In the softest voice, Sara asked me to clean out her liquor cabinet and her medicine chest. Sara said that she was afraid that she might do something stupid; she said she didn't want to but death would be a welcome comfort compared to her perceived uselessness on Earth. I couldn't believe that Grissom was able to take down such a strong woman in only one month. The Sara I knew was gone; there wasn't a trace of her smart-ass wit or fierce determination. She had been rendered blank; I wondered what kind of emotional abuse could possibly do that to her. It was something beyond my imagination.

Sara sat silently on her couch staring at the blank screen of the television. I turned on her police scanner; I knew she used to listen to the scanner to unwind. I knew she used to play this game where she would describe everything she would do if she was the first CSI on the scene. Sara didn't play the game today; her confidence had been shaken. She couldn't do anything to please the man that she always secretly, or not so secretly, harbored feelings for.

I cleaned out her cabinets; I was shocked to see the number of half empty alcohol bottles in the liquor cabinet. I nearly fell over when I saw the number of bottles of sleeping pills and antidepressants Sara had prescribed to her. She could have easily killed the entire state of Rhode Island with all the alcohol and medications she had in her possession. I wondered why I hadn't noticed this; I was the intuitive one . . . I was the one that understood people so much better than my more stoic colleagues. I attributed Sara's recent mood swings as a product of being overworked; I never asked her if she was okay. She's Sara; Sara's never been one to admit weakness or defeat. I felt the wave of guilt wash over me as I wondered if I could have saved her . . . and Greg. I wondered if they were somewhere beyond repair.

"You okay?" I asked as I sat next to Sara. It was a stupid question; Sara obviously was not okay.

"I knew it would get ugly, but I thought it would be Grissom and Ecklie going at it. I didn't think he blamed me. I always tried to be perfect for him . . . even when I wasn't perfect, I pretended to be for him," Sara said as she continued to stare into space. Sara wasn't lying; she had become perfect for Grissom. She became extremely knowledgeable on Grissom's favorite topic; I could see that she had started to collect textbooks about forensic entomology. Sara had worked herself to the bone trying to impress Grissom; she lost part of herself to her perfection.

"I'm sure Grissom doesn't mean it. He's probably just upset about Ecklie," I said. I wanted to reassure her that it wasn't her fault, but Sara had taken it personally because Grissom had personally attacked her and singled her out. Sara felt guilty; there weren't enough words in the English language to change her mind.

"He said that it's my fault that Susanna died . . . the girl that was raped during the home invasion thing. He said that I should have made her pick out her rapist from the line up. The case went cold. He blames me for it," Sara replied. Her voice was flat. The coolness of her voice sent chills down my spine. I couldn't believe that Grissom would blame Sara for that; Sara did everything she could to protect that girl. Sara knew what it felt like to be that girl; after four and a half years, Grissom should know that.

"It's not your fault. You wouldn't let her get hurt. You'd never let a victim get hurt again," I replied.

"He said that I should have left after I finished Holly's investigation," Sara replied. That comment had to have cut her down to absolutely nothing; I wondered what the hell was going on inside of Grissom's head.

"I'm so sorry, Sara," I whispered. I could feel the tightness in my throat; I wanted to cry for Sara because I couldn't even imagine what it felt like to have someone you love tell you that you are unwanted.

"He says stuff like that to Greg. He reminds us that we are the 'B' team. He puts a lot of pressure on Greg. Grissom wants everything done faster and more precise . . . Greg's just learning this stuff. He can't keep up with the demands. Greg's hands have started to shake again," Sara commented. It was obvious that Sara and Greg had become strong allies in the face of Grissom's new personality. Sara began to cry when she talked about Greg; she acted as if it was okay for Grissom to treat her like that, but it was unacceptable to treat Greg like that. I wondered how much Sara endured to protect Greg. I wondered how much Greg endured to protect Sara.

"God," I replied. I didn't even know what to say to make her feel better.

"It's hard because I know I'm supposed to respect him, but I think I hate him," Sara replied. She continued to cry for Greg; the tears made wet trails down her cheeks. She didn't bother to dry her eyes; it was as if she didn't care.

"What did I do to make him so angry?" Sara asked in a childlike voice. She turned to me and looked me dead in the eyes. I could feel my heartbreaking for her.

"It's not you . . . it's not. I promise you that this has to be something else. You've done great things here. There has to be something else going on," I replied as I took her into my arms. I stroked her hair; her tears saturated my shirt. I struggled to hold back my own tears.

"What if it is me?" she asked as she began to choke on her tears. She tried so hard to suppress the sobs; she tried so hard to be the strong one. It was probably her way of protecting Greg; she made herself the better target. In the process, she started believing that it was her fault.

"It's not you. I don't know what it is, but it isn't you," I replied. She shook in my arms; she shook like a wounded animal. It was hard to believe that a man I respected so much was capable of causing so much damage.

She cried herself to sleep. I carried her to her bed; she was tiny. I knew Sara had a fine bone structure, but she felt frail. She was torn apart mentally and physically. We all knew that Warrick was Grissom's favorite, at least to some degree. I knew that Grissom treated me with a degree of favoritism. I wondered if that was pushed in her face.

I called Catherine. She always seemed to know what was lurking in the corners of that man's mind.

"Nick, I don't know what to tell you. I heard he suspended Greg and Sara. Sophia isn't fairing much better . . . she put in an appeal to Ecklie," Catherine explained after I told her about the two needless suspensions.

"What can we do?" I asked. Catherine had always been good at the politics aspect of the job; her ability to work the system was what made her management material.

"I'll talk to Grissom. Keep an eye on Sara . . . Grissom was pretty hard on her this morning," Catherine replied as she hung up her telephone. If Catherine was suggesting that I keep an eye on Sara, it had to have gotten bad this morning. Catherine never liked Sara; I don't think she even respected her on a professional level. After Eddie's murder, Catherine treated Sara with a coolness that is uncommonly felt in the desert. I knew Sara was hard on herself for not getting a conviction for Catherine . . . for Lindsey. Things between them were always tense; I always attributed it to their competition for Grissom's attention. Lately, neither of them had any desire to continue the competition.

I watched Sara sleep; I wondered if anyone else knew that Sara was fragile despite the tough act that she always played up. I wondered if Grissom had any idea what his wrath had done to her. I don't think he did because if he could see her now, he would understand the true impact of his words.

Her doorbell rang. It was Sophia; she looked nearly as distressed as Sara and Greg did this morning. I never like Sophia; I always thought she came off as pretentious with her holier-than-thou attitude. It could have been that I didn't like her because she never belonged on the night shift. Sophia had taken over what belonged to Warrick, Catherine, and me. I used her as my scapegoat.

"I just wanted to let Sara know that I talked to Ecklie this afternoon . . . not that he really seemed to care about what Grissom is doing," Sophia said as she walked into Sara's apartment, "You've gotten rid of her alcohol. Did she ask you to?"

"This morning she asked," I replied. They were brothers in arms; the new night shift had bonded in light of their common enemy.

"We get drunk almost every morning. Greg and I sleep here more than we do at our own homes. People can only endure so much, Nick," Sophia said as she walked down the hallway to Sara's bedroom, "I just wanted to make sure she was okay. Grissom takes away what means the most to people. He's trying to take away Sara's professionalism."

"Why?" I asked. I didn't expect her to know.

"He wants us to suffer like he is. Grissom is a Shepard that has lost his herd. It makes him suffer. His neuroma complicates things," Sophia replied as she watched Sara sleep.

"Neuroma?" I asked.

"I saw the doctor's report sitting on his desk; neuroma of the eighth cranial nerve localized to the right lower branches. He's going deaf; not the same way as his mother did, but the outcome will be the same," Sophia replied, "I don't think anyone knows. Catherine would probably be the only person that would know."

"Benign?" I asked. I could feel cold chills run up and down my spine.

"Pre-malignant. He'll have to have another surgery," Sophia replied. I didn't even know when he had his first surgery; I wondered how a woman so far removed from the situation could know so much.

"I should go. I'm working a few extra shifts today. Grissom will give me hell if there's any backlog," Sophia said with a sigh.

He had made them a party to his own fears and regrets; if he was going down, it appeared that he would take them all with him.