Hola! This is a tribute to the goodness in Sam. Seriously.

Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly.


"Must I?"

"You must."

"Really?"

"Just do it, Sam!"

"Ugh." Sam walked across the hall and pounded on Freddie's door. "Open up, dork!"

The dork's mom answered.

"Please do not call my son names. You're damaging his self-esteem!"

"Somehow, I don't think I'm the biggest threat. Where is he?"

"He's in his room studying. I refuse to let you bother him."

"Look, lady, Carly just forced me to--I mean, I just wanna apologize for hitting him when he already wasn't feeling so great, so--"

"What? He wasn't feeling well? Why didn't he tell me? I'm going to go take his temperature right now--"

"Calm down, you crazy old bat! He's fine. He was just tired. Let me in."

Sam shoved her way through and barged into Freddie's room without knocking.

He wasn't there. But she could hear retching noises coming from his bathroom.

"Yo! Thomas Fredison, where are the frickin' lights?"

"Sam?" His voice was very, very weak. The blonde frowned and opened his bathroom door. She was greeted by the lovely sight of Freddie sitting on the floor and throwing up in a trash can.

"Morning sickness?"

"I'm not pregnant." He heaved again, and then leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He looked like crap.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Must've been something I ate. Just don't tell my mother. I don't want--hunghghhhh--another tetanus shot."

"Why would that help?"

"Beats me."

"I might've let something slip. But I told her you were tired, so I guess she thinks you're sleeping."

He nodded and vomited some more. Even Sam couldn't pick on him when he was like this. There were three kinds of people she never touched: the newborn, the dead, and the dying. Unless they were dead/dying because of her.

"What're you doing here?" Freddie finally asked.

"Just came to apologize for hitting you."

"Oh."

More barf. Lovely.

"Why don't you puke in the toilet?"

"If I kept flushing, she'd know something was up."

"You want another trash bag?"

"That would be great."

She found one in his room and brought it to him, sitting gingerly on the floor far away. "Man. This bathroom's cleaner than my kitchen. Even with the vomit."

Freddie grinned a little and shifted positions so he was more comfortable while upchucking. "I've never been to your house."

"Consider yourself lucky."

"Right now?"

"...Maybe later."

Sam was pretty surprised at how much regurgitation all of Freddie's organic food could produce. She supposed it smelled, but after sitting next to her mother at a baseball game in the middle of August, nothing really bothered her that much.

"Don't you want medicine?"

"Yeah...go into my mom's bathroom." He paused to puke some more. "Behind her mirror there's a whole bunch of bottles. Third one from the left on the top shelf."

"You memorized it?"

"'No memorization of the location of medication is not sanctioned'," he quoted dully.

"Your mom needs a life."

"Pills? Please?"

Sam wandered into Mrs. Benson's bathroom, which was as spick and span as every other room in the house. Next to the sink (which was remarkably free of dried toothpaste drops; Sam had always thought sinks came with those) was a photo album and a bottle of Rey's Anti-Bacterial Photo Cleanser.

"Where does she find this stuff?" Sam wondered aloud.

Freddie could survive a few more seconds. Maybe. She flipped through the pages of the album, grinning at all of Fredward's baby pictures, and his kindergarten pictures, and his middle-school pictures--what? He looked dorky in all of them. Then she found one that really took the cake.

It was Freddie, maybe when he was four or five, with his arms crossed and his pudgy little face set in a scowl. A light-brown haired girl stood next to him, squeezing her eyes shut and kissing his cheek. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why he wasn't smiling. Sam pocketed the picture. More excuses to make fun of him were never out of her way.

"Top shelf...third from left...got it." She tiptoed back to Freddie's room while his mom banged pots and pans together, probably cooking some five-calorie dish that wouldn't keep Sam happy for a second.

"Hey, Fredward, got your meds." His eyes were closed, and he was completely unresponsive. Sam slapped the side of his face lightly. "Are you dead?"

"Hnugh?"

She wiggled the bottle in front of his face.

"Oh. Thanks. Can you grab a cup from my sink and get a little water in it?"

"Yeah, sure."

His voice was down to a whisper now, and he looked paler than a ghost. Sam couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.

"Dude, why don't you just tell your mom? You can't sit in this bathroom forever." She gave him the water, and he gulped down his pill.

"Because...she'll freak out...I've never gotten this sick before. I--" He heaved for a little while and then resumed. "--had a cold once, and she took me to the hospital. No telling what she'd do in this situation."

"Maybe, oh, I don't know, take care of you? Freddie, you're a mess."

He shrugged. "I'm about empty anyways..." He buried his face in his hands. "When did my head decide to weigh more than a truck?"

This boy was way too stubborn. And way too sick.

Sam plopped down next to him and tugged his sleeve. "Come here."

"What?"

"Just do it, before I regret giving you the choice."

Freddie rested his head on her shoulder reluctantly, and the tension in the room got a lot thicker. Sam cut through it, pulling the picture out of her pocket and laughing. "Look at that. Who's the idiot girl next to you?"

He smiled. "That's you."

"No way."

"Seriously."

Sam laughed harder. "Of course it is. I knew how to get a rise out of you back then, too, didn't I?" She picked up a lock of her hair. "Didn't know I used to be a brunette."

"You don't have any pictures in your house?"

"Do you really think my mom would buy a camera when she could buy a bikini?"

"I guess not." Freddie's body shook a little; Sam assumed he was trying to chuckle without hurting himself too much. "My mom told me that story once. You weren't annoying me; I'd tried to kiss another girl who shoved me off, and you were supposedly making me feel better."

Sam was speechless. She'd been dumb as a kid. No wonder her mother didn't keep around pictures.

He sighed a little. "I don't really get you, you know. You make me miserable every day of my life, but when it really matters, you're there for me. Like in that picture, or when Lewbert was dating my mom, or when everyone found out I'd never kissed a girl--which was your fault, but still." He took the photo from her and stared at it. "And then today. You really didn't have to stay."

She hadn't even considered that option.

"Yeah, well, I guess we're friends, Freddork."

"Are we?" He looked up at her with some difficulty.

Sam was completely drawn to him in that moment. She could feel herself involuntarily leaning towards him, and their lips were about to meet, but he turned his head away and she got his cheek.

Another Kodak moment.

"What was that?!"

"I don't want you to kiss me."

Sam's temper flared. What had that whole talk been for? "Why not?!

"I'll taste like barf!"

"Oh." She rolled her eyes. "No different than usual, then."

He groaned and snuggled into her shoulder. "Can we try that again later? After this goes away...and if I don't die first..."

"Yeah, sure. Come on." She tugged him up, and he nearly collapsed onto the floor again.

"What are you doing?"

"Your mom needs to see this. I'm not gonna let you sit in a puke-filled bathroom for the rest of the night. You need help." She supported him with one arm, and opened the bathroom door with the other. "And I want my kiss before I'm eighty."


Carly glanced at the clock. Sam had been gone an awfully long time. Hopefully, Freddie was still breathing.

Right on cue, Sam walked back in the room, smelling absolutely terrible and requesting ham.

"Sam, what's that smell?"

"Vomit."

"So I'm assuming apologizing to Freddie didn't go very well."

"Nah, it was fine. He's getting carted off to the hospital."

"What did you do to him?!"

Sam raided the fridge before answering. "I tried to kiss him. I'll see you tomorrow, Carls!" She walked out with a huge supply of meat, leaving a very befuddled Carly behind her.


For those of you who don't know, I've decided to start a tradition...at some point during all of my stories, if Carly appears, she will be confused.

Review please! :)