Freddie was having a hard time shoving the truth of what he was about to do into his frail human brain.

He needed help. Not mental help, he thought immediately, contradicting his imaginary Sam's snarky comment, but help about Carly. He loved her. This was certain, indisputable, and unsurprising. Following this, he could not simply stop loving her, but neither could he deal with life without her.

This was far too much to handle alone. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and hit "send". The world became a different place.

iMove On

To put it in slightly less dramatic terms without taking away from the inestimable gravity of the situation, Freddie had asked Sam for help. He sent her a carefully worded and eloquent text describing the situation, and now waited on pins and needles (an overused phrase that was nevertheless perfect to describe the painful sensation all over his body) for her response.

As Carly's best friend, it was Sam's obligation to make Carly happy. Carly wouldn't be happy if she and Freddie weren't friends (he hoped), and he almost thought that Sam, in her own way, knew that Carly needed Freddie looking out for her. Carly always looked out for other people, so she needed them to have her back, even if they couldn't get along to save anybody's life but hers.

But as just Sam, Sam Puckett...Freddie really wasn't sure she would help him. At worst, he supposed, she'd tell Carly and he would lose the best friend he had in the world, as well as about half of his life. He sighed and chucked his phone across the room. On the other hand, she might prove suddenly supportive. Sam was an enigma. He could never entirely figure out what her goals were. He'd swear up and down that she hated him, and then she'd have some tiny moment of compassion and humanity that tripped him up.

"Guess who?" his text notifier blared, and he jumped up and ran across the room. He had recorded Carly's voice on his phone with her permission some time back; he was still surprised she hadn't minded. Sometimes the things she objected to mystified him. He could never quite know what to expect with her, either. Are all girls this way?

The reply was a single word. "duh".

He frowned and scanned his original message. Was she replying to "I still love Carly and need her in my life"? "I know I really messed up with the whole Dustin thing"? "I'm a total nub and you hate me"? "Carly needs to be protected"? "You'll probably laugh in my face, but is it possible at all that you would help me?"

"To what?" he replied, both aloud and via text. A chill came over him. What had he been thinking, asking Sam (of all people) to help? He was a certifiable idiot. The government needed to lock him away so he couldn't hurt himself any more.

Freddie hardly realized he was hitting his head with his phone until Carly's voice came from it again. He opened one eye to read the message.

"all of it. nub. ps im outside your door but the psycho wont let me in".

"Mom, let Sam in!" he called, screwing up his eyes. This was not going to be easy.

Wait...had she actually agreed to help him?

"She's a dangerous criminal!" Mrs. Benson said back, in scandalized tones.

"Mom, we have a school project we have to work on together." The familiar feeling of lying (like swallowing metal, he thought) was unpleasant, but unavoidable. "Please let her in."

The earth trembled from Mrs. Benson's mighty sigh, but she opened the door and Sam (currently working on picking the lock) literally tumbled through. "Hey, Bensonian, why does your mom have to be such a freak?"

"Excuse me, young...well, I won't say lady, but..." Mrs. Benson fumed, and Freddie could tell she was about to start on a long lecture. He gave her a meaningful look and she sighed again. "You may stay, but if you lead Freddie into any sort of illegal activity I will—"

"Cut my heart out and eat it?" Sam suggested dryly.

"Come on," Freddie said with gritted teeth, and Sam, still laughing at Mrs. Benson, followed him to his room.

Sam plopped down on his bed immediately. "Wow, your room is so dorky," she laughed. He smoothed his "GALAXY WARS (tm)" bedspread nervously, unsure whether or not he should sit next to her.

"So...are you actually going to help me?" he asked.

She shrugged in a way that he decided to take as positive.

"Why?"

She turned around to face him, and standing seemed even more awkward now. "Listen, the way I see it, you might be irritating, unappealing, and sound like my aunt Selene when you get nervous, but at least you don't leak snot like ninety-nine percent of the geeks out there we'd have to pick from for iCarly. And I mean, you have your uses. Carly'd miss you, I know," she said, in a rare tone of sincerity.

He grinned. "Thanks."

"Just don't think that I'm doing this for you. You still sicken me."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a minute.

"So, what's the plan?" Freddie ventured to ask.

"Plan?" Sam snorted and tossed her long hair. "Who said there was a plan?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You said you'd help me."

"Yeah, I didn't say I was gonna come up with a plan. I mean, I think you should just talk to Carly about it."

He stared. She stared back defiantly.

"I don't even know you any more."

He resolved to tell Carly the next day.