A/N This is the last chapter! This is an extremely long chapter, too. I was going to leave a big author's note, but I just want to say thank you! It was very difficult for me to write this and keep it in character, but I think I did it. I'm sure, after maybe a little break, I'll write more fanfic, but give me a while, yeah? Whatever I write though sure isn't going to be in present tense. Stylistic choices are sometimes totally not worth it! Anyway, I hope you enjoy the conclusion of Point&Click!

Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly but I totally should, amiright?

I don't run after her. I don't spill my heart out to her. We don't passionately embrace in the rays of the winter sunset.

I'm a fourteen year old boy for god's sake. I have no idea what I'm doing except that I seem to have hurt and scared my spitfire best friend after five minutes of uncomfortable lip-lock in a smelly, crowded darkroom. One thing I do know though is that it is time to pull my prints out of the final wash, squeegee them off and lay them out to dry. I carefully gather my things, studiously ignoring my protesting brain, and head out to the classroom. There are fewer students here, and I take a few deep, slow breaths as I lean against the table I have come to think of as mine.

Mrs. Grey comes up to me, a concerned look on her face. "Freddie, did you see Sam just now? She ran out of here, making some excuse about having leprosy." The bangles on her wrists clatter gently as she expressively waves her arms around. "Do you know what's going on?"

Damn. I feel myself blushing, and a lie blurts out of my throat unbidden. "No, last I saw she was sweeping in the darkroom. She must have left when I was exposing a print?" I swallow hard. Mrs. Grey looks worried, so I try to make it better. "Her mom is sick an awful lot?" I suggest. This does nothing to improve the situation.

"Oh dear! Do you think everything will be alright?" We walk towards her desk. I see a manila envelope with my name on it in Mrs. Grey's block capitals.

"Ah, Freddie, here are your assignments from the last month. Might as well give them to you now. You'd just get them tomorrow anyway. Good job! The progress you've made on your final is in there too, I thought you might like to consider their order and placement at home." She hands me the hefty envelope. I thank her, and, as coolly as possible, run the hell away. I hear "Tell Sam to report to me Thursday like usual!" fading into the distance behind me.

Exiting from the school's backdoor affords me some calm. I can walk around the side of the building and check our oak tree to see if Sam is there without her seeing me. When I see that she isn't there, I breathe a deep sigh of relief, lean against the rough trunk, and dial Mom.

Mom is a little concerned that Sam isn't there when she comes to pick me up, but I lie again, this time that Carly and Spencer took her home, and she seems to accept it. We make it home without further events, and I collapse myself and my school things onto my crisply made bed.

It's only after Mom comes in with some rice crackers and soy milk that I allow myself to actually move or think. "Mom, can I ask you a question?" This comes out a lot higher pitched than I would have liked it to.

She lights up, places her snack tray on my desk, and perches at the foot of my bed. "Of course you can. Come here, sweetie." She pats beside her, and I begrudgingly sit up and scoot over.

"If you needed to apologize to a girl, but you don't know exactly what it is that you did wrong, except you know you haven't really been telling her the truth for a few months, and you are afraid you'll lose your best friend if you don't do anything about it, what would you do?" This last part is said to the ceiling as I fall back in a huff on my pillows.

Mom looks concerned for a moment, her mom-logic visibly processing on her face, and then she smiles at me. "Just talk to Carly. Explain everything to her as best you can. She's a sweet girl. She'll understand."

I make a sort of humming noise, realizing the ridiculousness of the situation, and mumble out "thanks Mom; can you close my door on your way out?" She obligingly gets up, petting my hair as she leaves, and closes the door. Maybe I should take a nap. Sam, at least, always seems to get better ideas when she wakes up from one...

There's something sharp and crunching poking into my stomach. I wake up from my nap with a grunt, wiping the puddle of drool from the side of my face. I've rolled onto my stomach, my leg is uncomfortably hitched over my backpack, and my shirt has bunched and ridden up during my nap. I reach beneath me with a slightly moist hand and extricate the manila envelope with all of my photos in it. In a panic, I rip it open, hoping that I haven't bent any of my prints. Mrs. Grey makes all this talk about the physicality of manual photography being superior to digital, but considering how easily you can destroy a print with a little nap, or a negative with an unaware foot, I'm starting to dissagree with her position.

Relieved to see that everything is still nice and flat, I spread the images out across my bed. The cover sheet reads clearly "FREDDIE BENSON~ EXCELLENT PROGRESSION. DECEMBER EFFORT: A+ WEEKLIES~ TRANSFORMATION: B+ (CONSIDER POSES) ALT. LIGHT: A- (GOOD JUXT. OF MOD. & OLD, STRONG PORTRAIT)" Chuckling at Carly the turkey, I studiously avoid all my prints of Sam, tucking them into a bedside drawer. Carly's been a wonderful sport this whole semester. My original plan of artistic seduction had somehow turned on its head. Instead of a romantic partner, I ended up with a much closer friend than before.

I touch Carly's Christmas photo for her dad with the tips of my fingers. This is a copy, of course, the real one being sent off a week ago. I'd included it as extra credit on my assignment, wanting in some way to impress upon Mrs. Grey that all of the Shays didn't live in turkey costumes. I reach over to my desk and chew on a dry rice cracker, slowly. Something is clicking together in my brain but I can't figure out yet what it is. The fact that Carly had talked to me about her dad at all was surprising, but engineering the candlelit situation like that seemed almost...contrived. My brain finally makes the connection and I realize, yes. Just talk to Carly. She's a sweet girl, and she will understand.

Too afraid to risk Sam having slept over at Carly's last night, I now find myself at lunch the next day without having talked to either of them. The tension is so stifling I swear it's giving me hives. I scratch my neck and stab viciously at the baked potato on my cafeteria tray. I had retrieved the last print of Sam in the class before, and I feel like it's burning a hole through my backpack. Carly is alternating between staring at me and staring at Sam. Sam isn't eating. This whole thing is a lot more drastic than I thought it was. After the worst lunch of my life, I grab Carly by the arm and drag her into a corner by the trashcans.

"What is going on Freddie? Do you know what happened with Sam?" Carly asks before I can begin.

"Yeah, um, talk to me after school. I have some things to show you and I left them in my room. Don't bring Sam, okay?" She nods, grimly, and asks me to wish her luck on her math final.

It's only ten minutes after I get home when Carly's knocking on my door. Her arms are crossed. Posed in my door frame, she has a harsh expression on her face. "I asked Sam and she said it was your fault, whatever it was."

"It was." I pull her in and to my room. She sits down in my desk chair, expecting an explanation, so I give it to her. With all the courage I can muster, I spread out my prints of Sam on my bed. "My photo final, it's not of you anymore." I force out.

Carly's gotten up out of the chair and comes over to get a closer look. I dig around in my backpack and extricate the last, candlelit portrait of Sam and place it at the top of the other eight prints. "I didn't mean for this to happen. That one is the only one I took on purpose, I think. Maybe."

Carly is sitting across from me on my bed now. "That still doesn't explain why Sam's so mad."

"I didn't tell her. She found out. Then we kissed, and I yelled at her by accident, and now she's never going to talk to me again!" I slump back against my headboard, frowning.

"You what?" Carly's smiling, wide. "Did you say that you kissed? Sam Puckett?"

"Er, well, she sort of kissed me, but it turned into a reciprocal thing. I don't know why she did it! If I had been secretly making pictures of you all year, and you found out, wouldn't you think it was creepy?" Once, with a door between us in the dark, Sam had itemized all of the creepy things I did in the name of my adoration of Carly. This was part of why I had never intended to tell her about my final.

Carly's got her face up in mine now, leaning towards me with her hands on either side of the photos. "You ARE a dork. Have you even looked at these pictures? She's had a crush on you since last year!"

I choke a little. "What? That can't be true."

"I've been trying to give you two space for ages. I mean, first I told her that I didn't want to wait for her until she got out of detention anymore. Then I told everyone but the two of you to stop hanging out at the oak tree. Then I got that job, but that obviously didn't work out." She's numbering on her fingers, counting all the little plans and schemes she'd arranged. "Oh, and of course, I made funny faces every time you were taking pictures of me." She finishes confidently.

"Does...does she know?"

"Of course not. She'd kill me in a second. I don't know that she knows I know she likes you. Which would explain why she didn't come over last night. I wonder where she went?"

"The Starbucks by her house. And then likely, the treehouse outside her window all night, even though it's cold." It's obvious, really. Why Carly wouldn't know this is a mystery to me. I stack Sam's photos back up, carefully touching only the edges.

"So, you do like her back." Carly says this as a statement, not a question. When I splutter and make croaking noises in response, she rolls her eyes. "Freddie?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to kiss me?" She licks her lips, and gazes at me with big brown eyes. She's on my bed, with my door closed, and my mom out of the apartment. She leans toward me, very, very slowly.

"I like Sam back! Okay! Stop!" In a second Carly's off my bed and back in the chair, clapping her hands in a very self-satisfactory manner. I sweep my hand through my hair and rub my face. "You ARE sassy."

Carly frowns.

"So..." I begin uncomfortably.

"So, I'm going to fix this. Your final is tomorrow, right? I can't sit through another lunch like today." Carly lets herself out of my room. Something inside of me winds up and I'm left with a jumble of new facts to sort through.

I should be angry with Carly, I think to myself. I didn't ask to fall for Sam like I so obviously had. Carly had manipulated us. What had I ever done to show Sam I'd like her back, anyway?

Unbidden, the answers swim into my mind. I'd listen to her ramble every Tuesday and Thursday. I'd kept her company on walks home, and spent time just sitting next to her, not demanding that she be or do anything special. I'd made her feel okay about having such a weird mom. I'd rescued her from an eternity with Briggs, neatly causing her to spend more time with me, alone, with minimal teacher supervision. I'd commiserated with her when Carly was working, and helped Sam every time she wanted to do something special for Carly. And then there was the food.

Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I think back over the months. The way she would dive into my pockets in the hallways, brushing up against me, her hair getting in my face, her hands only a layer of fabric away from touching me, her smile and pleasantness after finding herself a snack, the way she'd sometimes lean on me; I hadn't been training her, she'd been taking advantage of me! She had me exactly, absolutely where she wanted me.

And I loved it.

Mrs. Grey instructs all of us to find a spot big enough, and spread out our final projects. It's the next day and I have yet to see more than a passing glimpse of Sam, but Carly has given me a big thumbs up as we cross in the hallway.

I find a spot and begin placing my photos in order. My heart drops as I hear Carly's voice from around the corner. "Sam. Sam! Get over here!" Risking it, I crane my neck around the door and see Carly hauling with all her strength on a completely slack Sam. She's just rumpled, dragging on the floor, pretending desperately to be a rock.

"Why should I go in there? I don't owe you anything, missy." Sam's voice is low and petulant.

"You don't owe me? Who stayed up all night, scraping nasty blue fungus from your mother's crevices? All of them?" Carly throws Sam's hand away and it hits the floor with the rest of Sam's body.

"Ow! Okay, okay, so I owe you one." Sam rubs the back of her hand.

"Yes. Yes you do, and I am calling it in. Get in there!" Carly pushes Sam towards my classroom and I hastily return to my spot, standing in front of my final. Sam sidles up against the wall, trying not to be seen.

Mrs. Grey sees her though, and jangles up to her, very concerned. "Sam, is everything all right? Your mother is okay?"

Sam waves her hand in a gesture of ambivalence. "Ehn, Mom's doing as well as she always is. Um, can I watch the final? I kind of...am curious." She's staring at me, hard.

Mrs. Grey nods congenially, and the final reviews begin. We go around the class, each student explaining their subject and the progression of it. Sometimes Mrs. Grey will ask questions, but it's not a full critique. There's a series on one girl's puppy. One group of photos is just nine pictures of different kinds of caffeinated beverages. Another kid tried to be clever, taking shots of photography paraphernalia, thinking that Mrs. Grey would be very impressed. She wasn't, of course. Shane briefly explains the nine photos of his friends, organized by clique and dress-sense. It finally swings around to my turn. Sam has grown very bored by this point, but she straightens up and I move to the side so she can see my project clearly.

"These are all of Sam Puckett. She's, um, my best friend, I guess. I didn't mean to make her the subject, but she's so fascinating to me, it ended up that way." I pause, uncomfortably, not sure about how to go on.

"And what are these words you've written on the bottom of each frame?" Mrs. Grey is gesturing to the white mats I've put each picture in.

"Oh, well, she's got these sides to her. Some of them are kind of scary but I like them all anyway." Risking a a nervous grin in Sam's direction I point at each one in turn.

The first one is Sam with her hands on her hips, annoyed with me paying so much attention to Carly. I've labeled it "Warning."

Number two is Sam's grimace as her fist comes in from the right side of the picture, just about to punch me, labeled "Threat."

Three is Crusherella, Carly swinging above her head, Sam's face filled with excitement and power. That one has "Ego" written below it.

"Passion" is the fourth. Sam's eating beef jerky with a haze of craziness behind her, a bubble of bliss around her smiling face and closed eyes.

Number five is barely recognizable as Sam. She's a hulking blob, totally covered in smoothie, except for her shimmering, mischievous eyes and grinning toothy smile I've titled "Trickster."

Six is "Resilience." Haloed in the rain, Sam is jumping in puddles seemingly made of light, her black umbrella a smudge on the corner of the asphalt.

I've written "Joy" on the seventh photo. It's of Sam upside-down on a beanbag with her feet above her head, right after freeing Carly from turkey feet.

In the eighth photograph, Sam is sleeping contentedly in the sun against our oak tree, a small smile on her lips. It's named "Exterior."

The last one, the candlelit portrait, is labeled "Interior." When I look back at Sam watching me read the titles off, she's got the exact same expression on her face as the one in the portrait.

There's another pause, as Mrs. Grey writes something on her clipboard. Then she lifts her head, and asks a terrible question. "Sam is here right now, class. Sam, what do you think of Freddie's project? Do you like it?"

Sam is taken by surprise not by the question, but by Shane. He had been standing with his back to her the whole time, I guess not knowing she was there, but as soon as Mrs. Grey asks her question, he whips around to follow her gaze.

"Eeek! She's actually here!" Shane screams, a girly high-pitched scream, and faints, right on the spot.

Mrs. Grey and the rest of the class rush towards Shane. Someone runs off to get the nurse. There is general pandemonium. Sam is laughing, all the tension from just a minute before draining visibly from her posture.

Navigating my way across the classroom, I make my way towards her. She sees me coming and tries to stop laughing, but she can't. There's the glistening of a tear in her eye. She sniffles her nose, and clutches her hand against her chest, trying to get her breath back.

I put my hands in my pockets, trying to strike a confident posture. "I'm sorry. You didn't ruin anything at all." When the confident pose doesn't work, I lean towards her conspiratorially. "So, do you like my project?"

She's still chuckling, but she takes a deep breath and gets it under control. "Yeah, it's pretty good." A smile shimmers across her face and she leans toward me. She punches me lightly on the shoulder, and when I raise my hand to rub the spot she leans closer and kisses me on the cheek. Then she's gone, vanishing down the hall.

I wait that afternoon for Sam, not having anything left to do in the photolab, as she sweeps and cleans for Mrs. Grey. Mom's working an afternoon shift so we walk home together through the chill. It's quiet. We don't discuss anything, there's no laughter, and every time I look at Sam she's looking straight ahead. Once though, we catch ourselves staring at each other, and after that we hold gloved hands the few blocks left before home.

Through the lobby and up the stairs, Sam drags me by the hand. In front of Carly's door though, we mutually decide to let go as we let ourselves in. Carly's lying on the kitchen table on her back, Spencer doing the same on the kitchen island. They both have bowls of cereal on their stomachs.

Shedding ourselves of winter coats and gloves, Sam and I don't bother to ask. It all feels ridiculously normal. We hang out and rehearse for tomorrow's iCarly. We talk about Spencer's new sculpture, our classes, and what's for dinner. Sam and I occasionally brush up against each other, or glance at each other, but no more, I realize, than normal. Carly doesn't ask, and we don't say anything.

Carly's phone rings when we're talking about what the next random debate should be between. She looks at the number, her eyes get a bit wide, and she rushes off to answer it in Spencer's room. Sam and I are alone on the Shay's couch. I look around, sheepishly, and take her hand in mine.

Sam clucks her tongue. "Fredster, correct me if I am wrong, but the delightful Mrs. B is currently at work, yes?" She rubs her thumb over my knuckles.

"You would indeed be correct."

She's dragged me across the hall, and I fumble with my key to get the door open as quickly as possible, but once it's open we don't go any further.

Sam's got me pressed up against the doorframe, her hands cupping my cheeks and the rest of her seemingly all over me and I would wonder where she learned to kiss like this except I'm too busy noticing how she's got her thigh pressed against mine. I laugh into her mouth a little bit, and this stops her soft worrying of my upper lip and I take my opportunity to put my hands on her waist and push her back against the other side of the doorframe. Her hands trail around my shoulders and neck and she makes that sweet sighing noise again, and I realize quite suddenly that she likes it the best when I fight back.

Her hands are making circles, lower along my back, and I actually get to gently bite her lip like I had wanted to just this Tuesday. She likes it so much she reciprocates and then she kisses my jaw and my neck and it's completely brilliant. Then, she says "ahah!" and stops kissing me entirely, and I feel a granola bar from my back pocket being removed.

"Sam! Right now? Honestly?" I've still got my arms wrapped around her and our legs are supporting each other's weight. She's unwrapped the chocolate chip granola bar and is taking a big, satisfactory bite. She smiles with her teeth, and nods, her eyebrows waggling. I sigh, and resume kissing her jaw, trailing down to her neck, and she hums contentedly.

I'm examining the curve of her neck to her shoulder with my mouth while I reach up and tug gently on her hair, tired of not having any attention paid back to me, but the only thing I can think about is what a picture we would make, framed by the doorway like this. Sam responds to the hair tug, her hand slipping behind my ear as she leans in to kiss me again, when we hear a digital clicking noise.

"Now that's a good shot." Carly says. She's stowing her camera-phone in her pocket as Sam and I break apart. We freeze, both too embarrassed to respond. Carly shrugs and smiles. "Hey, don't stop on my account. Except that you should know, that was my dad. I'm going to Yakima for winter break. He got leave!"

I should be happy for Carly. I should go over and hug her and tell her I'll miss her and to have fun. But instead I'm thinking about spending the next three weeks with Sam, and no distractions. It's a scary thought, and I can't wait.