Disclaimer: I do not own Warehouse 13 (unfortunately).

A/N: My first Warehouse 13 fanfic, even though I've been into this show since season 1 showed on Virgin 1/Channel One. I'm not completely sure about it but I like the concept and I felt like sharing to get some opinions on it. It's slightly AU. Anyway, enjoy - reviews and crits are welcomed.

He wakes up in a daze, groggy and aching from head to toe.

His head throbs mercilessly, like a blacksmith's hammer cracking against his skull; it's making concentrating on anything a difficult task. He sucks in deep breaths, hoping that it will dull the pain. It doesn't, but he slowly opens his eyes anyway.

Though the image he registers is fuzzy he immediately recognises the shape of a bottle in his hand.

Gradually the image becomes clearer and his worst fears are realised.

The crisp label of the vodka bottle sneers up at him. A series of shot glasses stare at him from the bedside table. To his horror he realises that there are other empty alcohol bottles perched comfortably on the table and on the floor in front of him.

He doesn't know if he drank them all, but he has a horrible feeling that he did.

All that time spent for nothing. All those years weaning himself off the substance that nearly destroyed him gone to waste.

A stray tear rolls down his face.

He is afraid that he won't be able to get back from it this time. It took him years to sober up. Painful, lonely years. He doesn't know if he's strong enough to do it again.

More than anything however, he fears what his friends will think of him. He fears what he might do to them, say to them. He fears that the dark waters of addiction will drag him under and that he will never be able to resurface.

He screams out in anger, tears of frustration rolling down his face as he throws the bottle and then the bedside table to the floor with an almighty crash.

When Myka rushes in he is curled up like a child, hugging his legs tightly to his chest as tears cascade down his face.

She has never seen him so desolate, so helpless, and it's just about killing her.

She sidles over to him and sits down by his side amid the sea of broken glass,

"Pete?" She asks softly. He flicks his eyes up to check that she really is there and then turns them back to the floor, as though he is ashamed to even look at her, "Hey, look at me, Pete." She continues, her voice gentle and motherly, "What's wrong?"

He motions to the glass on the floor and she notices that the shards are all parts of alcohol bottles. Her heart sinks a little as she realises what this means. Pete has fallen off the wagon and it's tearing him up,

"Oh, Pete..." He turns his head away from her, so that he is almost staring at the wall to his right,

"I d-don't... I c-can't..." His tongue trips over his words, unable to get a completed sentence out, "I d-don't know what happened..."

She can see the despair and hopelessness in the way he holds himself,

"Hey, it's okay, Pete." He shakes his head,

"No... it's not okay... you don't understand..."

She puts a hand on his shoulder causing him to turn and face her,

"You're right, Pete, I don't understand. But you can help me understand." The tears are beginning to slow now and she can see through the waterfalls to the pain and fear beyond. He looks away again,

"I don't know if I can do it, Myka..."

She puts a reassuring hand on his leg,

"You can, Pete, you can beat this. You've done it before."

"I don't know if I'm strong enough..."

"You are." She cuts him off, "And you don't have to do this alone, Pete."

He looks up at her questioningly, "I'm here for you." She replies by way of explanation, "Me, Artie, Claudia and Leena, even Steve, we're all here for you."

More tears begin to roll down his face and she pulls him into a hug,

"Hey, it's okay, Pete, it's going to be okay."

At first he flinches from her touch, but the hug is comforting and her soft, soothing words begin to become believable.

He fears drowning in the alcohol, but he realises now that he will always have Myka; his lifeboat in a dark and desolate ocean.