Chapter Text
After Candice's death, Peter was a wreck. He overworked himself, staying late into the night to get ahead on the weeks next workload. He hadn't left to do anything but shower, and even that wasn't often. He kept to himself, not bothering to make himself known. His lack of supervision allowed him to drink on and off the clock until he falls asleep. That, wouldn't go unnoticed for long. Complaints went straight through Dennis, saying "As long as he doesn't hurt anyone, I don't care."
The dim lamp of his desk illuminated his sickly figure. In everything he saw *her*, and no amount of work would keep it off of his mind. Candice was his only reason for living.
The door to the office slowly opened, Sam, shutting it behind him as he crept towards Peter. He was worried. To Sam, this was all his fault. If he hadn't gotten them off of the bus, this wouldn't have happened. Not the way he saw it. His vision was grizzly, but Candice and Peter would have died together. Sam wouldn't have to live with having ruined Peter's life.
Peter rubbed his forehead, flicking away the sweat that accumulated while trying to concentrate. The light flickered and buzzed lightly.
Sam spoke in a hushed whisper "I'm here, I don't want to scare you. I know you need to be alone right now, but I can't let you do this to yourself."
Peter didn't move, as if neither of them were there. "Are you.. okay? I know you aren't- I mean, you're not but I just.. I don't know." A sharp exhale came from the dim cubicle.
This had to be some sort of sick joke that he isn't in on. "I'm fine. I'm doing exactly what I need to be and that's enough."
Sam frowned, coming in closer to get a closer look. "This isn't right. You should be at home, you should be taking time to grieve. Look at yourself, this isn't what she would've wanted."
Peter, now feeling more exposed than ever, lifted his head to look up "Of course. Because you know everything. You know what she would've wanted. So, what is it? Does she speak to you? I try every single goddamn day to hear her voice and I get nothing. What is it that I'm not seeing. What makes you so special? Really, I want to know." By now Sam could tell that Peter had been drinking, more than enough for the both of them.
He reeked of alcohol and he wasn't making any sense. "Peter, I don't know anything. I just think.." He was interrupted by Peter, who now fixed his gaze onto the floor in the space between them "What does it matter what you think? You don't know anything you, you don't even know what to think. You think by coming by here, that you can just sweet talk me into what? Feeling sorry for you? Forgiving you for being so fucking selfish that you would choose to save yourself? What about me? What about Olivia, what about fucking-- Isaac. Yeah, sure, Isaac not so much but what about the rest of us? Is this just one big fuck you before I die? Is that what you're doing?"
Sam was tense, he thought that talking things out would help but Peter was in no shape to do any talking. This wouldn't go anywhere. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I wasn't just thinking for myself. I was thinking about you, I was thinking about Molly, I was thinking about everyone and how I could have saved them. If I could fix this I would, but I can't. I can't and I'm sorry."
Peter couldn't read into his tone at all. The apology didn't matter at all, because to him, Sam was the problem. A nagging thought that angrily fixed itself to the front of his mind. Candice was always there, but he couldn't help but now hold this close hatred towards Sam.
Before either one of them could get a word in, Peter slumped in his chair, weakly resting his chin on his hand. He was slowly starting to feel the effects of his overexertion. "Hey, do you need to go home? I can take you." Sam offered, trying not to sound too desperate to help.
Peter used one hand to weakly shoo him away. The thought of being in his own bed with that emptiness scared him more than anything. Sam gently put his hand on his back. "I can even take you to my place. I can let you have the couch and I'm willing to bring you anything you need." The room fell completely silent and the offer lingered in the air. Peter, now resting his face in his arms, began to snivel, wiping his face with the arms of his sleeves.
He felt so alone. He had nothing. He didn't have anything to look forward to. He didn't have anyone and the idea of someone reaching out pained him more than anything. Accepting help was never easy for him and neither was admitting he needed it. Sam rubbed his back gently, as not to scare him off. Repairing their relationship was important now than ever. If Peter were to die, who would be there to clean it up? "You can take me home." Peter said with his voice muffled. "Alright. Let's get you up." Sam put an arm around him, helping him up in his drunken stupor. Peter grabbed onto his arm for support, sloppily grabbing his house key and handing it over.