Shorter but juicier. Thank you, reviewers. This is for you.
Losing
Freddie sings along at the top of his lungs as a guitar riff crashes against the shouting, mildly disturbing lyrics.
This is Sam's music, but it's grown on Freddie. He isn't going to admit it to Sam though, because she will never let him hear the end of it. So he pretends to be sulking when she turns her music on; when, inside, he is singing with the music. It's something that gives him the upper hand, as he's fairly sure he knows the words to all of Sam's favorite songs better than she does. And since most of the singers are male, Freddie's pretty sure he can sing them better too. Music is just one thing Sam and Freddie now share.
Everything in Freddie's life is connected to Sam in some ways. He knows it should scare or intimidate him, but instead he feels a strange sort of peace. If he is bound to Sam, then she in turn is also bound to him in a way. Freddie taps his hands on the steering wheel, screaming out a grammatical nightmare of a sentence while the drummer attempts to put a hole in each of his drums; Freddie pulls his car into a spot and cuts the engine in the middle of the chorus. He hurries out of the car, excitement and anticipation sweeping through him.
He practically sprints into the apartment complex, thinking all the while. If Sam's music has grown on him, it makes him wonder how much she has grown on him. Freddie is stunned by the enormity as he realizes Sam is his other half, she's a part of him. But then again, that's why he's asking her to marry him. He can't imagine life without her—he doesn't want to. Sam's his soul mate, he's sure. From the first time she had insulted and shoved him, Freddie had somehow known.
Freddie doesn't wait for the elevator. He takes the stairs two at a time, pulling out his key ring. As he scrambles down the hallway, trying to select the correct key, Freddie attempts not to think about what he's going to do. Sam may claim not to be a romantic, but he knows she loves spontaneity. She loves to be surprised. Freddie can only hope that she'll like this surprise.
He jams the key into the lock and pushes the door open. Freddie stumbles in his excitement, catching his balance as the door shuts behind him. Swallowing and then breathing slightly hard from exertion, Freddie looks around. He strides into the kitchen and pauses for a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts.
"Sam?" he calls out to the apartment. "Hey, Sam?"
He turns in a circle, observing the empty living room. His heart is beating hard, and a dozen of irrational situations fill his head; Sam leaving him; Sam coming to him with her secret Spanish lover Enrique; Sam leaving him for the maker of Fatty Cakes. (Sadly, the latter seems almost plausible.)
"Sam? Samantha!" He claps his hands in a random beat; it takes him a moment
"I'm getting dressed, Freddork," Sam answers after a moment. Her voice is distracted and faint, coming from their bedroom. She sounds snappish, which is unusual, as Freddie hasn't done anything she can pick at yet. "Keep your pants on!" she adds.
Freddie is too excited to pretend to take offense at the almost affectionate berating.
He kneels down and tugs open the freezer, digging around through frozen foods and treats. Shoving aside frozen peas, the only healthy and full bag in the freezer, Freddie stops the edge of his prize. He idly notes that he needs to go grocery shopping soon. He lets out a small, triumphant cry when he finds the Tupperware.
Freddie leaps to his feet, standing up and tearing the top off. He closes the freezer with his foot. Freddie throws the Fatty Cake away, but there is no velvet box inside. Confused, Freddie stares at it. After failing to propose last night, Freddie had waited until Sam had been preoccupied and had hidden the ring back in the freezer.
But it's not there now.
It's not there.
Trying to calm himself down, Freddie breathes in and out slowly through his nose. His mind is frantically racing, trying to figure out where the ring had gone. Maybe he is mistaken and had hidden it in another spot. He had been half-asleep and he had assumed in the morning he had put it in the freezer. Freddie all but flies to his hiding drawer, pulling it open so hard he almost pulls the drawer out. He scans the drawer desperately, but the contents have not changed.
Inside the drawer are old computer chips, a screwdriver, and a shiny disc. Freddie sighs heavily and leans heavily against the counter, mentally cursing. He doesn't worry about Sam approaching him. She takes forever to get ready, for all she renounces most girly habits.
Freddie runs a hand through his hair, wondering where on Earth he could have put the ring. He needs it; this is The Moment. The one he has been waiting for. Freddie can feel it. It's in the air, in his bones, and it's just right.
This is The Moment, and he can't find the ring.
But there is something scratching at the edge of his mind. Freddie waits and wipes his mind clean, waiting for it to hit him. Then it hits him: the drawer. Freddie faces the drawer again, staring at it. It's like the game he had played as a child. There had been two pictures, and slight differences between the two. You had to find the differences.
Freddie stares at the drawer, the pressure building until he can barely stand it. His whole future—his Sam—depends on him figuring out this riddle, this puzzle. Freddie barely restrains himself from punching the drawer in frustration. He's supposed to be smart; and he can't even remember the difference between a missing measly purple sticky note—Freddie stops.
Freddie looks; Freddie stares.
The ring is not there.
The purple sticky note is not there.
Instead, there is a crumb.
A familiar-looking crumb.
A crumb from a Fatty Cake.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Freddie Benson does not have an answer or explanation; that is when a serious voice says from the living room, "Benson, get your butt in here. Now." Freddie does as he's told, to numb to protest.
