Warrick had to knock on Sara Sidle's door for nearly 15 minutes before she answered it, wearing pajama pants and a tank top with no bra. Her eyes were bleary and bloodshot, her hair was mussed, and she smelled like the longneck beer she held in her hand.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice slurred.

Warrick frowned, looking worried.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders and threw back the door.

Her studio apartment had a large king-sized bed in the middle of it. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink and clothes were tossed in bundles on the floor. Books and papers littered the entire place. On the wall was a picture of the team, taken the Christmas before, with Grissom smiling in the middle of them. And on the kitchen table were the tarantulas, crawling around happily in their glass cage.

"You should take those back to Gil," she said, waving in their general direction. Then she collapsed sideways into an overstuffed chair, her feet dangling over one arm.

"Are you alright?" Warrick asked, closing the door behind him.

A bitter laugh escaped Sara's lips.

"Alright? You goddam, self-righteous bastard!"

She took another swig.

"I just came to see if you were alright," he said, standing in the middle of the room, his hands buried in his pockets. She hadn't offered him a seat, and he wasn't sure she wanted him to stay.

"Do I LOOK alright to you? Huh?" She stood up, staggering.

Warrick grabbed her arm to steady her, but she yanked it away.

"You're not the one whose whole goddam life just got flushed down the toilet," she said. "You smug son of a bitch!"

She lunged for him and nearly fell, but Warrick caught her, put her beer on the table, picked her up and dropped her into the bed.

"Sara, listen to me," he said, pinning her shoulders to the bed when she struggled to get up. "I'm here for you. I want to help you."

"The fuckin' blind leading the fuckin' blind," she yelled, sobbing and trying to shove him off of her, but his powerful arms wouldn't let her go.

Warrick spoke softly to her.

"I'm an addict, I know," he said. "I gamble, you drink. Different party, same dance. That's why I'm here. I'm your friend, Sara. And you've been my friend. I'm here for you."

"I'm the one who turned you in, you know," Sara said, glaring at him through her tears. "When Grissom wanted to know if you were gambling, again, he got me to check you out. I got the video. I'm the one who told him. What kind of friend is that, huh?"

Warrick was silent a few seconds, studying the pain on her face.

"A good friend, to Gil and to me," he said. "You did what you had to do. I understand."

"Bastard! Get out of here! Get out! I want to be alone!"

She tried to swing at him, but he caught her wrists and held them to her side.

"I'm not leaving, you, Sara. Not like this," he said.

"Why? I've lost everything! Grissom. My job. My career. And what have I got to show for it?"

"You haven't lost me," he said. "You idolized Grissom, and you shouldn't have done that."

"Don't tell me how I should feel!" she yelled.

"Stop it!" Warrick yelled back.

Stunned, Sara was suddenly silent.

"Grissom is just a man. He's a smart son of a bitch, but he's no different than me or Nick or Jim. But you.... You see him differently. All you see is the dream man you think you're in love with, not the man he really is. That's not love, Sara. That's obsession. That's why he can never have a relationship with you."

Sara had stopped crying, but she stared at Warrick as if he was a complete stranger.

"Sara," Warrick added, "I'm your friend. I care about you. I can't just sit by and let you do this to yourself. It's got to stop."

Sara stopped struggling and collapsed under his hands. When he let go, she curled up into a ball, sobbing. Warrick, afraid to leave her alone and not sure what else to do, laid down on the bed, wrapped his arms around her and held her until she'd cried herself to sleep.

*****

"Have you seen my spiders?" Gil asked, as Catherine came through his front door.

"Sara has them," she said, glancing out the window as Nick drove away. "I see the campout has diminished considerably," she added, referring to the media still outside Grissom's door.

He nodded, but he was looking at her. In the glow of the rising sun, she seemed frail and tired. He reached over and rested his hand on her shoulder, turning her to look at him. When she didn't meet his eyes, he knew she was troubled.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I've been suspended," she said.

He put his finger under her chin and lifted her face until they were eye to eye.

"Because of me?" he asked. The anger started building in him, again.

She shook her head.

"I hit Eckley," she said.

Gil unexpectedly chuckled.

"I wish I'd seen that," he commented.

For the first time that day, Catherine smiled.

"How did it happen?" he said. "I want all the gritty details. Coffee?"

He headed to the kitchen to get her a cup as she collapsed into his sofa with a heavy sigh.

"Well, the first thing that bastard did was tell us we couldn't be seen with you, or we'd all be fired," she said. "That pissed Sara off so bad that she quit."

"She quit?" Gil stuck his head around the corner, looking stunned.

"Then he took me in his office and started interrogating me about your bail money. He wanted me to say that Sam gave it to me, but I denied that, of course. That just got him angrier."

Gil brought them both coffee and handed one to her.

"Then what?" he asked, sitting next to her.

"Then I told him that I knew he'd set Carol up in the apartment. He's the landlord, you know. Did I tell you that?"

"No," Gil answered, shaking his head and watching her carefully.

"Anyway, I threatened to go to the press and tell them, if he didn't leave me alone."

"And that's when you hit him," Gil said.

"No."

Catherine's hands were beginning to shake and she quickly set her cup down on the coffee table. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to focus on what to say and how to say it.

"Catherine?" Gil sat his cup down, also, then reached over and took her hand. "What happened?"

"He... He..." She started shaking. "Damn!"

"It's alright, Catherine. Just take it slow. Tell me what happened."

Catherine fought to control herself, then just let the words flow out of her mouth.

"He slammed me into the wall and threatened me. He said if I caused him any trouble, I'd spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder."

"And that's when you hit him," Gil said, his jaw locking.

She nodded. Then, she started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Gil asked, confused.

Catherine held up her manicured nails, one of which was broken.

"I hit him so hard, I scratched the skin off his face," she said. "Greg is using it for a DNA match on Carol."

She looked at Gil and soon he was laughing, too.

"Catherine, you are one of a kind," he said, squeezing her hand and smiling at her. Their eyes locked, and their laughter stopped. Gil looked down at their hands, joined together.

"You were right," he said.

"About what?" she asked.

"It should have been you."

It was her turn to take his face in her hand and lift his eyes up to hers.

"If only you'd told me what you were going through," she said.

"I couldn't. You had problems of your own; you didn't need mine."

"Your problems are my problems," she said.

Grissom pursed his lips, looking suddenly embarrassed.

"Heather...." he began.

"I know. She told me," Catherine said.

"I didn't want anyone to know, not even my closest friend," he said, squeezing her hand and looking away, again. "Now, everyone knows."

"No. They are only speculating. The only ones who know are Sara and me."

"That's why she was so upset," he said.

Catherine nodded.

"She's not as strong as you are, you know," Gil said, his eyes on the closed blinds.

"Gil," Catherine said, "look at me." When his gaze met hers, she continued. "I'm not as strong as you think I am."

As he stared into her sad eyes, he knew she was telling the truth.

-- TBC --