[Fic] No Belief in Our Sins
Pete sat numbly in the chair, barely listening to Draper ramble about nothing--or something. Possibly something important, but Pete hadn't been able to focus for a week now, so everything that was said went over his head.
Did Draper know? Draper had to know. Draper knew everything, like how to hold onto an account, and pick up new ones and get promoted and pick up as many women as he wanted and...
Pete noticed his knuckles whitening around the pen he was gripping, and relaxed his hand. So Draper must have known--must have at least suspected something. Is that why he hated Pete? For getting Peggy--
Pete hadn't done anything wrong--really he hadn't, not this time. The baby wasn't--couldn't have been--his fault. It was an accident. He hadn't known--he couldn't have--
Faintly, Pete heard a cough and glanced up to see the whole room looking at him expectantly. Panic shot through his veins. "Excuse me?" he stuttered, realizing something was being asked of him.
"The Clearasil account, Campbell," drawled Stering, looking incredibly smug. At least someone was taking pleasure in Pete's pain. Pete glanced at Draper to see if he too was enjoying another moment of Pete Campbell's signature flavor of failure, but Draper was just adjusting the papers of his report. His face looked more grim than sadistically gleeful. "Well?" Sterling asked. Pete launched into his essentially memorized ramble about the account, his eyes never leaving Draper's face.
He knew. Draper had to know--he probably knew before Pete did. That bastard--how could he blame Pete for anything when Pete didn't know? He finished his report but continued his glaring at Draper as the meeting was dismissed.
A kid. He had a kid out there. How could a failure like him father a kid?
He needed a drink.
Muse: Pete Campbell
Word count: 305 words
Prompt: it's not your fault you're always wrong for _coherent
Did Draper know? Draper had to know. Draper knew everything, like how to hold onto an account, and pick up new ones and get promoted and pick up as many women as he wanted and...
Pete noticed his knuckles whitening around the pen he was gripping, and relaxed his hand. So Draper must have known--must have at least suspected something. Is that why he hated Pete? For getting Peggy--
Pete hadn't done anything wrong--really he hadn't, not this time. The baby wasn't--couldn't have been--his fault. It was an accident. He hadn't known--he couldn't have--
Faintly, Pete heard a cough and glanced up to see the whole room looking at him expectantly. Panic shot through his veins. "Excuse me?" he stuttered, realizing something was being asked of him.
"The Clearasil account, Campbell," drawled Stering, looking incredibly smug. At least someone was taking pleasure in Pete's pain. Pete glanced at Draper to see if he too was enjoying another moment of Pete Campbell's signature flavor of failure, but Draper was just adjusting the papers of his report. His face looked more grim than sadistically gleeful. "Well?" Sterling asked. Pete launched into his essentially memorized ramble about the account, his eyes never leaving Draper's face.
He knew. Draper had to know--he probably knew before Pete did. That bastard--how could he blame Pete for anything when Pete didn't know? He finished his report but continued his glaring at Draper as the meeting was dismissed.
A kid. He had a kid out there. How could a failure like him father a kid?
He needed a drink.
Muse: Pete Campbell
Word count: 305 words
Prompt: it's not your fault you're always wrong for _coherent