Though he hesitates, it isn't a choice, and he firmly grips Peter's arm, letting the other man haul him up. He doesn't deserve this mercy, and it makes it all the sharper; makes him feel that much worse. He drops his hand, magnetized to his side by a force not his own. "You should." His other hand covers the spot Peter's recently vacated, gripping tightly as his watery gaze slips from Peter's hold. "And worse."

There can be no illusion, he knows exactly what it is he's done. He's taken hope from a man who was already wanting, and he wants nothing more than to take it back, to put Peter back together. But it's too late, the damage has been done and he's no longer what Peter needs.

The tide still hits him, just over his ankle, and slowly, he moves toward Peter and out of the water. How many times would Peter save him before he did the reasonable thing and killed him instead? He knows now he can't be anything, that he'll outlive many more great men--probably even Peter--and he will be much less.