Disclaimer: iCarly does not belong to me, my friends, or my friend's friends.

There's something between us. Something that scrapes and slides and stings, and I know exactly what it is. It's what happened, and maybe it's half-remembered, maybe it's only glimpsed; some visible half of an iceberg concealing the mammoth underneath, but it's enough to chill us. To come between us, and freeze our words. What is there even to say? Oh, hey Carly, thanks for the spit swapping there, that was super. By the way, I love you, so... there's that. Whatever. Maybe I could've even said that at one point, played it off as a joke. But... she's not in a laughing mood, it's too big, and it's too close, and my breath would catch on every jagged word. The only thing worse about joking about something serious, is trying to joke, and showing how much you actually care. The last thing I wanna do is show I'm vulnerable. I'm Sam Puckett, I'm invincible. Nothing phases me, I don't give a fuck about what anyone thinks, what anyone does, hell, even what I do. I just don't care about anything. But there's always an exception to a rule. And Carly's every exception to who I am.

We reach her apartment door, Carly scrabbling in her bag clumsily for her key, and I don't think we've even said a handful of words to each other since we left Wendy's. I've started at least a dozen that never made it past my lips. My treacherous, traitorous lips. She's still on them, stopping every half-formed word, and I wonder if it's the same with her. I wonder what I tasted like to her. I hang back behind her, watching her shoulderblades dip as she digs deeper in her bag, exhaling hard as she does so. Everything's so... wrong. It's like strings are attached to every part of me, controlling every action, every inaction, tugging and twisting and stopping me. I can't relax, and my stomach is churning sickly, dull ache pounding behind my eyes. I can't be myself, because I'm not even sure who that is anymore.

Carly's key grinds in the lock, and it jerks me from my reverie, hands pulling out from where they're shoved in my pockets. I follow her in, still that half-step behind, like I'm afraid to catch up to her, to see her face, and I am. I don't know what I'm gonna see there. My heart always wanted more from her, but it was too stupid to realise there could be less. I can't take less. I can't take her separating me apart, holding me back with her eyes, closing me off. No. Deep breaths. I'm still all shaken up from the alcohol. This isn't me. It's not usually me. It's not.

"Hey kiddo, you want some breakfast?" Spencer calls out cheerfully from the kitchen, and it's like he's running a cheese grater over my brain with his happiness, his simplicity.

Carly drops her bag on the sofa, slouching her way towards the stairs like she's wading across the floor, like she's having to push through thick tar with every step. I know how she's feeling; like shit that's been kicked. It's the same feeling that's in my heart. "No thanks, Spence, I'm just gonna head to bed." Her hand slides up the banister as she ascends, swaying slightly.

"What about you, Sammo?" Spencer wipes his hands on a tea towel, grinning at me. "I'm makin' Mexican pancakes."

I glance between him and the stairs. I'm torn... do I follow her? Does she want me to? Am I meant to? What the fuck do I do? What does- how does- how do I-? Fuck. I'm being pulled every which way. I don't know what you're supposed to do in situations like this. It's not- it's so delicate, and I'm scared. "I don't-"

"Hey." Spencer cuts me off. "You wanna know what makes 'em Mexican?"

I sigh, foot scuffing the rug in front of the stairs, body wavering towards them. My fingers play over the bannister, skimming the smooth surface. "'Cause they're on fire?" I raise my eyebrows pointedly.

Spencer snorts. "No! 'Cause they've got chilli in- wait, what?"

I make the decision, feet tapping up the stairs, Spencer's screams and plaintive cries becoming muffled as I make the turn to where Carly's room is. Well, her door's open at least. That's... I don't know whether that's good or not. I don't know what anything is anymore.

Carly's slumped on the edge of her bed, head in her hands, fingers threaded through the brunette locks, and I think for a minute that she's crying, until she raises her head, eyes shadowed. There's this film between us, that's blurring our forms and muddying our vision, and it's so fragile, so flimsy, but I still can't break through it. I still can't see her clearly. I can't even see myself. I'm in a state of waiting. Where my brain is usually raging, yelling and writhing; Carly! It's Carly! Her hair is all tangled and it's kinda hot and her shirt is pushed up a little, I can see her skin, remember what it felt like to touch her there? It's Carly! But now it's stopped. It's trembling and silent, fingers tented together nervously, and it was her lips that shut up it, that made it her slave, unable to speak until she does. The silence is palpable, and I swear I can almost feel the awkward, trickling through my fingers.

"So... I guess we should talk about this." Carly's voice is quiet, but it cuts through the silence like a razorblade, splits that film between us in two.

I can't even force out a denial, like I usually do when I feel like I'm being accused of something. It's an instinctive reaction in me, to reject, to run, but my instincts are all scrambled. I can't run away from this. "What's there to talk about?" My voice comes out more bitter than I intended, and maybe it irks me more than I'd care to admit... that this thing I'd been waiting so long for ended up like this. As some stupid, drunken mistake. "We got drunk, we made a mistake. End of story." I'm so used to closing myself off around her these days. It's a hard habit to break... I don't want to look weak in front of anyone. I can't... I can't have feelings.

Carly's eyebrows raise, eyes widening. "You really think that? Sam... do you not remember?"

I blink at her, confused. "Remember what? We... we kissed, and then... and then... we got to bed somehow..."

Carly's head lowers, hair dangling over her face, and I hear a soft, barely-audible, "Fuck." slip out from her lips. Carly... Carly never swears. It stuns me, and I search my memory frantically, trying to piece together the time between the kiss, and when we collapsed into that bed, feeling warm and hazy. Carly sighs heavily, lower lip wedging in her teeth. "Sam... I don't know if I can say it again."

"S-say what?"

"Close the door."

I acquiesce, crossing hesitantly to her, wavering a few feet away, unsure whether to move closer, or move far, far away. Maybe I should've just ran for it when I closed the door. "Carls, you're scaring the shit out of me." My voice is filled with nervous laughter, shivering and shuddering it's way out of my throat.

"After we..." Carly licks her lips, as if to recall the memory, "After we kissed..." She stops again, as if the next words are a brick wall she's struggling to climb over, and I'd give her a hand if I wasn't trapped behind my own, wondering what was on the other side. She tries again, trying a different approach. "Sam, you're my best friend."

My heart sinks. I've heard so many of these speeches before. Usually in the movies that Carly makes me watch, and I suddenly feel such a strong pulse of regret. Why couldn't I just go and kiss someone else? I'm sure there would be plenty of takers... there always are when you're drunk. That's what I usually do when I'm on the verge of kissing her, of telling her. I distract myself with someone else's lips, in the hopes that they'll clear her out of my heart. But they never do, and I fucked things up this time. Really though, I don't think I could've ever said no. There's no way out of that situation that I wouldn't regret one way or another, and I almost resent her for putting me in it. Almost.

I wonder if I spilled my heart to her, as we lay there, curled in the dark. If I let slip the words that weighed me down, whispered them to the heartbeat of the bass, Carly's face snuggled into my shoulder. Maybe I thought she was sleeping, maybe I was just tired of carrying them around, locked up tight, and I wish, I wish I could remember, so I could take whatever happened afterwards back.

"I was drunk. I... I shouldn't have... we..." Carly sighs in frustration, pushing her hair back, and it's like she's struggling through her own morass of memory, trying to find the same feeling as last night, when things were so easy to say and to do. Because then, at least, you never thought of the consequences. "Sam, sit."

I obey, perching on the edge of her bed, the distance between us too close and too far at the same time. It's the same feeling as being in a doctor's waiting room... or being in the processing room of the police station. Of waiting to hear your diagnosis, your sentence, and you know the news isn't good. You can feel it throbbing in the base of your skull.

Carly's eyes close, dark lashes fanned underneath. "Sam, when you told me you were a- a lesbian," Her words come out soft and even, like she's reading from a script, hastily scrawled in her head. "It got me thinking." She licks her lips again, fingers knotted in her lap.

I lick my lips too, fingers rattling over my jeans, drumming nervously on the denim. "About?" I choke out, trying to keep the thump of my heart out of voice.

Her eyes open, and they're scared, and sombre, and my heart stops, pauses for a moment before shakily continuing. "About us."

My fingers move to twist in her bedcovers, rumpling the material, knuckles flexing white.

"Sam, last night, after we kissed... I said... I said I..." She sighs in frustration, like the words are so close to the edge of her tongue, but they refuse to be pushed over, and the tension is like nails on a chalkboard, a sick drop that hasn't come yet. "I love you Sam, but... it was more than just a kiss last night." She twists her mouth, eyes flicking over me nervously, unable to meet my eyes. "When you told me you were gay, it got me thinking about us, about... about me. And I realised that... Sam, you're more than just a friend to me. I didn't... I didn't know what that meant then. I don't think it was until last night, when I saw you with Wendy and I was... I was so jealous." She laughs a little to herself, hands nursed in her lap. "You have no idea. It was so strong, and all I could think was... was that you're mine. And maybe it was a mistake to kiss you like that, but I don't regret it. I just wish I'd known sooner. I just wish I didn't... I wish you could remember what I said last night. It sounded so much better then."

I run my tongue out over my suddenly dry lips, and it's like I'm deaf, everything silent but for her soft, hesitant voice, like I'm looking through a tunnel, and she's the only thing at the end. I can feel my heartbeat shaking my bones, but I can't hear it thundering in my ears. "Wh-what did I say?" My memory is still straining futilely, poring over that time when her lips left mine, but it's like a skipping record, jumping over and over again.

She shakes her head slightly, eyes still downcast. "You didn't say anything. You just... you just held me." She gnaws at her lower lip, shoulders hanging. "When I saw you with Wendy, it just... woke me up. I just-" Her hands wring over each other in her lap. "I was drunk, and I just wanted to kiss you, and I thought... I thought if- if I did it like that, then you would. That it'd mean nothing, and-"

"It meant something." For a second, I don't even realise it's my voice speaking, low and steady. It's like I've been reeling through my head, grasping at thoughts, Carly's voice streaming by me, and I've finally steadied myself, regained control, snug inside my skin.

Carly's eyes flick up to me suddenly, wide and dark. "Wh-what?"

And this is it, the moment I've always dreamed of, always wanted... and a part of me still wants to run away, to pretend like it's not real, to get things back to how they were, because they were so easy then. But they weren't, they weren't any easier. "Carls..." Now it's my turn to scrabble for the words I want to say, need to say, and I've got a feeling my vocabulary is a lot smaller than Carly's. "I... like you." Her eyebrows furrow down, hands stilling. "I- I love you." The words are sticking, clawing at my throat as they're forced out, and it's not like I've never said that I love her, it's just the words have never come with such effort, with such fear. And maybe just the fact that they're so hard to say is what makes Carly understand that this isn't some casual 'I love you' between friends. This is something painful and raw. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and she shifts closer, a hand stealing out to where my fingers twist in her bedcovers.

"Sam..."

"I've always wanted you." I swallow hard, muscle in my cheek flexing. My heart is sitting heavily in chest, croaking threadily like some fat toad, squat and damp, throat throbbing as it sings. It's not a good feeling.

Carly's hand strokes along my cheek, fingers finding a place under my chin, and tilting my head up until I'm forced to look at her. Her eyes flick over my face, those lighter strikes of coffee subdued today, and it's like she's seeing me for the first time, as stupid as it sounds. As if she's only now realising that I'm not the Sam I was when we met, that I've grown up, and so has she. And finally, her eyes just come to rest on my lips, and I wonder if she can see them shaking. She doesn't even have to ask this time, and it's not me that leans in, it's her, lips brushing mine softly at first, as if she's still unsure, as if maybe we're still drunk, or this is a dream. I know I've had dreams like this before.

It's like being drunk again. I feel dizzy, like I'm spinning, and Carly's lips are so soft, so warm, so much better than imagination, so much better even than last night. There's no pain hiding behind it, there's meaning, and purpose, and it's real. I've wanted her so long, and finally, finally she wants me back, and it's so much better than I even dreamed. Everything, every awkward moment and torturous time spent aching over her has been worth it, because I never really thought she'd feel anything back for me. I thought I'd end up another Freddie, tagging along behind her with my tongue hanging out and tail wagging. But she's still kissing me, her hands are on my thighs, and they're so warm, and she smells so good, and it's not perfume, it's not the lingering scent of alcohol, it's her, her skin, her hair, everything. And in the back of my mind, some vague part of me is making a note to thank Wendy.

Whatever happens in the future, doesn't matter. I'm not the kind of person who thinks too hard about what's ahead. I wanted Carly so, so bad, and right now, in this moment, she's mine. Just mine.

A/N: Please review. I appreciate it ever so much.