A/n:

Thank you guys SO much for all the love. Seriously, it makes my day when I get such nice comments, and I love knowing you guys are having as much fun reading this story as I am writing it.

I apologize for the delay in updating – I had to move into college and start a new semester, so things have been kind of hectic, but hopefully now that a routine seems to be settling into place, I'll be more diligent about it in the future. :)

I hope you keep reading, keep enjoying, and keep letting me know what you think!

He found his eyes glued to the way her lips parted ever so slightly whenever she knew a kiss was coming. The most recent instance happened in the middle of the school day when he was tying his shoe near her locker. He looked up at her and saw her eyes glazed over with that lustful expression and her lips begin to part. The movement was so subtle, he figured she didn't even know she was doing it. And he knew who must have been behind him.

"Hey," a deep voice came from somewhere to the back of him. He sighed gently, tugged once more at his bright white shoelaces, and straightened up.

"Hey Evan," he said, backing out of the way so Evan could make out with the girl of his dreams.

"Mmf," Evan managed to utter before his lips were crushed by Carly's glossy ones. After a few agonizing seconds, during which Freddie stared at his new green-and-white Converse, they pulled away.

"Mm, pineapple," Evan said, sweeping his ridiculously abundant blond hair away from his stupid green eyes.

Carly laughed a short, breathy laugh and backed against her locker, returning her attention to Freddie now that she'd gotten her kiss of the hour.

"So what were you telling me about those new wireless video chat thingies?" she asked, smiling sweetly and almost apologetically at him, as though she knew how much the current situation was compressing the muscles in his chest.

"Oh, nothing," he said, his head down. He looked up at her through the fringe of brown hair that had grown over his forehead. "I was just saying that it's some really neat technology, and if we got a few of them hooked up to the iCarly website and each of us carried one, then we could post videos anywhere, anytime, and I think the fans would-"

He abruptly cut off, though, as Evan blocked Carly from his view and pressed her up against her locker. He was a little surprised at some of the things she let Evan do, and if he was honest with himself, he was even a little bit put off by it. Carly was someone who always knew who she was and what was expected of her. He didn't like that she'd let some pretty boy take advantage of her like that.

"I'll see you later, Carly," Freddie mumbled. He doubted she even heard him, what with all that blond hair blocking her hearing. He shuffled off before she had a chance to respond. He turned down a hallway and caught up with Sam, who was evidently on her way to the cafeteria.

She tossed some long blond hair over her shoulder to look at him.

"'Sup, Fredweird?" she asked, waving what appeared to be half a turkey sandwich near his face. "You look spooked."

"Nah, I'm fine. I just…didn't do so well on a test, is all."

The corners of Sam's mouth turned down as she studied his expression, and she even lowered her sandwich.

"C'mon, kid. Out with it," she said impatiently as they rounded another corner, the double-leveled cafeteria suddenly expanding before them.

"It's not a big deal," he insisted, flinching as Sam's half-eaten turkey sandwich sailed alarmingly close to his face and landed next to a nearby trashcan.

She shrugged. "'Kay then. Let's get food." She made her way towards the spaghetti line.

"I'm not hungry," he protested flatly. "I'm just gonna go get a table."

He turned away from her and trudged in the general direction of their usual table, second to the right in the corner by the window. He felt a hand on his backpack, stopping him in his tracks.

"Ow," he murmured as the straps cut into his shoulders. Sam came into view beside him as he skidded backwards across the linoleum.

"Don't walk away from me," she scolded him. She dragged him by the handle on his backpack to the nearest empty table and pushed him down into a seat.

"Sam," he began as she plopped into the seat next to him, sitting sideways to face him and flinging her bag onto the floor. "This isn't-"

"Ugh, quit your lying, Freddie," she said, rolling her eyes. "Something's up with you, even if it 'isn't a big deal.'"
"Why do you care?" he shot back coldly, her many tauntings about how Carly would never love him floating to the surface of his mind and spreading salt neatly over his wounds.

"Dude," Sam said, her angry eyebrow-slant relaxing away to reveal genuine concern in her features. "I'm your friend, okay? We tease each other, but that's just how we show affection." A small smile crept onto the corner of her mouth.

He looked away from her and studied the seventh graders who were now seating themselves at their usual table, looking giddy to have snagged such a coveted cafeteria spot.

"Besides," she continued seriously, "I'm pretty sure I already know what this is about. And I don't like it any more than you do."

His gaze snapped back to her, something that felt a little like hope seeping back into his heart. "You don't?"

"'Course not," Sam scoffed, snatching a smoothie off of a deserted lunch tray at the next table and setting it in front of her. "It's gross how that kid's always shoving her up against lockers and lucking her face off. Like I want to see that. Please." She wrestled with the straw for a moment, then sipped on it curiously.

"Meh. Banana," she sighed, sliding the cup towards Freddie. He shook his head, so she tossed it to the floor.

"Sam, what do I do?" Freddie moaned, burying his face in his hands.

"Well, not that," she retorted, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back up.

He looked at her with an expression that felt pitiful, even though he couldn't see what it looked like.

"Look, Freddie," she said. "You can't force Carly to love you."

"I kno-"

"Shush, let me talk!" Sam interrupted fiercely, slapping his wrist hard enough to leave a red mark. Freddie knew enough by this point not to comment; plus, the stinging in his skin was easy to ignore next to the dull ache that filled his ribcage.

"You can't force Carly to love you," Sam continued, "but you don't need to. None of the guys she goes out with have got anything on you."

Freddie froze, his heart pounding nervously in his chest. "Uh, Sam?" He swallowed hard and looked into her face, noticing confusion there. Then something clicked.

"I'm not hitting on you, creep," Sam rolled her eyes. "I'd rather date Gibby than you. You're not listening."

Freddie's nervous heartbeat slowed, and he relaxed. "Thank God," he muttered under his breath. Sam ignored him.

"Next to me, you're the best friend Carly has. You'd do anything for her. You'd like…starve to death, or take a bullet or something. I don't even know if I could do that for someone, as much as I love Carly. I'd think about my own life first. But you'd fling yourself in front of that gun without even thinking about it."

"So?" Freddie curled his hands against his chest and sighed. He felt like telling her she was making him feel worse, not better, but the idea of Sam helping him was so foreign and unprecedented that he kept quiet.

"So, Carly would never date anyone you didn't like. She'd never try to hurt you, and she'd never want to lose you as a friend. That girl spends a lot of time feeling guilty about what a great friend you are to her, regardless of how much it hurts you. She feels like she owes you a lot – trust me, I can't even count the number of midnight texts I've gotten anymore. You've got the power here. Not the dude who's shoving her against lockers."

Freddie stared into his lap and relaxed his hands. It took him a few moments to remember where he was. His brain moved as though the gears were frozen and needed several seconds to warm up.

"So…what does that mean?" he asked dumbly.

"It means, Freddork," said Sam, getting up from the table to buy her lunch, "that you shouldn't give up so easily."

Her squealing laughter carried out into the hallway as Freddie knocked on her door later that night, and he smiled a little as Spencer opened it.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, opening the door wider and granting Freddie entrance to the apartment. Carly and Sam were sitting on the stairs, laughing uproariously about something they were looking at on Carly's phone.

"What's going on, you guys?" Freddie asked hesitantly, trying to smile and act light and carefree. He was still processing everything that had happened during school, and his insides felt heavy and awkward.

"Evan sent me this video of his dog hopping down the stairs. It's so funny, I think we should show it on iCarly," Carly giggled, looking up and smiling at Freddie.

"Awesome," he said, and only Sam caught his sarcasm. He saw her smirk a little from where he was standing.

"Speaking of Evan, we should get going, Carls," Sam said, standing up and bounding down the last few stairs. Carly stood up too, and it was then that Freddie noticed her clothing. She had some sort of see-through blue t-shirt on, and underneath he could clearly see the outline of a lacy black undershirt. Her dark green skirt skimmed just beneath the upper parts of her thighs, revealing enough of her milky skin to make his mouth water uncomfortably.

He glanced at Sam, and noticed that for some odd reason, she was wearing a dress. And he thought she might even have washed her hair.

"Okay, I'm going to get in the shower," Spencer announced. "You girls be careful, okay? I'm trusting you. My phone will be on all night, and I don't want you home a minute later than 12:30."

"I know, Spence, don't worry. Evan's friend's parents will be there." Carly smiled at her brother.

"Sam, is your mom going to give you two a ride home, too?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, it's all set," Sam waved him off impatiently.

"Okay then. Be careful," he repeated, and then he disappeared into the bathroom.

"What's going on?" Freddie asked suspiciously, glancing between the two girls.

"Evan's friend who goes to Blackfield Junior High is having a party," Carly said, "and he invited me, and I asked Sam to go."

"Yep. Ya ready?" Sam chimed in, skipping for the door of the apartment.

"Whoa. Wait," said Carly, and Sam stopped in her tracks.

"What's up?" Sam asked, wandering back towards her friend.

"You can't wear those," Carly said, pointing towards the floor. Freddie glanced down and noticed that Sam had put on torn blue sneakers with her dress. He couldn't help grinning.

"I don't own any girly shoes," Sam grimaced. "Nor do I want to."

"You can borrow some," Carly said. "Go upstairs and get the silver heels from my closet."

"Fiiine," Sam sighed, dragging herself up the stairs to get the shoes.

Once Sam was upstairs, Carly turned to Freddie and smiled kindly.

"Got any fun plans for tonight?" she asked him, moving towards him. He could smell her sugary perfume, and she was still a good three feet away.

"Not really," he said quietly, toying with his phone to occupy his nervous hands. "I figured I'd hang with you guys. You know. 'Cause that's kind of always what we do on Friday nights.

Carly's face fell. "Freddie, I'm sorry. I didn't realize our movie nights meant that much to you. We can stay home if you want." She picked at the threads in the sofa as she said the last portion, indicating to him that she clearly wanted to go to the party.

"No. Go," he said flatly, avoiding her eyes. "I'll be fine."

"It's just this once," she said, her tone almost pleading. "I promise, next Friday it'll be back to movie night just like always."

"Yeah," he said, daring a glance at her face. She smiled hesitantly.

"Right, well. Have fun," he said, unable to prevent a little bit of sarcasm from leaking into his defeated retort. He turned and walked to the door, and it was only once his hand was on the doorknob that Carly spoke.
"Do you want to come?" she asked awkwardly, her tone uncertain.

He turned and looked at her. She was staring at the carpet, running the toe of her boot along the side of the couch. Her dark hair fell in wavy strands, covering most of her face.

"No," he replied emotionlessly, turning the doorknob and shutting the door firmly behind him as he spilled into the hallway.

Freddie stretched back in his computer chair and lengthened his cramped spine for the first time in hours. The bright green numbers on the digital clock next to his computer read 10:15, and the "Friends" theme song kicked on for the 45,000th time that night as the next episode on the disc came on. As the main titles rolled across the screen of his computer, he realized he'd spent his Friday night watching almost an entire season of "Friends." It was ironic, being that his had ditched him for boys and parties and, knowing Sam and her bad influence, probably alcohol. Something Freddie had never been comfortable with.

He paused the screen and slid onto the floor, allowing his body to recover from its position in the computer chair. He flattened himself against the floor, pressing his spine into the rug and breathing in the scent of his mother's favorite carpet cleaner. His pocket began vibrating, and it didn't stop after two beats like it usually did for a text message.

After a second or two of debate with himself, happy with his current sense of numbness and exhaustion to the current events in his life, he dug his phone out of his pocket and pressed the green button to answer it without bothering to see who it was.

"H'llo?" he sighed, his voice carrying nothing but remnants of the tired ache that lay upon every one of his muscles.

"Freddie, I need you," a panicked voice said. Having never heard this particular voice in such a state before, it took him a minute to realize who was talking to him.

"Sam?" he mumbled tiredly, sitting up on the rug, his eyelids drooping slightly.

"Yeah, who else? Wake up, Freddie, this is important."

He was slightly perturbed by her lack of calling him names, and it set off some sort of reaction in his veins that instantly woke him up and alerted him to the cold, sharp fact that something was, indeed, wrong.

"What is it?" he asked sharply, adrenaline finding its way back into his body. He pushed himself off the floor and began to pace his bedroom as she spoke.

"I think something happened to Carly. The last time I saw her, she was next to the pool table with Evan and all of these guys. And then a bunch of them went into the backyard, and when I went out to find her, they all said she and Evan had gone upstairs. That was two hours ago, and I still haven't seen her. I've looked everywhere, asked everyone, but nobody here even knows who Carly is except for Evan's useless friends. I don't know what to do."

Sam's voice nearly broke towards the end, and Freddie couldn't have told you how long it took him to pull on jeans, shoes, and a jacket. She gave him directions to the house and he did his best to calm her down. He counted on the fact that his mother would be sound asleep by now, grabbed a key, and was in the hallway in front of his apartment locking his door by the time he hung up with Sam.

He could feel the steady thud from the beats of the music playing inside the house before he even got out of the cab. He paid the quizzical-looking cab driver, who was no doubt wondering if it was legal to leave a fourteen-year-old kid at such a crazy-looking party so late at night, and stepped out of the car quickly.

As he climbed the creaky, wooden porch steps and waded through crowds of people in order to reach the front door, he debated whether to knock or simply let himself in. There didn't seem to be a way for anyone to hear him, though, with all the noise coming from inside, so he pried back the screen door and slid into the dark, crowded house.

There were very few lights on, and it seemed that every step he took into the house, he was running into more and more people. Frustrated, he pulled out his phone to text Sam.

I'm here. Where R U?

As he waited for her reply, he kept his cell phone out and held it in front of him to illuminate his path. He pressed himself against walls to avoid people and moved whenever he saw an open space. He found himself in the kitchen before his phone vibrated against his palm.

Living room. Ill come to U, its too crowded in here. Where R U?

Freddie noted an empty counter space next to him and hoisted himself up on it, sitting up higher so that he'd be able to see Sam when she came into the room. He tried his best to ignore the anxious throbbing in his throat that he understood to be desperate concern for Carly as he typed out his reply to Sam.

Kitchen. Good luck.

He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the hair on his forehead, wondering how long he'd have to wait before Sam managed to make her way to him. He wasn't wondering long.

"Move! Outta my way!" a voice carried over the extremely loud mingled conversation in the kitchen, and Freddie saw a short, blond head bobbing through the crowd, shoving people out of its way and moving closer towards him. He had never been so relieved to see that blond head in his entire life.

"Freddie, thank god you're here," she cried when she finally reached him, grasping his wrist momentarily. The vivid fear on her face mirrored the dark clouds funneling in his chest. He hopped down from the counter and stowed his phone back in his pocket.

"Let's start upstairs," he suggested darkly. "If you haven't seen her, it's more than likely she's still up there."

Sam nodded and led the way, clearing a path with her natural-born aggression, and all Freddie had to do was follow closely. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't help but smirk feebly when she blasted her way right between a couple who looked to be in the middle of an extremely heated moment in front of the stairs.

"Aren't there supposed to be parents here?" Freddie realized, for the first time since arriving, that this did not appear to be a remotely chaperoned sort of party.

"Yeah, but they don't give a crap," Sam shouted over her shoulder as she led the way upstairs. "I saw them at the beginning, but after a while they barricaded themselves in their bedroom."

As they mounted the top of the stairs, Freddie stood next to Sam and gazed down the long hallway. The house did not appear to be anything special from the outside, and he hadn't been able to see much of the downstairs portion. But judging from the surprisingly quiet second story, the house was more spacious than he'd given it credit for. At least seven or eight different doors spread their way along the hall, and the same number doubled back on the opposite side. At the very end of the hallway, there was a set of carved double-doors, which Freddie assumed led to the bedroom of whoever was supposed to be chaperoning this madhouse of a party.

"I tried most of these doors before, and I couldn't find her," Sam said, "but some of them were locked."

"Which ones couldn't you open?" Freddie asked, digging around in his pocket for the keys he'd brought with him from home. Sam pointed out three different doors along the hall, and Freddie finally retrieved the keys from his pocket. Dangling alongside his front door key and his mailbox key was a miniature pocketknife, which his mother had attached for him in case of unexpected attack. He slid the knife open and handed it to Sam.

"Can you pick the locks with this?" he asked, but she'd already begun working on the first door. He'd barely gotten the question out when there was a satisfying click and Sam heaved the door open with her shoulder.

Freddie's heart started pounding again, terrified of what he might see as he entered the dark room behind Sam. He groped the wall for a light switch. When he found it, he flipped it up, and the room lit up to reveal a small, tidy bedroom. The bed was neatly made, and the closet hung slightly ajar. There clearly had not been anyone in the room all night.

Relief, disappointment, and increased terror flooded Freddie's veins as they backed out of the room and shut the door. Sam led him to the next locked door, had it unlocked within seconds with the help of Freddie's pocket knife, and began to open it. Freddie rushed forward hurriedly and immediately collided with the back of Sam, who had stopped abruptly with the door just barely cracked.

"Wha-" he began to ask, bewildered.

"Shh!" she whirled around and shushed him fiercely, then pressed her eye to the crack in the door. Freddie nudged up beside her and peered inside as well.

There were two bodies in the room; one was sitting upright on the bed, and one was splayed out on the floor next to the bed.

"Hee hee! Carly!" the one on the floor chuckled stupidly. "Carly, I feel funny."

"I know," the body on the bed said in the voice of the girl he loved. "You're drunk, Evan." He couldn't figure anything out from the tone of her voice – it was flat, unemotional.

"C-carly!" Evan said, rolling around on the floor. "Are you drunk toooo?"

"No," she said shortly. "I'm not stupid."

"Awwwwwww, Carly!" he said. "We're just having funnn, right?"

"Maybe you are," she replied. "But personally, I just don't find drinking old beer your friend's parents left in the basement from his brother's graduation party to be 'fun.'" Freddie could tell, now – she sounded disgusted. He couldn't help but feel a little elated, especially since it really didn't seem like she was hurt.

"Aren't you having fun with meee?" Evan asked her, crawling clumsily up onto the bed and leaning all his weight against her, smiling lazily.

"Well…I mean, I've been watching you throw up for two and a half hours," she said quietly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns along his forearms.

"Let's have fun, then, Carlyyy," he said. "I'm not gonna throw up anymore. I'm alllll better! Let's have funn…" he trailed off and shoved her against the pillows on the bed, laying all of his weight directly on top of her.

"Ow," she protested, "Evan, you're squishing me. It hurts."

"Fun, fun, fun," he sang, oblivious, as he crushed his mouth down against hers. It just about made Freddie want to run the pocket knife through his own chest to watch it, but a horrible feeling of dread had settled over him. He knew it couldn't end well, and he had to keep watching. He had to make sure she was okay.

"Evan," Carly gasped when he finally pulled his mouth away. "I can't breathe."

"Mmmmm, I know," he slurred, and he began to run his hands up and down her body. Freddie cringed, his fists curling, his fingernails digging into his palms. The words "Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod" looped through his brain, and he couldn't remember how to move or speak or anything.

"Stop, Evan, don't," Carly protested again, a bit more forcefully. She began to wiggle her shoulders to try and get out of his grasp.

Evan's eyes were closed as he eased his hands up Carly's shirt, slid them over her breasts, and started moving his hips against hers in a terrifyingly sexual way. Carly gasped unpleasantly and started thrashing around, saying things like "Please, no, Evan, stop, let me go!" But the kid was just too strong.

Freddie stared through the door, horrified; he wanted to cry, kick, scream and beat the living crap out of Evan. He wanted to tear him limb from limb – the white-hot anger, the shock, blazed a powerful, heated trail through his body. That he would dare hurt Carly – Carly - was just – it just –

Sam had flung the door open within a matter of seconds, and the feeling of being exposed to the room brought him back to his senses. The shock dissolved; he unfroze from his horrified, statuesque position, and he sprang into action, letting the adrenaline from his anger take over.

Sam tackled Evan before Freddie had a chance to blink. She yanked his arms out of Carly's shirt and twisted them behind his back, pulling him off of her and throwing him to the ground.

"Whoa! OW!" Evan cried as his body hit the floor. "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Skunkbag," Sam replied, her face close to his ear as she pinned him to the ground.

Freddie made a beeline for Carly, who still lay shaking on the bed with tears in her eyes. He sat down next to her and gently tugged the hem of her shirt down so that it covered her body again. She blinked, bewildered.

"Freddie?" she asked softly, sitting up. "How…? Where did you-"

"Sam called," he replied, reaching up to touch her cheeks hesitantly. She didn't shrug away from him. He wiped the tears from under her eyelids with the pads of his thumbs. "She was worried."

"Oh, Freddie," she sighed, her face falling, her body moving instinctively closer to his, seeking protection. "I'm so stupid."

She began to cry again, and he wrapped his arms around her protectively. He was still very warm from how high his heart rate had spiked, watching what Evan was doing to Carly. She snuggled tightly against his side.

"You're anything but stupid," he told her as he watched Sam press her thumb into Evan's pressure point, knocking him out cold on the bedroom floor. She straightened up.

"I'll call my mom," she said simply, and she pressed the numbers on her keypad as Carly wept softly into Freddie's warm, tired body.