New chapter! I don't like it so much, but it's a new one, none the less. At least I solved the problem of length! Enjoy! R&R please!

Sam awoke to the sound of people walking into her house. She huffed, wondering who had the nerve to interrupt her and her ham-filled dreams. Any time someone entered her house, it was either Carly, Fredward, the meatball man, her mom, the that nerd who delivers Squealer's' ham, or all of the above. She furrowed her brow. She hadn't ordered a meatball sub, or been screamed at by her mom about some crazy work-detention yet, so she assumed that it was Carly and Freddie. She waited for whoever it happened to be to announce their presence; sure enough, Freddie was being escorted, and apparently struggling his way into the living room, followed by loud jangling noises.

"Why are we bringing all my tech-stuff here?" Sam heard Freddie saying.

Then Carly came yelling, "Because we need to change our scenery!" Sam knew that was a bald-faced lie. By now, Sam had sat up, nibbling on a hamhock she'd pulled

"What? Change our scenery? Our studio is great, this is Sam's house for crying out loud!" Freddie moaned, then crashed to the ground in a lump. "OW!" He wailed.

Carly sprinted into the room. "Why are you on the floor, and why is there a ham between your legs?" Carly asked.

"I tripped over a ham!" Freddie complained.

Carly shrugged and dumped some of his gear on top of him, saying, "Oh shut up, you'll be fine. Now help us get ready for the show"

"Are you kidding me? I could've busted my spleen!" He whined.

"Shut it Fredward," Sam said, jumping up. "If you're not going to fix it, I will, and you better hope to God that I don't kill us all doing it."

"NO!" Freddie instantly screamed, scrambling up and posing protectively over his geek-gear.

Sam laughed, hopping over to him. "Still worried about your spleen?" she asked.

"Um . . no?"

"Good." Sam walked over to Carly, picking up and dusting off the ham that Fredward had tripped over. She took a bit out of it and put it back in the fridge before tiptoeing her way back across the kitchen to where Carly stood. Without warning, she grabbed her and wrestled her down to the floor, tickling her sides brutally. Sam had to admit, she loved being this close to her best friend/crush.

Carly laughed hard, trying to push Sam off of her desperately, until Freddie noticed them and Sam quit. To Freddie, it didn't look like just a simple tickle fight; it looked like Sam and Carly were on the floor together, giggling like elementary school girls in a very compromising position. He dropped his camera, "Sam, what are you doing?!"

Sam didn't answer, not seeing what was wrong with a simple tickle fight, "Whadda you want geekazoid?" she asked, annoyed.

"Why are you on top of Carly?"

Carly answered for her, "Um . . Ticklefight?"

"Uh-huh, right, like you think I'll believe that. I know what you're doing. You're trying to screw with my head aren't you?" Freddie said, pacing.

"You're crazy." Sam said.

"No I'm not; first," he pointed at Carly, "You go getting me to bring our show into this trash heap, and you, "He pointed at Sam, "You're trying to steal my Carly!" He yelled, furious.

"Your Carly?" Carly and Sam said.

Freddie looked at Carly with a curious, angry expression, as if he was actually surprised that she didn't consider herself to be his. How could he expect her to? He always did everything the wrong way and expected his relationship with her to magically happen, like some 'Beauty and the Beast' fairytale. Sam looked at Freddie harshly, thinking how Fredward's twisted brain could possibly come up with that idea, even if it was true. Sam's house was terrible, and Sam really was after Carly, but that didn't give him grounds to go and insult her.

"That's it. Get out." Sam said, taking Freddie by the arm and shoving him out of her house, not caring about his protesting. Sam grabbed the tech-desk and practically threw it on him.

"What the hell?" Freddie whimpered, before Sam slammed the door in his face, shouting random obscenities.

Sam turned to Carly, a blank expression playing across her face as she listened to Freddie moan over his possibly broken laptop and wifi card. She stared guiltily down at the remains of the iCarly gear strewn in the middle of the kitchen, immediately regretting throwing him out, but not wanting to apologize, even if it meant not being able to do iCarly. He'd deserved it, she reasoned; he insulted her, her house, and her ham. Freddie had to go, definitely.

To be continued . . . again.