck, elbows pulled in close and resting on his knees. The way his shoulders move suggest that he's breathing deeply, and she can't figure out if it's anger, or sadness, or some other emotion that makes sense to people who aren't as developmentally stunted in that area as she seems to be.

She has a flash of him as a... god, as a child, really; pale, scrawny, and almost painfully young. It must have been five or six years ago, and he was holding out his phone (a flip phone, brand new) for her to put her number in, excitedly (he was so proud of it that even she almost felt bad when she cracked it in two after he showed her a picture he'd cobbled together of he and Carly, dressed as a bride and groom). She didn't have a phone at that time (and she needs to seriously consider thanking Spencer... for everything. Now that she's actually thinking about it, there's no way he got a better deal on a plan for three people versus two.) and was about to be loudly and dramatically derisive about how stupid electronic leashes were, when he suddenly withdrew it, chucking it dismissively behind him, letting it land on the camera cart with a solid thunk. He didn't even wince, much, and asked for her email instead. It had maybe been the first moment she couldn't pretend she didn't like him. Naturally, she had punched him in the kidney, and pushed him over, but it was into the bean bag chair, so she knew he knew what she meant by it. It had kind of always been that way with the two of them, not needing long explanations for things that just sort of seemed intuitive- except for the one or two really big things, that have led them here to her front porch in the dark.

She wonders when and how that person changed into the one before her- all thickly corded muscle and deeply seated regret. He's different in almost every single way- striped shirts aside- and yet her heart still fucking flips over in her stupid chest every time she looks at him. It apparently doesn't matter that he broke it into pieces, time and time again, that he cracked it in two and drank the yolk of it before discarding the shell of her. She knows too well that it's her fault for letting him get so close, for letting him past her defences, but it doesn't change the fact that he broke her a little in a big way. And still, these months of estranged strangeness, these weeks of true aggression haven't managed to erase a lifetime (for her, a lifetime for her) of loving him like he was the one who would stay. Even though she knows he's not who she thinks he is, she doesn't know how to stop wanting him to be.

He hasn't noticed her, and that's good, because she is having a crisis of time and faith, and she feels a little dizzy. He is everyone he's ever been to her (the rival, the puzzle, the question, the dirty secret, the carrot, the stick, the bright spot, the counterpart, the enemy, the proof that she is even stupider than she looks) and for a split second she can't recognize him at all. She rests a hand on the railing to steady herself and it must make a sound or stir the breeze because his head finally shoots up and he meets her eyes. They widen, and he's on his feet the next minute.

It crosses her mind: If he looks this old, and this changed- how must she look to him?

The tail end of a conversation on a park bench:

"How do you figure, Benson?"

"Think of it this way: the universe is huge, right? Bigger than we can even comprehend. And it keeps expanding, right? So eventually, it's going to get so big that all evidence of the Big Bang will disappear."

"And that means what for your argument, exactly?"

"I mean, it doesn't matter how it starts, Sam. When something grows so much there isn't even a definable point for where it began, then it's not about what happened- it's about what's happening."

"But that makes no sense- even if you can't remember the where or when, it started somehow. It gets bigger because of something that happened that makes it get bigger."

"But it doesn't matter whether it gets bigger or not! The point is you don't have to worry about the past if you focus on what's happening at the present."

"You're so full of chiz."

"I'm not! I'm completely right about this. Completely."

"You're completely full of chiz."

"Sam, our knowledge of the universe and how it works is changing daily. Physics, chemistry, geometry- these are all the tip of the iceberg. Our predictions are only as valid as the understanding behind them. You can't predict what's going to happen all day tomorrow everywhere with just because you know what happened for an hour in one location today."

"I can. I predict that you're going to be a nub tomorrow because you have been for all day today. And, come to think of it, every day before this, too."

"See, your reasoning is faulty- how do you know that tonight isn't the night I tap into my vast potential and wake up tomorrow cool as the other side of the pillow?"

"Well, for one, you say things like, 'cool as the other side of the pillow.' That's, you know, a clue."

"Scientists would call that data."

"Do you want to hear what I call scientists? You might want to sit down first, because you get all shaky when I use the really bad words."

"Oh, shut up. One time- and that wasn't 'cause you cursed that kid out, it was because I skipped breakfast due to someone. Or don't you remember walking into my house unannounced and swallowing my sandwich whole?"

"Mmm. Doesn't ring a bell, Freddicine. Must not have been a good sandwich. Did your mom make it?"

"Sam."

"Okay, okay."

"Seriously, though. Don't worry about what Mrs. Higgins said. It's not about what you've done or how you started out. Remember Parole Officer Jim's motto. 'You are who you choose to be.'"

"Dude, that was the Iron Giant."

"Was it? Whatever, still stands. You're smart, and funny, and Mrs. Higgins is a miserable old witch, anyway."

"Fredabelle Benson speaking ill of a teacher?"

"She's not a teacher. She's a beast. Who even says that to a kid? You aren't going to go to end up in jail, and your morals aren't 'loose'- whatever that means. Why would you ever listen to someone who plays Yanni and wears her pants tucked into her socks? And even though I'm risking being punched for "girlytime" feelings, you're pretty damn awesome, Sam. Don't let anyone tell you different."

"You're a sap, and really dumb, but... thanks, Freddie. I'll knot your limbs like a meat pretzel if you tell anyone, but I kind of needed that."

"Noted, Puckett. Anytime."

The end of the beginning of the end:

He seems to get that touching would not be welcomed but his hands are in the air and extended like it's a battle he's fighting. She decides to help him out by stepping backward, until she's almost back at her gate. For something that she actually sort of meant as a kindness it seems to rip him up even more, going by the way his mouth twists and his fists clench as they drop to his sides. It doesn't look like relief.

She doesn't say anything, because she doesn't want to fight anymore today. All the anger that had been so helpful earlier had drained away, leaving behind a tiredness that she feels down through her bones. She's numb all over which helps because she's hurt and sad and she's aware of that but only in a distant sort of way. Mostly she's just tired, and he's between her and oblivion- the joy of her warm, unmade bed. She thinks about waking up tomorrow into a world where one half of her group of friends (one half of what she refuses to admit could pass for her heart) is a complete stranger to her and tries to imagine life without him, in any permutation. The thought sends the hurt to the forefront and she doesn't like that, so she holds her tongue. For once, Sam chooses the path of least resistance because she genuinely doesn't have it in her to hate Freddie Benson anymore today.

Freddie rubs a hand over his mouth, starts to say her name, stops. He's two parts kicked puppy and one part something that looks like fear, and has to clear his throat before he tries again.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," he says, voice cracking. "I'm so, so sorry."

He means it, she can tell, but it feels a little bit late and a little bit small, and goddamn it all to hell she feels a prickle behind her eyes and they're already puffy and sore from a day of crying in a lifetime of never doing it. She nods her head, and it feels weird, stiff and puppet-like as though someone else is pulling her strings. She moves to sidestep him, because he's said what he's wanted to say, just like always, and she is not going to encourage him anymore tonight. If she just stays quiet maybe this will scab over and it could be just another unspoken thing between them- it's not like they don't have a few of those things in their communal closet already. Most of them were delicate, fragile, and what she would call precious if she were someone else, but lately there have been a bunch of things that are just deep wells of poison waiting to bubble over. Today is a prime example of what happens when those unspoken things are spoken of. Everything feels a little bit dirtier, a little less precious, and a lot more breakable between them. So pardon her if she doesn't want to destroy whatever she has left- she's strong but not made of friggin' Vibranium.

He backs up a step, and it blocks her door even more, meaning she'll have to either push past him (which might involve the touching that is even less welcome now than it had been a minute ago) or stay put (which means she'll have to listen to more, and possibly engage, which is the opposite of right and fair). She hesitates, the numbness slowing her down, not knowing which would be the lesser of the two evils, and he takes that as an opening, which she certainly does not mean for him to do. Her only intention is to avoid this conversation entirely, because she doesn't see it doing anything but making the whole issue bigger. Bigger and worse. So when he starts talking again she despairs a little.

"I was out of line-" a look at her face. "Beyond out of line earlier and I shouldn't have ever said any of those things. I am so sorry- I can't even tell you how sorry- and I didn't mean anything, not even one word of it, and I-"

"Then why did you say it?" Sam gives up on her stay-quiet plan, because for some reason, this boy always manages to get around her. Fuck it, she thinks, quietly. Watchmen was wrong- everything ends sometimes. She's sick of pretending that it won't. She wraps her arms around her middle and the burger she'd eaten with Derek is so heavy in her stomach she imagines she'd be able to feel it through the skin on her abdomen if she pressed hard enough.

He grinds his palms against his eyes, and she is dimly, distantly surprised by the sight of a tear escaping out of the side. Why would he be crying? The tear rolls down and dissolves in the late night stubble on his chin. It makes her want to scrape her thumb along it, and then taste the salt. She sighs. When is she going to stop feeling so damn much about him?

He takes a shaky breath with his face red and his mouth drawn. "I'm sorry, Sammy, I'm just so sorry-" he breaks off, unable to meet her eyes anymore. "I was an asshole, and you need to- I mean, you don't need to do anything because I know I don't deserve it, but I hope, I mean- Please believe me, I-"

"I'm still not hearing a why," she says, but there's no vitriol. She doesn't have any left. He looks like he'd prefer it if she did, misery weighing his shoulders into a slump. That hurts. She wishes it didn't because he's miserable for reasons she can't comprehend- unless it's guilt, in which case he can take it and shove it with a twist.

Damned if she doesn't still feel a gut-wrenching pull to make it better though- against her will, her intentions and her better judgement. She sits down on the stairs, her back against the splintered rail, turning to the side to make sure her legs are between them for if she needs to kick her way out of this conversation. The confused, cautious expression on his face hurts too. He's about to ask her for something and she hopes that for once, she'll be able to deny him. He slowly lowers himself across from her, and the space feels like a thousand and a half miles and she doesn't know if it's too far, or not far enough. He opens his mouth but she holds up her hand.

It's time to tear the band aid off this motherfucker, and if she has to do this, she's going to get it all off her chest. She's been pretending everything is alright since she'd heard the word 'abnormal' and she's sick of all the lying- even to herself.

"Freddie," she starts and is proud of how even her tone is. If she sounds sad, well, it's because she is sad, and she's not going to hide it anymore, just because she's scared of being the one who's hurting the most. She knows she is. So there's no point in being ashamed of it anymore. She lost, and she's ready to accept that. "I don't want to do this anymore."

She takes a deep breath, and goes for it.

"I don't want to keep fighting. I don't want to keep having to say sorry for fighting. I don't want to feel this way and I give up. Okay? I know that we're over, and I'm not trying to start anything with you and even if I wanted things to go back to how they were, I get that they can't. We aren't together and have no claim on each other, and that's the way it is- I'm not dumb." She shakes her head sternly when he tries to speak.

"Let me finish, Benson. I don't know why you jumped up my ass about Derek but he's a nice guy and you don't have to pretend to be all worried about me or my choices out of some deluded sense of like, duty or whatever."

His expression wavers between frustration and something else, but she talks right over him again when he says her name.

"I'm not trying to stand in your way, but I'm going to be honest, the thought of you with Carly is tearing me up inside and I wish you wouldn't go there. I don't have a right to say anything about it one way or another, but I legit just wish you wouldn't-"

"Stop, Sam. Stop. Please." He hangs his head and he's holding onto the step like it's keeping him tethered to the earth. "That's... No. That's not it, I swear. I don't want Carly, and I'm not trying to go there."

She snorts, because he sure could have fooled her. "Could we just not lie anymore, Benson? I'm over it and I don't think it's so much to ask that you just be honest with me-"

"I was jealous." His voice is muffled, and it's a good thing his head is still down and he's not looking, because he probably would have to laugh at the way her whole body jerks in abject surprise and then she legit would have had to choke him out.

"Come again, Benson?" she manages faintly, not sure she'd heard him correctly over the blood that's suddenly roaring in her ears. "You were huh what?"

He meets her eyes and she suddenly figures out what the emotion is that she hasn't been able to name all this time- regret.

"I was- I am jealous. It's no excuse and I know that, and I'm sorry a million times. I saw you that day in the hall, and I know you and Derek are together. He... He kissed you and you didn't murder him, so I know that you like him and I'm... Well. I'm... Okay, honesty. I can do this." He scrubs his hands across his eyes and looks up at the porch light. "I'm not happy for you. I did want to hurt you and I did say that about Carly but I'm not... I don't have feelings for her like that."

"You... what?" It's not the best use of words she'd ever managed but it expresses, she thinks, the question she wants to ask. Maybe. She's both stunned stupid and a little giddy. It's the best she's got at the moment.

"I can't say I'm sorry enough, Sam. I said some terrible shit, and you are totally right to be pissed off. You aren't a slut and you don't have anything to be embarrassed about. You're... wonderful. If you can't forgive me..." he swallows, and it's such a struggle that she hears it. "Well, I don't know what'll happen. I can't imagine not..."

"Freddie, I-"

"I hate that you're with him. Him being the one you Skypear with late at night. Him being the person who makes you smile. The thought of his hands on you-" He breaks off and makes a slashing motion as if to cut the image in two. He lets out a harsh breath. "I know I don't get to say that, but you said to be honest, so I'm gonna. I am jealous as hell, Sam, but you're my best friend. You have been forever and the only way my future makes sense is if you always are. And I swear to God I will suck it up from here on out, I swear. So even though I don't have the right to ask, please- I need you to forgive me. Because I can't..."

"Freddie, that's... Okay, that's a lot all at once." She decides to focus on the most important thing. "You were jealous?"

He nods like he's taking Robitussin, muscles tensed for punishment.

"And that's why you started up all that shit about Carly again?"

His shoulders knot up a fraction higher. He nods again.

"Because you were jealous?" She can't quite wrap her head around it. That would mean that he does in fact, sort of, maybe care about her, which... okay. Hang on... "Jealous. You?"

"Yes, Sam. I was jealous and petty, and wrong. I-"

"I'm not with Derek anymore." It's her turn to interrupt. His shoulders go down a fraction, and there's something about the set of his mouth that makes him look a bit wild- feral, almost. His eyes widen and then narrow, and there is now a sharp and focused look to him that if she were less uncertain she might call...

"What? But you-"

"We broke up, Freddie, weeks ago. Before you even... Before the hall. That was... another goodbye for me. I only..." The truth, Sam, she reminds herself. All of it. There is a warm feeling spreading through her body, a mouthful of hot cocoa on a cold day. It's melting through the numbness and leaving her nerves tingling like when she shakes the blood back into her veins when her limbs fall asleep. "I only called him today because I thought it might piss you off. I didn't think you'd be jealous- I thought you just didn't like him. Since you brought him up, I took a chance it would irritate you. So... I guess there was some, uh... Some pettiness on my side too."

He sits up slowly. With Sam watching his every movement like a bird of prey, he lets go of the porch. Heat rises in her cheeks and she's sure as hell not numb anymore.

"Sam, I don't like being broken up," he says, and she is fairly certain about that look now. He is still moving glacially slowly and she hates him a little for it, but mostly is just elated and soaring like a swooping thing because he is moving towards her.

"S'at so?" she hedges, because he did actually say some pretty nasty things and she wouldn't be Sam Puckett if she let him slide too easily. He rests his weight on his hand and he's very close to her now, close enough that she can feel the heat from his cheeks on her own. She likes it quite a bit.

"Yup," he grins gleefully against her lips, popping the 'p' a little so they brush. She shivers and that look of hope and relief and sheer, unadulterated joy on his face knocks the wind right out of her. Like a daffodil, she scoffs at herself, get it together, Puckett.

He stays where he is, half a breath of a promise away, and he waits, with patient, happy eyes even as he sways a little in anticipation. She brings her hands up to either side of his face and brushes his cheekbones softly with her thumbs. She smiles.

"Honestly? Me either."

And she kisses him.

We'll call it an epilogue.

"So you're together?"

'Yep."

"Again?"

"Yep."

"Back together?"

"Yep."

"You two?"

"Yeeeeeeep."

"But for reals this time?"

"Carly, we weren't in it for fakes last time."

"Shush, nub- let the girl process."

"Yeah, nub! Let me process."

"..."

"Processing in progress! So you two are back together-"

"C'mon, Sammy, seriously?"

"SHUSH, I SAID."

"You two are back together, and you're both happy, and there's no fighting, and no one is going to call anyone bad words or scream at each other on sidewalks or break each other's phones anymore, right?"

"Huevos."

"God, Carls, it's like you don't want me to have any fun."

"Sam!"

"Okay, okay. Yes. We're good."

"Just good?"

"We're happy, okay? We're delighted! We're friggin' ecstatic, and if you make me repeat any of this ever I will happily, delightedly, ecstatically strangle myself."

"Please don't make her, Carly. I enjoy when my girlfriend is alive. Less police involvement."

"Your girlfriend is Sam."

"I said, less, Carls, not none. I'm not stupid."

"Funny. Both of you are oh so funny. Especially you, Benson! How come you weren't this funny before we got back together? I might have chosen differently if I'd known how much my stomach would hurt from all the laughter."

"I'm kidding! Be nice, Sammy!"

"Make me."

"Oh God. Now there's kissing. Oh man. There is so much kissing. Okay. Have fun! I'm so happy for you guys! I will be at Eternally 19, when you're done- Dude! We're in a Groovy Smoothie! Have some respect! Oh, hey T-Bo."

"Hey yourself! Hmm. They seem back together."

"Yeeeeep."

"That's niiiiiice! But that's a lot of teenaged tongue I don't need in my shop."

"Aww! But they're so happy! Just five more minutes?"

"Fine. As long as all four feet stay on the ground."

"Good man."

"So, you want to try my new invention? It's called Smoothie on a Stick. I think it's going to be huge! I had this idea when I left my Mango Bangarang in the freezer too long and-"

"T-Bo, that's a popsicle."

"What?! No, it's no- Damn."

EL FIN