Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly, and I don't own the characters.


Sam and Freddie trudged back to the Puckett residence in awkward mutual silence. Freddie lugged a sack of potatoes in one hand and a bag of garlic and spices in the other, while Sam slung bags of onions and beans over her right shoulder. Occasionally on their journey she would surreptitiously glance over at Freddie briefly, as though she were about to say something, before abruptly shifting her eyes forward again.

When they reached the walkway leading to the house, which was surprisingly well manicured as a result of Pam's recent tryst with a landscape architect, Sam reached for Freddie's bags and said woodenly, "I can take care of everything from here."

"Look," Freddie objected while refusing to hand over the bags, "that drywall's insanely bulky. It's going to be really tough for one person to hang, and –"

"No, really, it'll be fine," Sam interrupted him while trying to grab Freddie's bags again.

"Sam," Freddie began again while swinging the bags out of her reach, "if this is about that lady at –"

"No! She was stupid," Sam interrupted again. "Totally bonkers! Round the bend; probably senile. Belongs in a loony bin somewhere."

"Sam . . ."

"Go upgrade your computers and have a nerdgasm or whatever creepy chiz it is you dorks do when you're alone," Sam continued curtly as she finally succeeded in wrestling the bags from Freddie's grasp. "Which I guess is all the time."

"Sam . . ." Freddie continued heatedly.

"Get outta here before I mash your head!" Sam threatened while waving the sack of potatoes at him with her left hand as a wince crossed her face. "I'm fine from here on out! GO!"

Freddie shook his head and threw his hands in the air in disgust. "Fine! Suit yourself," he said darkly as he spun about and stormed off toward the bus stop down the street. Sam headed toward her front door, and her wince grew more pronounced the further she carried the bags in her left hand.

Freddie stood stewing at the green recycled plastic bench on the corner for several minutes, just long enough for him to begin wondering what was taking the bus so long and what would possibly possess the city of Seattle to name a public transport route the "Conveniently Ill-Timed Line" when his Pear Phone rang. He glared angrily at the name on the screen.

"WHAT?" he shouted into the phone.

"Freddie – I, uh, maybe . . . kind of need a little help," Sam's voice sheepishly crackled into his ear.

"Well, sounds like you're up a creek without a paddle, Puckett," Freddie responded curtly.

"Uh, thing is," Sam continued with an oddly begging tone in her voice, "when we fell in the bathroom earlier, I landed on my shoulder kinda funny . . . It's – it's really tightened up or something."

"So?" Freddie demanded.

"I can't lift my left shoulder much without it hurting too much to move any more," Sam answered. "I really, really need your help."

"Well, uh, that's, umm, too bad, Sam . . . 'Cause . . . 'Cause I'm already on the bus and on my way home. You should have thought of that earlier before you threatened to mash my head," Freddie lied as he began kicking the bus stop sign pole to make clanging noises.

"Freddie, it doesn't sound like you're on the bus right now," Sam responded. "It sounds like somebody's kicking a metal pole trying to make it sound like you're on the bus."

"No it's not! I'm on the bus!" Freddie said with a hint of desperation.

"I'm looking out the bathroom window right now, and I can see the bus stop. Somebody's there kickin' a pole. I'm guessing that's you," Sam said.

"Butter!" Freddie grumbled.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Why the heck should I help you now?" Freddie wondered.

Sam paused. "You shouldn't, Freddie," she said quietly. "I was a total jackass back there, and . . . I'm sorry, okay? You've got no reason to help me . . . other than you just being that rare kind of person who does that sorta thing anyway."

Freddie inhaled deeply. "Is the front door unlocked?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be in in a couple of minutes," Freddie answered.

As he began walking back toward Sam's house, the bus finally pulled up. Freddie shook his head and kept going.

"Anybody home?" Freddie shouted in the front doorway of Sam's house.

"Back here!" Sam shouted.

Freddie stopped abruptly in the living room when he saw Sam standing in the hallway, shirtless, with a plastic bag of ice Saran-wrapped around her left shoulder.

"What?" she asked with an incredulous chuckle as Freddie averted his eyes.

"Don't you wanna put a shirt on?" he asked.

"Oh, come on," she said, pointing to her reddish-brown stained undergarment. "It's my barbecue-eatin' bra. Nothing ya haven't seen before!"

"Yeah, and it was weird then, too," Freddie replied with a hard swallow.

"Weird? Might I remind you who's wearing whose underwear right now? Besides," she continued, pointing to her shoulder, "it feels a little better with the ice, and a shirt would just get in the way. You comin' over here, or what?"

Freddie swallowed again. "What do we have to do?"

Sam spun around and headed down the hallway. "Follow me, Princess," she beckoned with a smirk.

Entering the bathroom, Sam asked, "Could you pull off the garbage bag at the top and unscrew the shower head and arm for me, too? I got the bottom and sides of the bag untaped, but I can't reach high enough with both arms to get the rest."

"Wow," Freddie wondered as he began pulling at the duct tape around the top of the garbage bad. "How'd it get that bad that quickly?"

"I don't know," Sam said, rubbing her shoulder. "I didn't have to lift anything or move it much the whole time we were out. Sure felt it once I had to move it back here, though."

Freddie pulled the bag from the wall, wadded it up, and turned to face Sam. He grinned wickedly.

"What?" she asked warily.

Freddie chuckled. "You got decked by your cat! Your three-legged cat!" he taunted as he began removing the shower head.

"Watch it, Fredweird," Sam said as she hovered behind him threateningly. "We might all be gimpy around here, but we can sure do some damage. I can still take you with just one arm."

"And I can take myself – and 'Squishy' – right out the front door if you try to, remember?" Freddie countered as he waved the detached shower head in her face for emphasis.

"Oh, all right," Sam grumbled. "You win . . . This time," she added under her breath.

Freddie looked quite pleased with himself. "Now what?" he asked.

"Full body massage?" Sam suggested hopefully.

Freddie glared at her in baleful disbelief.

"Well, that's what I really want right now," Sam defended herself while adjusting the ice pack on her shoulder. "Guess we should get that drywall up and filled in first, though."

"Tell you what," Freddie said, indicating the drywall and joint compound, "Let's get this in so it can start drying, and if you still really want a shoulder rub or something then . . . I'll think about it, okay?"

"Deal," Sam said. "I got the drywall measured out and scored while you were out, so we've just gotta break off the edges and it should be good to go. Count of three?"

Freddie grabbed one side of the Sheetrock slab on the floor while Sam grasped the other side. "One," he began.

"Two," Sam continued.

"Three!" they shouted in unison as they broke the excess drywall cleanly off the sides of the slab.

The repeated the process for the extra drywall at the top and bottom, and Sam punched out the hole for the shower arm in the middle.

"Okay, here's the tough part – we've gotta get this lifted and held up against the wall," Sam said. "There's no way I can lift it up or hold it there on my own right now."

"I should be able to hold it up there," Freddie said, looking at the hole in the wall.

"Good," Sam said. "I can help you lift it on the one side, and then if you can hold it up I'll get the screwdriver. Count of three again?"

"One," Freddie began.

"Two," Sam continued.

"Three!" They lifted the piece into place, and Freddie held it steady while Sam grabbed the power drill with a screwdriver bit and a drywall screw. Turning back toward the shower, she stood transfixed for a moment as she wondered why she'd never noticed Freddie's arms before. Snapping out of her trance, Sam made her way back to the shower. Gingerly holding the screw in her left hand, she screwed it into the stud behind the drywall using her right hand. She repeated with another screw at the bottom of another stud.

"Okay, Freddie," Sam said. "Now I can hold it up at the top one-handed. Can you take this," she continued, waving the drill in his face, "and put more screws in the middle and at the top?"

"Shouldn't be too hard," Freddie answered, taking the drill and some screws. "Ever wonder why these things are called 'bits?'" he wondered as he looked at the tip.

"No." Sam replied, sounding bored.

"And who was Chuck, and why is his key so important?"

"Just screw it already!" Sam groaned. "My hand's gettin' tired!"

Just don't say anything, Freddie thought to himself as he gulped and set to work.

After the final screw was bored into the wall, Sam and Freddie stepped back. The piece of drywall Sam had cut out fit almost perfectly into the hole. "Wow. Startin' to look like a decent bathroom again," Sam said with surprise.

Freddie looked around at the rubber ducks, glass swans, shag carpet, and pastel colors. Just don't say anything, he thought again while blinking.

"Guess I'll just have you reattach the arm and the shower head while I get started filling in the bottom of this with the joint compound," Sam said. "Then you can finish the top. After that, we just let this dry 'till tonight, then we'll slap the tiles back on. Done," she punctuated, wiping her hands together.

"Okay." Freddie dragged the bucket of joint compound across the room and handed Sam a putty knife. "Knock yourself out," he said as he picked up the shower arm and climbed back into the tub. As he struggled to get the arm reattached to the pipe, Sam tried to squeeze between him and the bottom edge of the drywall with a knife full of joint compound.

"Oof – Sam!" He shouted as she inadvertantly head-butted his midsection, "You're not making this any easier."

"You're not making this any easier, either, Fredwad!" Sam shot back as a flying glob of jostled joint compound found a new home in her hair. Freddie finally secured the arm, but only did so with a motion that resulted in Sam's elbow getting smeared with the joint compound she just applied to the wall.

Sam shot up to a standing position and almost sent Freddie sprawling backwards over the edge of the tub. "That's it Fredward, IT'S ON!" she shouted as he managed to regain his balance, and she flung the remaining joint compound on her knife in his direction.

Freddie wiped the white goop that landed on his left cheek and picked up another putty knife dipped in more joint compound in one swift motion, and he flung it the compound at Sam with a backhanded tennis motion. "DIRECT HIT!" he shouted triumphantly with arms raised as it landed on her collarbone.

His celebration was short lived, as Sam quickly returned fire and hit Freddie on the forehead. "30-15!" she shouted gleefully. "I'm still winning!" she added in a sing-song voice. "Plus, that oughta be worth more since I got you right on the forehead. 40-15!"

Another glob nested itself in Sam's hair. "30-all," Freddie pointed out.

"40-30," Sam objected.

"No, 30-30," Freddie argued.

"40-30!" Sam insisted.

"Fine," Freddie said, and he flung a glob that landed directly in Sam's belly button. "Placement like that should be enough points to override deuce and take the game. I win, Puckett!"

"You mean you win one game outta the first set," Sam countered just before she flung more joint compound at him.