Note: this chapter was tricky and definitely the hardest. I really hope no one's out of character and it lives up to expectations; feedback is greatly appreciated. There will be an epilogue.


Winning



Freddie walks into the living room and is greeted with the sight of Sam all gussied up. He actually stumbles, missing a step, he is so shocked. Sam has dressed up before, but after being bribed or threatened and Freddie had always expected it or received some warning.

Sam's hair curly and loose, complimenting her knitted black top in some way Freddie's male mind can't properly comprehend but can sure appreciate. She's wearing her red skinny jeans, Freddie's favorites, the ones she had worn on their first anniversary; the ones with the hole in the right knee and the frayed hems. It's an ode to her metabolism she still fits the jeans, with all she eats. But Freddie isn't thinking about what Sam eats. He's thinking about the slim back heels she's wearing, and the subtle makeup decorating her eyes, and the way her eyes seem to darken when he finally looks up from her body. Freddie's admiring what's his; he knows Sam's possessive of him too.

"S…Sam," he manages, voice strangled. He closes his eyes, because he has just noticed the hint of a dark pink strap through the knitting of her shirt, and he knows what that means.

And she should not be wearing that, especially under normal clothes. She shouldn't be wearing it period. Especially because Sam knows exactly what that article of clothing—if you could even call the scrap of cloth that—does to Freddie.

"Sam," he repeats, and his voice is steadier. "What's up?" he finishes lamely, remembering too late that he doesn't know why she has called him to the living room.

"Look at me Freddie," her voice is calm and collected, betraying none of frazzled irritation her tone had conveyed when she had first called him into the living room.

Freddie reluctantly opens one eye, and when Sam simply stands there, trying not to spook him, he opens the other. Sam stares at him for an eternity, something unreadable in her gaze that makes Freddie shiver, and not unpleasantly. He wonders why she has summoned him, why she's wearing such a tempting outfit, where his ring has gone, and if Sam would agree to marry him. Freddie's mind is exhausted, wondering so many things; the last of which has plagued him for weeks.

Sam opens her mouth—she's wearing lip gloss and Freddie's wondering what he's done to deserve such torture—and closes it. She does this a few times before blurting out, "I'll be back." Sam stretches a hand out in Freddie's direction, her pointer finger the only one lifted up, as she signals for him to 'stay' like a dog.

Freddie obeys, and tells himself it's only because Sam looks so good. It's not that he's whipped or anything. He's totally his own person. He doesn't have to listen to Sam (or so he tells himself).

Freddie folds and unfolds his hands. He crosses his legs and then props them up on the coffee table before just sitting normally. He scratches his head, idly wondering if he should change his shirt. It reeks of freshly made brownies and he wonders how Sam hasn't smelt it yet. He picks a brownie crumb out from underneath his thumbnail. He runs a hand through his hair and wonders if it's too long; he leans back against the couch and then sits up right, remembering his mother mentioning a long time ago that good posture inspires confidence in difficult situations.

This, now, is many things, but it is predominantly a difficult situation.

A minute passes and the suspense is killing Freddie. He passes the time trying to mentally recall where he put the ring. He knows he had hidden it somewhere good; he had been sure it had been in the kitchen. But the Tupperware had been empty, as had the drawer. The crumb doesn't mean anything, Freddie is sure. It's just him being a little too paranoid and observant. He imagines the ring, small and sweet and simple and Sam.

It's ridiculous, but Freddie has had this image in his head of his future: Sam and him, standing in front of a charming suburban house with a white picket fence, maybe with a dog or that weird chinchilla thing Sam wants, and a child shrieking with laughter in the background.

Freddie even has the dialogue worked out. "A picket for Puckett," he would say grandly, opening the gate to let Sam observe their future home. They would enter into the house and never truly leave it, until the day they grew old and eventually died.

Freddie sees how silly and childish that image is now. Sam doesn't want kids; or maybe she can't. Freddie's has never asked her, because asking those things would make Sam realize Freddie wanted forever and forever meant commitment and Sam would take off running that second she heard that.

Plus, once they got old enough, they would enter into a nursing home, not stay in the house. They would pass it on to their children…and Freddie runs into the same predicament. Forever means a lot of different things, things Sam might not be ready for and Freddie isn't going to pressure her into.

He's planning ahead, taking Sam for granted, and he wishes he could just know what she would say if he asked her to marry him right now.

Then Freddie remembers he can't find the ring and he sighs because The Moment is gone and he's never going to work up the never to ask Sam and they're going to be stuck just living together for the rest of their lives until Sam meets someone better and then Freddie will be the lone nerd again, dying alone with no one beside him—

Suddenly, something drops beside him on the couch.

Startled, Freddie looks to the side. There is a neon orange stuffed octopus, the one he had won at the fair for Sam, the one she had been carting around for the past few days without an explanation as to why by Freddie. But the octopus has a few odd accessories. It's covered in Fatty Cake crumbs, exactly like the one he had found in the drawer. The second and third accessories the octopus is modeling make Freddie pause and do a complete double take. His mouth drops open as he gapes, unbelieving.

Around one of the octopus' stuffed, furry orange tentacles, is a ring.

A very familiar, very out-of-place ring.

And attached to that ring, hanging off precariously, is a small, slightly crumpled sticky note that reads "Finders keepers, nub."

Freddie's eyes widened and he looks up at the person who had dropped the octopus next to him. She is standing in front of him, about a foot away, stiff and uncomfortable. She has never been adept at voicing or showing her emotions. Sam is avoiding his eyes, staring determinedly at a spot over his shoulder. She's trying not to let her nerves show, but she's wringing her hands together and biting her lip. They stay in this weird limbo for a few long, tense moments, before Sam finally blurts out, "I love you."

That's seven times, Freddie dumbly thinks, staring at Sam, able to do little else.

She sucks in a deep breath, apparently trying to gather her nerves, and soldiers on. "You matter to me. I may not show it a lot," she scrunches her nose up and forces out, "but I like you. A lot. And I like all of the stupid, kiddy stuff you do for me." A tiny, barely-there smile lights up her face. "Like winning me that octopus or taking me to late movies." Sam tries to smile but her trembling knocks it off her face. "I love you a lot, Freddie."

Eight, Freddie thinks, blinking rapidly, and she had called him by his nickname; that meant more than an 'I love you'; way more.

"So I found this—this ring, sitting in that drawer, and…Freddie…" Sam finally looks at him and their eyes meet.

And it's too much, too much and too intense for Freddie to handle on top of everything else. He chickens out and looks down at the fuzzy carpet. Sam goes on, and Freddie is supremely glad he doesn't have to do the talking for once.

"I called Carls, and she told me everything," Sam's voice is bursting with emotion, "I didn't know you were going to do it at Burke's!" Freddie can tell without looking up at Sam is frustrated and confused and out of her mind with nervous excitement.

He tentatively allows himself to think that that is a good sign.

"You didn't hint or anything, Fredward." There is heavy regret in her voice, and he thinks that maybe that is a good sign also. "I thought it was just a normal date…and I'm sorry." The sincerity practically hangs in the air. There is no doubt that Sam isn't telling anything but the truth.

It is truly the best apology Freddie has ever gotten, and from Sam Puckett, of all people.

"I mean, I get it if you're mad at me. I'd be mad at me too." Sam adds and then rambles on, "But it's good this is out on the table. Now we can start planning…" and Sam goes on and on, and Freddie isn't paying attention; because while Sam hasn't outright said it, she has practically agreed to marry him. Freddie stares blankly at her as she goes on, not noticing his state. "…Carly's offered to help plan, oh, and Gibby is not going to be the singer at the reception. His shirt is also to remain on at all times, or else I'll…" Freddie stops paying attention; there are bigger things on his mind. Like:

Sam wants to marry him!

Freddie, however, needs to hear it. He has to hear it.

"You want to marry me?" he asks quietly, not daring to look up. There's fear in him, but a little bit of hope and a whole lot of anticipation with some nerves.

"I…" she breathes in deeply, and then spits it out in an overloud voice, announcing it to the world, so that he knows she means it, "I would really, really like to marry you."

Freddie finally looks her in the eye. She throws her head back defiantly. "So there. Nub," she adds for good measure.

Freddie just stares at her for a long, long time, until she starts to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. Then he abruptly covers the space between them in two, quick steps and wraps his arms around her. He buries his face in her thick, familiar blonde hair and feels her arms tentatively curl around him.

Her grip tightens when he says into her ear, "I would really, really like to marry you, too."

"I'm only marrying you for the money. How else am I supposed to get food?" Sam shoots back in true Samantha Puckett style, and Freddie isn't surprised at all. He doesn't care what Sam's reasons are for marrying him—well, that isn't true, but the point remains—just as long as she marries him.

"And I'm only marrying you because of my mom," Freddie says back, pulling back to look at Sam's face. He smirks and continues, "She can't take us 'living in sin' anymore."

Sam laughs, short and surprised and relieved and shaky, and it makes Freddie grin so hard his face hurts.

"I love you," Sam says, her eyes dancing and her smirk melting into something infinitely gentler, and more precious.

Freddie is floored. This is the first time she has said it straight to his face, her eyes trained firmly on his. It's also the ninth time.

"I love you," she repeats, pecking him on each of his cheeks, then his nose, then his forehead, and firmly just rests her head in the juncture between his chin and collarbone. She whispers it again and again and again until her voice becomes hoarse. She whispers it until Freddie looses count and they are even. Her breathing tickles Freddie's skin and their arms stay wrapped around each other until Freddie is sure they are bonded together, fused into one person.

Freddie smiles, radiating happiness, and closes his eyes. He basks in her presence, because Sam is his life, his love—and now, his wife; or soon-to-be wife. His fiancé! The word sends a thrill through him. It is both a mark of mutual ownership, being each other's spouses, and a promise. They are going to get married. Carly will be a bridesmaid. Spencer or Neville or even Shane will be the best man.

But Freddie doesn't care about that right now.

Freddie can hardly believe it. Sam is his. He is hers. They are going to be together forever. His arms tighten around her.

"I love you, too," he murmurs to her, "so, so much." He kisses the top of her head and wonders if he's going to explode from being this happy. It has to be illegal to be this jubilant.

"Commitment issues and all?" Sam mutters back sheepishly, her tone an apology once again. But there is a smug smirk playing around her lips as she peers up at him, challenge in her body language.

I'll put up with you, her posture seems to say, and Freddie knows because he is fluent in Sam-speak, if you put up with me.

Freddie grins down at her. "Commitment issues and all," he intones gravely, and feels like they are already married.

So he picks Sam up, bridal-style, and ignores her protests because his eyes are fastened on that pink strap barely peeking out from underneath her shirt; he carries her into their bedroom and she manages to elbow the door shut while saying that she doesn't want to be carried and that she doesn't approve of this.

Then Freddie kisses her and she shuts up, and the door closes all the way.

On the couch, an orange toy octopus sits with a ring on one of its tentacles. It wears a content, goofy grin and a ring that sparkles in the sunlight flooding through the window.