iFight For Your Honor
Title: "iFight for Your Honor"
Author: prettysirenx/PrettyxSiren
Rating: PG-13 (for expletives)
Genre: A little fluffy, a little cracky, some dark humor, and a bit of romance
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: iDon't Own iCarly.
Author's Note: Takes place AFTER iQ, but is just spec -- no spoilers. Also, the idea (and the title) is somewhat based on this Regina Spektor song. Also, LJ won't let me format paragraphs for some reason. I have no clue why. I hope this is readable.
* * *
Lately, he felt tense whenever she drew near. It was an innocent thing for her; she'd reach across him for something, leaning in, casually brushing him in the process. Meanwhile, his body would burn with desire for her. Nevermind the cleavage almost directly in front of his eyes -- he wanted all of her. The feeling had been growing stronger for awhile now to the point where it'd become slightly ridiculous. Whenever she'd leave, he'd sit on the couch where she'd been and sniff the pillow where her head had just lain, because it smelled of her.
She occupied his thoughts in all. She was all he could think about and she'd even invaded his dreams: last night, she made an appearance as Princess Layla from Galaxy Wars -- space bikini and all.
The longing for her started when she was with Freddie, but he never said anything. As much as he literally hated them being together, he was willing to bare it (however the means), just so she could be happy.
But they weren't together anymore. In fact, there'd been some breathing time, so it wasn't like he was rushing into anything. He'd made sure of that. And that's why he was going to tell her tonight.
She would be at the apartment. He would come in, ask her to go to the roof with him, and they would make out under the stars. It would happen just like that. He smiled in anticipation of the moment as his hand reached for the doorknob to his apartment, the last threshold to pass through before he could finally -- finally -- tell Sam how much he wanted her, how much she meant to him.
But when he opened the door, he found the dynamics in the room were different than he imagined. There was no trio -- there wasn't even a Gibby: there were Carly, Sam, and Freddie, sitting around with some guy he'd never seen before, but whom he already resented for his slick brown hair and perfect nose.
Spencer’s game was immediately thrown off. The things he would've said vanished from his head only to be replaced by nothing. He stood there, staring at them, his mouth opened slightly.
Carly looked up at him and smiled benignly. "Hey, Spencer."
The correct thing to do would've been to respond to the salutation, but his mouth wouldn't work; he couldn't take his eyes off the newcomer, and his heart beat wildly, his mouth dry.
Carly furrowed her eyebrows, vaguely sensing some disturbance, but chalking it up to nothing more than usual. "What's up?"
But Spencer had already formed a question of his own; the misfortune being, it came off louder than he would normally intend, causing those around him to look more concerned than before. "What is everybody doing?" he nearly yelled.
Carly proceeded with caution. "We're kind of in the middle of a double date. Dirk brought over some movies; we were going to watch them here."
"Who's Dirk?" Spencer asked, though he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear the punk own up to it.
"That would be me," the kid said, coming forward, offering Spencer his hand; Spencer pretended not to notice.
Dirk added, withdrawing his offer of hand and friendship in one gesture, and raising his eyebrow, "I'm Sam's date."
"You're dating Sam," Spencer repeated blankly. Then suddenly, as if he wasn't even in charge of his own mouth, he told them, robotically, "That's fantastic. I'm going to go do things. Pretend I'm not here."
"Have fun," Carly said quietly.
Upon leaving, Spencer could see the smarmy, pubescent Dirk (was that even an actual name?) settle back onto the couch, putting his arm around Sam. He heaved as soon as he was safely hanging his head over his own toilet.
So, things didn't go as he planned. He could deal with that. In his own way.
Ten minutes later, he returned to the living room with a bicycle decapitated of its handle bars, an empty CPU tower, various scrap metal, a hammer, and a blowtorch. It took him two trips to get it all in there, plopping it in the center of the living room, behind the couch, and each time he did, he made sure to drop the objects loudly, causing the movie-watchers to jump involuntarily at each loud noise behind them.
Finally, Freddie took some initiative.
"Whatcha doing there, buddy?"
If Spencer had been thinking more rationally, he would've noticed the childish epithet, and how it was meant to disarm him, to calm him. Instead, he didn't notice any of that and said words.
"Stuff," he said, putting on his welding goggles. "It's fine -- really."
Unconvinced, Freddie reluctantly returned his attention to the movie, and to Carly, who shrugged at his unsuccessfulness in coaxing proper word exchange out of her brother.
"Maybe if we ignore him, he'll stop," she whispered so only he could hear, just as the loud rushing sound of the welding began. She even used Spencer's own word. "It'll be fine."
But the welding sounds gave way to hammering. Loud, angry, hammering, that caused sparks to fly from the still-warm metal. He was angry sculpting. And it was very obvious that finishing the movie wasn't going to happen. Dirk was the first to point that out. He turned to Sam.
"Wanna go to the Groovy Smoothie?"
Spencer stopped his angry sculpting to listen to her answer. There were several beats, and she didn't give one -- that gave him hope. Dirk turned to Carly and Freddie.
"You guys are welcome too," he added. Spencer laughed at that.
"Did I say something funny?" Dirk asked.
Spencer took off his welding goggles; his handsome cheeks were blackened with the work he'd done. He was sweaty and slightly out of breath. None of this deterred him from responding promptly.
"I calls it like I sees it."
"What does that even mean?"
"You know what it means," Spencer said, narrowing his eyes.
Dirk smiled, for the first time showed his true colors, the arrogant sneer of a little shit, and Spencer felt confirmed in his suspicions of the kid's general jerkishness.
"You looking to throw down, old man?"
Spencer dropped his blow torch and removed his gloves, literally throwing them on the floor for emphasis. "If that's what it takes."
“Oh my God," Carly said.
"What is even happening?" Freddie asked, panicking.
Sam, however, remained quiet and completely impassive, which only egged on both Dirk and Spencer.
"Then let's do it," Dirk said, standing up and beating his hands on his chest like a ridiculous man-monkey.
“Where?"
"The roof," he replied. "Unless, with your old age, you'll get altitude sickness."
"I'm not even thirty!" Spencer cried and then got tough once more, realizing how high his voice got in his own defense. "And the roof is fine. We'll go now. I don't need rest."
"Perfect."
"Oh God," Carly said again. She turned to Freddie, hissed, "Stop them."
"How?" he demanded. "I don't even know what's going on!"
By that point, Spencer and Dirk were at the elevator. There wasn't time left to debate if they wanted to follow; they did.
The boys circled each other like tigers pacing in the jungle. Carly clung to Freddie; whether it was out of fear, nerves, or the general sort of excitement a girl like her feels when they know they’re about to witness violence - nobody could say; mainly because, no one was looking at her. Not even Freddie. His wide dark eyes couldn’t be pried from the display going on in front of them that was so feral it might as well have belonged on the Wild Beast Channel.
Sam stood with her back against the door, arms folded, not saying a word.
“So, what are the rules?”
“There are no rules!” Dirk said.
“I think there should be rules.”
“Because you’re scared?”
“I’m scared you’ll grab my balls in a womanish attempt to get me to the ground.”
“Yeah, you wish I’d grab your balls!”
“This is the most chizzed up smack talk I’ve ever heard,” Carly said. She added louder to Spencer, “I really don’t think you should do this.”
“Stay out of this Carly - you wouldn’t understand,” Spencer said.
This time, Carly knew, that insipid explanation was because she was a girl - not because she was a child. She wasn’t sure which was more infuriating, but it pissed her off enough where she simply threw her hands up in the air and said, “If you’re gonna fight - fight! Just don’t expect me to poke your teeth back into their sockets. Dirk’s on the wrestling team.”
That gave Spencer an idea. He literally smiled as Dirk lunged at him, moving out of the way. Dirk was used to grab-ass fighting, pinning to the ground - that sort of pseudo-sexual, Greco-Roman stuff. But Spencer was fast and nimble - like a boxer. All he had to do was duck a few times and then give one good uppercut and then there was a loud crack.
“You broke my nose, you douche!” Dirk cried as blood spilled out of his nose very fast.
“Yeah, we’ll, you…asked for it,” Spencer said, finishing lamely. It was a cliché, but whatever - he was on top of the world. He beat the crap out of that little shit in one fell punch.
“Oh my God!” Carly cried. She ran over to Dirk, ripped part of his own shirt off of him and put it over his nose to stem the flow. She turned to her brother, livid, hissing, “You made him bleed! Why would you do that? What has gotten into you? I think you’ve literally gone crazy.”
Spencer’s face reddened. She was right: he had gone crazy.
“Why would you do that?” she repeated.
“He asked for it.”
“How did he ask for it?”
“He shows up here being all like ‘Look at me, I’m cool. People like me’. And then - you know what? Sam could do better.”
“What does Sam have to do with this?” Carly asked, looking at him with a face of sheer horror; but then realization seemed to dawn. All she could say was: “Oh.”
Spencer looked Sam dead in the eyes from across the roof. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” he said simply.
Her face was like that of a statue’s: beautiful, but unreadable.
He tried again, “It’s hard for me - seeing you with other guys. Seeing you with Freddie was hell - and I was going to tell you tonight. I was ready. But then I come home and I find him here - I’m an ass.”
“Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, you are.” She closed the gap between them aggressively, speaking as she walked. “For years - YEARS - I have stood by and watched you with hoards of other chicks. For years, I pretended like it didn’t matter. For years, I waited. I waited for you to just notice me, like I was a person. And this whole time, you give me no indication - you don’t say anything. And then, when I finally move on - finally meet someone new - you go and fuck it up. How dare you?!” She pushed him as she said it. She pushed him again and repeated. “How dare you?!”
He didn’t grab her hands; he didn’t move out of the way. He took it like a man. He let her push him. He let her be angry, because that’s what she was - and she had a right to be. He knew it. He knew she was right.
Finally, her pushes of anger gave way to half-hearted hitting and full-on sobbing. Then, only when she was done, did he take her hands.
“You were a kid then,” he said truthfully. “And I liked you so much then. You were my best friend. Some days, I’d literally just sit there waiting for you to come over to hang out with Carly so we could hang out together. But you’re not a kid anymore, Sam. You haven’t been a kid for a long time. You’re grown up, and, what I’m trying to say is, my feelings for you have grown up to reflect that. You are my world. You give me life. I am a useless, stupid husk without you. I am a pie without filling; I need to be filled with you, Sam. I need, need - I need you to say something.”
She looked up at him; her light eyes glittering with drying tears. Still, her hands were in his, and that gave him hope. He stared at her; he wouldn’t break the gaze; he needed her to know.
“I’m the filling?” she asked finally.
He smiled. “The filling is the best part.”
“I’m cherry pie filling,” she told him earnestly, gripping his hands a little tighter, her face animating a little more brightly.
“You could be Mississippi Mud and I wouldn’t think the less of you,” he told her without missing a beat, understanding her metaphor for what it was. “Or you could be coconut cream. I would have you as you are, no matter what you are. Because you are Sam. You are the greatest. You were always the greatest and you always will be --”
“Yours,” she breathed. “I was always yours.” She smiled as she added, “And you’re kind of an idiot. I’ve been eighteen for half a year now.”
“I’m an idiot,” he admitted. “And I hope you never let me forget it. But, my only wish is: I just wished this was more special for you. I planned to tell you, without the fighting, right up here, under the stars. But we’re not alone, and the rain is coming. It’s not like I planned it.”
Sam beamed at him. “I like fighting,” she said. “That guy was a jerk anyway. We actually call him ‘Dirk the Jerk’ at school.”
“Still standing here!” Dirk called. “With my nose broken!”
Sam ignored him, smiling up at Spencer, because he was all she could see. “And, anyways, what’s Seattle without a bit of rain?”
Just then, the bottom dropped out of the sky and she and Spencer both laughed. Carly and Freddie smiled on, Carly’s hand still stemming the blood flow from Dirk’s nose.
It wasn’t how Spencer planned it, but somehow, it just felt right. So, he leaned in, and did what he planned to do: he kissed her. And she kissed him back.
Carly and Freddie cheered, Dirk left with a few expletives, and they all danced in the rain, because life had never been better.
“This is really happening!” Sam cried as Spencer held her by her waist and vaulted her high into the air. She laughed with delight as he brought her back down right to his eye level; she wrapped her arms around his neck to brace herself.
“Yes, it is,” he replied.
She kissed him again, smiling as she did. “Awesome.”
Author: prettysirenx/PrettyxSiren
Rating: PG-13 (for expletives)
Genre: A little fluffy, a little cracky, some dark humor, and a bit of romance
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: iDon't Own iCarly.
Author's Note: Takes place AFTER iQ, but is just spec -- no spoilers. Also, the idea (and the title) is somewhat based on this Regina Spektor song. Also, LJ won't let me format paragraphs for some reason. I have no clue why. I hope this is readable.
* * *
Lately, he felt tense whenever she drew near. It was an innocent thing for her; she'd reach across him for something, leaning in, casually brushing him in the process. Meanwhile, his body would burn with desire for her. Nevermind the cleavage almost directly in front of his eyes -- he wanted all of her. The feeling had been growing stronger for awhile now to the point where it'd become slightly ridiculous. Whenever she'd leave, he'd sit on the couch where she'd been and sniff the pillow where her head had just lain, because it smelled of her.
She occupied his thoughts in all. She was all he could think about and she'd even invaded his dreams: last night, she made an appearance as Princess Layla from Galaxy Wars -- space bikini and all.
The longing for her started when she was with Freddie, but he never said anything. As much as he literally hated them being together, he was willing to bare it (however the means), just so she could be happy.
But they weren't together anymore. In fact, there'd been some breathing time, so it wasn't like he was rushing into anything. He'd made sure of that. And that's why he was going to tell her tonight.
She would be at the apartment. He would come in, ask her to go to the roof with him, and they would make out under the stars. It would happen just like that. He smiled in anticipation of the moment as his hand reached for the doorknob to his apartment, the last threshold to pass through before he could finally -- finally -- tell Sam how much he wanted her, how much she meant to him.
But when he opened the door, he found the dynamics in the room were different than he imagined. There was no trio -- there wasn't even a Gibby: there were Carly, Sam, and Freddie, sitting around with some guy he'd never seen before, but whom he already resented for his slick brown hair and perfect nose.
Spencer’s game was immediately thrown off. The things he would've said vanished from his head only to be replaced by nothing. He stood there, staring at them, his mouth opened slightly.
Carly looked up at him and smiled benignly. "Hey, Spencer."
The correct thing to do would've been to respond to the salutation, but his mouth wouldn't work; he couldn't take his eyes off the newcomer, and his heart beat wildly, his mouth dry.
Carly furrowed her eyebrows, vaguely sensing some disturbance, but chalking it up to nothing more than usual. "What's up?"
But Spencer had already formed a question of his own; the misfortune being, it came off louder than he would normally intend, causing those around him to look more concerned than before. "What is everybody doing?" he nearly yelled.
Carly proceeded with caution. "We're kind of in the middle of a double date. Dirk brought over some movies; we were going to watch them here."
"Who's Dirk?" Spencer asked, though he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear the punk own up to it.
"That would be me," the kid said, coming forward, offering Spencer his hand; Spencer pretended not to notice.
Dirk added, withdrawing his offer of hand and friendship in one gesture, and raising his eyebrow, "I'm Sam's date."
"You're dating Sam," Spencer repeated blankly. Then suddenly, as if he wasn't even in charge of his own mouth, he told them, robotically, "That's fantastic. I'm going to go do things. Pretend I'm not here."
"Have fun," Carly said quietly.
Upon leaving, Spencer could see the smarmy, pubescent Dirk (was that even an actual name?) settle back onto the couch, putting his arm around Sam. He heaved as soon as he was safely hanging his head over his own toilet.
So, things didn't go as he planned. He could deal with that. In his own way.
Ten minutes later, he returned to the living room with a bicycle decapitated of its handle bars, an empty CPU tower, various scrap metal, a hammer, and a blowtorch. It took him two trips to get it all in there, plopping it in the center of the living room, behind the couch, and each time he did, he made sure to drop the objects loudly, causing the movie-watchers to jump involuntarily at each loud noise behind them.
Finally, Freddie took some initiative.
"Whatcha doing there, buddy?"
If Spencer had been thinking more rationally, he would've noticed the childish epithet, and how it was meant to disarm him, to calm him. Instead, he didn't notice any of that and said words.
"Stuff," he said, putting on his welding goggles. "It's fine -- really."
Unconvinced, Freddie reluctantly returned his attention to the movie, and to Carly, who shrugged at his unsuccessfulness in coaxing proper word exchange out of her brother.
"Maybe if we ignore him, he'll stop," she whispered so only he could hear, just as the loud rushing sound of the welding began. She even used Spencer's own word. "It'll be fine."
But the welding sounds gave way to hammering. Loud, angry, hammering, that caused sparks to fly from the still-warm metal. He was angry sculpting. And it was very obvious that finishing the movie wasn't going to happen. Dirk was the first to point that out. He turned to Sam.
"Wanna go to the Groovy Smoothie?"
Spencer stopped his angry sculpting to listen to her answer. There were several beats, and she didn't give one -- that gave him hope. Dirk turned to Carly and Freddie.
"You guys are welcome too," he added. Spencer laughed at that.
"Did I say something funny?" Dirk asked.
Spencer took off his welding goggles; his handsome cheeks were blackened with the work he'd done. He was sweaty and slightly out of breath. None of this deterred him from responding promptly.
"I calls it like I sees it."
"What does that even mean?"
"You know what it means," Spencer said, narrowing his eyes.
Dirk smiled, for the first time showed his true colors, the arrogant sneer of a little shit, and Spencer felt confirmed in his suspicions of the kid's general jerkishness.
"You looking to throw down, old man?"
Spencer dropped his blow torch and removed his gloves, literally throwing them on the floor for emphasis. "If that's what it takes."
“Oh my God," Carly said.
"What is even happening?" Freddie asked, panicking.
Sam, however, remained quiet and completely impassive, which only egged on both Dirk and Spencer.
"Then let's do it," Dirk said, standing up and beating his hands on his chest like a ridiculous man-monkey.
“Where?"
"The roof," he replied. "Unless, with your old age, you'll get altitude sickness."
"I'm not even thirty!" Spencer cried and then got tough once more, realizing how high his voice got in his own defense. "And the roof is fine. We'll go now. I don't need rest."
"Perfect."
"Oh God," Carly said again. She turned to Freddie, hissed, "Stop them."
"How?" he demanded. "I don't even know what's going on!"
By that point, Spencer and Dirk were at the elevator. There wasn't time left to debate if they wanted to follow; they did.
The boys circled each other like tigers pacing in the jungle. Carly clung to Freddie; whether it was out of fear, nerves, or the general sort of excitement a girl like her feels when they know they’re about to witness violence - nobody could say; mainly because, no one was looking at her. Not even Freddie. His wide dark eyes couldn’t be pried from the display going on in front of them that was so feral it might as well have belonged on the Wild Beast Channel.
Sam stood with her back against the door, arms folded, not saying a word.
“So, what are the rules?”
“There are no rules!” Dirk said.
“I think there should be rules.”
“Because you’re scared?”
“I’m scared you’ll grab my balls in a womanish attempt to get me to the ground.”
“Yeah, you wish I’d grab your balls!”
“This is the most chizzed up smack talk I’ve ever heard,” Carly said. She added louder to Spencer, “I really don’t think you should do this.”
“Stay out of this Carly - you wouldn’t understand,” Spencer said.
This time, Carly knew, that insipid explanation was because she was a girl - not because she was a child. She wasn’t sure which was more infuriating, but it pissed her off enough where she simply threw her hands up in the air and said, “If you’re gonna fight - fight! Just don’t expect me to poke your teeth back into their sockets. Dirk’s on the wrestling team.”
That gave Spencer an idea. He literally smiled as Dirk lunged at him, moving out of the way. Dirk was used to grab-ass fighting, pinning to the ground - that sort of pseudo-sexual, Greco-Roman stuff. But Spencer was fast and nimble - like a boxer. All he had to do was duck a few times and then give one good uppercut and then there was a loud crack.
“You broke my nose, you douche!” Dirk cried as blood spilled out of his nose very fast.
“Yeah, we’ll, you…asked for it,” Spencer said, finishing lamely. It was a cliché, but whatever - he was on top of the world. He beat the crap out of that little shit in one fell punch.
“Oh my God!” Carly cried. She ran over to Dirk, ripped part of his own shirt off of him and put it over his nose to stem the flow. She turned to her brother, livid, hissing, “You made him bleed! Why would you do that? What has gotten into you? I think you’ve literally gone crazy.”
Spencer’s face reddened. She was right: he had gone crazy.
“Why would you do that?” she repeated.
“He asked for it.”
“How did he ask for it?”
“He shows up here being all like ‘Look at me, I’m cool. People like me’. And then - you know what? Sam could do better.”
“What does Sam have to do with this?” Carly asked, looking at him with a face of sheer horror; but then realization seemed to dawn. All she could say was: “Oh.”
Spencer looked Sam dead in the eyes from across the roof. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” he said simply.
Her face was like that of a statue’s: beautiful, but unreadable.
He tried again, “It’s hard for me - seeing you with other guys. Seeing you with Freddie was hell - and I was going to tell you tonight. I was ready. But then I come home and I find him here - I’m an ass.”
“Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, you are.” She closed the gap between them aggressively, speaking as she walked. “For years - YEARS - I have stood by and watched you with hoards of other chicks. For years, I pretended like it didn’t matter. For years, I waited. I waited for you to just notice me, like I was a person. And this whole time, you give me no indication - you don’t say anything. And then, when I finally move on - finally meet someone new - you go and fuck it up. How dare you?!” She pushed him as she said it. She pushed him again and repeated. “How dare you?!”
He didn’t grab her hands; he didn’t move out of the way. He took it like a man. He let her push him. He let her be angry, because that’s what she was - and she had a right to be. He knew it. He knew she was right.
Finally, her pushes of anger gave way to half-hearted hitting and full-on sobbing. Then, only when she was done, did he take her hands.
“You were a kid then,” he said truthfully. “And I liked you so much then. You were my best friend. Some days, I’d literally just sit there waiting for you to come over to hang out with Carly so we could hang out together. But you’re not a kid anymore, Sam. You haven’t been a kid for a long time. You’re grown up, and, what I’m trying to say is, my feelings for you have grown up to reflect that. You are my world. You give me life. I am a useless, stupid husk without you. I am a pie without filling; I need to be filled with you, Sam. I need, need - I need you to say something.”
She looked up at him; her light eyes glittering with drying tears. Still, her hands were in his, and that gave him hope. He stared at her; he wouldn’t break the gaze; he needed her to know.
“I’m the filling?” she asked finally.
He smiled. “The filling is the best part.”
“I’m cherry pie filling,” she told him earnestly, gripping his hands a little tighter, her face animating a little more brightly.
“You could be Mississippi Mud and I wouldn’t think the less of you,” he told her without missing a beat, understanding her metaphor for what it was. “Or you could be coconut cream. I would have you as you are, no matter what you are. Because you are Sam. You are the greatest. You were always the greatest and you always will be --”
“Yours,” she breathed. “I was always yours.” She smiled as she added, “And you’re kind of an idiot. I’ve been eighteen for half a year now.”
“I’m an idiot,” he admitted. “And I hope you never let me forget it. But, my only wish is: I just wished this was more special for you. I planned to tell you, without the fighting, right up here, under the stars. But we’re not alone, and the rain is coming. It’s not like I planned it.”
Sam beamed at him. “I like fighting,” she said. “That guy was a jerk anyway. We actually call him ‘Dirk the Jerk’ at school.”
“Still standing here!” Dirk called. “With my nose broken!”
Sam ignored him, smiling up at Spencer, because he was all she could see. “And, anyways, what’s Seattle without a bit of rain?”
Just then, the bottom dropped out of the sky and she and Spencer both laughed. Carly and Freddie smiled on, Carly’s hand still stemming the blood flow from Dirk’s nose.
It wasn’t how Spencer planned it, but somehow, it just felt right. So, he leaned in, and did what he planned to do: he kissed her. And she kissed him back.
Carly and Freddie cheered, Dirk left with a few expletives, and they all danced in the rain, because life had never been better.
“This is really happening!” Sam cried as Spencer held her by her waist and vaulted her high into the air. She laughed with delight as he brought her back down right to his eye level; she wrapped her arms around his neck to brace herself.
“Yes, it is,” he replied.
She kissed him again, smiling as she did. “Awesome.”