Chapter 9: Petraeus and Puckett

Sam hung up her pear phone, breathing a sigh of relief. Chris hadn't taken her unexpected news, that she didn't want to see him anymore, that things between the two of them just weren't going to work out anymore very well.

"Why? What the hell did I ever do Sam, to lose you? I-I've taken you on those really fancy weekends at my parents boathouse in Vancouver, I got you Cuttlefish tickets…Goddammit, I took off work, and you KNOW how my boss is just because It was your birthday…Christ, I put up with your fucking mother! Just give me one good reason Sam, and if I'm not good enough, let me know. I can accept that, but I need a reason, or else I can't let this go!"

God she hated when Chris did this to her, laying guilt trips. When Chris got angry, he acted like an old Catholic grandmother. Sure, he had been a very good boyfriend, but he was never really in her heart. A placeholder, and a damn fine one, but she could see that there was little more beyond that.

"Look, Chris," Sam began slowly, "I'm sorry if this hurts you, I really am, but…." She trailed off, trying to find a sensitive way to put what she needed to say. Sam Puckett trying to be sensitive…how novel, she thought. Was the nub really worth her time when the man she wanted was waiting for her inside?

"But what, Samantha?" spat Chris over the line, his voice showing his frustration and dismay.

That did it though, calling her Samantha in that patronizing tone. She had told that fuck on the first date, she was on a strictly Sam basis. Only her mother called her Samantha when she was on one of her drunkenly fueled emotional assaults toward her daughter.

"Don't. Call. Me. That." Sam said slowly, the anger building in her voice. She needed to get her fucking name legally changed or something.

"Shit…."she heard Chris breathe to himself on the other line, recognizing the hell hound he had just unleashed on himself.

"YOU KNOW WHAT MOTHERFUCKER!" Sam began, her frustration, at herself for being such a child, at Chris at his obstinance, at Freddie for leaving, though that anger was almost entirely dissipated after the letter. "I'LL BE HONEST WITH YOU." Her voice shook, she consciously tried to calm herself. Breathe Puckett. Breathe. " I wanted to let you down easily, but the honest to God truth is that I never loved you. Yea, I'll say it, and I'll say it again. I didn't. I was a stupid childish bitch and used you because I was lonely…and it looks like we both turned out to be the loser because I almost, and may still lose the one person I think I was ever capable of loving because of this relationship, and I fucked up with you, because I've hurt another person, one of so many in this world. So I am sorry, but I can't hold on to something that never was."

Her explanation went by in a whirlwind, the feeling of letting off the pressure that was holding on to the illusion of the relationship that was between them felt so good. It felt like maybe she was becoming the old Sam, the happy Sam, before any chizz went down, before Freddie went away. Maybe she was back on that track again.

"Question," Chris asked with reserve on the other line, " Is it that Benson guy?"

Of course, none of his fucking business Sam thought, but it was just like Chris to ask. Maybe he did have a right to know. It didn't matter anyway.

"Yea…" she replied softly, knowing that this would probably set him off.

There was a pause, she waited for some kind of reprisal, some stream of jealous curses, calling her a whore, something. Where was the bitterness she expected?

He just chuckled to himself.

"Ok," he laughed, she could see him wryly smirking to himself over the line, "You're right Sam. We are done."

Sam heard the dial tone. Had he hung up? She checked her phone, he had, call length, twelve minutes thirty two seconds. The phone's screen returned to its background pic, a pic of her, Carly and Fredifer, taken by GIbby on their last night of iCarly. Sam smiled to herself. So it was done. There was only one thing left to do, and that was to go see Freddie. That's where her stomach went for a ride on the tower of terror, lurching uncomfortably, a weight now rising in her chest from nerves. Putting her pearPhone back into her pocket, she walked into the Hospital, the swooshing doors opening for her, the latent heat that pervaded the DC fall replaced by the frigid arctic environs that was the inside of Walter Reed.

She made her way back to the waiting room, each step taking her close to possible bliss or perhaps another collision with fate. Calming herself with deep breaths, she tried to appear unperturbed when she got back to the waiting room where Carly, Griffen, Spencer, and Mrs. Benson were waiting. Socko had joined them, as well as principal Franklin, who she was surprised to see. Gibby's mother, Tasha, and Guppy were there, too, but for some strange reason they were crying. She hadn't expected them to be so torn up over Freddie, she hoped he was alright. Then she noticed that everyone looked utterly dejected, Carly was crying, along with Spencer.

"What the chizz is wrong Carls?" Sam inquired quietly to Carly, who loudly blew her nose, tears still streaming from her eyes.

"It's Gibby," she managed to croak out, " he's, he's dead Sam. He got killed on the mission that Freddie was injured on. He's g-gone…."

Sam's eyes went wide like a dinner plate, the shock of the news taking her by complete surprise.

"Wait, no, this must be a mis-" Sam said loudly, utterly dismayed. Ms. Gibson cut her off though.

"Its t-true Sam, " she stuttered out, the grief of a newly bereaved mother weighing upon her like the Earth on Atlas' shoulders. "He was killed by a sniper, s-sniper…he was helping t-t…." A new surge of tears and convulsions took the woman, the thought of her own sons flesh being wrent apart by full metal jacket was just too much for her. Guppy, his lip pouty, his eyes red and swollen, two streams of tears silently etched down his face, buried his face in his mothers breast, trying to squelch out the pain. Tasha was the most pitiful to behold though, she didn't moan, or even make so much as a peep, but the pain was written over every fiber of her body, tears streamed down her face silently, her mascara carried by the tears so that they looked as two macabre rivers of her pure unmitigated anguish.

Sam felt her own tears welling up, words to express either her grief or condolences failing her.

"I-" she began, not knowing what to say that could mean anything to anyone. No words could help here. Inwardly she hated the fact that her first thought was that she was glad that at least no new clamity had befallen Freddie, which worried her when she saw the intense mourning initially. Furthermore, as much as she would miss Gib, God how she would, she was also thankful for the fact that Freddie had not been the one to take whatever bullet it had been that had fallen the stout soldier. She hated herself for those thoughts, especially seeing the mortified state that Tasha looked to be in, it would be a miracle if this shock didn't make her miscarry, but Sam couldn't change how she felt. Nonetheless, she would let the tears flow. She would miss Gibby, and the thought of someone as solid as he, so sure of himself, such a character and a fixture in her world gone forever…nearly inconceivable.

From an adjacent hallway, Sam saw a man walking towards them from the corner of her eye. Turning to see who it was, she was surprised to see that it was a general, the medals on his uniform making a modern art masterpiece of colorful ribbons and badges that were quite an impressive display. Noticing his nameplate that read Petraeus, it seemed to ring a bell, hadn't she heard that name on the news before?

"Excuse me, " the man replied on a quiet voice, addressing Sam politely, " Do you know which one of these ladies is the mother of Private Charles Gibson?"

"Yea," Sam said tentatively back, not knowing what the man wanted, or if it would be prudent to interrupt the mother as she grieved so vehemently. "The blonde one over there…." Sam said, sad and unsure of the future.

Petraeus walked up to Ms. Gibson, lightly touching her on the shoulder.

"Y-yes?" she replied, her voice choked by mucus and emotion. Everyone was now looking at the bedecked Christmas tree of an officer. Mrs. Benson mouthed the name Petraeus as she read it on his nameplate. She knew who this was.

"My name is General David Petraeus, I'm the Commander of CENTCOM. I would like to personally, and on the behalf of a grateful nation extend my condolences for your son's death, and thank you for your sacrifice for the Freedom of our nation. I would also like to tell you that your son has been recommended for the Silver Star, and I am personally going to approve it." Petraeus looked sad, but at the same time, he looked expectant, as though Gibby's mother was supposed to thank him for the news that her dead son was being given a shiny piece of metal, one his dead eyes would never look upon.

Several moments passed, Ms. Gibson just staring at Petraeus.

"My son, my Gibby, he's dead…." Her voice was hollow, as if her soul had fled.

"I'm afraid so ma'am," Petraeus replied, not sure how to respond, "I'm terribly sorry."

The bereaved woman's lip quivered. She grabbed Tasha's hand, pulling it to her breast, kissing it as she did so.

"General," she said dazedly, " You should apologize to this woman, most of all. That's Gibby's baby that she's carrying. This is Tasha, who's gonna have to raise her boy without a daddy."

Sam smiled a bittersweet smile to herself, she hadn't heard it was a boy. Maybe he'd be like his father, a goofy lovable soul with an aversion to wearing upper garments at appropriate times.

Petraeus gulped visably. He must have hated his job at that moment.

"Ma'am, may I call you Tasha?" he asked tentatively. She didn't respond. "I'd like to extend my cond-"

"You can say sorry all you want General," she said softly, as if she was talking to the wind, her eyes staring fiercely into something that no one else could see, "But I'll tell you who needs your apology the most. This little man inside me, little Gibby."

Tasha caressed her blooming stomach tenderly, the last living cells of her husband dwelt inside her, making new life. "Right here," she whispered, pulling at the generals uniform, as if to indicate she wanted him to apologize to her belly, "tell him your sorry, tell him his daddy was a good man."

Petraeus turned white. Was this woman crazy? He had to do it though, cameras had followed him. Cautiously, he lowered his head until it was a pc, yet heartfelt distance from the womans swollen belly and uttered his condolences.

"Little man," he said sternly, "I'm awful sorry-so so sorry, that you'll never meet your father. He was a good man, and we all loved him, and are thankful for his sacrifice."

Petraeus cleared his throat and slowly rose away from Tasha's belly, coming to his usually fully erect height.

Tasha kept staring fiercly, but her morose countanence was gifted momentarily with a whisper of a smile. "He's kicking," she said softly, her smile broadening.

Petraeus then walked over to Ms. Benson, clearing his throat to get her attention, everyone was transfixed with the nearly spiritual interaction that had just occurred between Tasha, the general, and the baby. "Ms. Benson," the general said awkwardly, still recovering from the more intimate than usually condolence call that he's experienced.

"Yes," she replied meekly, trying to overcome her own set of grievances.

"If I may, I would like to speak with your son, Private Benson, if you could show me to his room, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course," she replied, rising from where she sat, removing her arm from around Ms. Gibsons shoulders. She turned to Carly, saying "Look after her, alright? I'll be right back." Carly nodded, Mrs. Benson walking off towards Freddie's room with the general.

Sam had come back, she wanted to see Freddie, and now she'd have to wait longer. Maybe not.

"Marissa?" She called out, as the woman and the officer were almost out of the waiting room, "Can I come see Freddie too?"

Mrs. Benson looked at the general, her glance inquiring as to whether or not it would be to personal a matter for Sam to intrude upon. The general nodded gingerly.

"Of course dear, Freddie would love to see you, " she said, surprising Sam yet again with her nearly maternal side that she was extending to Sam, now that tragedy had occurred.

Sam smiled outwardly, but inside it was the Christmas morning, He wanted to see her. Well shit Freddie right back at you baby, she thought. She wanted to see him more than anything. Following her two elders, she made her way to Freddie's room. The door was ajar, she could hear two men talking and joking inside, and most clearly, she could hear Freddie's voice. Damn, it was like music, like angels in a choir. It made her knees weak, it made her want to cry. It also made her a bit wet, Sam's Id was alive and well, she held no illusions about that. Come on! Her mind cried out, Go inside! I want to see that boy!

Freddie was so glad that Esquivel and Hurst had come to visit him, he was even more glad to see that neither of them were hurt. After the mission, he was practically in a daze, coming off of the adrenaline rush, he hadn't noticed if the two of them were injured, just whether or not they were all in one piece was all he needed to know for the time. But now that those two clowns were at his side, one of them with a large blonde blowup doll under his arm, Freddie couldn't have been happier. Well, only one thing was missing, something else that was blonde, had a laugh like bells pealing and azure eyes that he was just sure that if he jumped into he would find all the wonders of Atlantis beneath.

"Aw, motherfucker, man, you shoulda seen me with this bitch, she was ridin my cock like BAM BAM BAM!" cried Esquivel in mock sexual extasy, demonstrating his sexploits on the blow up doll, and looking utterly unprofessional in his ACU's. Freddie laughed heartily, "Hey, be nice to that doll! That's my lady!"

The three soldiers laughed, Esquivel continuing with his story, "Yea ese, then fuckin Hurst her joined in, and we turned this into a fuckin clusterfuck, know what I'm saying?"

"Wait," Freddie, said observantly, "you BOTH joined in? Doesn't that seem a little gay? I knew ya'll had more than just bromance goin on!"

"Naw man!" Hurst cried out in mock defense, " my balls only rubbed his about three time. I was in the ass so it was pretty much not gay…."

" Sure, sure, keep telling that to yourself, lovergay, I mean,loverboy," replied Freddie, engaging in the mixture of homophobia yet homoerotica that characterized the humor of the combat arms.

"No dude, it was like this motherfucker, hold her like that," Hurst commanded Esquivel, who held the blow up dolls vagina up to his pelvic region again for demonstration, while he dry humped it from the rear end. "No balls touching!"

Suddenly there was a soft knock at the door, followed by the swift entry of Ms. Benson, Petraeus, and Sam, who stood meekly behind them, still somewhat apprehensive about seeing Freddie again. The two clowning soldiers hastily assumed a stance of attention, the blow up doll floating to the ground, garnering a shocked expression from Ms. Benson, a cowing gaze from Petraeus, and a barely concealed giggle from Sam.

That little laugh was all Freddie needed, to see her hair shining in the light of the hospital room, her blue eyes, like perfect sapphires, her smile, she was all he could see, and all he wanted to gaze into forever. He realized it then, that when he ran away, what perhaps he was trying to show the world is that all he wanted to do was to fight for her love. Now though she was here, and if she would only come up to him, kiss him, be his forever, his life would be complete. That couldn't happen though, he realized, she was probably still with that creature, the reason he hated his life. Oh well lover boy, he told himself, drink in her pity while you can. She was smiling though, maybe that was a good sign.

The general stepped forward. The two clowning privates Saluted him, Freddie trying to assume a more dignified position from his bedrest, though he stiffly greeted his superior with a Salute.

"At ease gentlemen," Said the General, now becoming slightly amused with the soldiers antics, "Private Benson, I'm General David Petraeus, it's a pleasure to meet you." The general advuncularly extended his hand to the Private who grasped it firmly and shook it with his good hand.

"It's a pleasure sir," Freddie quipped back. Sam thought it was sexy when Freddie talked techie, but hearing him talk like a soldier made her want him even more. It was a becoming demeanor for him.

"Private, I'd like to extend my thanks to you, personally, and on behalf of a grateful nation…" The general began with his usual schpiel, but Freddie was again distracted by the radiant blonde deamon that again tormented him as she always had, but now, it was by her being six feet away from him, and not being physically bonded to him. Their eyes met, beaming smiles were exchange. Somehting had changed Freddie could see. Sam looked like just seeing him meant that everything that had ever weighed upon her had floated away. He knew he felt that way, and hoped that the feeling was mutual.

Freddie didn't notice that he wasn't even paying attention to the general, who kept talking, he only heard a few words, "medal of honor," "gallantry under fire," "I'm recommending you for," and "Highest national honors," but even if the words had registered, they wouldn't have amounted to shit compared to what Freddie was drinking in then and there. Sam. God he needed her. He was sure that just a kiss from her right then would have caused his mangled arm to miraculously reassemble, his slipped discs to realign, and the fractured tibia to suddenly mend, along with his heart.

"Son, son, Private Benson," Petraeus said, trying to reclaim the attention of the young wounded warrior. He looked around to see what had captured the boys attention, and was not surprised to see that it was the radiant blonde that stood behind him. Petraeus turned to Ms. Benson, saying to her and the two other soldiers in the room, (who though both at parade rest were mentally undressing Sam,) "Perhaps we should come back after the Private has had some private time with the young lady."

Ms. Benson agreed, though with the understanding that she would surely have to return and spray her son thoroughly to get any female contaminants off of him. Soon enough, Sam stood alone in the room, with Freddie, who stared back into her eyes as if he were witnessing the second coming.

She slowly approached his bed. Their smiles grew, her hand reaching out gingerly to grasp his unbuttered one. Freddie began to open his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, he was stifled with a passionate kiss, the waves of bliss washing over him. Did this mean that she wasn't with Chris anymore? The blitheness of the moment was too intense though, he couldn't have cared less. Either way, it was her who was kissing him, right? Their tongues explored each other, their hands, delicate fingers, crossing like passionate spiders traversing the sensitive parts of each others bodies, Sam being extra careful with Freddie in his delicate state of recovery.

Eventually, Sam pulled away from the kiss, her breath taken away, similarly with Freddie.

Their eyes spoke volumes to each other. So much to say. So much had happened between them, yet, it was all forgiven. Everything had changed, yet their love remained unblemished.

"Freddie," she said quietly, "I want you to know, that I swear, nothing I ever do as long as I live will be done to cause you pain, so help me God, I promise. I will always be at your side."

Freddie smiled, a tears welling up in his eyes. Those were words he wanted to hear. Words his soul needed if it were going to survive.

"I love you Sam Puckett. As much as I tried to get away from the pain, of what happened, you're all that ever mattered. I love you." The soldier, rough and ready, a cavalry scout, the tip of the spear, was melting under the adoring gaze of those two blue orbs.

"I love you Freddie Benson. I only thought about you, how I could make things right." Sam replied, equally drunk on the man in front of her.

"You don't have to baby, just stay here. Just be mine."

Sam smiled as Freddie brushed the hair out of her eyes, then wiped a tear as it blossomed In her ducts, before it could smear his mascara. He was thinking about her needs before she even had to. She couldn't help but kiss him tenderly, but before being lost in his lips, she quipped in her old fashion, "I love you nub."

It was a long time before Ms. Benson was able to re-enter the room. After that day though, the surgeons said that Recovery looked imminent.

AN: Hey ya'll, I firstly wanted to give a big thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing so positively my story, I NEVER expected such wonderful feedback. Secondly, I wanted to apologize for having not written in so long. Just got finished with summer session midterms, two more weeks of that chizz…life just won't stop! Anyway, thanks again for reading, and to many of you out there, thanks for writing such exquisite fanfics for me to read, a good distraction from Aristotle, haha.

Anyway, hope you like this chapter (it's a long ass chapter!), I wanted to wait before writing it because I wanted to get it right, and I hope I did.