Chapter Name: Dona Eis Requiem.

Notes: Thanks to KeyLimePie14, Freddie is a G, Drag0nLord and iLoveiCarly for their reviews.

Invader Johnny: Well, I think it's not so much emo as just losing his verve, his fight, his essence. His love for Carly has been the core of his being for nearly 15 years by the end of his college years, and it's come crashing down on him.

Freddie showed up to their wedding. The invitation was a punch in the stomach, but the handwritten note, in her handwriting, was a knife in the heart. I want you to be there. Carly. Carly had only ever 'wanted' him. Carly wanted his friendship, wanted his company, wanted his help on the old, long gone web-show, wanted him to help with schoolwork, wanted to have lunch with him at college, wanted him to go back to Seattle with her, Sam and Spencer.

Carly had never needed him. Not like he needed her. But he showed up to the wedding out of duty, in New York, the birthplace of the groom, as he sat through the ceremony with an outwardly congenial expression, shook hands with those who came up to him, whilst internally he burned with rage, hatred and jealously towards the man standing by Carly at the altar.

When he heard that certain phrase, he felt the stare of 250 people on the back of his head, and he simply looked up at Carly, beautiful as ever, he saw her smile at him, she knew he wouldn't try something drastic, or disruptive, and she nodded a small thank you to him for it, and he smiled back, a smile that had long since been suppressed, this was no mask, it was simply an unstoppable reflex action.

Carly thought perhaps that now he would come back to them, instead of returning to his solitary, sad and lonely existence. He kept up his facade during the reception at a large 4 star hotel, which only cracked into genuine happiness when Carly spoke to him, happy that Freddie had come, until long after Carly had left for her wedding night.

His mission accomplished, the mask split and fell and he was left mourning in his seat, after all the guests had left, and only cleaners sweeping up the floor remained. He lamented, drowned his sorrows with a bottle of Jack Daniels until Sam and Spencer came back to drag him up to his room, which shared the wall with theirs.

In that horrible zone between just being buzzed, and falling unconscious due to alcohol consumption, he lay there in his bed, unable to sleep because he could hear Sam calling out Spencer's name, his low grunting permeated through the walls, taunting him with knowledge that at that moment, Spencer and Sam, as well as Carly and her groom.. no, husband, were likely making love, and he'd never experienced that. Sex, yes, love, no.

But he never visited them. Freddie told her that he was just so busy working, as he'd very quickly been promoted to overseas postings, but in reality Carly's husband knew about how Freddie felt for her, and threatened him to keep him away. If it was just threats against himself, Freddie wouldn't have cared. But the husband threatened his mother and the man she'd finally found love again with. Freddie also knew that Carly would be happier without him in her life. He was content with sending her postcards to her work address, from various locations, always signed with: Love, Freddie.

He didn't came back to Seattle until 10 years later. For Carly, it was too late. Time took it's toll. Freddie had always joked that he'd be her second husband, and if he held out just another few months, that would eventually have become reality. It would have come when her perfect husband, from an old-money clan with a powerful name and much influence, was exposed for having an affair with his secretary, had managed to get the other woman pregnant, then declared he wanted a divorce, leaving Carly's life in ruins.

Carly would have called him, and he would have heard her sobbing down the phone line, 'please come back, Freddie, I need you' and he would have gone back to Seattle that night, would patiently help her through the divorce, helping Carly setup a new business in their old neighborhood as a replacement for his old job. Carly would help Freddie to lose those cold, grim, dark eyes, and replace them with warmth, by joy, passion, faith and with life and eventually they would come to love each other.

Instead, she would simply be alone, just like Freddie was, they had both lost the only person in the world who would make the other truly happy. Neither was to blame, it was just how it worked out.

They liked his attitude, he lived close to the job, he was a 7/7/5, in at 7am, out at 7pm, every single day of the working week. He fixed problems. He could come in to an under performing team, break them, and turn them into something better. He saw the numbers, the facts, broke them down, cleaned out what was needed, and fixed it. If that included people, then he'd fix them. If he couldn't fix them, they were gone.

As the years passed, he was sent to their branch a couple of states away. Then it was in Canada. Then Rio. Then Germany. Then back to the US. The name Benson had become a watchword for mismanagement, if you saw that name in relation to your team, your department, your branch, even your entire country's headquarters, you knew your ass was on the line. He was young, but he got results.

But the attitude wasn't the problem. Being middle management was okay, but you needed more than just cold hard calculation to make it any higher.

It was 2 weeks after being passed over for a promotion because he wasn't "a family man." The problem with being passed over is that the company never kept you on once it happened. People knew that if they wanted to succeed, you had to fit in at the top. It didn't matter anyway they said, he'd make thousands more as a private consultant, going from company to company, week after week, meeting new people, helping them, then moving on before getting to know anyone.

No-one wanted him. No company would take the risk at hiring "Benson". He was tainted by fear, a wake of destruction left at ever turn. They all knew, if you hired Fredward Benson, you would end up in the firing line soon enough.

He had taken down CEO's, CFO's, Chairmen, Board Members, Security Consultants, Department heads, Union bosses, he'd once shut down an entire office, seven hundred and fifty three people, gone, less than a month after he'd been sent there. He indirectly caused 13 divorces, 8 house foreclosures, 7 bankruptcies and 3 suicides. And he didn't care. Behind their backs they called him a robot, ice cold, heartless. A few people who had worked with old acquaintances from Seattle knew better, they felt differently, they felt pity, because they knew how and why his heart was closed off. Only a few things could cause a man to emotionally shut down like that, losing a mother, losing your only son, and losing the woman you loved.

It was the day after he kept his monthly 'appointment' from the woman who looked like Carly, and was paid to answer to her name. Freddie had kept up this charade for years, calling out her name, but he could taste the pity on her lips, felt her judgment when he looked in her eyes, and he saw Carly, and believed he wasn't good enough for her, and knew he would be alone for the rest of his life.

He picked up the gun he'd bought after hearing about the robbery in the house next door. Never fired, cleaned regularly. He brought the gun up to his temple, and squeezed the trigger. Bang. That would be the last sound he'd ever hear, if he'd loaded it. Instead it clicked, dry. No. That wouldn't work. They would know, it would simply add to the shame. He could hear their comments from Sam, from Spencer, from Carly rushing around in his head, as if at his funeral.

"I always knew he was a fucking pussy. What a waste of air. He was never good enough for Carly anyway." Sam was right. Carly was way out of his league, and always had been.

"I glad he never married Carly, if this is all it took to push him over the edge, he'd have hurt her soon enough." Spencer, always looking out for his sister.

"What a sick freak, he hired some hooker slut to pretend to be this girl he supposedly loved, because he wasn't good enough for the real thing. At least he only killed himself, and not the girl he paid." The cops investigating, would uncover him, expose his depravity and only be thankful he hadn't dragged down anyone with him.

Carly was crying. "It was my fault, why did I drive him away?" No matter what, he didn't want Carly to cry or blame herself. This was his own failure, his own weakness.

He put it away, wiped off his fingerprints, locked and sealed it away.

A week later, Freddie went to the kitchen cabinet. He took out the bottle, won nearly 8 months ago as a prize at a celebration of a successful merger, one glass, two, three, the entire bottle. Freddie got in his bed, took the sleeping tablets from the bedside table, his eyes lingered on the picture of Carly, and flashed over the ones of Sam, Spencer, Ms Benson. He missed the warnings on the back, and swallowed three of them, he just wanted to sleep, for the pain to leave him.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes, but Freddie would have concluded that must only happen with there was a shock involved like a car crash, being shot or being stabbed. There was no white light, no chorus of angels, no fiery rivers of hellfire and brimstone, just a typical dream of being with Carly, then darkness, then... nothing.

It was ruled an accident. A mistake. For Ms Benson, for Spencer and Sam, for Carly, that was a small measure of comfort. They could remember the son and the friend, remembered as someone who was taken before his time. Spencer placed the guard of his old fencing sword in the coffin with him, his wife, Sam put in a fatcake, something to eat wherever he was now.

Carly walked up alone, (her husband was on business in Europe), tears cascading down, and put in all the postcards, and a copy of a letter he'd written to Carly before they found they were going to the same college, but never given or delivered to her, promising that no matter where he ended up, he'd still love her, found in his possessions at his house, which Carly had highlighted in bright neon yellow, every use of the word love.

But for the people who worked with him, who knew him as the man he became, and knew how he had lived his life. They didn't say anything. They didn't need to. What good would it serve? It wasn't their place. Their place was to offer condolences on behalf of themselves and the company, to speak of the man who supported the company, made the hard decisions, and they took the view that it was not something just anyone could do, to make those decisions for the greater good.

They spoke of his intelligence, his ability to see the bigger picture, to take someone and help them become a better person, that even when he took those decisions, the people never thought they were being downtrodden, or unfairly targeted, that deep down, he was a good man.

What they thought was unspoken, yet understood by all of them. They all knew.

They all knew that Fredward Benson didn't make mistakes.


AN: So there you have it. A really dark fic, tell me what you thought of it, if you liked a certain part, or disliked something. I'll try to get back to you asap. Thanks for reading.