He scrubbed and scrubbed until his hands felt as though the skin on his fingertips was going to peel off. Why he found such comfort in scrubbing his dirtied dishes senseless, he wasn't sure. Chase stared down into the sink's water and ignored the hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He had honestly stopped feeling them moments after they started.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't hear the sounds of the water rushing, the door opening, the concerned words or gestures. He didn't feel the arms curl around his waist while he furiously scrubbed at the dishes. They were so very, very dirty. He had to clean them. In a sense, he felt as though by doing this, he was cleansing himself. He had fucked up again. He had been so cruel…

"Robert, dammit, answer me!"

That voice tore into his thoughts and the blonde dropped the plate he had gotten clean at least twenty minutes ago. It shattered as it hit the floor and everything seemed to break from there. He collapsed into Wilson's strong arms, burying his wet face against the oncologist's neck. Sobs racked his body, making each breath labored and jumpy. Fingers, some raw and some even slightly bloodied, clung desperately to the other's shirt.

"I…he…he died I…it's my fault."

Not once had Wilson ever thought the man would be torn up over his father's death. Chase always seemed so very resentful towards Rowan and, if anything, wanted nothing to do with him. Now James was left to deal with his deteriorating heap of a lover and all he could do was hold him until the tears subsided.

"I'm sorry…" Chase mumbled once he was able to get a hold on himself. Wilson was tempted to push the subject a little farther, but as Chase moved away with a quick kiss and busied himself with the dishes again, Wilson only remained silent. Watching the other carefully, James was finally unable to watch the torture and pulled the other's hands away, ignoring the shattered glass from earlier.

Carefully, he brushed his lips over the other's sore fingers and watched him carefully.

"None of this is your fault…"

And Wilson swears there's a smile on Chase's face that isn't anything near the one he fell in love with. This isn't the Chase he shares casual touches, sweet words, gentle kisses, and passionate nights— anything with. This Chase is so far gone, so broken that Wilson's not even sure he has the strength to fix it.

"I know it's not."

Toneless, hurt, empty… all at once, that sweet accent is flooded with darker things. Wilson smiles and brushes his fingers through those blonde strands and watches while the other go back to the dishes once more. Wilson can feel the rift and he knows it's not going to be much longer, so he prepares himself for the fall and he becomes willing to dive in headfirst all over again.