Waiting tables was harder than Sam had anticipated; within the first hour of the doors opening he realised he was in over his head. He has somehow managed to spill three drinks and one of them down the front of an agitated burly man, Sam couldn't have apologised faster and scurried to get him tissues. Tate looked on disapprovingly from the bar, he knew the kid was drowning and no one was helping him. He watched Sam trip a few more times before he reluctantly threw his dishcloth to the side and went after him. Sam stood beside the bar gathering himself, he felt like crying, he was letting Marcus down and when he realises how useless he really is he was going to throw him back onto the streets. Sam's spiralling was interrupted as he was dragged painfully towards the kitchen by an iron grip that burned his skin. He stumbled to keep up with Tate as he took long, strong strides, Sam's smaller legs struggled to match Tate's. He was yanked into the startlingly white kitchen and left bewildered as Tate shoved him into the edge of a cold, metal counter, where he trapped Sam between his arms. He glared down at the petite boy "Do you even know how to walk like a normal person? I've never seen someone manage to spill that many drinks, I didn't think it was statistically possible. I mean you would have thought you'd learn from the first spillage, but maybe you are just too stupid!" He spat out and Sam gazed up at him, his eyes stinging. "I know... sorry... I'm really clumsy... I didn't mean to, honestly! I really want to do well! I'm not doing this on purpose..." his voice had grown heavy. "So useless! Is this how you repay Marcus for taking you in?"Tate's expression softened, he realised he had overstepped the line. He was about to apologise when he froze in astonishment as Sam suddenly raised his voice "Y-you know, you didn't have to drag me in here just to tell me what I already knew! I know how much I'm fucking up and I hate it!" Tate recoiled, he didn't know the little rabbit had it in him to stand up for himself, he remained stuck in place as Sam shoved passed him muttering "Jude was right..." he turned at the door "you are an asshole all the time." With that he left Tate in a state of shock, a churning feeling in his stomach and a stabbing sensation in his chest. His brow twitched as he whispered to himself, hurt "Judas thinks I'm an asshole?"

After his 'pep talk' with Tate, Sam was determined to succeed. He couldn't help how clumsy he was, but Tate's accusations had him boiling with anger and frustration. Sam didn't like being looked down upon or being shouted at, he hated disappointing people. Tate pointing out his obvious mistake had upset him. Sam avoided interacting with him any further as best as he could, wordlessly showing him the drink orders and avoiding any eye contact, he didn't want to see the smug look on his face or his icy glare. He was thankful that Jess wasn't working with him as well, he didn't think he could have handled the stress of both of them. Sam shook off these thoughts and just tried to focus on his job and surviving the night.

Sam managed to finish the rest of his shift with only two more spills. He pulled his apron from around his waist, hanging in its place with a sigh. Tired, he slumped onto a bar stool and enjoyed the warm, velvet voice floating above the hustle and bustle of the club, he let himself be completely absorbed by it, this caused him to jump, startled when he felt someone place a hand on his shoulder. Sam's head snapped up to find Tate looking dejected, that confused him because he asssumed Tate would have been pleased with himself for upsetting him, yet here he was a dismal expression, pain clear in his eyes, a longing within them. Sam sat up as he watched him try to find the words he wanted so badly to say "I... I'm... sorry, I- I shouldn't have been so rude and I don't want you to think I'm a complete dick... I'm not, its just- I struggle... I-" he looked into Sam's eyes almost begging him to understand him. "Its alright, Judas already warned my that you are pretty cold with everyone." Sam explained offhandedly. Tate's features darkened and contorted, "Well, I'm not!" he snapped. "I'm sure Judas didn't mean anything by it, he was just making an observation... but you know, you aren't really convincing me of your innocence right now." Sam explained as he gingerly slid off of the stool and retired for the night, leaving Tate trembling with rage, he slammed his foot into the bar stool before storming out of the main hall. He tore at his hair in confusion, he didn't understand what people expected of him. He tried to keep his anger under control, but everyone annoyed the shit out of him. That was when he spotted Judas watching him, his head tilted in question. Tate saw red, he grasped at Judas' collar and slammed him into the wall "If you think I'm an asshole, tell me! How the fuck am I supposed to know I've upset you if you never fucking talk to me anymore?! At least tell me what I've been doing wrong?!" Judas simply raised his eyebrow and nodded his head, signalling to the hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. Tate's face softened and he immediately retreated shaking his head, muttering an apology. They both stood in silence for a moment, both unsure of what to say. Tate held his head down in shame. Was he always this aggressive? Was that why Judas had stopped talking to him? Why he had stopped staying with him in the darkest hours of the night, when neither of them could sleep? Judas broke him away from his thoughts "Look, all I did was warn Sam that you wouldn't be the most friendly person, I said the same about Jess-" He tried to explain but Tate cut him off, his tone harsh "I'm nothing like Jess! She's an absolute bitch and a half! Don't compare us!" Judas remained calm as he ranted "Well, you could have fooled me." was all he said before he scaled the stairs to his room, once again leaving Tate to tear at his hair. He hated it when Judas was mad at him. The worst part about Judas being mad wasn't the cold shoulder he was gave him, because although that was heart-wrenching it wasn't nearly as bad as the quiet, disappointed stares. The shameful glances made him want to curl up and cry. He hated not being close to Judas, they used to be inseparable, they were best friends. It all changed after her death, the whole team was a mess. Marcus hid in his room for almost a month before Connie dragged him out, Oliver refused to speak before months of therapy, Judas felt helpless, Connie was stressed with having to run the club in Marcus' absence and Tate had just blamed everyone else. He let anger grow deep within himself and instead of extinguishing it, he gave it oxygen and let it burn... he just felt empty, void of any emotion other than hatred. He blamed that for the ever growing distance between himself and Judas, he blamed Marcus, he blamed Marcus for letting the incident happen, he blamed him for the breakdown of the team. Yet, he knew deep down he was the only one to blame for most of that and most of the hate within his soul was targeted towards... himself.