Before going home, Cameron stopped by Cuddy's. Oddly enough, she was the one person whose phone wasn't bugged. But the lights were on and fresh tire tracks lead into the garage, so Cameron got out of her car.

Cuddy didn't answer the door the first time, so she knocked again; finally prompting a response. From the other side of the door. "Go away, please."

"I'm worried," Cameron called back. She waited awhile longer and the door finally came open. Cuddy was in sweats and Cameron was pretty sure she saw a stain. "Okay, now I'm really worried."

"Unless you happen to be my husband in a Cameron suit, I don't feel like having company."

"I need to know you're okay."

Cuddy gave her a disbelieving glance. "I just lost my husband of seven months. And you think it's inconceivable for me to be devastated?"

"I lost a husband, too. I know what you're feeling. I know there's no right way. But I need you to tell me that you're, you know...going to be smart."

"Relax. Your job is safe."

"That is not why I'm—" She stopped talking as the door began to close, but she thrust out a hand to prevent it from closing. The women locked eyes.

"Please. Just go."

"I'm your friend."

Cuddy hesitated only a moment longer, then abandoned the door; walking further into her home. Cameron stepped inside, shutting out the cold behind her. "Everybody will understand. Sooner or later."

"I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm looking for solace."

Cameron wandered after her down the hall, and her attention was immediately drawn to the kitchen island, covered in envelopes. "You know when it is?"

"New Year's."

"Oh," Cameron said flatly.

"Yeah." Cuddy sat, with the movements of someone twice her age. "God," she whispered. "I feel like a tool."

"Why?"

"I keep...thinking about the last thing I said to him. You need the surgery. It'll be okay. Trust me."

"You—you couldn't have known."

"I could have suspected. 84 years old, poor health. And me, thirty-some odd years of being in medicine. Tack on another ten for studies, advanced classes, training..." Cuddy shook her head, fingers pressed against her forehead. "I didn't even predict it. Never even crossed my mind."

"You can't blame yourself."

"He trusted me."

"The surgery wasn't an option. Mortality, age, and illness aren't your fault. Reassuring a patient he'll be okay is your obligation. You filled it, end of story. The only person who blames you is you."

Cuddy looked down at the envelopes. "You know what's really twisted here? I'm not even going to tell my mother. Because she would look at me, smile, and say... Good. And I just—I don't need that."

Cameron was shaking her head as she began to assist with the invitations. "We should probably think about happy memories."

"It's a little soon for that."

"Trust me on this, okay? It will always feel too soon. But the sooner you'll try, the faster you'll succeed."

Cuddy's eyes shot up to hers and she tossed the invitation onto the island. "Maybe that's true in Cameron Land. But you can't just come into my home and feed me truisms. They don't apply to everyone, and I expect my doctors to live in the real world."

"Cuddy. I'm just trying to help."

"You can't help! You can't turn back time and make me not a widow."

"I think I know what I'm capable of."

"You were capable of leaving when you were asked."

"Fine! Dwell in your grief; rot in it. Tell me your least favorite memory. Would that help?"

Cuddy looked at her a moment longer, then turned around and walked toward the stairs. Cameron watched her ascend, and stop before she reached the halfway point. Then she was turning around where she stood. "How dare you?" she demanded, retracing her steps through the living room. "You coerce your way inside, you assume we function the same, you tell me there's no right way and then you stand here saying I don't know how to handle it. Well, maybe Foreman wasn't far off when he called you a hypocrite."

"I'm not saying you don't know how to handle it, I'm asking how you will!"

"How can I possibly know? Becoming a widow is your area, not mine."

And like a candle in the wind, Cuddy's anger was blown out; as she realized she didn't have a damn clue why she was yelling.

Cameron shrugged, trying to remain impassive. "Maybe we're not friends."

Cuddy looked bruised inside as her shoulders slumped. "Well, unless you intend to quit, you are still my employee. I'd be a fool to let you go."

She turned around and moved stiffly to the couch, sinking down on the nearest end. And sat, staring into the dark depths of the Christmas tree in total silence. Finally, Cameron approached and sat on the opposite end. In total silence.