Hi everyone! This is the English version of a one-shot I wrote a few days ago. It's somehow a remake of Wilson's heart, the very end of it. I hope you'll like it!

Oh, and, Cuddy isn't wearing the same clothes in the episode..

Huge thanks to Lisa, you rock :* (surtout pour le grin là :P)

Enjoy and let me know if you did :)

Cuddy's shoulders.

It was getting late, the clock on the bedside table showed one o'clock. Or the time was more advanced, no one paid a lot of attention to such details in this room where time had frozen. The heavy atmosphere was accentuated by the sweltering quietude that enveloped the area and the absence of light gave a hint of sadness to the already palpable grief atmosphere. Only the rays of the full moon were lighting the room.

At barely a meter away from the bed, Cuddy was sitting, her legs under herself, on a chair for the least uncomfortable. Despite the discomfort of her bed and carried away by tiredness, she had fallen into a light sleep, after days spent awaken. Her skin was pale and her eyes shadowed; she had held up her hair in a messy bun and was wearing less elegant clothes than usual: a simple sweater and jeans.

As a background, the soft and monotonous murmur of the machines' engines; sometimes were added in a muffled sound of voices, the siren of an ambulance or the cry of a patient in agony.

With an empty look, House was staring into the distance. His eyes were barely open, and his mouth was dry. His muscles were numb and a throbbing pain was devastating his head and thigh. He was exhausted by the emotions accumulated in such a short time and the events of the recent days. He hazarded a glance at his left when he felt a flesh that was not his graze his hand.

Her right hand wedged between the chair's back and her cheek, Cuddy seemed to be sleeping deeply. He doubted it, however. Her other hand was extended towards him, her thin fingers gently squeezing the palm of his hand. He looked at her for long seconds, somehow reassured by her presence.

Looking up, his eyes fell on Wilson, standing behind the glass. A multitude of different feelings danced in his eyes; he could detect sadness, deep sadness. Anger, too. Surely. The emptiness however dominated the look that Wilson cast him.

At the sight of his friend, House remembered why he was in that hospital's bed and felt his whole body stiffen in pain. Guilt that he would rather ignore or do not feel forced upon his conscience. He had ruined the happiness of his friend, had taken the life of a young woman because of a damned amnesia and had probably lost his best friend because of it. He who usually didn't forget any detail...

He vaguely heard the door slide open when his friend entered the room.

"It's over," Wilson said once he was close enough to the bed to give him a scornful look.

House wondered if he was talking about Amber or their friendship. He selfishly hoped that his first hypothesis was the correct one.

"I'm sorry," was all he managed to say. His voice was barely audible.

"I hope you're happy now," Wilson continued. His detached voice squeezed his heart.

Lisa moved a little in her sleep, which made him pause. Wilson glanced at the sleeping woman on the chair, then at their clasped hands and finally at House again. He instinctively squeezed Cuddy's hand, the resentful gaze Wilson shot him made him ache even worse than his opened skull or the scar in his thigh.

"This is what you wanted," he sighed in a light, bitter laugh. "It's over, House."

And he left the room without waiting for an answer. Maybe both his presumptions were right, at the end.

Slowly, the brunette emerged, awakened by the additional presence in the room and the light pressure she felt on her hand. Cuddy slowly opened her eyes and put her feet on the cold floor, trying to recognize the person who had entered the room. She only saw the back of Wilson disappearing in the hallway.

Her eyes fell on the hand grasping hers, then its owner. He followed her gaze and released his grip on her fingers. She assumed that Wilson wasn't a stranger to this attitude and prevented a smile at the idea that she could've comforted him, even asleep. Slowly, she felt the pressure on her left hand release and she released it from his in a gesture she wanted natural. She crossed her arms over her chest, trembling slightly because of the cold and air-conditioned room.

Her eyes reflected the concern she tried to hide under a calm and serene mask. She wanted to be strong for him, but her eyes betrayed her.

"What is it?" She asked, leaning slightly towards him. She gave a quick glance to the monitor that reflected his vital signs as graphs or simply numbers and was relieved by seeing they were close to normal. Then she walked around the bed and served him a glass of water.

"It's over," he repeated in a whisper, watching her.

She said nothing, and neither did he. Only a comforting smile appeared on her lips as she helped him swallow the liquid. He did not thank her. Cuddy put the barely empty glass on the bedside table and went back to sit in the chair she occupied shortly before and had been for several hours now. Silence filled the room again, heavier than before.

"Give him time," she whispered after a moment passed with them observing the empty hallway.

He did not answer, too busy following her eyes. The hallway was strangely calm, almost terrifying; only a few employees walked past there in complete silence. The ICU was never as busy and noisy as the rest of the hospital; it gave it a sinister and cold side. The noise there was taboo.

Cuddy looked up at him and wondered if it would be wise to increase the dose of morphine when she saw his features tense. She gave up the idea when she realized she was not objective. Slowly, she got up and just gave him sleeping pills so he could sleep at least a few hours, finding a moment of sleep would be beneficial. He did not react.

"Rest a bit," Cuddy murmured as he slowly closed his eyes, without a sound.

She watched him fall asleep, thoughtful. She would've liked to help, to do more than stand there, watching him. Cuddy was aware of the internal debate going on within him and she wanted to relieve him, tell him that it was not his fault but she knew it would be futile.

Her gaze embraced the silent hall again, Wilson's visit came to her mind and although she did not know what had happened between them, she easily guessed that it had greatly affected the Diagnostician. Cuddy wondered how her friend was doing.

The fact that he resented House seemed obvious. She did not blame him. He was angry at the whole world. Doubting the wisdom of her act and ensuring for one last time that House was sleeping, Cuddy left the room. She paced silently through the corridors and stopped when she saw the oncologist standing in front of Amber's room; few meters were between the two of them.

Wilson had his arms crossed over his chest and his legs slightly apart, his back was curved and his shoulders slumped. He stared at the inert, lifeless body of the young woman through the window. He did not cry, didn't yell, didn't spit out his frustration on anyone or anything, he did not shake Amber in the vain hope of waking her either; he was simply looking at her, seeming lost. He vaguely gave the impression of being in a state of trance in which he had no awareness of what was happening around him.

Cuddy approached him slowly, not wanting to surprise or scare him. As a first approach, she gently placed her hand on his forearm; he didn't react immediately, continuing to observe Amber. She wondered if he really saw her and if he wasn't just lost in his thoughts as he turned sadly to her.

"My condolences," she whispered, offering a genuinely compassionate smile.

He looked away to watch the woman he loved and who now was no longer his. It was the first time he was offered condolences, and he knew he would hear this phrase a number of times during the coming days. All my condolences. These three words brought him back to reality, well acerbic taste. Amber was not and would never be there again.

Wilson violently bit his lower lip because it was starting to shake, he looked back at Cuddy. He caught her eyes, as if he hoped to find in her blue-gray gaze a way to save her, to save him. Or maybe it was just comfort from a friend.

"She's dead, Cuddy," he uttered laboriously holding a sob.

At the tone of his voice, Cuddy would have sworn he had just become aware of what he'd said. He was no longer in denial, he just needed to accept it now. And she knew that the wound was still alive and would take time to heal.

"Oh no," she pleaded in a whisper when her friend's face fell. And she hugged him tightly. Wilson let her do so, held her tighter, even. The strength of his grip reflected all the pain he felt and was trying to evacuate. He made sure to turn away from the large window of the room, a way for him not to fall further. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she felt her friend's shoulders tremble more severely.

Cuddy focused not to get overwhelmed by emotions and willed away the tears that filled her gray iris and blurred her sight. She broke their hug as she felt Wilson gently pull away from her and turn his head to look at Amber. Several nurses were busy preparing her body. Cuddy winced at the sight.

"She ... Will stay a few days," Wilson uttered with difficulty"... At the morgue. By the time her family ... " He did not finish his sentence.

"Sure," Cuddy nodded gently.

"Thanks," he murmured absently. Amber had again his full attention.

Cuddy knew he wanted to be alone now. "If you need me, I'll be ..." She waved a hand towards the end of the corridor, Wilson simply nodded, venturing a glance at her. She did not know if saying his name in front of him was a good idea and was relieved he understood.

Cuddy looked one last time through the large window of the room and felt her heart sink at the sight of the frozen body of the young woman. White as a sheet and motionless, she was almost afraid at the sight even for someone who had faced death more than once. She felt the urgent need to see House.

One minute, maybe two sufficed for her to reach the room. The alarm clock proclaimed it was now almost two in the morning, if properly adjusted. Cuddy barely paid attention to it and let herself fall nimbly in the uncomfortable chair she had occupied shortly before. Her eyes followed a few seconds the man's heart rate then fell on him. He was asleep but did not gave the appearance of having completely abandoned himself to sleep, his features were drawn and tired and his lips bitterly pursed.

Cuddy had the horrible feeling that there was a double loss that night; Wilson had just lost the woman he loved and House the only true friend he had.

The end.

Thanks for reading, R&R xoxo