Salutations fellow iCarly fanatics! As you can see, I'm back from science camp and I'm ready to jump back into the fabulous world of fanfiction! Wow I'm a nerd.

Disclaimer: I may now know more about astronomical engineering than the average teenager should, but I still don't own iCarly.

It was a magnificent castle. Probably the best one ever built, she thought with a smile. Beautiful, symmetrical, and fourteen stories high, the castle was only missing one thing: a cone to finish off the tallest middle tower. Never taking her eyes off her creation, she reached down and took in her hands the two pieces necessary for the castle's completion. Ever so carefully, she arranged them on top of the tower, making sure they were steady and secure. She was just about to let go when-

"Carly!" The front door flew open to reveal a distressed looking teenage boy, his usually tidy brown hair disheveled and dark circles under his eyes. At the same time, Carly's castle fell to the ground, leaving nothing but a pile of red playing cards in its place.

"Freddie!" she whined. "It took me nearly three hours to build that!"

"Is S…I mean, is anyone else here?"

"Spencer's upstairs playing his banjo," she said, fully aware that her older brother was not the target of Freddie's question but too annoyed with her inconsiderate friend to care.

"Carly…" he started.

"Yeah, I know who you meant." She sighed. "I haven't seen her either."

He hung his head, obviously disappointed. "Um…sorry I ruined your card castle…and that I've kind of been acting like a jerk lately. It's just…I'm really getting worried about Sam. I mean, it's been three days since-"

"Since you two kissed?" Carly interrupted. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. She knew about that? "Yeah, I know," she said, as if able to hear his thoughts. "I saw it with both my eyes."

He rolled his eyes. "Figures you'd eavesdrop."

"Hey! I wasn't eavesdropping! Eavesdropping implies listening to a conversation. I was just…watching."

"Yeah, because that makes it better." He plopped himself down on the Shay's couch and put his head in his hands. "Carly, what am I going to do?"

"Well, do you like her back?"

"Do I like her back? Me? Like that lazy, selfish, rude, inconsiderate–"

"Freddie…" Carly warned.

"Maybe a little?" It came out as more of a question than the profession of undying love Carly had undoubtedly been hoping for.

"Maybe a little?"

"I don't know, I'm confused!" He saw his friend's face soften a little as she sat down next to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Three days, Carls," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Not just three days since we kissed; it's been three days since the last time she talked to me."

Little did he know, that wasn't entirely true.

Twelve Hours Earlier

He rolled over to his other side, pulling the covers over his head in what he knew was most likely a futile attempt at forcing himself into unconsciousness. It was turning out to be another sleepless night; the third in a row. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, staring at the inside of his Galaxy Wars comforter and letting out a heavy sigh. Even Lance Starrunner, in all his glow-in-the-dark glory, was no match for this never-ending bout of insomnia. Then again, this was no ordinary insomnia. This was Sam Puckett-induced insomnia, which, like its creator, was much more stubborn than the average bear.

With a heavy groan, he threw the covers off of his body and sat up, blinking in the darkness. The digital clock on his nightstand read a cheerful, neon green 2:39 a.m. Being awake at 2:39 a.m. might not be such a big deal once, but three nights in a row? He wasn't sure he could survive much longer on such little sleep. It was already becoming difficult to hide his exhaustion from his mother, who would surely want to take him to the hospital if she knew his sleeping habits had become less than perfect. And he was in no mood to sit in a hospital all night being poked and prodded with needles to test for forty-seven different sleeping disorders. Literally, forty-seven. His mom made him read a book about it once.

He swung his feet onto the cold floor and tiptoed into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door as quietly as he could and grabbing a Peppi Cola from the "Healthy Kids Veggie Juice" box in which they were hidden. Grateful that Seattle's unpredictable weather had called for a storm that night that muffled the sound of his footsteps, he returned to his room, closed the door, and was just about to pop the top of his soda can when–

"DISH RAG! QUEEN OF THE NUBS! HEY, SIR DORKATRON, LET ME IN!"

In his surprise, he let his soda slip out of his hands. It fell to the ground and exploded, leaving a sticky mess all over the once-immaculate hardwood floor. Now more grateful than ever for the rainstorm, he tiptoed to the far end of the room and opened the window. He was immediately met by a pair of piercing blue eyes and an impatient smirk that he knew could only belong to one person.

"Sam?" he whisper-yelled. "What the chiz are you doing out there? And what are you standing on?"

"I came to visit," she responded, shrugging her very wet shoulders. "And the window washer's platform."

"What? But the window washer only works on Wednesdays! The platform would have been all the way up at the top of the building! How did you even–"

"I have my ways," she said coolly. "Now are you going to let me in or are you just going to stand there and let me catch New Matonia?"

"Pneumonia, Sam," he said, taking her hands in his and pulling her through the window. She landed gracefully inside his room and proceeded to shake her hair out over his floor. "Stop it!" he whispered harshly. She paused for a moment, looked up at him questioningly, and continued to shake her long, blonde, water-logged locks. He rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom, grabbing the first clean towel he saw, which just so happened to be his old Galaxy Wars beach towel.

"Holy chiz, Fredward," she said, taking the towel from him and using it to ring out her hair. "First the Galaxy Wars covers, now the towel? I knew you were a big fan, but I didn't realize you are sleeping and bathing with Nub-Nub."

"Nug-Nug!" he corrected. "And I am not! I haven't used that towel in years."

"In that case, you had a strange, twisted childhood." She dropped the towel on the floor and walked into the middle of the room. "Whoa! What happened here?"

"Well," said Freddie, joining her at the site of the soda spill, "this is what happens when certain little blonde demons start screaming names at people through their windows in the middle of the night. I was getting ready to enjoy a nice, cold Peppi Cola, but nope! You just had to go and startle me. Not to mention demean me! You couldn't have just called my name?"

"No, if I'd called your name and your psycho mom heard me she would've flipped the chiz. But if I call you Dish Rag, we're the only ones who know," she shrugged as if it were obvious.

"You never were very good at being subtle, were you? Why didn't you just use the front door? I know you can pick the lock."

"Yeah, I could've. But where's the fun in that? Now come on." She tied the damp Galaxy Wars towel around her neck like a cape and grabbed his wrist, striding back towards the window.

"Whoa, what are you doing?"

"I'm bored. We're going on an adventure."

"But were are you taking me?"

"Relax, we'll be back before Crazy wakes up. We'll even clean up that soda. She'll never know."

"Okay, but that still doesn't answer my question."

"Which was…?"

"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?" he whispered harshly.

"Don't worry about it, okay?"

"But–"

"Listen," she suddenly stopped, turning to face him and gripping his shoulders roughly. "Do you trust me?"

"Wha…?" he stuttered, caught completely off-guard by her question. "But…but…wha?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you trust that I won't get you into any trouble tonight?"

"No," he said truthfully.

A wide grin slowly spread across Sam's face. "Good."

"Sam, I don't know about this."

"Ah, grow some balls and do something crazy for once in your life, Benson!"

"I continue to hang out with you almost every day despite the fact that I know you!" he yelled above the roar of the storm. "If that's not crazy, I don't know what is!"

"This!" she called back. "MY NAME IS GIBBY GIBSON AND I LIKE DRESSING UP LIKE A PRETTY PRINCESS!"

"Sam!" he reprimanded. "What if someone hears you?"

"That's why you don't use your real name. Watch." She cleared her throat. "MY NAME IS FREDDIE BENSON AND I HAVE ZITS ON MY BUTT!"

"Sam!"

"FREDDIE BENSON ALSO LOVES HIS ANTIBACTERIAL UNDERPANTS!"

"SAM!"

"AND HE–"

"SAM PUCKETT LIKES TO DRINK MILK AFTER THE EXPERATION DATE!" he yelled suddenly.

"COME ON," Sam coaxed, "IS THAT THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?"

"AND SHE HAS REALLY BAD GAS!"

"COME ON BENSON, MY GRANDMOTHER COULD DO BETTER THAN THAT!"

"SAM PUCKETT IS IN LOVE WITH A NERD!"

This time Sam didn't respond. She simply stared into the dark, cloudy sky, not even flinching at the occasional flash of lightning or clap of thunder.

"Sam?"

Finally she tore her eyes away from the clouds and met his gaze. Then, without so much as an explanation, she climbed from the roof of the Bushwell back into the window washer's platform and began slowly lowering herself down.

"Sam! Sam, wait up!" By the time he reached the edge of the roof, she was already several feet below him. With a deep breath and a quick prayer, he bent his knees and jumped into the window washer's platform with her.

"ARE YOU INSANE?" she screamed as the platform shook violently.

"Probably!" he yelled back. "But Sam, we have to talk about this!"

"I don't have to do anything," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"No! I'm not letting this go! Sam, do you love me or not?"

"Not!"

"Then why did you kiss me the other night?"

"Because…because…" she sighed. "Mfmfmfmf," she mumbled.

"What was that?"

"BECAUSE I LIKE YOU, OKAY?" He blinked, his expression somewhere between confusion and disbelief. "Urg!" she groaned.

Suddenly the platform was moving upward again, and he noticed Sam was tugging on the rope. They stopped at the top of the building and she hopped out, running to the middle of the roof.

"MY NAME IS SAMANTHA PUCKETT AND I'M IN LOVE WITH FREDDIE BENSON!" she screamed, then immediately ran back to the window washer's platform and hopped inside. "There, I hope you're hap–"

"Just wait a minute." He grabbed her forearm just before she was about to start lowering the platform again and climbed onto the roof where she had just been standing. He gave her a final glance before setting his gaze skyward. With a deep breath, he screamed the words he never thought he would've even whispered. "MY NAME IS FREDWARD BENSON AND I'M IN LOVE WITH A COMPLETE AND TOTAL PSYCHOPATH, ALSO KNOWN AS–"

He never got to finish his sentence, as Sam, faster than lightning, jumped onto the roof and attacked his face in a way that Freddie thought was definitely more pleasant than her usual beatings. Without even thinking about it, he slid his hands onto her waist and wrapped his fingers in the limp towel she was still wearing as a cape. He felt her snake her arms around his neck.

"Wait," he said, pulling himself away suddenly. "Why are you doing this now?"

He saw her eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What do you mean? I like you. I thought we already established that."

"Sam, three days ago, you kissed me, and you've ignored me ever since. Why did you suddenly decide to drag me out of my room in the middle of the night, in a rainstorm no less, and profess your love to the world?"

She didn't respond for a minute, then: "Because…because this is all a dream."

"A dream?"

"Yep. You're just dreaming. That's it. Just dreaming."

"Are you sure?" he was so tired from sleep deprivation and so shocked from the events that had taken place over the past half-hour that he was ready to believe just about anything she told him. "Because that felt pretty real if you ask–"

"It's a dream," she said forcefully. "None of this is real, and when you wake up in the morning, none of this will have happened. Everything will go back to the way it was…you know…before." He noticed her voice crack a little when she said the word "before."

"But…" He stifled a yawn, suddenly realizing just how tired he really was. "But what if I don't want things to go back to the way they were?"

He never heard Sam's response, but he felt her cool hands leading him back to the platform just as his eyes began to close and he drifted into darkness, with only a vague awareness of the thunder sounding in his ears and the rain hitting his skin. All he could feel were her hands on his arms.

Freddie woke the next morning with a start. Sunlight was streaming into the room through the window, and he suddenly realized he'd been asleep for a very long time. He forced himself to look at the clock. 2:00 p.m.

With a jolt he jumped out of bed and ran for his bedroom door. His mother was probably going ballistic at his oversleeping. He wrenched the door open and looked around; his mother was nowhere in sight. He knocked on her bedroom door. Still nothing. Finally he noticed the note lying on the kitchen table:

"Freddie,

Got a call this morning to come into work early. Be sure to eat a nutritious breakfast and don't open the door for strangers.

-Mom"

He let out a sigh of relief. That had been a close one. If his mom had gone to work at the normal time and she knew he wasn't awake by the time she left, she would've been frantic. Not to mention that she wouldn't be too happy about the soda on the floor that he never got around to cleaning up…

That's when it hit him. There was no soda on the floor. He would've slipped on it when he ran out of his room if there was. He peered inside his bedroom just to make sure, and his suspicions were confirmed: the floor was just as clean as it ever was. He ran into his bathroom; his Galaxy Wars towel was clean and dry, folded neatly on the towel rack.

"I guess it really was a dream," he mumbled to himself, trying not to let himself be disappointed. After all, he didn't really love Sam…did he?

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and decided he should probably take a shower. For some reason, his pajamas were wrinkled and smelled slightly sour, like they had been thoroughly soaked with water right before he went to bed. He shrugged it off. He'd probably been sweating a lot that night.

He quickly showered and dressed, then made his way to the Shay apartment. He decided that if he didn't see Sam there, he was going to express his concerns to Carly. Three days was simply too long to go without Sam in his life…not that he really felt the same way about her that he had in his dream the night before.

On his way out the door, he took one final look out of his bedroom window. No feisty blonde stared back at him, and there was no window washer's platform in sight. He sighed, shook his head, and left, telling himself that he knew it was too good to be true.

He never noticed the mountain of Peppi Cola-drenched paper towels now piled into his tiny trash can, or the familiar cell phone number logged into the caller-id that Mrs. Benson had forgotten to check that morning when she answered the phone.