Chapter 1: Rainy Days and Mondays

The last time they saw each other was on a rainy Monday morning.

Sam watched as the flower she had just let go land on top of her best friend's coffin. She stared at it for a long while, the soft white lily against the cold hard mahogany, until she could feel her husband, Philip, tug on her hand to urge her to move aside for the others who wished to do the same.

She looked up then, taking in his bloodshot eyes and his arms wrapped tightly around a beautiful bundle of baby boy. The sight of him made her clutch her own overgrown belly. Just a few weeks ago, they were all excited at the prospect of being parents. But now...

The compulsion to propel herself against him, hug him, and comfort him was almost unbearable. But something in his eyes stopped her and begged her not to come closer. She knew then that he was struggling to be strong, just as she was, and that even the tiniest thing could break that fragile string that served as a dam that held all his emotions in. She offered him a nod instead and when he nodded back, she knew that it was enough.

"Goodbye, Carly," she whispered, looking up at the sky, hoping that her best friend could hear her. "I'll miss you."

That was five years ago and things have changed greatly since then.

For one thing, Philip has managed to append 'ex' to the beginning of his status as husband three-and-a-half years ago by being a miserable cheating fool. For another, there's Libby. Olivia Carlota is Sam's delightful and already rather impetuous five-year-old daughter. She's the splitting image of Sam, all rebellious blonde curls, mischievous blue eyes and a curious penchant for pork products.

If someone told her ten years ago that she'd be a single mother at twenty-nine, a nearby hospital would likely have one less bed vacant. But now, Sam can't imagine having her life any other way. She has a job that suited her just fine (c'mon, as a food writer she gets paid to eat! How sweet is that?), a nice apartment (care of her otherwise useless ex-husband), and a sweet little girl. Who, at the moment, is being quite the pain.

"Do I really gotta go, momma?"

Sam tries her best not to appear amused as the blonde head burrows farther beneath the purple duvet. "Yes, you really gotta go, Libby," she replies, poking her daughter through the covers. "Get your tiny butt out of bed. If you're not dressed and downstairs by the time I'm done cooking breakfast, I'm eating it all."

"Bacon?"

"What else?"

The temptation proves too strong for Libby as she peers up at her mother. "Pancakes, too?"

"Of course," Sam says as evenly as possible, trying desperately to keep from laughing at Libby's forehead now scrunched up as she ponders such an important decision.

"Girly Cow DVD marathon when I get home?"

"Only if you stop wearing your rubber boots to bed." To emphasize her point, she pulls the heavy duvet from the bed to reveal the little girl's shiny red rubber boots.

"But I gotta wear 'em to school, momma! It's the first day of school and I gotta make a good expression!"

Sam chuckles as she gently pulls Libby to a sitting position. "Okay, okay. The boots can come to school. But I'm pretty sure the right word is impression, though, and not expression."

"Hey hey hey!" Libby's face is of pure exasperation and, well, disgust. "You know I don't like word lessons in the morning, momma!"

"Sometimes I wish you weren't so much like me."

The phone rings and after giving Libby a do-as-I-say-or-else look, she leaves her daughter's room to answer it.

"Good morning, Samantha! How's the granddaughter?"

"Making a mess of her closet, trying to figure out what goes best with her red boots?" Sam cradles the wireless phone with her shoulder as she takes out the ingredients she needs for breakfast. She makes a mental note of needing to stop by the grocery store after picking Libby up from school.

Pam Puckett chuckles from the other end of the line. "My money's on the cowboy outfit."

"Undoubtedly," Sam answers with a grin of her own as she scoops out flour into a ceramic bowl for her pancake batter.

Whatever ill-feelings that the mother and daughter had between them before had come to a stop once Sam decided that she was going to be a responsible adult about the same time that her mother did. "I know we said we'd try, way back when, but we never really did. I don't want the time to come when it would be too late to fix things between us," Pam had told her daughter, a few months before Sam was set to graduate from high school. Sam was going places, she realized, and those places could be very-very-far-away-never-to-be-heard-from-again type of places if she didn't do something about it. As a result, Pam has become a precious source of endless support. Through the pregnancy and difficult delivery to the messy divorce, Sam's mother always stood by her side (and may have kneed a certain ex-husband's junk when the occasion called for it).

They spend the next several minutes talking about Melanie's recent engagement and how her fiancé has his work cut out for him. Puckett women should have some sort of warning sign. Dangerous. May result in brain damage. And groin damage.

"She wants me to be the maid-of-honor, mother. I'm not so sure having a divorcee for a maid-of-honor is a good idea," Sam says, rolling her eyes as she plates up the bacon and pancakes, setting them down on the cozy breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen. "Also, I don't need a fortune teller to know that she is going to drive me nuts with the wedding planning. I'll help with the food, though. I mean, that I know. But picking between taffeta and chiffon and—" She stops in mid-sentence when she catches sight of a worn cowboy hat first and the rest of Libby encased in a denim skirt, red plaid shirt and a leather vest with a bit of fringe on the front. "Well, howdy, partner. You wanna talk to gramma so she can quit pestering me about Auntie Mel's wedding?"

Libby reaches out for the phone, eager for a chance to talk her grandmother's ear off. "Imma start kindergarten today, gramma!" she exclaims cheerfully into the mouthpiece. She listens for a moment before answering, "Yeah, I'm wearing the cowboy outfit you gave me and momma's givin' me the 'Oh no, not again' look."

"Libby fair well on her first day of kindergarten?"

Sam raises her right index finger, a sign that she needs a moment to savor the last succulent piece of lamb in her mouth before answering her friend and fellow writer, Danielle Parker. The feisty redhead has been a dear friend since Sam began working at The Sophisticate, a Seattle-based lifestyle magazine, soon after college. Although almost six years her senior, she and Dani fell into an easy friendship, bonded together by a love of horrible B-movies, food and western bars.

"Still no luck with the rubber boots," Sam informs Dani after taking a sip of water, "and aside from the fact that she took around fifteen minutes to debate the merits of brushing her teeth, it was a relatively painless first day. But, we'll see what happens when I pick her up in a bit."

"Pity. I was counting on hearing that one of your pieces of furniture managed to 'spontaneously combust' again."

"Stop using my Libby stories to make you feel better about yourself." Sam pokes her friend's hand with her fork as she says this. "My daughter is awesome! Yes, she's a little excitable at times but her behavior is perfectly normal for a five-year-old!"

The two friends share a look before immediately bursting with laughter.

"She's a sweet kid, though," Dani assures Sam, "but I'm pretty sure that her old preschool teacher is relieved that she's moved onto kindergarten. Anyway, did you give any thought to going on a date with my cousin Ed? He'll be visiting Seattle soonish and..."

The suggestion hangs half-completed in air due to Sam fixing her friend with her infamous death stare. "Dani, I told you that I'll be ready when I'm ready and if and when that day comes, you'll be the first to know."

"You've been telling me that for the past three years."

"That's because I have yet to be ready in the past three years." Sam sighs and shakes her head as she writes down some last minute notes in her notebook before signaling the waiter for their check. "Listen, I know you mean well with all the attempts at fixing me up with your friend/cousin/neighbor/butcher but dating just isn't a priority right now. My family is. My career is."

"It doesn't have to be a priority, you know."

And Sam can't miss the pointed look on Dani's face even if she tries. So she decides to ignore it, pulling out her wallet from her purse—a move not lost on her friend.

"I know that Philip did a number on you," Dani tries again, despite knowing that she's treading in dangerous waters with the topic.

"Men did a number on me, Dani." The words are spat out, loaded with venom. "It's not just Philip. It's my dad who walked out on us when I was eight. The college professor who made a pass at me. My fish, Timmy, who died after just three days! And that nub Fre—" Sam stops short, her heart beating hard against her chest. Fortunately, the waiter arrives with their bill and she takes her time as she pulls out her trusty company-issued credit card. She feels her friend's eyes on her the entire time and when the waiter leaves to charge their meal Sam has no choice but to meet her gaze.

"You have to admit, the goldfish thing is pushing it."

"I loved Timmy with all of my ten-year-old heart!" Sam manages a faint smile before stuffing her belongings into her purse except for her keys which she clutches in her hand. "Come on, I'll drop you off wherever you need to go before I pick Olivia up from school."

"Fine, fine," Dani relents, slinging her own bag over her shoulder as they leave the restaurant. Sam is fortunate that her friend knows when to back off.

She's not as violent as she once was so shutting people up is a tad more difficult than before. (Plus, now that she's older, and as an 'adult' legal issues certainly come into play and the divorce has turned her off of them altogether.)

Half an hour later and Sam is biting back several expletives. Apparently, she wasn't the only anxious parent with the intention of arriving early because there isn't a single available parking space within a two block radius of the school and it's seriously pissing her off. Unwilling to waste any more time than is necessary, she gives in and parks her car an unforgivable three blocks away from the school. Of course, she thought it would be prudent to wear her new navy suede pumps today. Of course, they have yet to be broken in. Of course. But she's lucky like that. Hence having to park somewhere in the vicinity of Timbuktu just to pick up her daughter.

"How many kids are in this school?" Sam huffs as she makes the painful trek to fetch Libby the cowgirl.

She will never admit it out loud but the rows of sports cars and unnecessarily large SUVs that mark the way to the school kind of intimidated the hell out of her beat up Prius. She and Libby were lucky to have gotten into such a prestigious kindergarten. At least, that's what she been told. The school came highly recommended by Spencer's wife, April, who works as a teacher at the school. The application process was quite stringent, administering test upon test and attending interview upon interview. Sam was close to pulling the plug on the whole ordeal (because her and her daughter's sanity were too high a price to pay to get into some school) but they finally received word of Libby's acceptance. Sure, it costs an arm and a leg. But it costs Phil an arm and a leg and that's all right with Sam.

By the time Sam finds herself standing in front of the brick building that serves as Cedar Peaks Academy, she's also trying not to limp, although she's pretty certain that the pinky toe on her right foot has given up and died. She adjusts her scarf in an attempt to look somewhat presentable. While she wouldn't normally care, her daughter does deserve some effort. As she smooths the wrinkles in her trousers, she casts what are, hopefully, surreptitious glances at the other parents who are also visibly nervous at the prospect of their kids' first day not having went well. One mother is carefully wringing her hands, wrapping those white-knuckled fingers around a piteous-looking handkerchief.

Huh. People still use those things?

The imposing front doors are suddenly flung open and a sea of kids are let loose upon the world like a rainbow-colored waterfall. Just when Sam thinks that it'll take her forever to locate her kid in the throngs of children, she spots a cowboy hat attached to rest of her daughter's person.

"Olivia!" she cries of the noise of reunited parents and children. Waving her hand in the air, Sam weaves her way through the crowd until she has the laughing five-year-old in her arms. "How was school, sweetie?"

"It was the best! Everyone liked my boots, but my teacher Miss Young, made me take off my hat. She said I can only wear it when we're not having lessons." The kindergartner pouts in the middle of her whine before continuing, "But we have lessons all the time!"

Yup. A chip off the ol' Puckett block.

"Yep, learning is..." She honestly doesn't know what to tell her kid in order to convince her that it's fun. Around them, the crowd is quickly thinning as parents haul their kids back to their kids."Hey, why don't we go say hi to Auntie April?"

Libby nods enthusiastically, making her hat fall further over her eyes. "Yeah yeah yeah! Oh oh oh! Momma! You gotta meet my best friend!" She quickly grasps her mother's hand tightly, pulling her along before Sam can even react. They stop near the entrance to the school in front of a young boy in chinos and a dark blue sweater vest over what looks to be a pristine white button-down shirt. His brown hair is impeccably combed, making one wonder what he did for recess if not play and get dirty with the other kids. Standing beside her daughter, the kid looks like a fifty-year-old librarian.

Sam bites on her lower lip to keep from laughing when Libby nudges the kid none too gently. The pint-size cowgirl whispers something in her friend's ear to which the pint-size librarian whispers back.

"You must be Olivia's best friend." Sam crouches down low, bringing her down to their height. It's then that she notices the big brown eyes looking up at her with unshed tears. Her heart practically leaps out of her chest as it goes out to the boy. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"He says his daddy's not here yet and he's scared that he maybe his daddy forgot." Libby frowns as if the notion didn't sit well with her. "You won't ever forget me, will ya momma?"

"'Course not, Libby."

Seemingly satisfied with her mother's answer, Libby wraps a comforting arm around her friend. "We gotta help Nate find his daddy!"

While her daughter is already prepared to play the staunch defender, Sam's a little more practical. Basic information first, supermom action later. "Nate? Is that your name?" She receives a nod for an answer. "What's your daddy's name?"

"Daddies have names?" Libby asks, the confusion obvious on her tiny face.

"Everyone has a name, Olivia," Nate answers in Sam's place. "Even grandmas have names."

"Hey hey hey! No calling me Olivia! Only Puckett women can call me Olivia—"

Sam sighs. "Olivia," she warns her daughter. An argument is the last thing that will help the situation at hand.

"See?"

"Well, my grandma calls me Nathaniel. Is it the same thing?"

Libby nods, pleased as punch that her new best friend has finally seen the light. And just like that, all is well between the two kindergarteners. Much to Sam's consternation.

"Okay, Nate or Nathaniel or whatever, we should probably head inside and look for your teacher—"

"Miss Young," Libby supplies helpfully.

Sam smiles and nods at her daughter. "Right, so... Let's go!" She holds her hand out to the little boy, her other hand already occupied by the tiny fingers of her daughter. Nate gives her a grateful smile as he slips his hand into her own. It's a miracle that they've finally achieved some momentum in finding a solution but the momentum suddenly comes to a halt when Nate refuses to budge and pries his hand from hers.

"Daddy!" he shouts as he turns completely and away from Sam then breaks into a sudden run.

Relieved that the poor kid's finally found his dad, Sam turns around to check on Libby's new best friend one last time. Only to have the wind knocked out of her.

Daddies do have names, just like Nate said. And his father's name is Freddie Benson.

Author's Notes:

I've wanted to write fanfiction for iCarly for a long while now and decided to wait until Seddie actually became canon. Although, I guess we don't know how things will turn out from how iOMG left things hanging, I couldn't really help myself. I do hope that you enjoyed the story so far. I'm crossing my fingers and eyes for reviews!

Also, chances are the rating of this fic will change as smut will make an appearance eventually.