Chapter 5: Shredded

Disclaimer: I own way too many Christmas songs, but I don't own iCarly. Also, for the purpose of this chapter, I had to incorporate dialogue that appears in the episode "iOMG", which was written by Dan Schneider. If you're reading this far into the story, chances are you know which dialogue is Dan's and which is mine.

Freddie looked at the clock on the wall. It was going to be midnight soon. A new day. And, as he looked at the girl he loved, he knew that everything would change after this. Even if Sam didn't listen to him, didn't listen to her own desires and make a move on the boy she loved, things would different. Because Freddie was constructing a new box. And he would put all of his Sam in in it, and all his love would be tucked away like a photo album, gathering dust and fading yellow. He might take it every once in a while to look at it, but that would be something he wouldn't let anybody see.

He opened the door.

"Yo, yo."

He walked her to her front door after the concert. And he thought about telling her, "I know this wasn't a date, but it felt like one to me, and you sang in the rain, and I discovered I am in love with you, and would it be okay if I kissed you?" His face was blank. They communicated in silence, but he couldn't let that smoke signal out. He thought she looked at his lips for a second, but then her eyes slipped to his shirt (her shirt), and something shifted.

"Could you give that back to me when you get a chance?" Her voice was soft and thin, not a Sam voice. And Freddie calculated information in his mind and understood. He recalled when they talked about their fathers, she had said her dad was a fan of the early 90s grunge scene in Seattle. This was his shirt. And she often slept in it. And she had let Freddie wear it. All thoughts of kissing her left Freddie. He knew, even if, through some crack in the time-space continuum, she had wanted him to kiss her-which she didn't-that if he did, she would crack, and that was not a crack they could survive, not something that could be kept within the studio, and she would resent him for it.

"No problem. I'll wash it and get it back to you tomorrow." She nodded. "Sam? I had a good time tonight."

She smiled. "You're just glad you got lucky tonight, even if it was with the rainbow crowd." He rolled his eyes, and she laughed. "I had fun, too." She paused, as if she wanted to say something else. "Night, Freddie."

The next day he put her shirt in her backpack with all the dexterity of a pickpocket, another imprint Sam had made upon him. Nobody noticed. And Sam never mentioned it.

When she saw him in the breezeway she rolled her eyes. "Carly send you to find me?"

"Nope." Why would she ask him that? It was as if she was already on guard, as if the last few years had not existed and soon she would get in his face and let him know Carly would never love him. He wished they were in the studio. There they could be Sam-and-Freddie; there she wouldn't be closed up like this, at least not with just the two of them.

"Oh, so you don't know we had a little argument?"

"She told me about your little argument. I just said she didn't tell me to come find you." C'mon, Sam, don't you know I would always be there for you. He felt his own shield coming up. Maybe they had regressed. Maybe the Sam he knew in the studio was some tiny part of her of which she didn't even like to think. He accepted that the time they spent together didn't mean as much to her as they did to him, but he was dismayed to think that maybe they didn't mean anything to her at all.

"Good," she said, defensively.

"But Carly's right," Freddie said. All the sidekicks he knew and admired did what was best for their friends, even at their own expense. Freddie would do the same. He didn't know if Carly was really right; he couldn't think of too many of Carly's "plans" that had worked well. But he knew what the application had said, and he knew that now that what was most important to him was Sam's happiness, even if it was a happiness he had to drag her to as she punched and kicked him.

Sam groaned.

"Groan all you want."

"I don't care what your stupid PearPad app says about me being in love. I'm not into Brad like that." Freddie rested against the wall, no sign on his face, although in his mind he tried to analyze what she had said, to catch any change in inflection. Was she not into Brad like that? Was she into someone else? Or maybe she was into Brad a different way? Maybe a crush. He felt his own internal groan rising, and he pushed it down. He got off the wall and walked closer to her.

"Lately every time I tell you that Brad and I are doing something together, you want to come hang with us." And you act so different, Sam. I don't like this Sam. I want my Sam back, the one who can insult me without a thought, the one not ashamed to cry in my arms, even if it's only when the two of us are alone.

"And that means I'm in love with him?"

"Well, you hate me." Why did I say that? No, wait, I have to continue. I need to get her with the boy she loves...or crushes on...or whatever it is that Sam does, and that boy is not me. That boy could never be me.

"I never said I hate you," she said quietly. Freddie understood why she said this even less than he understood why he brought it up in the first place. Of course she had said it. They had said it to each other after their first kiss. Hearing Sam say she hated him was a constant in his life, even as he understood she didn't mean it, but he grasped onto it, so that he could push her.

"Yeah, you have," he said, his voice getting higher in incredulity. "Like 900 times. I still have the birthday card you gave me that said, 'Happy Birthday. I hate you. Hate, Sam." He didn't tell her the card was in a real box in his bedroom, along with tickets from their concert, pictures of her, and dozens of other mementos of their relationship.

Sam sighed. "Just leeeeeave."

"Fine, I'll leeeeeave."

"Bye."

"But before I go-". Sam stood up and approached him. She stood mere feet from him, her body tense. It was a stance that would have a younger Freddie cowering in fear, if not making a run for it.

"That's it. Get out of here before I do a double-fist dance on your face." And there it was. He had a decision to make. Did he go? Or did he step up for his friend and try to get her to see what was best for her, even if she did end up hurting him? She's going to hurt me no matter what. He stepped closer to her.

"You can threaten your double-fist face-dancing all you want. But Carly's still right." He paused. She didn't know it, but this was a huge moment for him. She didn't see the box being pushed into a corner, the tape ready to seal it, the marker soon to label it. Everything inside him wanted to scream at her that she should pick him, she should be in love with him-that of any man on this or any other planet, he was the one who knew how to make her happy, if she would just give him the chance. But he couldn't say that. Because he was not the one she loved.

"Look, I know it's scary to put your feelings out there, because you don't know if the person you like is going to like you back." Well, that's very hypocritical. But that wasn't the point. He wasn't the point. Sam was. Sam was the toughest person he knew. But in some ways she was also the most fragile. Even as he looked into her eyes, eyes that were staring at him with a stillness so unlike his Sam, he imagined all the horrible things he would do to Brad if he ended up hurting her. Brad would never hurt her, you know. He's a good guy. Yeah, a good guy. Just not the one Freddie wanted to be with Sam. "Everyone feels that way." I feel that way, Sam. But the box was sealed. Sam-and-Freddie had been dismantled, and there was Sam, and her sidekick pal, Freddie, who often found himself in silly situations, but who would always be there for the story's heroine when she needed him, only to fade into the background after, letting her take the glory and applause she deserved.

The problem was that this was Sam. She zigged when she should have zagged. She didn't do what was was expected. That was part of the reason he was in love with her. As he spoke to her, unbeknownst to him, dust stirred in the attic, boxes shifted, and creases like spiderwebs appeared in the box labeled "Sam". He liked order. But Sam didn't do order. She couldn't be contained in a box.

"But you never know what might happen if you don't..." And that was all he got out, because suddenly Sam's lips were pressed against his. And cardboard burst apart, and in the neatness of his attic, surrounded by all the other oh-so-neat boxes, was shredded box and ham and bacon and remote control and hands up in the rain and Sam Sam Sam.

He didn't know what to do. His arms hung by his sides as if chained by heavy weights. His eyes bulged open in shock. The part of his mind that still worked shouted at him to kiss her back, but his body was frozen.

He felt butterflies. Hundreds of butterflies. Thousands of them. A cacophony of butterflies, full of furious activity.

Then she pulled back, and he saw her fear, the silk hidden behind the steel. As he tried to reconcile his thoughts, her face hardened.

"Sorry," she said. Freddie felt he was going to throw up from the buzzing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"It's cool," was all he could think to say. Once again, Sam had surprised him. Maybe, just maybe, he would be okay if not everything was boxed. Maybe there had to be room in the attic for those things he loved and wanted to look at too often to hide them in a box. Maybe they were things faded by the sun and worn away by time, and possibly other people didn't understand why they meant so much to him, why they stood out so prominently in the attic, why there was never any dust around them, because he never left them alone long enough for it to gather. But that was okay, because he loved her, and that was all that mattered.

And maybe, just maybe, she loved him back.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. I know the last chapter probably contained no surprises for you, but for me the journey is often more important than the destination (which is why I find myself constantly re-reading books, even when I know what is going to happen). I want to thank everybody who has reviewed. I've tried to personally answer, if not every review, then at least each person who has left a review.

I have an idea for another story, which could be seen as a sequel to this (or at least somewhat of a sequel to "iOMG"). I won't make any promises about that, in case I am not able to get to it right away (the first 500 words of this story were written about a week-and-a-half ago, then nothing for about three days, with the rest of the story coming in two time blocks over two days). Thank you, all.