Things you might want to know: This story is set before iThink They Kissed. ENJOY.

Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly

There are a bunch of words that look awkward when written multiple times. Creep is one of them. Creep on its own is fine once, but try writing it multiple times. Creep. Creep. Creep. Creep. Creep. Creep. The C starts to blend with Leep, and they you are reading Greep. Or Preep. And then you start to get really creeped out.

It's a girl thing. Each girl has a notebook, and they write the name of their crush in it so many times that if their crush actually found it, they might be more freaked out than flattered. Go into any girls bedroom and find their journal, and you can bet to find scrawled in heartstruck lettering, "Brad! Brad!" "Brad!" will be penned in loopy cursive, heavy block print, and "Brad! (insert in love girl's last name here.)

Words are made specifically so we don't have to repeat them multiple times. There are a magnitude of words in the English language, so we can use different words over and over again without needing to write them frequent times in a row. We know thousands of words, so why would you ever be writing one over and over again unless you are an obsessed teenage girl?

Well, Freddie Benson is the exception to every worldly assumption. He believes in breaking gender roles, so you will see that, yes, if you went in his bedroom and dug under his covers, you will find a plain blue notebook, inside with "Carly! Carly!" in various forms of writing. It didn't really bother him, just a sort of normal ritual, until You-Know-Who found it.

"Fredward!" Sam thought that it would be a good idea to break down his door at four o'clock in the morning. Freddie stumbled out of bed and flicking on a light, rubbed his eyes wearily as he opened the door.

Sam Puckett stood at the other side of the door, hand on one hip and head cocked to the side, red backpack on her back. She shoved Freddie out her way and marched aggressively to the refrigerator, opening it and pulling out a turtle cheesecake.

"What. Do. You. Want?" Freddie punctuated his statement with an accentuated beat at the beginning of each word. He didn't really mind her here, except, it was kind of four. AM! In the morning AM! He had really been enjoying his sleep, thanks to the occurrence of a dark haired girl that they both knew and deeply loved.

Looking up from her food, Sam raised an eyebrow. "Uh, eating, Dorkwad. Why don't you just shove it?"

"This is my house! I pretty much have the right to say whatever I want, especially when you are eating my cheesecake!" Freddie retorted back. He could pick a fight for his cheesecake back. Or, he could decide not to get beat up. He liked the latter better. Sam looked defiant, still eating.

"Well, I'm hungry! I didn't have any money, my mom hadn't gone to the grocery for the past few weeks, and you said that you had a cheesecake you were saving over from yesterday, so it seemed like an obvious decision." She shoved a bite into her mouth.

"And you couldn't have gone over to Carly's house?" Freddie clarified defeatedly.

"I could have. But, Carly does get grumpy when I wake her up, it sounded like a lot of extra energy to break in, and it's fun seeing you get riled up." Sam put down the pan and walked over to Freddie, roughing his hair. When Freddie continued to look annoyed, Sam breathed out. "Listen Fredward. I'm hungry, I need a place to stay, so I'm staying over, okay?"

"Fine." Freddie huffed, folding his arms and sitting ungracefully on the couch.

"Cool." Clattering the pan as she stood up, Sam picked up her backpack. "I'm putting my stuff in your room." Before Freddie could say that "a bedroom is the most private and sacred haven of a teenage boy," or some other bull after her, she was gone. This wasn't going to go well. When was the last time the words Sam, Freddie, together, and without Carly work out well together? Never. At least not a time that didn't involve pain. Massive, embarrassing pain.

Well there was that one time… Freddie's mind transferred, picturing that one night, which involved the words Sam, Freddie, together, without Carly, fire escape, meatballs, and ki-

No! Never speak of it again Freddie! Never speak! Or think, whatever. Freddie was about to sit on the couch and force the image out of his mind, when a cross between manical and girlish laughter came from his bedroom.

This can't be good. Freddie groaned, bounding in his room faster than a rabbit. Sam was sitting on his dark blue bedspread, reading something obviously entertaining. It was a journal, spiral binded, blue…

"SAM!" Angrily, Freddie leaned forward and snatched the journal out of her hands. Sam let him take it, her giggles not subsiding. "Where did you get this?" he raged furiously.

"It was lying open on your desk." Sam laughed. Freddie mentally hit himself. He remembered writing in it the night before. Before he'd gone to bed, he must have forgotten to stuff it under his bed. Sam roared with laughter, tears pouring down her face.

"You can't be serious? You wrote Mrs. Carly Benson, in a notebook, thousands of times over?" Sam rolled back on the bed, laughing with her feet kicking in the air. Freddie was this close to pointing out how ridiculous she looked, but thought better of it.

"I'm practicing!" Freddie retorted.

At this, Sam only seemed to laugh louder. "Practicing for what? Your wedding day? I'm sorry Benson, but I'm pretty sure that Carly is capable of writing her own name."

"It really isn't that embarrassing!" Freddie didn't really have anything to say, because it sort of was embarrassing. Obviously Sam thought the same, because with her next chuckle came. "Oh, but it really is that embarrassing Fredward. Wait till Carly hears about this!"

"Sam, don't tell her, please!" If Carly found out this, she would never accept him in the transition from boy Freddie to man Freddie. And we wouldn't want that, now would we?

"I wouldn't, but then I came to the page where you named your kids. Irene and Jacob Benson?"

"Those are decent names!"

"And then…" Freddie could tell Sam was obviously having the best time of her life, with her gleeful smile. "You drew a picture of your family, coupled with a golden lab named Frisco and a house with a white picket fence." Sam clapped him on the shoulder and quieting her laughter to chuckling, she headed for the door. "Thanks for the food Fredward, but I guess I will have to wake Carly up anyway. See you later!" She left, leaving Freddie in a state of shock.

What just happened? Freddie stood, then, putting two and two together, realized, wait. 'I guess I will have to wake Carly up anyway.' Wake. Carly. Tell. Holy avocado.

With that, Freddie was out the door.

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Sam had left the Shay's door open after breaking in, in her haste to talk to Carly. Not bothering to turn on any lights as he ran in, Freddie sprinted up the stairs, taking two at a time. At the top of the stairs, he could already hear Carly mumbling, saying something like. "Sam, it's four AM…" He reached Carly's pink door and pushed it open just as Sam exclaimed, "I know Carly, but you will never believe what I just found!"

Carly looked behind Sam's body and stared at Freddie confusedly. "What are you doing here?"

Sam spun around too, and with a killing expression, asked Freddie tightly, "Yes, Fredhole, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I might as well stop by." Freddie stammered.

Carly frowned. "Freddie, you live next door. You're always in the neighborhood." Before he could think of a trashy response to that, Carly sighed. "Seriously guys, get out. I'm tired. It's an unhealthy hour in the morning. And if this is some 'Wake up Spencer' sketch, you are in the wrong room, because I'm definitely not Spencer."

"I will leave as soon as Freddie does, because I need to tell you something." Sam said, picking up a stray pencil on the floor and throwing it at Freddie's head. Freddie ducked away, yelling, "You could poke out an eye with that!"

"Whatever." Sam retorted. "Now leave, Carly needs to hear this, and if you don't get out on your own, I'll have to help you."

Freddie inwardly panicked. Yes, he had gotten stronger over the year, to surpass Carly in strength. But Carly was much weaker than Sam, and Freddie knew that if Sam and him were fighting, the blonde would be the obvious winner. He really didn't want to fight, he'd just been socked in the arm yesterday and there already was a bruise, and if Mrs. Benson found one more bruise during her thrice weekly inspections, she was going to forbid him to see Sam. So Freddie blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"Carly! Umm, did you ever want to know what happened to Sam and I after you stopped iCarly for her to talk to me?"

Carly looked at him, curious. "No, you guys never told me, remember? I asked, and you stammered and said, 'Nothing.'" Sam was facing Freddie, a glare containing daggers and soon-to-come pain and basically everything that crosses Sam's face when someone steals her ham.

"Yes Freddie. We didn't tell her." The rest of Sam's face spoke volumes, all saying, So lets NOT start.

Freddie didn't back down, he knew Sam wouldn't tell Carly about the notebook if he told about the kiss. He had no intention of telling Carly, just wanted to get Sam to give up and keep his secret.

"Yeah, well, we were at the fire escape, and…"

"And I slapped him and said, 'You loser.' End of story!" Sam concluded, spinning Freddie around and pushing him out the door. When Freddie turned back, Sam gave him a look. You win, was what it said. Freddie grinned and left the Shay's apartment.

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When Freddie was back in his room, he tucked the journal under his bed. He was about to lay down and get a few more hours of sleep, when a brown bag caught his eye. Sam left her backpack here.

Freddie wasn't going to look. He seriously wasn't. But well, Sam had looked through his stuff, hadn't she? It was only fair that he had a look through her possessions also. He got up, and unzipped the zipper. The first thing that caught his eye was a red journal. It was heavily used, with frayed edges and scratches across the cover, probably from Sam's demon cat. He opened to the first page, and nearly gasped at what he saw.

Mrs. Sam Benson. Over and over and over again, written in bold dark lettering, curly looped and written backwards, upside down and right side up. Mrs. Sam Benson.

Freddie wanted to hold this against her, take some photos of the journal and paste them over the internet. Instead, he just smiled, and placing the journal back in her bag, went back and laid down, closing his eyes.

He and Sam were going to have a good talk tomorrow.

Tell me what you think!