"Mordecai and Rigby wanted me to tell ya they're sorry," Skips said.
"Sorry for what?" Benson grumbled, "being useless excuses for employees?"
"More or less."
"Why?" Benson doubted they'd suddenly turned a good leaf, but he didn't want to believe they could possibly know what he was dealing with. How could they know such a thing?
Skips shrugged, "I think they're started to figure it out."
"Fuck," Benson hissed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Just what he needed, everyone to know about all his problems. Perfect! Why didn't they just broadcast it to the whole world? He was about to pull one out when Skips snatched the pack away, shoving it in his own pocket. "Hey!" Benson yelled. He was not in the mood for this. Not now.
"You gotta stop smoking," Skips said.
"I don't care, just give it back!"
"I'm not givin' it back to you so I can watch you smoke in front of me. I won't watch you throw away your health anymore."
"Doesn't it occur to you that I don't care about my health? Fuck, Skips, I don't care! If I die right now, then wonderful, that's just fantastic. I couldn't care less!" he didn't think that was true. He would care if he died right then. He was sure there were thousands of things he'd regret not doing before his death, but once he'd started yelling, he couldn't stop. "In fact, why don't I just go stand in the middle of the street and wait for a car to run me over! Or better yet, a truck! That way I can make sure I actually die!" he was about ready to storm off when Skips grabbed his arm, glancing at the few people who's started to stare. Ignoring them, he began to drag Benson back down the sidewalk, much to the redhead's protests.
Skips was a lot more intuitive than he often got credit for. Of course he knew Benson was just blowing off steam. After a few moments of walking down the sidewalk, Benson's yelling died down yet again until he was just mumbling a few curses now and then.
Skips directed him to a free table outside a small cafe. "Wait here," he said, quickly disappearing inside to grab some drinks. Benson let out a long sigh, rubbing his head. He'd made a completely idiot out of himself back there. He knew he agreed to let Skips help out, but it didn't really seem like it. It was almost like he forgot. He couldn't stop himself. No matter how many times he screamed to let the world take him out, he didn't really want out. There was too much he still wanted to do, too many people he still wanted to say things to.
Moments later, Skips returned with two cups of coffee. He set one in front of Benson and gave the man a quick glance to see where his temperament was. "Sorry," he mumbled, picking up the cup of coffee and taking a sip. It was much better than the coffee he'd been drinking at home.
Skips only shrugged. "Let me ask you something."
"What?" Benson put down the cup and stared at him.
"What do you think the best reason to live for is?"
He was startled. He didn't expect to be answering a question like that. "I... don't know?"
"Just think about it for a minute."
So he did. He thought hard for a while, but Skips was content waiting, sipping from his coffee. Nearly ten minutes later, Benson answered. "Maybe... love? I don't fucking know. That sounds cheesy, but what else is there? I wouldn't say money or anything."
"Hm," Skips nodded, taking in this new information.
"Why did you ask me that anyway?" Benson asked.
"I thought if I found what you'd want to live for, I'd help you try and get there."
"W-what, that's stupid," Benson mumbled. "I'm not going to kill myself," he picked up the cup of coffee and stared at its contents. "I've thought about it for a while, actually. I can't stop myself from acting like a complete idiot when I get angry and sometimes I say stuff, more often than not, that I don't really mean. Truth is, I don't really want to die. Sometimes I just get so upset that it's all I can think about, though. I get that sort of mindset where everything would be easier if I was gone because I would have nothing more to worry about, but even then... I get scared." If it was anyone else, Benson would never speak about his feelings in such a manner, but Skips had an inviting personality it was hard to stop yourself once you got talking. "Like, what if I did die by my own hands," he set down the cup and stared at his palms. "Would I go somewhere different than the people that died from natural causes? Would I go somewhere worse? I can't help but think I might."
"Why would you figure that?"
"Because, it just seems rational to me! Plus, I don't know anything about death. It's like an enigma. Nobody knows what happens after you die or where you go. It... scares me. I don't care if that's weird."
"Hm," Skips mused. "It's not weird. It's perfectly normal to be scared of dying, but you still got a long life ahead of you. Once you realize that, you can let the fear lift."
"Yeah, but that won't lift my depression."
"No, but you're going to therapy, aren't you? I'm sure that will help you and I'm here for you too," Skips said. "I don't want you to disappear either."
Benson felt himself start to smile. After all, it really did feel good to be cared about. "Yeah... thanks," he ran a hand through his hair. "You're a good friend, Skips."
He chuckled, "Thanks. Will you start talking to me now, if you have a problem? Remember, I don't care if it's at three in the morning or ten at night, if you need something, I'll be right over."
Benson really did wonder why he went to such lengths, but he truly was thankful for it and it was about time he started to pave his road to recovery himself. "Okay, I will."
"Promise?"
"Yeah, I promise."