Disclaimer- I don't own anything you recognize. Not iCarly, nor the characters, nor the lines that you recognize from various episodes.

Summary- He wanted pretty, good girls with perfect grades and un-jaded smiles. Or, Sam doesn't deserve Freddie, but neither does Carly. Set during iSaved Your Life and then iOMG.

A/N- Something that randomly came to me. I was thinking about how all of the Creddie shippers claim that Sam doesn't deserve Freddie, and it got me thinking. Does Carly even deserve Freddie?


It's that old fire escape again. The same one she can't seem to let leave her mind at times of distress. Kind of pathetic the way she constantly came back. She might get caught or found—or heaven forbid it; joined—which was the exact opposite of anything she wanted right this moment. Solitude is what she had been seeking. Funny though, the thoughts kept haunting her—they'd never leave her for a moment of perfect silence. Silence that didn't need to be filled with pathetic small talk and words that didn't really mean anything. Her thoughts filled it all just fine.

Each tiny thought kept led back to him. To his dark hair, his chocolate brown eyes, his knowing smirk, his nerdy talk, his everything. Every tiny little thing that she'd committed to a tainted memory of never could be's. He'd always be just a thought, a memory, a distant thing that would always be just too far to reach. He always was an inch too far for her fingers to curl around, always slipping too far. No matter how hard she ran, or how far she reached, it would never be enough—it'd always fail. And he didn't want her anyway.

He wanted pretty, good girls with perfect grades and un-jaded smiles. He wanted a prize to slip on his arm and show off to the world. He didn't want girls with messy hair and grimy fingers because her mother forgot to pay the water bill again—forgot actually means too poor to afford. And not just did he want these things, but he deserved these things. He deserved a girl that would wake him up with breakfast in bed, and spend Sunday's cuddled up in bed, and would clean the house daily. And no matter how many times she tried to tell herself she could be that girl, she knew she couldn't be. It just didn't come in her cards—the stars didn't align. Fate didn't want them to work, didn't want them to spend Friday's nights cozy under a blanket with some horror movie playing, popcorn scattered across the room. They wouldn't get to ever have dinner together in any sort of special way, candle's lit between them. She didn't deserve somebody like him. But the funny thing was, she didn't really feel like anybody else did either. He was special.

But it did hurt. It hurt like nothing else when they got together. They kissed in the hallways, he propped against his crutches whilst trying to keep balance. But from the side lines it looked awkward—rushed, out of place, incomplete. She may not deserve him, but neither did she. Sure, she loved her best friend and wanted her to be happy, but if this was her happy then she wished the complete opposite. She—Sam Puckett—didn't deserve much of anything, she realized, but her best friend—Carly Shay—didn't deserve Freddie. Freddie had been pining for her since the sixth grade. Had chased after her, always coming out short, and Sam couldn't help but see that they were just the same there. Both wanting something they would never get—disappointing. He wouldn't ever turn around to see the brilliant blue eyes that strayed too long, the punches in the shoulder that only met touching, the clever nicknames that took her time to make up. It was all some sort of poorly constructed love division problem that just couldn't be solved without messy, fractional remainders. But—Sam's mind kept arguing with her—Carly didn't deserve him either.


"Jealous?" His smirk gets to her every time, and it's most definitely not in the good way.

"Jealous?" Her eyebrows raise as she gives him a critical look. "Of what?"

"Us." He doesn't need to specify for her to understand exactly what he means.

"Look, if you think I'm jealous of Carly then that taco truck must've hit you in the head too." As she finishes, he can't help but chuckle.

"Oh it did." He assured her. "And it hurt."

"Poor baby." She mocks him with a sick look on her face, the same one she always gives him.

"So you really don't mind?"

"You're asking my opinion on your stupid relationship because?"

"Well we're your best friends, and we're dating…"

"She's my best friend." And with that she walks away, leaving him behind, his next sentence lingering on his lips.


When she finds out they broke up, the smile that lingers on her face is so cruel, so sardonic. She holds Carly while she sniffles that night. She can tell that Carly's not too entirely heart broken, that she understands the circumstances, but that she still feels a tad empty. Carly's a girl of many cliché's and so it doesn't really surprise Sam the way she acts that night. Carly tells her she just wants to be with her best friend, drinking smoothies and watching Girly Cow—that'll make her feel better. And Sam wishes that the same could be said for her. She wishes that smoothie drinking and Girly Cow could somehow help her erratic heart. But the thing is, she can't really tell if it's sadness or anger or loneliness, or what it is that plagues her on late nights, shivering under a thin blanket because the heater 'broke' again. Nothing adds up, but then again she never really was good at math.


"He was just bacon." Carly murmured, her head rested against a plush pillow, her best friend seated beside her.

"Bacon?" Sam pretends she doesn't understand what Carly means.

"Yeah. Like, remember when you dated Noseby Moseby?" Carly explains with a small sniffle.

"Yeah," Sam keeps her words as comforting as she knows how. This is Carly, her best friend, and she needs Sam right now.

"It was just hero worship." Carly added. "I guess I understand that."

"You said that he said you could try again." Sam reminds her.

"I know, but I don't know if I want to try again." Carly admitted in a small voice. "I think he's right." [she doesn't deserve him]

"You don't?" Sam dares to let herself be relieved.

"No. I mean he's sweet and such a gentlemen, but I just don't think we're meant to be or anything."



"Go for it! Make a move!" Sam couldn't process the words fast enough. When had they switched positions? "I just want you to be happy." She's so damn confused though, and she doesn't really know what would make her happy. Her head hurts, and she can't help but let the little words slip from between her lips and she almost doesn't mind that she's just aggravating her best friend—it's what she's good at it. And with that, she flees the room, not able to wait to stand there and discuss this huge mess any longer. She just doesn't want to deal with any of this anymore.


"Carly's still right," She doesn't even understand why those words sting so much. She doesn't think he even realizes what he's doing to her. [Carly's always right] "Look, I know it's scary for you to put your feelings out there, because you never know if the person you like will like you back. Everyone feels that way. But you never know what might happen if you don't—"