Though he appreciated the seclusion of the balcony, the comfort level of the area had been ruined by the memory of his recent lapse in judgment. After a final, forlorn stare at the doorway his friends had just passed through, Freddie trudged in after them. Once he was back inside, he felt as if the room started to close in on him. The ceiling felt lower, the walls closer, and the people crushing him between their smiles and laughs and touches.

The constricted man automatically retreated to the only place in the room where he technically belonged: his assigned seat. His hope of finding a friendly face was dashed as he approached the table and found Mandy long gone. Although he sighed inwardly, he sat down with a pleasant, open expression on his face.

As time went on his demeanor gradually degraded into a blank stare towards a napkin that he repeatedly folded and unfolded. Carly's good intentions towards his seating arrangement had backfired. In addition to not hitting on singles, the older, established couples Freddie was sitting with were well versed in isolating themselves from the rest of the world. His attempts to join or start conversations were shot down by the people who had witnessed his true feelings towards the groom. It wasn't that they had yelled at him or acted hostile. As a matter of fact, he would have preferred it that way. Instead, their open conversations had simply died as soon as he found entry, and his questions and observations were either answered succinctly or entirely ignored.

Freddie could feel their sighs of relief in the pit of his stomach as he finally stood up and moved away from the table. As he moved further away, he heard the dead table erupt into boisterous, lively conversation. He did his best to pretend he hadn't heard them as he walked onto the wood paneled dance floor. His path took a sharp turn to the left, away from the middle of the floor where couples were swaying in time with the slow rhythm of the song.

A short walk brought him towards the band. They were playing another jazz song, the title of which he wasn't sure of and didn't really care about. Actively listening to the band with his ears and his eyes thankfully provided him with something to do. He would have felt awkward standing in front of them if there weren't a few other people standing there with him. There were three other people standing there besides him, two of which were already engaged in conversation. The third was an average looking brunette in a long, dark purple dress that swayed with her from side to side.

After a couple of songs which he had never heard before, Freddie had worked up the nerve to engage his neighbor in conversation. He sidled up to her and asked loudly enough to be heard over the music, "Hey, what's the title of this song?"

The purple dressed woman turned towards him and fixed him with the iciest stare of the night. "I'm trying to listen to the music," she hissed in a low voice that still managed to cut across the floor and into him.

Freddie tried to maintain his position after his harsh rejection, but every now and then the girl would turn and glare at him as a preventative measure. As he slipped away without a word, he wistfully wished that he could see her face when she found herself glaring at an empty space. A shadow of a smile graced his lips as he realized that Sam must have been very familiar with that feeling.

After wandering aimlessly from corner to corner of the room, he ended up in the last place anyone, except for maybe Sam, would have expected him to be: the bar.

The bartender approached him shortly after his arrival and asked amiably, "What will you be drinking, sir?"

"Uh … just a coke please," he answered with an embarrassed grin.

The bartender nodded and aimed a nozzle at an empty glass until it was filled with the dark brown beverage. He then placed the drink in front of Freddie and hovered over him generally, as though he were waiting for something. Freddie eventually managed to ward him away by placing a bill in the tip container, leaving him to sit alone and stare quietly into his soda.

While he watched the carbonic bubbles escape their liquid prison, Freddie realized that according to tradition, he had ended up exactly where he was supposed to. He was the old, broken man haunting the bar while he drowned his troubles in his drink. As the gas continued to fizzle, he figured that it would take a ridiculous amount of soda to achieve something like that. Still, he had nothing better to do.

On his third glass of soda, and second time reassuring the bartender that he didn't want something stronger than a soft drink, Freddie noticed Mandy walking up to the opposite end of the bar. She had managed to attract a minor swarm of men by that point, each of them obviously competing for her attention. He could have been one of those guys. Hell, he could have preempted all of those guys if he had just played his cards right at the table. But he hadn't been able to then and would never be able to because in this life, he had met Carly.

In spite of that, he felt no regrets for having given Carly his heart so completely and at such an early age. If she had never moved into the apartment across from his mother all of those years ago, he might have been happier at that point in time but he would be nowhere as complete, as much, or as good of a man or a person. There were things Freddie had done in the name of love that would have been unthinkable for him otherwise. To stay by Carly's side, Freddie had explored and interacted with parts of the world that he never would have without her influence. By just saying his name she could set his heart racing faster than any drug known to man. With her, he'd experienced unique, astounding levels of wonder, pain, triumph, and despair.

Could he have lived a life without Carly? Without question. Would it have been half as fulfilling? He doubted it highly. But then, would he have really cared? "Probably not," he muttered under his breath as Mandy set one of her suitor's hearts ablaze with a targeted smile. That last question didn't matter in any case because he cared now. As beautiful as Mandy had become, she couldn't move his heart with that dazzling smile because she wasn't Carly.

Freddie smiled stupidly into his drink as a thought struck him. The reason he was suffering so much was because he was broken in two complementary ways. First, only one woman in his entire life had ever mattered to him: Carly. Secondly, again unlike most men on the planet, he didn't mind that fact at all. While he was wondering if his affliction was the same experienced by prisoners suffering from Stockholm syndrome, a hand wrestled his drink from his hands.

Due to the rhythm of the day, he knew it was Sam long before she said smugly, "You finally took my advice, huh? Cheers." Freddie turned towards his blond friend just in time to watch her take a long, apparently full, pull of the drink. The empty glass fell down onto the counter with a dull clink as Sam's eyes shifted to him. "What was that, a rum and coke?"

"Minus the rum," answered Freddie.

"God, you're so boring," complained Sam exasperatedly as she took a seat on the stool next to him. Freddie passively observed as she set up her position. Her bare forearms landed on the mahogany bar, giving her a foundation to lean on as she shifted forward to wave the bartender over.

The bartender quickly moved towards her. "And what can I get for you, miss?" he asked in a tone that Freddie noticed was much warmer and accommodating than the one he had used with him.

Sam pushed Freddie's empty glass forward. "Let's have a refill of this, but be a good boy and add the rum this time. Oh, and double it please."

The bartender shared a grin with Sam before placing another empty glass on the counter and reaching for a bottle behind him. Brandishing the bottle in his right hand and the soda nozzle in his left, he performed a flourishing move that involved flipping the bottle in the air. After he was finished, Sam grabbed one of the drinks off of the counter and gave Freddie the universal signal by nudging his upper arm with her elbow. Freddie responded by performing a show of his own, brandishing his wallet until a crisp, five dollar bill had teleported from his wallet into the crystalline tip jar.

After smiling gratefully at the bartender, Sam placed her glass in front of him. "Here, drink."

Freddie pushed the drink back in her direction. "No thanks."

The drink was again moved in front of Freddie. "You say that like I was giving you a choice."

"I'm not going to start drinking, Sam," he announced, his eyes falling down towards the beverage. "I don't want to be that guy."

Sam's elbow landed on the counter as she asked pointedly, "That guy?"

"You know," he said, waving his hand vaguely in the air, "the one haunting the bar plagued by the demons of his past."

Sam placed her hand on Freddie's shoulder to give him a slight, reassuring shake. "You're already that guy, Freddie."

The man haunting the bar stared at Sam. He wanted to escape, but he knew from personal experience that he had nowhere in the room left to go.

Sam's lips took a sardonic twist. "You're not going to run away?"

Freddie's own lips formed a frown. "I have nowhere left to run to." His eyes shifted towards hers. "Besides, you're the only one here I can talk to."

Very slowly, dragging out each syllable, Sam said, "Pathetic."

The man's shoulders shrugged deeply. "It seems to be the theme of the day for me."

Sam's head tilted slightly to the right. "You know what will make it better?"

One of Freddie's eyebrows rose upwards. "What?"

"Drink this," commanded Sam again, pulling the drink closer to his body.

Freddie squinted towards the blond. "What's with you today? I don't want to get drunk, Sam."

A loud sigh erupted from Sam. After rolling her eyes upwards, she leaned towards him and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Look, I'll tell you a secret about Carly and Matt that only I seem to know. But only if you drink it."

"Huh?" asked Freddie defensively as he wrapped his mind around the offer.

"You'll like it. I promise," assured Sam with a wink.

Freddie looked around more for reassurance than anything else. This situation didn't quite feel real. Sam seemed to be acting almost normally towards him. His initial instinct was to cut and run, but his curiosity had been sufficiently piqued. And, probably most importantly, he had nothing better to do. With a shrug, he picked up the glass and took a long, deep drink. After placing the glass back on the counter, he asked in a matching whisper, "So what's the secret?"

Sam shook her head, pointing back towards the rum and coke. "Finish the drink, first."

After again raising an eyebrow in Sam's direction, he picked the glass back up and finished it off. The speed with which he drank the alcohol caused the drink to affect him more than it would have normally. He was already beginning to feel lightheaded.

Sam gave him a hard look, as though she were searching for something. After a moment, she leaned in even closer and whispered, "Matt doesn't really love Carly, and I suspect the lack of feeling is mutual."

These were words he wanted to hear, and they sent his mind and his heart racing in spite of the newfound sluggishness of his body. Still, he managed to remain doubtful due to the source of the information. "You're playing with me," he accused.

"Usually, but not this time," said Sam, her tone playful as she retreated deeper into her seat. "Look, to Matt, Carly is just another piece in his perfect life."

"What do you mean?" asked Freddie, his body leaning forward as he followed after her.

Sam held out her hand and began to count on her fingers. "He's good looking. Good at sports. Made good grades. Became a successful doctor. " Her hands spread out wide. "Now he's just taking the next step."

Freddie quickly caught up to Sam's train of thought. "The trophy wife?"

The woman nodded quickly. "Exactly. Carly's perfect for that role. She's a beautiful, world famous celebrity. Just look at this wedding if you need proof. " Sam's arm made an exaggerated wave towards the rest of the room. "This monstrosity isn't based on love or affection. It's designed to show off."

As a countering thought flew into his head, Freddie shook it vigorously. "Carly wouldn't marry someone she doesn't love."

Sam sighed dramatically, her head shaking as though he were missing something obvious. "We're in our late twenties, Freddie."

Freddie's eyebrow furrowed in confusion. "So?"

Sam's smirk came back full force as she answered, "You're underestimating the power of society's biological clock."

The argument appeared sound and was exactly the type of thing he wanted to hear, but he still couldn't get past its source. "Wha … why?"

"Why what?" she parroted, her eyes narrowing as she looked him over.

"Why …" Freddie began slowly, suddenly having extreme difficulty focusing his thoughts. "Why?" He never had the chance to finish the thought or the sentence, as he suddenly fell towards Sam.

The blond woman easily caught him in her already outstretched arms. "Why am I telling you this? Why am I talking to you?" She leaned in closer, her lips hovering over his ear. "Why did I slip you the sedative?"

Freddie's eyes widened in response to Sam's words, but control of his body had already slipped too far out of his control for him to do anything but mumble into his friend's shoulder as she stood up and prepared to drag him away from the bar. Before he slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing he thought he heard was Sam's voice, softer than he had ever heard it before. "Because you're probably her last hope, dork."

It wasn't too difficult to drag the half-conscious Freddie outside of the ballroom. He had been on the "I don't want to live anymore" diet for a few months now, after all. If anything the action was awkward. First off was the fact that he was taller than her, and therefore difficult to maneuver. Secondly, she hadn't yet had the chance to teach the wedding guests not to watch her while she was doing sketchy stuff. In spite of her hindrances, Sam made it out of the ballroom and into a closing elevator without being stopped once.

The elevator ride was shared with an elderly couple. One of whom, she couldn't figure out if it was the guy or the girl because old people all looked the same to her, even pressed eleven for her. While the mood on the way up started out nicely enough, it took a nose dive a minute into the ride when the shorter old person joked, "It looks like your boyfriend had a little too much to drink."

Annoyed deeply by the implication that she was romantically linked to Freddie, Sam decided to take it out on him. She grinned ruefully at the two of them as she lied, "Well, he sure does love the sauce."

The taller old person clucked their tongue. "You shouldn't let him drink this much! You want him to live a long time, don't you?"

"I wouldn't go that far," muttered Sam under her breath.

"What was that, dear?" asked the taller old thing.

The shorter one squeaked up after him, "You'll have to speak up, dear. We can't hear too well nowadays."

"I don't mind when he drinks this much," admitted Sam in a tone that was both loud and bright. She preempted anything else they were going to say by announcing, "When he's like this, he can't beat me."

It wasn't quite the truth, but it wasn't a lie either. It's quite difficult to beat someone in your sleep. After saying it, the evil looks the kindly couple shot at Freddie brought a warm feeling to Sam's heart. No other words were exchanged until Sam was exiting the elevator.

One of them suddenly called out, "You shouldn't stay with someone who beats you."

"I know," said Sam with an ironic smile on her face. "I still can't figure out why he still talks to me. He's probably a masochist." She watched the confused couple with a smirk on her face until the elevator doors closed on them. A relatively brief walk from the elevators, brought her to her final destination: the fourth door on the left, down the left corridor. After shifting Freddie's weight higher on her shoulder, her arms wrapped around him as she rummaged through her purse for the key to the room.

An awkward dance ensued as Sam maneuvered Freddie's body to free up her arm, but the door unlocked without incident. The blond woman quickly burst into the room after kicking the door open. She stepped gingerly around the discarded piles of women's clothing, but as soon as she was within range of the bed she hurled Freddie's body on top of the sheets. Freed of her burden, the blond woman paced around the room shaking her arms loose. Her action was not because her arms ached in any way, but rather because she needed to psyche herself up to do what was coming next.

After taking a step towards the bed, Sam turned around and gazed suspiciously at the door. There were at least five other girls with a key to this "changing" room, and she didn't want any one of them to walk in on her and Freddie. Because of this, she spent a handful of minutes building a physical barricade of desks and chairs against the door.

Once she was satisfied that none of the "twigs for arms" girls of the bridal party would be able to budge the door, Sam walked calmly back towards the bed. She paused briefly halfway towards her target to unfasten and kick off her heels. Upon reaching the mattress, Sam bent over to roll Freddie onto his back before crawling into the bed after him.

Her long, blond curls flowed down onto Freddie's chest, obscuring her face as her slender, dexterous fingers began to quickly unbutton his shirt.

Author's Note: If you're one of the readers who has been with me from the beginning, I bet you're surprised that this chapter came out so quickly. Here's the answer to your burning question: I can smell that ending. I can taste that ending. Now if I can just find someone to cook it for me. Well, I doubt that's going to happen, so I guess I'll just have to do it.

I tend to delete the Author's Notes up until the last chapter after a story is completed, so I'm just going to reassure you readers that have to wait for me to type up the next chapter that I still have no intentions of shifting this story to a Seddie. The cliffhanger would be fair play if you could just hit the next chapter button, but I feel that if I let the matter hang for a couple of weeks a new faction is going to spring up on me and lynch me for my Creddie-ish ending.

For those interested in the story structure, the climax is going to come in the next chapter. By my current reckoning, the ending is either going to be in one or two chapters. See previous Author's Notes for evidence that I have been wrong in the past.

Thanks for reading up to this point! I hope you'll stick with me until the end, which shouldn't be that long at all. Get those reviews in quick if you want to try to influence the outcome of the story!

See you then.

Falling Further