iBow-Tie

T

In the chaotic preparation for the iCarly Awards, Sam somehow becomes responsible for tying Freddie's bowtie. Or something like that. Unresolved Seddie

AN: So this is just a little one-shot that has been floating around in my head since, well, "iCarly Awards", and since I'm sick with the flu today, I figured it was about time I wrote it down.

Just a little heads up before I start – by 'Unresolved Seddie', I mean that there is seddie on both sides – and there will be a lot of it – but at the end of the fic, they won't kiss and get together. Although hopefully it will be just as good. I'm the type of person that hates reading cheesy romances, but is addicted to the stories that make your heart ache because the characters are actually suffering. Love isn't easy in real life; in fiction, it shouldn't be any easier. :D

Okay, I've put it off long enough. You probably want to know how Freddie put his bowtie on, huh?

.~.~.~.

You know what's stupid? The dumb clasp on Carly's fancy bra. It's only mankind's lamest invention ever because here I am, trying to get dressed and eat a Fat Cake at the same kind, and this worthless, black, lacy whatever apparently has self esteem issues because you need two hands to close it!

I swear, I'm going to pummel whoever invented the Bra of Doom. I bet it was a dude. They're all about making us females suffer.

"Sam?!"

And that, my friends, is a Very Stressed Carly Shay, who's shrieking at me from behind the bathroom door. She claims she's taking a shower, and yeah, the water's running, but she somehow remembers to check on me every five minutes to make sure I'm not taking a snack break. She knows me well; but, being the resourceful and rebellious girl that I am, I just brought my snacks into her bedroom. Step right up, step right up, we've got the beef jerky, we've got the bacon, we've got the Fat Cakes, we've got… oooh, are those crackers really ham flavored?

"Uh… yeah? What is it, Carls?" I called back distractedly. Okay, Half Foods deserves a prize. I didn't know that it was possible for a store to carry something that would come close to rivaling ham's place as the Most Delicious Food, but these crackers are… omigod, soooooo good!

"Sam! Are you dressed yet?"

I forcibly pulled my hand away from the box of crackers and glared down at the blue dress taunting me from its place on Carly's bed. Oh, you're goin' down, buddy. "You bet, kiddo. We're just waiting for you out here."

"Make sure Freddie's all set up and everything, okay? And make sure to help him if he's having hair issues, or something else thoroughly guy-ish. And try not to kill him before the show!"

"Yes, no, and I won't make any promises." I didn't bother to tell her that me and Freddikins don't have differences of Murder-ic proportions anymore. No, our fighting has become more of a, "I hate you, but I like hating you, so I'm not going to kill you because that would mean we wouldn't be physically able to keep fighting" kind of hatred. And that, my friends, is the kind of hatred I tend to like best.

So I made a big show of stomping over to the door, then slamming it from still inside Carly's room so that it would sound like I had left. A very clever, yet simple trick to fool even the smartest of best friends.

"Well, Mr. Dress," I said slowly, tiptoeing back to the blue pile of silk. Tormenting Fredwardo would have to wait; I was still wearing my holey jeans and only half into the Lace Contraption from Hell that Carly had been so kind as to loan me. Shoving the remaining half of my forgotten Fat Cake into my mouth and chewing furiously, I finally fastened that jank bra (only after making fun of it for being half cotton) and pulled the dress over my head.

And mirror check…

"Knock, knock. Hey, Carly, Sam- Can I come in, or are you two, you know, still getting-"

I swung the door open before he could finish his bumbling sentence, and was met with a startled Freddie Benson nearly falling into the room. I pushed him back upright before he could lose his balance. 'Cause, if he, you know, fell, I would be taken down with him. I wasn't being considerate or anything.

"You're left with me, Nub," I told him, pulling my hair down from its knot on my head and then reaching for the button on my jeans. When I told Carly I wasn't dressing to impress, she told me I could borrow a wicked-awesome pair of fishnets that were hiding under her bed somewhere. Bless that girl's cheesy heart.

Freddork looked away as I wiggled out of my pants and promptly dove under Carlotta's bed. "Don't you have any modesty, Sam? And what are you doing under there?!"

Poor boy wouldn't know what flirting was if it force-fed him an extra-syrupy pancake.

"I'm trying to find," I growled, pushing through boxes of feather boas and A-Plus homework assignments, "those stockings! Aha! And another point for Mama."

I returned to oxygen and Freddie, triumphantly holding the dust-bunny-covered tights aloft. He rolled his eyes, so I took a moment to fall back on Carly's bed, glaring at him. "What are you doing here, anyway? Don't you have a laptop to be making out with or something?"

"Not funny! I actually- well, I need help tying this stupid bowtie, 'cause I just can't get it straight." He showed me the shiny black ribbon, and I was moving toward him before I fully realized what I was doing.

"Here, I'm good at tying things around people's necks!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait - SAM! WAIT, SAM, THAT'S MY EAR! HOLY CH-"

"Calm down, Benson, I've got this!"

"What the… you guys?!"

"HELP! CARLAY!! SPENCER!!! MOM!"

"OH. MY. GOD OF HAM, YOU ARE SUCH A DWEEB! YOUR MOMMY AIN'T GONNA DO—"

"YOU GUYS!"

McLame-Pants and I froze. That was Carly's voice… Coming from behind us… I slowly let go of my victim's neck and turned to face my rather irritated best friend. She was glaring at us with an expression so angry, I was actually feeling guilty for about the first time in my life. I've felt guilt before, of course – the moment that comes to mind involves a pair of handcuffs and a secret that wasn't mine to tell – but Carly was my best friend. And this show was important to her, no matter how much I hated getting all fancied up.

"Sup, Carls…" I laughed nervously, patting down my resolutely curly hair so that at least she wouldn't accuse me of being incompletely dressed. The fishnets were still on the floor, along with my death-trap heels, but I didn't think that would be on the top of Carly's priority list. "You're rockin' that bathrobe…"

"Love the fuzzy slippers," Freddie threw in, and when I threw him a piercing glance, I saw that ridiculously large smile on his face and nearly had a laughing fit. I've said it before and I'll say it again: he is such a dork.

But at least he's a dork with a dorkish sense of humor.

"You guys!" Carly wailed. "The iCarly Awards will be starting in twelve minutes, whether or not you two are ready! And there won't be enough fuzzy slippers in the world to save you if you make me miss my own webshow!"

"Carly," I started, "We're ready, I promi-"

"Your promises don't mean anything anymore!" She whimpered. I narrowed my eyes, but didn't say anything. "Now, I need to blow-dry my hair. When I come out, Sam's stockings better be on and Freddie's tie better be fixed, or so help me…"

"Consider it done," Freddums threw in. "Just focus on making your hair as fluffy as possible. I'll make sure that Sam doesn't flee the premises."

"Excuse me?! Who was callin' for his Mommy just five—I mean, you bet, Carly!"

So Snarly!Carly disappeared back into her bathroom and I whirled around, pressing Freddie against the wall. I was armed with my weapon of choice: his fancy shmancy bowtie, and he wasn't escaping me until it was firmly tied around his skinny little neck!

"Sam?" He gasped, and I shifted uncomfortably at the feeling of his warm breath on my face. Stupid Nub smelled like that gross peppermint tick lotion his Mom scrubs him down with. "Don't you think you're a little… I dunno, close?"

"Shh," I told him, wrapping the little ribbon into intricate patterns. "I'm making you presentable."

He fell silent after that, standing still while I worked on his bowtie. It was a bit unnerving, 'cause I kept feeling his eyes staring at me, and since the punk is taller than me, it's way too much effort to meet his gaze. Aw, life used to be so much easier when he was a frail little twelve year old!

"You didn't hear this from me," he said quietly, and I was startled enough to mess up my bow. "but… You don't look half bad in that dress, Puckett."

I stared at his neck, not moving and hardly breathing. This was so weird.

He coughed. "Not that you usually look bad or anything. You're always pretty."

I peeked up at him through my eyelashes to see that his face was flushed a deep red that reminded me of Ms. Briggs' artificial hair. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his lips were moving in a way that almost made it look like he was praying for help. I fought back the genuine smile that was trying to form on my lips and quickly tied off the bowtie, ruffling his hair for good measure.

"All done, Benson."

I pulled on my tights and shoes in the 30 seconds it took him to realize he was still alive, and then he was staring at me with this indescribable look etched across his face that almost made me want to scream or – God forbid - smash my mouth against his perfect lips just for old time's sake, and then Carly was waltzing out of the bathroom with her hair done up all nice and looking like a million dollars more than I will ever be.

She chuckled after seeing Freddie. "Oh, Sam. Did you really have to tie it into a knot?"

I smirked and told her that she was better for the job of taking care of lovesick dorks, and then ran upstairs. Because honestly, I didn't want to see Carly that close to Freddie's perfect lips. That scene always put weird feelings in my stomach, making it bounce up and down in ways I usually associate with rancid Persian Chocolate.

The webcast was fine, but it took more effort then usual to stay focused. And maaaybe it was just me, but I swear I felt the camera – and a pair of deep brown eyes – focusing on me more than the attractive brunette at my side.

I think we're making progress here.