Songfic inspired by "Torch (Extended Version)" by Soft Cell.

Freddie Benson felt held in a spell. Onstage, Sam Puckett looked to him like she was glowing.

Freddie's POV

He didn't know how he'd found himself here. He had just needed out, to go out. And when he saw the sign outside that said "live music" he thought maybe that was exactly what he needed: A little music to, if not pick him up, at least allow him to wallow with style.

Inside a girl onstage was slowly pacing, holding a mic with a long cord in her hand. Her eyes were on the floor, her face hidden by her hair – a dyed-looking red.

He recognized the body language before the voice. He'd watched it too many times not to. And immediately he felt like fortunes fool.

Of all the gin joints in all the world...

The dress she was wearing wasn't one he ever would've expected, first of all because it was a dress. A white, backless dress with a full skirt that almost covered her feet, but he thought he picked up a familiar flash of All Stars every so often.

She looked lovely to him, in a way he'd always suspected she could but never thought he'd see. He thought of fleeing, but some masochistic urge let him stay leaned against the bar, listening to her sing.

He had always enjoyed listening to her sing.

In those days, she almost never had, in front of anyone but him, and now here she was in front of a small crowd.

He knew things changed, but he still felt a pang of jealousy that anyone else got to hear her.

But then he realized, they weren't hearing her the way he had. The music was jazzier, the voice reedier but still full – bodied, like a saxophone.

It was a sad song and he knew it too well though he'd never heard it in this arrangement.

"I keep running away

Even from the good things."

Tears began to slowly run down his face from eyes that had not left her.

She was here. After everything...she was here.

She lifted her eyes to the audience and though she didn't fumble the words she was singing, he could tell by the way she'd momentarily frozen that she'd seen him.

Seen him, with those eyes that made his heart melt.

Maybe it was the drinks he'd already had. Maybe it was that yet another date hadn't worked out earlier that night. But he found himself wanting to shout.

Hold me...

While the horn player took a solo to end the song, Sam walked to the lip of the stage and unabashedly stared at him. It seemed an age since they'd seen each other; the look on her face was hard to read.

He didn't recognize the next song she went into, which was a lament for a lost love with the refrain,

"I don't want you to move on."

From there she and the guitarist went into a slow, almost country-like version of a classic rock song:

"Don't be cruel

To a heart that's true"

Towards the end, when she was repeating choruses, she began playing with the words a little and they became,

"Don't be cruel

...I didn't want to."

She ended by again looking straight at him. This is really happening, he reminded himself and broke the gaze, then felt guilty about having done so.

But the words she sang were hitting him like blows.

So many feelings.

He wondered if these were songs she sang every night she performed, then realized they must be, since he hadn't seen her give any special instructions to the musicians.

So, what? It's just "magic" that I happen to be here to hear them?

He'd believed in magic once when they were friends and then more, but he'd thought that belief was dead. After all, he'd searched for her for what seemed like years.

But then here she was, making the world all around look like it was put in place just for her. He wondered how her life had brought her here. And once again all he wanted to do was shout at her, over and over, Hold me, hold me.

Her beautiful eyes shone.

When he'd arrived it was still early evening, but by the time he left, the stars were coming out and the moon was looking down. He waited outside, unsure if she wanted to see him. When she came out she looked un – surprised that he was there.

She was now dressed in much more recognizable clothes: Jeans, and a striped hoodie.

They regarded each other for a moment, each wondering who should speak first and what they should say.

She broke the tension by tilting her head to the right and asking,

"Walk me?"

He didn't know quite where she was asking him to walk her.

It could've been to Japan for all he cared.

They walked alongside each other silently, still both equally struggling with what to say. Then she stopped, so he stopped too. She turned to him, and it was as if she knew it was just the right spot for the lights in the sky to catch her eyes.

He thought she was going to say something.

Instead, she just reached out her hand to him. He took it, gratefully. He sensed she was now ready for them to speak. Inside him thoughts were bashing all around; the first one out was:

"What's with the Billie Holiday bit?"

She looked at him and something of the old twinkle was in her eyes, the one she got when she was delighted he'd said something stupid, like: That's really the first question you want to ask me?

"You weren't looking for me, Frederlily?" It came out just like that.

"No. Believe it or not I mostly came in for a few drinks."

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe a little. Are you wearing makeup?"

"Maybe a little."

"Maybe a lot."

"Hey!"

"I just mean to say...you know I always liked your style without it, or without much, anyway."

"Well if the audiences were all as discerning as you…"

She trailed off and they continued walking in silence. He was surprised and a little frightened by how easily they were slipping back into their relationship roles. Playing around with his name was as easy for her as breathing, but now they were bantering.

"You never used to drink."

"You learn, when someone breaks your heart."

A few more seconds passed with only the sound of their feet.

"Sometimes you learn to hide because you've broken somebody's heart and you don't know how to fix it," she said, all in a rush. "Carly wasn't there to tell me how to fix it."

He could tell by the sound of her voice she'd begun crying. Of course part of him wanted to grab her, look in those eyes and kiss the tears from her cheeks. But he felt sure she would hit him. He just wasn't sure it would be because it was too soon...or because it wasn't something she wanted, at all.

Sam's POV

When she'd seen him from the stage he looked to her like a runaway toy. Though she couldn't read the expression in his eyes from there she had a good idea what they held.

She was a little hurt that he hadn't specially been looking for her, but she still knew how to hide her emotions – some of them, from some people. Sometimes.

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe a little."

She didn't like that.

To Sam, the scent of alcohol combined with that of a man summoned memories of one of her mom's boyfriends who tried to get in bed with her, until her elbow broke his nose.

The day after that, without telling her mother, Sam had bought and installed an extra lock for her door to which only she had the key.

Well...only she and one other person, she trusted with a spare. And now that person was here, walking beside her, though of course he'd given the key back to her years ago, via Carly.

"You never used to drink."

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me, you idi-

"You learn, when someone breaks your heart."

There it was.

He must be so angry at her.

She stopped outside a building and when he realized which one, he got a familiar, wild look in his eye. It was a look she'd once thought was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen or ever would.

The building they were in front of was, of course, The Bushwell, where Freddie had lived with his mother and Carly with her brother.

"You live here?"

"Not really," she said. "I'm just apartment sitting for Spencer."

"Does he know about that?"

"Of course he does." She affected to look a little hurt. He wasn't buying it.

"Oh, like Sam Puckett's above breaking and entering. It's sad the way you think I don't know you."

Oh, she knew he knew her. And she knew him. Could still read him like a book, which is why she knew that, like her, he was trying not to look up to the building floor where Spencer's apartment was, where his mother's had been...where the fire escape still was.

She couldn't think of what to say. Many possibilities rotated through her mind. They were possibilities not just of this time and place but of their past; not just of their real past but of alternatives. Most were bright, even embracing. Some left a trail as if in the sand for him to follow if he was worthy enough. A few, a very few, but enough, were totally destructive.

What did she really want to say?

What did she wish she could say?

Freddie, come in and let me hold you. And maybe never let you go.

Freddie, let's go up and have a great fuck.

Freddie, I never want to see you again...except when Carly gets married or possibly at reunions.

Freddie...I've been keeping something from you. I named her Cindy, short for Cynthia, because I read that means "Light" and that's what you were in my life.

Freddie…

END

Notes:

"Running Away" and "Don't Be Cruel" are real songs, but the one between them is just out of my own brain.

R&R, please!