Theme: #354 - "Hold My Hand"
Warnings: None really.

Cuddy had left hours ago, having been called away to fill out the proper paperwork for something or other. He couldn't care less at the moment, having had the greatest thing to happen to him in a long while torn away from him in a mere second.

Wilson stared through the glass at the man lying in the bed staring back at him with empty eyes. He wanted to walk in an shut the blinds so he wouldn't have to see it every time he walked by, but he didn't have the heart or the will to push himself towards the door that rested a mere foot to his left.

House looked away with shame, and finally Wilson broke. He pushed himself towards the door, sliding it open with a shaking hand, slipping inside just as quietly as the air. They made eye contact and before he knew what he was doing, he had pulled up a chair and seated himself, hand outstretched and searching for another to hold.

House pulled his hands back and hid them under the blankets.

Wilson frowned and retracted his hands, resting it on his knee instead. "House--she..."

"I know."

Pursed lips and a tightness in his chest. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Ask me. Please ask me if I'm okay.

"Why are you here?"

"I--" Wilson felt the threads of his humanity being strummed at and tightened like an overused guitar. "--I wanted to see if you were okay. I was worried about you."

"Worry about yourself. Your girlfriend just died."

He could feel the braces that held the strings start to creak and he knew that it wouldn't take no more than a love song to break that old guitar on its final day. "You're still alive, I care about you and--"

"If you cared, you wouldn't have made me do what I did."

G was getting too tight. Too tight, too tight, they'd never make it through the first chord at this rate.

"House, I--you should understand."

"I thought you cared."

Now the B was straining. Low E and high E was already at their max, they couldn't handle the tension any longer.

"I do care."

"Go hold her hand."

D snapped, and the whole thing fell apart. The neck cracked and tumbled to the floor in pieces, the wood crumbling to dust and the strings rusting until time couldn't save it from itself.

Wilson shot up from the chair and glared hard at the man before him. "Go to hell." He shoved the chair harshly to the side, knocking over an IV stand in the process. He marched for the door, and almost slammed it open before a quiet "Wilson, wait" broke him out of his empty rage.

He peered over and saw the hand from earlier reaching out for him. "Hold my hand?"

Brown eyes narrowed as tears of rage threatened to fall. "You're okay."

He turned and stomped across the dusty remains of the ruined guitar.