I wasn't drunk, but I woke up with a terrible pounding in my head. Everything that happened last night was a blur in my head. It seemed surreal, but real enough to make me sick to my stomach.

"Why doesn't he at least respect me? He could occasionally look me in the eyes and say that I do a good job . . . that I am making a fucking difference in this messed up world," Sara ranted as we watched a documentary on the civil war.

I drove her back to my place. I couldn't think of where else I could take her. At least, I could control the environment that she was in. It was wishful thinking to even imagine that I could prevent her breakdown from happening, but I could at least make it a private breakdown.

"Sar, he respects you," I replied even though I wasn't even certain of my answer.

"When I showed him the letter, he said that I should expect this. That's all he could say to me after he all but forced me to make myself vulnerable to him," Sara said.

"What?"

"After I was suspended, he showed up at my apartment. He wanted me to talk to him. Grissom let me tell him things that I haven't shared with anyone else. He told me that I could always come to him. I did, but he doesn't know how to handle it," Sara replied. She needed to turn her head to keep me from seeing just how hurt she was.

"It's okay. He's Grissom. He doesn't know how to handle feelings. You could have come to me," I replied.

"I thought I loved him," Sara replied. Her response shocked me even though I was well aware of the torch that she carried for our boss.

"When I was in graduate school, he did a guest lecture on forensic chemistry of decomposition mediated by maggots. I sat in the front row. After the lecture, he asked me to join him for coffee. I was the only person that made it through the three hour long didactic," Sara said. Her eyes began to glass over as she told me the tale that seemingly had haunted her for years.

"We talked for hours. He was one of the only people that ever challenged me to think . . . he's the only man that has talked to me without expecting to make his way into my bed. I liked how special that made me feel. No one ever took time to make me feel special," Sara replied, "I let myself fall in love with a man that's incapable of letting himself be free enough to love me back. It sucks, Nick . . . it sucks."

My heart broke for her. My mother's only goal in life was to make me feel special. Despite being the youngest of seven children, I always felt like she took enough time to let me know just how special I was. My mother still made my favorite meal when I went home to Texas. I couldn't imagine growing up feeling like no one cared.

"I'm sorry," I said awkwardly.

"I shouldn't complain. I shouldn't complain to you. Could you call me a cab?" Sara asked embarrassed that she hadn't dwelled on my well-being. I could have kissed her for that; it was the first time in weeks that someone engaged me in a conversation that wasn't about coffins, psychos, or ants.

"No, I won't call you a cab. You give so much, Sara. I know because I do the same thing. Every time I try to be selfish, something shitty happens. It makes me feel like all I can do is give . . . it pisses me off," I replied.

"The difference is that you care about the victims and about your coworkers," Sara replied.

"I don't care as much as you do. Sara, don't be like him. Don't pretend to be Grissom when I know that you aren't," I yelled at her. She looked shocked for a moment before she began to cry. I knew this was probably the first time that she had cried in years. She shook as she fell into my arms.

"I saw Brenda, and I knew she would turn into me. I should have never let her go," Sara cried as I wrapped my arms around her in an attempt to give her some kind of comfort.

"You did the best work that you could. You tried to make sure that Brenda would never be hurt again," I whispered as I tried to calm her.

"No matter what I do, I manage to screw it up. Suzi died because I didn't protect her . . . I knew the home invaders would come back for her," Sara replied through her sobs. I couldn't even imagine what other baggage she had been carrying around for years.

"Honey, it's okay. Those are two people. You've helped hundreds of other people," I replied as I ran a hand through her hair.

"It doesn't feel like it. I see their faces in my nightmares. I haven't slept for more than two hours consecutively for four years," Sara replied, "I can't forget them."

"What can I do to help you?" I asked.

"I'm beyond repair, Nick," Sara replied in a voice that was so cold it was piercing. In that moment, Sara seemed so much more like a fragile china doll than the tough CSI she masqueraded as.

"If I can be fixed, anyone can," I replied. I didn't know what to do besides hold her.

The rest of the night was even more of a blur. Somehow, it all culminated in Sara ending up in my bed. I woke up feeling disgusted that I somehow managed to take advantage of her. I just wanted to make her feel special . . . feel cared about.

My bed was empty in the morning. I don't even remember when she managed to crawl out of the protective embrace that I held her in all night. It was the first night I had slept through in weeks. It was probably the first night that she slept through, too.

I ran my hands through my hair and walked out into the kitchen for coffee. It hit me like a brick wall that I probably drove Sara away from me; one night of me trying to comfort her, probably caused me to lose one of my most loyal friends.

I looked at the note on the refrigerator.

I'm sorry. –S

I knew that I had succeeded in doing what I feared.