Author's Note: Hey, O Faithful Readers! I got this idea yesterday while falling asleep… I hope I don't mess it up, since it sounded pretty nice in my head. By the way, no Cam (Carly x Sam) is intended in this story. You'll see what I mean. Drop me a review and tell me how you liked, or if you spotted a mistake, or anything! Enjoy (:

Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly. And if I did, I would procrastinate so much each episode would air every twenty years.

Routine

Fredward Benson had always liked to have his time planned. He didn't waste a second. Even his procrastination time had a beginning and an end, and he had hated when people interrupted him: not even his mother was allowed to.

He had developed this time-regulating ritual right when he started going to elementary school. The first day he had forgotten to do his homework (he remembered it perfectly: he had to draw his house and family) because he had spent too much time watching child-educating cartoons, he had vowed to the teacher, and to himself, that it would never happen again. And so his peculiar demeanor began.

When he came to think of it, it was all because of his overprotective mother. Tick bath today, mother-son synchronized gymnastics lessons tomorrow, fat-free grocery shopping the day after that. It had rubbed off on him, of course, as Marissa Benson had hoped: her little Freddie had to grow up and become a well-organized man.

But when he started to hang out with Carly Shay and Sam Puckett more frequently—though the latter hanged him up, not down—his routine suffered changes, as well as his behavior. If he was halfway through an all-too-planned homework session and Carly and Sam knocked on his door, he would gladly stop what he was doing and go over to his apartment. And he wouldn't scream at them, even though they'd interrupted him. In fact, they had never known about his little custom, and so they weren't guilty.

Still, his favorite routine, which he always made sure to fulfill, was yet to come. One Friday night, after his special, self-cooked tofu dinner, he was lying on his bed, still in his clothes. His mother was out of Seattle, and he'd paid his babysitter fifty bucks so she'd leave him alone for the weekend. It was two-thirty am and he was feeling lonely and really bored, though it was late, so he couldn't go over to Carly's. He'd have to wait till the morning, but that seemed too far away. So he used his emergency-only plan.

He got up from his still-made bed, stretching the covers slightly so that the wrinkles his presence had caused disappeared, and opened his underwear drawer. Tossing neatly folded squares aside, he took the single key that was stored just below the underpants his aunt and uncle had given him for his tenth birthday, and which still were too big on him. He tidied the drawer and closed it.

Then, he grabbed his house keys from the kitchen table and slipped them into his pocket. Deliberately, he walked the three steps to Carly's apartment door. And he used his secret copy of her apartment key to open the door silently, closing it even more silently behind him. He slipped inside the dark apartment, without making a sound—he had left his shoes at home and was only in his socks. His steps guided him to Carly's (and Sam's, now that he thought of it) room. The door was half open, thank God, so he walked inside and made himself comfortable by sitting on her armchair.

Looking peacefully asleep on the queen bed were Carly and Sam, both in their pajamas. It was very hard for Freddie to admit it, but Sam looked unbelievably cute, her golden hair spilled all over the pillows, her face relaxed, free from any kind of scowl or rude facial expression. He guessed she must have been having a bad dream, for her eyes were slightly twitching, although they never opened. Then she sighed, and flopped over to her other side.

Unexpectedly, his hi-tech watch buzzed softly and noiselessly against his wrist. It was four-thirty am, and he considered his time there was over—these stalkerish manners were making him a little uncomfortable. More awkward was the fact that, if he'd originally planned to watch the love of his life, Carly, sleep, he'd only focused on Sam for two hours, and completely forgot Carly.

So he walked back to his house, as silently as before, still pondering this. He couldn't help but smile to himself as he heard Spencer's words, muffled by his pillow, 'I'm cooking… things… that people… will chew…'.

When he got to his room and changed into his pajamas, right before he fell asleep, he made his second routine-related vow in his life.

He would watch the girls sleep.

And even though he told himself it would be just for a matter of 'studying human behavior', he knew, deep down, that it wasn't true.

*

Somewhere about his fiftieth night-visit, something that shouldn't have occurred, and that he'd never even thought about, happened.

He'd only been there for one hour watching Sam in her non-bully, vulnerable state—as his watch marked that it was 3:36 am—when she started tossing and turning and slightly moaning, 'Thirst… water… ham…'.

His heart was beating so fast he thought he was going to have a heart-attack when she sleepily got up, eyes closed to slits, and exited the door. He presumed that she was heading to the kitchen, the sound of tap water against a glass confirming it. He stayed very still on the armchair, hoping that she wouldn't notice as she came back, but he was sitting right next to the door, as a measure of precaution. How ironic that it had trapped him.

But then, Sam Puckett strolled into the room and his eyes fixed on the armchair.

Crap.

"Benson?" she whispered loudly, obviously aware of the fact that Carly was still asleep.

His instinct told him to flee, run, and then he'd deal with it in the morning. But he stayed put.

"Um, hi, Sam." He said sheepishly.

"What on Earth are you doing here? You stalker!" she kept glancing over her shoulder to the sleeping bulk under the comforter.

Freddie shrugged with a shy smile. How would he explain this to her? He couldn't just go, 'Oh, I was just watching you sleep, nothing serious.'

But she kept talking, and her voice was raising dangerously—Carly could wake up at any moment. And so could Spencer.

"Freddie! Answer me! Do you think it's normal for a dork to be in the same room as two girls who are sleeping and do not know that—"

He just wanted her to shut up. He really did. Yeah, right.

Don't kill me, he thought as he pulled her downwards and silenced her with a kiss. Sam's eyes opened wide, but she forgot what she was going to say and just kissed back, slipping her hands behind his back. He pulled her onto his lap, and they just kissed until Freddie's watch buzzed, startling both of them.

"Well," he said breathlessly. "I… guess I should get going."

"Yeah… see you tomorrow… night?" asked Sam.

Freddie was surprised. "Yeah. I guess."

"Okay. Just wake me up." She said, still unable to believe she'd just made a deal to kiss Freddie Benson again.

He walked slowly out of the room, looking over his shoulder once. Sam met his eyes with a smile and snuggled under the covers.

Neither of them could get to sleep that night.

*

So Freddie's routine was drastically changed. Every night, he would lazily roll out of bed and go to Carly's room to make out with Sam Puckett. They would bicker during the day, like always, and it was that bickering which fueled their lips and tongues as they wrestled. It was a particular fight: each would try to 'win' until Freddie's watch buzzed, and they said their goodbyes.

It was their own little routine.

*

Carly Shay had always had a light sleep. Whenever Sam moved, she woke up, to fall asleep a few seconds later.

The first night she saw Freddie Benson in her room, she was tempted to scream at him to get away. But she stayed quiet. Because he wasn't looking at her, but at Sam. Yet she fell asleep again before she could say anything.

All the time, Carly was not oblivious of Freddie being there. But she never said anything. She didn't know exactly why, probably it had to do with the fact that she wasn't the one he was staring at. Let it be one way or another, she just shut up.

She wasn't especially surprised the night Sam got up and found him. She listened intently, not trying to give away the fact that she was sort of eavesdropping. Suddenly, Sam was cut off midsentence. Carly thought this was weird, so she carefully peered above the blankets, and saw the unbelievable. Sam and Freddie kissing on her armchair.

The next nights, she would watch them both kiss for two hours straight, her eyes narrowed and her body relaxed so that they wouldn't noticed.

It became a routine for her, too.

Author's Note: Ta dah! There you go. The part I said not to interpret as Cam was them sleeping together. I mean, I have slept in the same bed as my friends in some sleepovers, and that doesn't mean you like people of the same sex. So yeah.

Review, please! They are muchly appreciated, especially when they contain constructive criticism or just a praise!