Disclaimer: I have and make no claim on any iCarly copyright. Non-iCarly characters and settings are my own.

. . . . .

Freddie, having knocked to announce his arrival, entered the Shay's apartment.

"I have the disc of new iCarly bits," he said to the empty living room, knowing that Carly would be near enough to hear. She came down the stairs with her I-didn't-get-my-way pout on her face.

"What's up?", he asked.

"Spencer had to go out so he couldn't do the laundry, and there are things I wanted washed."

"So, what's the problem? Just do it yourself."

A nervous, embarrassed look crossed her face, and he knew he had somehow upset her. Did she not want to go to the laundry room alone? It was in the basement, off in a corner, maybe she was worried about being by herself in that lonely room at night.

"I'll go with you, you don't have to go alone."

"It's not that, well not only that. It's just that I-I've never done the wash. Spencer always does it."

"You're almost sixteen, you've never washed your own clothes?"

"I've gone down there with Spencer and he has tried showing me how, but I didn't really pay any attention. And don't you look at me like that, I know your mother must do yours."

"Actually, no. Not for almost a year. When my mom asked what I wanted for my fifteenth birthday, one of the things I asked for was to learn how to do a wash. She didn't want to, but I told her that someday I would be going off to college, and would have to do it then. And if I didn't know how to do it right, I might get sick or even die from improperly washed clothes. That worked like a charm."

"Freddie, would you show me how? Please? I really want to get some things washed." She gave him her best puppydog eyes."I would be so grateful if you did."

He knew he would have to. Even though they weren't boyfriend and girlfriend, despite an attempt at that after the whole taco truck thing, and that his neverending crush had somehow ended, she would have always a claim on his heart. He nodded yes.

"Do you know where Spencer keeps the detergent, and do you know how to separate your clothes?"

"No, and not really" she said, blushing slightly at her lack of knowledge.

"It's ok, I can show you how, and we can stop at my place for soap and dryer sheets."

"Won't that bother your mother?"

"She's at work. She won't be home 'till after midnight."

The two walked up to Carly's bathroom and she began pulling clothing out of her hamper. He explained separating colors from whites, but she didn't have any whites to wash.

"I was feeling colorful this week, so I didn't wear any white clothes," she explained.

"That keeps things simple. We have only one wash to do. Well, two really, those two fancies from Build-a-Bra should be hand washed, and air dried."

"Hand washed? That sounds like work."

"It's not, really. It's more just soaking them with the special gentle soap. I can show you when we're done downstairs."

They bundled the clothing onto one of Carly's bath towels, using it as a sack, and left the apartment. After a stop at Freddie's, they took the elevator to the basement.

The room was empty when they arrived, the machines silent. The room wasn't, though. Protected behind wire caging, a radio played. It was the local oldies station, and was never off. Carly felt some relief that she could do this without an audience. It was embarrassing to have relied on her brother for this for so long, even Freddie had been surprised by it.

And disappointed, she knew. He had a high opinion of her competence, she had let him down.

Freddie chose a machine and they began loading her clothes into it. Carly noticed something which seemed odd to her.

"You seem awfully comfortable handling my underwear."

"It's just fabric. It's not your underwear unless you're actually wearing it."

"Wow, that's some screwy twist on denial. How'd you come up with that?"

"I had to. Sometimes I have to do my mother's wash. I guess Spencer does the same, doing yours."

"I guess. But you're not my brother. We've kissed, and a lot. That's my underwear in your hands."

"Fabric."

"Underwear."

"Fabric."

Carly reached into the washing machine, pulling out what was her favorite everyday bra, the design letting her believe she could so be a bad girl, if she chose to be. Like now. She held the bra between them, the heels of each hand filling the cups.

"Prove it Freddie. If it's just fabric, you shouldn't have any trouble grabbing hold. Go for it."

He knew she was expecting him to fold, not to dare grab even an empty bra. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction. He looked at what was before him, the pale yellow bra with Freddie sized hands printed on the cups in a deeper yellow. He placed his hands on the design, visibly shocking her.

"I could so start a gossip storm in school tomorrow," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"All I'd have to do is find Wendy and mention how you couldn't keep your hands off my bra last night. She'd freak, and tell everyone we were doing it."

"That wouldn't be a storm, that would be the gossip apocalypse."

"Our lives seem to run the entire school, don't they?" She looked embarrassed.

"Yeah, kinda. Don't do it though. Sam would kill me for soiling your reputation. I don't need that."

You sure? Think about it. Most of the school thinks something physical is going on between you and Sam, what with you being the only boy who can fight back and live. They would think she was jealous of you and me. You would be a legend."

"As great as that would be, I think I'd rather live."

He pressed his advantage though, pressing his lips against hers. She surrendered, and they kissed again. Wash. Clothing had to be washed. His attention returned to the machine, which he started up, then switched back to his newly regained romantic success.

Carly continued kissing him, laundry now her favorite activity. She heard the machine somewhere off in the distance, felt his hands unbuttoning her top. Felt him pushing that off of her. Goodbye blouse, she thought as it fell to the floor behind her. I'll find you later. She focused on his lips, on kissing.

After a while, a buzzer sounded. The wash was done. Both ignored the sound, too busy with each other. He held it in his hands, high above her, playing keepaway. She jumped at it, nervous and in need.

"Freddie, this isn't funny. Someone could walk in any second. Give it."

Grinning ear to ear, he shook his head no, moving so as to keep her from seeing her top, lying forgotten on the floor. He was enjoying seeing her jump, seeing her bounce.

"Freddie, please. Give me back my bra."