**Authors note: I really appreciate the feedback you guys. I'm glad someone enjoys my kinda terribad Carly fiction. Work is picking up this next month, but I'll make sure to put some time aside for this oddness. And maybe a few of the other plot bunnies that are breeding around in my brain.**

The door leading to the hallway out side the iCarly studio looked both impossibly big and impossibly small in front of Fredward. He had no idea how he was going to fit through, but his legs seeming to be working towards his goal even if he had reservations about it. Eyes closed he took the last few step to and through the door. Remarkably he pushed through.

Behind his closed eyes he got a glimpse of the door frame shattering as he crashed though it. As he opened his eyes though he knew it was a vision, a vision of what would happen if he ever went through a doorway with his eyes open. He was determined not to let that happen.

He spotted the object of his quest. Mouth watering ham.

He bent over to reach it. His world suddenly turning with him. Well not suddenly, he mused, it's been turning for a while. With thick fingers he scooped the half covered meat off the hard wood floor.

Almost straightening up he remembered Carly's shroud, aka the living room blanket. With a less then fluid reach he grabbed that too, it was just about time for a lay down. Slowly but not surely he straightened back up and started the short trek back to the studio.

The door frame was still changing sizes when he reached it, with confidence this time he shut his eyes and walked in.

"Freddie!!" Came Carly's shriek of fear before he had time to open his eyes.

"Yes?!" He responded forgetting to open them with the unexpected vocal bombardment.

"Why are your eyes closed? You should never go into the mouth with your eyes closed!"

The mouth? Oh the door, I guess it kind of looked like a mouth opening and closing. He smiled and opened his eyes looking straight at the still swaying Carly, "Can't hurt me. Teeth'll break."

Her face screwed up into a classic shape of Carly puzzlement for a while as they both stood there. She finally nodded, brow still knitted together. The beat of the music changed again and it seemed to hypnotize her back into a random dance trance. It rhymed. Carly seemed to rhyme, although that didn't make much sense, she usually would need to speak to rhyme but it seemed like her gyrating did that for her.

She moved off the carpet more towards the raised platform portion of the room where her dancing wouldn't be impeded by the carpet, the car or chair.

The bean bag chairs were ripe for sitting. Despite feeling the need to join Carly in her rotating, he wanted to just lay down and enjoy the calve.

The ham!

Not the calve, the calve would have him bleeding from the worst head wound of his life.

With the expertise born of making his bed most of his young life he fluffed out the ham. The Blanket, he fluffed out the blanket over the carpet, it's crazy rainbow pattern almost flying off the fabric all over the car and Sam. Thankfully it didn't though, her eyes still closed he half lay on the beanbag using it as some sort of large beany pillow, the blanket coving both bean bags and a large section of carpet.

He started to lay down on it, his hand rubbing the impossibly soft covering, he traced a small pattern with a finger before letting himself relax horizontally on it.

The ham was still in his other hand, the softness on his hand had almost make him forget about his mouth treat. With growing anticipation he raised the meat to his face and opened his mouth wide, shutting his eyes. He pictured the ham a giant space wars ship pulling into dock in his mouth, hundreds of tiny pilots running around inside as he bit down.

Then something was on top of him, something warm and moving. This wasn't space. His eyes snapped open, his lips still on the preserved pork, his teeth just barely separating one piece from the other. He almost reflexively swallowed it , but he mouth sensations were too much to give away. Samantha Puckett was on him. Her hands on either side of his torso, her legs both off to one side, her body half over him.

He was easily doomed.

"You got ma ham boy," She drawled.

How did she know? Did she have super human ham hearing?

It appeared she didn't though, a moment after she made the accusation she was kneading the blanket he was laying on like a cat. A golden cat. A dangerous mountain lion cat. He did swallow at the implications, but it was just the excess saliva in his mouth, not the mouth treasure he held inside it with his tongue,

The soft hand movements stopped at the sound of his throat moving. She did have it, the ham hearing.

He moved his hands and what was contained in them out from between his lips and let go with one of them, laying it down to brace himself against the attack. He tried to appease her with his eyes, entreating her not to kill him, just this once. His silent pleas seemed to have worked.

She leaned in closer and grabbed the ham in her startlingly white teeth before flopping down next to him on her back.

She was laying on the beanbag he was, and his arm. He was trapped by her weight, it was too much to lift off, even if she didn't have the rest of the ham. That was OK though with Freddie. He wasn't dead yet.

The ceiling consumed his view as soon as he became occupied his mouth with it's world. The wooden beams got so close he could almost touch them, not that he could lift that arm. His vision swam.

He looked over, Sam.

Mission: Bad Rhymes, complete.