Summary: After iOMG, we can guess what has been going through Sam's mind. But what has been occupying Freddie's thoughts up to the moment he stepped out to talk to her?

Disclaimer: There's no ring on my finger, so iCarly doesn't own me, and I don't own it.

Freddie Benson believed in boxes.

He did not necessarily like them, but he accepted them. He relied on them. He thought they were a way to keep himself sane. He looked at his mother and knew she was a little bit crazy (but not a lot, he told himself, and he still loved her-he always thought this quickly, as if his mother could hear the slight in his head). So he kept boxes. Once they had just been literal-containers in his room so he knew where this or that was. He got antsy if something was out of place. He didn't like people borrow anything, not because of any selfish or miserly reason, but because he would rest on his bed, his hands folded behind his head, and obsess about the space where the missing item should be.

He knew that was a problem. He knew that was something his mother would do. He loved his mother, and he knew all the things she did were for his own protection, however misguided they might be. But he didn't want to be like his mother. So he sabotaged himself. Every once in a while he would hear words coming out of his mouth, telling Sam she should listen to this CD or watch that DVD or, yeah, she could borrow a pair of socks since she insisted on jumping in a rain puddle before she came into the building. He never thought to ask why she didn't just borrow a pair from Carly. Instead he just handed them over, no expression on his face, while his brain screamed at him, what are you doing, Benson? She never gave anything back. He knew there was no malice in that; it was just something she didn't think to do.

He told himself he only did this with Sam, because he knew she would be the one who wouldn't return anything. Carly would. Even Spencer would, unless the item ended up being part of a sculpture.

That's what he told himself. But he knew he lied.

He knew his feelings about Sam had been changing. He had once seen her as an enemy, a blockade, a nightmare. Things had evolved, and he began to think of her as a friend, even (along with Carly) a best friend. But then he started to wonder what it would feel like if he ran his fingers through her hair. He found himself staring just a little too long when she stretched out on the couch wearing one of her flannel shirts and a tiny sliver of pale skin was revealed. Before he could stop it, his mind wondered if Carly could just go away for a little, so he could talk to Sam alone, just the two of them. He wanted to spend time alone with Sam! He could hear his thirteen-year-old self scream, what is the matter with YOU?

Sam was a problem. Not only did she disrupt his boxing system in his room (or he made himself let her disrupt it), but she was also causing havoc with his other box system. Some people knew about the boxes in his room. Carly, Sam, Spencer, his mom. Maybe Gibby. Nobody knew about the other boxes.

Freddie loved his mother, but there were many things about her he disliked (top of the charts were the tick baths, which he had fortunately halted almost entirely-almost, since it seemed Marissa Benson's preferred method of punishment was not grounding or taking away computer privileges, but instead an intense interest in Freddie's personal health and grooming that made him feel somewhat violated). One thing he didn't have an issue with was his mother's belief in order. It was something Freddie believed in himself, although he often found himself reviewing his actions and thoughts to ensure he hadn't crossed some imaginary line on the way to becoming like his mother. He wasn't even sure his mother had boxes the way he had boxes. He was afraid to ask.

It didn't start until he was getting the cast off his leg. He had pushed Carly out of the way of a taco truck, and it had hit him instead. Carly, the girl he had been crushing on for years, had developed a bit of hero worship for him and had kissed him. And they were boyfriend and girlfriend (maybe...he still isn't clear on that). Of course, it had taken Sam (it was always Sam, stabbing him with truth) to point out Carly was in love with what Freddie had done, not with Freddie himself. And Freddie, trapped under years of his mother's training ("it's always right to be polite"-funny how his mother, who detested Carly after the accident, didn't follow her own couplets), had broken up with Carly, saying that once the hero worship was over and the cast was off, maybe they could re-explore the idea of them as a couple. Freddie had known getting on the elevator after he told her this that Carly had already realized he was right about what she was feeling and was already looking at him as good ole Freddie again.

But he marked on the calendar the day he was supposed to get his cast taken off, and he planned on asking her out again. Then a day before the cast was coming off he had looked at the calendar and saw he had not been marking the days off. He always marked days off. His mom even had a rhyme about that, but he couldn't remember it, as it didn't rhyme well and was not often used.

And there it was. Tomorrow, the cast would be coming off. And he would go over to Carly's and...what? Profess his love? Wrap his arms around her legs to prevent her from leaving him? Those were the actions of a younger Freddie, and the Freddie who looked at the calendar found himself thinking about that boy with a little disgust and loathing. No wonder Sam always picked on him. He was like a crippled ewe in a lion's den.

He couldn't do it.

But if he loved Carly, shouldn't he try something? And he realized. He didn't love Carly. Well, he did, but not the way he thought he did. The thought of being Carly's boyfriend didn't make his heart feel like it was being attacked by drumsticks. He didn't want to be her boyfriend. He had perhaps been for a few days, and that was good, because he couldn't imagine what he would be like if he had never had the opportunity to see what his dream would be like. Would he be a fifty-year-old man still wondering about what could have been, watching old videos of iCarly and lusting after a girl stuck in time 35 years younger than him? But now he knew. God bless the taco truck, breaker of limbs!

He loved Carly, but he couldn't love her. He knew that. It took the taco truck to help him get over his own tiny brand of hero worship. He had once thought Carly was perfect, but their time together had ripped that veil away. And it wasn't even that she wasn't perfect, because he knew perfection was unattainable and the best he could do was hope to find somebody who fit him well, flaws and all. Carly wasn't that person. For one thing, Carly was just too girly for him. That was fine when he was dealing with a best friend...but not with a girlfriend. He supposed that was something for which he could thank Sam. He found himself more attracted to strong, assertive girls. When Shelby Marx had been around, he had made a fool of himself, much as he usually did with Carly. And Carly just wasn't that strong or assertive-except when she felt she had to do something like "fix" somebody's love life, and look out if you got in her way then. That...well, the way Carly acted then reminded Freddie too much of his mother. He shivered. And then he ripped the calendar page out, even there was still more than a week left in the month.

He never brought up dating to Carly. And she never mentioned it to him, either. Surprisingly, Sam also never said anything about it. Freddie was sure that she would be the first person to do so, even if it was only to point out mockingly that she was right about the whole hero worship thing. Sam, who seemed to delight in telling Freddie that "Carly will never love you" anytime she could, never mentioned it again.

He knew he couldn't date Carly, but he still found his mind in a jumble. And he sat in his room, looking at containers with labels and books, CDs, and DVDs on bookshelves categorized alphabetically and by type, and he realized he needed that with his own head. That's when he thought of the box system. He just needed everything organized. He needed to get right in his mind where people fit in his life, to make dealing easier. And he had to start with Carly.

Even six months before, her box would have read "Love Interest" or "Girlfriend" or "Future Wife". Now he created a box inside his head, in a well-lit but dusty attic, a comfy place that reminded him of old but beloved books. And he put all his thoughts of Carly in that box and labeled it "Best Friend", sublabeled it "No Romantic Interest". And he felt an ease inside him he hadn't felt in years. Once he did that he found himself able to deal with Carly's bouts of girlyness or her sad attempts of flirting with boys (Freddie wondered how a popular, beautiful girl could be so bad at that; he thought it was something girls just had installed in their DNA). Of course, he knew it was largely a symbolic thought-action, but it worked for him. So he pushed her back under an eave in his mind and made boxes for other people in his life-family, teachers, friends.

Boxes for his mother and boxes for Spencer, the closest thing he had to a male role model. Now that Freddie no longer had romantic interest in Carly, he had no issue in thinking of Spencer as a big brother. Again, he was able to feel comfortable that he was able to do this.

Freddie believed in adaptability. Actually, that was something he probably picked up through having to deal with Sam. So even though he believed in his box system, he knew he would occasionally have to rethink how people were organized. Gibby was a prime example. He had gone from some what of a buffoon to a good friend to, for a short period, a dangerous enemy (when Gibby had thought Freddie tried to kiss Gibby's girlfriend) and then back to a friend. Freddie and Gibby hung together once in a while, but Freddie thought Gibby might have been surprised how important he was to Freddie. Because Freddie didn't really have many male friends, so the ones he did really mattered to him. A lot of male acquaintances and one male friend, Gibby. Two, if you counted Brad. But now Freddie was rethinking Brad's box, knowing if he continued with his plan (well, mostly Carly's plan), he would have to readjust his point-of-view. If Carly's plan worked, then Freddie knew he wouldn't be able to deal with the group dynamic...at least not until he properly rearranged the boxes. And made another one to hide his feelings in.

All because of the one girl that defied boxes. Lord knows he had tried. He wished he had purchased stock in 3M for all the different labels he had tried to apply to Sam. Nothing stuck. Years ago it would have been easy. Before iCarly it had been hate on both sides. And that was fine. But then they started spending so much time together, and then it was, what, frenemies? Maybe. Sam seemed to delight in torturing in him, and some of the things she did were cruel, none maybe more so than when she said live on the web show that he had never kissed a girl. But then she apologized for it to the web show's audience and admitted she had never kissed anybody either. And they were each other's first kiss.

So they were friends, maybe. But Carly was Sam's best friend, and Sam was almost always kind to Carly. And nearly as often to Spencer. Not so with Freddie. Of course, he was also not treated as harshly as other people who encountered Sam on a daily basis. Thankfully for everyone, as Sam got older her need to cause physical pain diminished, although it was always available for use, as a football player or two had found out recently.

Sometimes he felt Sam and he were closer than Sam and Carly were. Sam sometimes talked to him about things he knew she would never share with Carly. But then if somebody came and changed their two to three or more, then Sam became a ninja comic, cutting him with a word or phrase before he even realized the blade had touched. Sometimes he felt his old hate rising when she did this-not at the words; his ego had thickened from her verbal assaults and "nub"s and "nerd"s had no effect on him, and he actually found her extensive lexicon of ways to pronounce his name ("Fredderly", "Fredalupe", "Freddork") somewhat endearing-but the way she seemed to be repulsed at the thought of others thinking they were actually close friends-that hurt him.

So boxes were assembled and disassembled in Freddie's own little Sam section of his mind. It had been hard enough with the whole friend/enemy debate, but it had gotten more difficult recently. He supposed it had started with their kiss. He didn't fall in love with her then, although he didn't lie to himself and say he hadn't thought of her in that way. Even when she was abusive, she was beautiful. Years had made her more beautiful and kinder (in her own way). And maybe somewhere along the way, after he had finally put away his Carly boxes, he discovered he had a crush on Sam. A crush he could deal with...he had crushes on other girls before, even when he thought he loved Carly. But then there had been the night of the concert. The night he watched, with his sore lips, as she stood with her arms held wide open and water running down her neck. And he saw the "Crush" box tumble apart, a faded brown ghost. A new box assembled. He loved her, and that was no good, no good at all.

But, despite his own feelings toward her, he was her friend. And that is why he would follow Carly's plan, even if Carly's plans seldom worked the way she intended. Because Freddie wanted Sam to be happy, even if it wasn't with him. The application he and Brad worked on at the school lock-in indicated fairly accurately what a person's mood was. Freddie was not one to normally pat himself on the back, especially in this case when his good work slapped him in the face, but he knew the app was a good one. And it told them Sam was in love.

He looked up at her from his computer when he saw this. And then he looked at Brad. It had to be Brad, right? Because Brad was something new. And Sam had been acting strangely ever since Brad was around, with the helpfulness and compliments. And Brad made fudge. How could Sam not love somebody who made her food? Hadn't she said during their intern interviews that she loved that guy, referring to Brad, as she bit down on another piece of fudge. Sure, Brad had been pretty much forgotten after the disaster that was Cort came in for his interview, but once Brad began working for them, maybe Sam had discovered her fudge-induced fascination had blossomed to something else.

Actually, Freddie found it frustrating. Carly, the popular "perfect" girl, seemed to be attracted almost solely to bad boys, or at least as bad as boys can get at Ridgeway, and Sam, who seemed more likely to feel comfortable trading headbutts on a football field, always seemed attracted to guys with similar interests to Freddie. Jonah and Shane had been friends with Freddie, at least they had been before they encountered Sam. Even Pete, who had been on the baseball team, wasn't a particularly tough guy. And now Brad, who was basically Freddie, except he was taller, slimmer, weaker...and he made fudge.

It's so unfair, Freddie thought.

He had laughed at first about Sam being in love. It was hard to think of her in love with anybody. But then Carly had stuck her nose in and started saying how wonderful Brad was. And Freddie, who really liked Brad, rolled his eyes and found himself thinking what a jerk Brad was. And Carly had said those words-the ones that always worked, except unlike the "for me" that used to work, it was "for Sam."

Yeah, he would do this for Sam, even though his heart cried against it.

A/N: This should be a five-chapter story. Please review.