A/N: There are no spoilers. Place this whenever you think Grissom and Sara first got together. I wouldn't necessarily call this a "case file" because I am not confident in the procedural part of the story. Mainly, it's my exploration of Sara's past and her particular reasons for being how she is throughout the series. Though this is a WIP, all chapters (there are about 7) are actually done being written. They are just being polished one by one. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, but I am just happy you are reading. Thanks for the support!

Call you up in the middle of the night
Like a firefly without a light
You were there like a blowtorch burning
I was a key that could use a little turning
Soul Asylum

xxx

The heavy air was cruel, sinking over her. Her clothing stuck to her body like a wet plastic bag. Sara huffed and pulled her curling hair back into a sloppy bun. She'd only been in the room for thirty minutes and already sweat was rolling down her back, putting her on edge.

"It's been a while since I experienced humidity like this," Sara exclaimed, standing up and wiping her brow with the back of her gloved hand.

"It's stifling," Grissom agreed, his eyes scanning the room.

A woman had been found dead in the Las Vegas Conservatory and Botanical Garden, specifically in the orchid room. The woman's stiff and bloodied body was a sharp contrast to the alluringly colorful flowers surrounding her. The heavy air and smell of dank earth and copper drowned out the floral scent of the orchids, but it was still a beautiful room to behold.

Philodendrons and nerve plants surrounded a small pool filled with orange spotted koi fish. A small waterfall could be heard, the slow trickling sound attempting to wash away whatever violence had occurred in the room. Peppered throughout the room were various orchids. Some looked fantastical, like they were plucked from Alice's Wonderland, some were mundane and lovely in their simplicity. Some were planted in the ground, some crawled up trees. They all looked fragile and priceless.

"Okay, David, the body's all yours," Grissom called out to the assistant coroner lurking on the other side of the dome-shaped room. "Mind the shoe prints by the victims right side."

Once the body was moved, the clacking sounds of the gurney fading in the distance, Sara could see what the dead woman had been laying on. She sighed pitifully.

"What a shame. Squashed," Sara said, kneeling down and photographing the decimated lilac-pink petals in front of her.

"Pleione formosana."

Sara's eyes shot up, her brow wrinkling in question. Grissom crouched next to her, his leg pressing firmly against hers. Her stomach did a small leap at the unexpected contact.

"Pardon?"

"Peacock orchids." His voice was low and he looked at her, eyes soft. He was touching her on purpose, she realized, and she nudged his knee with hers playfully.

"A botanist, now," she said, with a grin. "Why am I not surprised?"

Grissom leaned over and pulled away one of the broken orchids. He twisted it in his hand thoughtfully and extended it to her, mouth quirked upward.

"No. My dad was, though."

Grissom's certain brand of romance, when he wasn't stilted and confused, was heart-swelling and sometimes even amusing. For a moment, she forgot that they both reeked of musky sweat and that the flower he was giving her had a bloody dead body on it only moments ago. So, she took the flower and offered him a lopsided grin. He winked at her and stood up, walking over to the other side of the crushed flowers.

"Really?" she said after a moment, slipping the orchid into an evidence bag. "I learn something new about you every day."

She looked up to see him shrug. "Isn't that how it's supposed to be? When two people are…" he trailed off and Sara's heart skipped a beat, maybe two. Her eyes widened and stilled over the ground in front of her.

They had yet to approach what they were to one another and she hardly felt prepared.

She glanced up at him. He looked slightly chagrin and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he gave a hard swallow. His discomfort, which he was trying to hide, suddenly became humorous. She pressed her lips together, dampening a grin at his expense.

"You were saying?"

He cleared his throat loudly, the sound muted in the damp room. "Ah…well…"

"About your dad, Griss. He was a botanist? That must have been pretty cool."

"Oh," he shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, "Yes, it was. He kept a greenhouse in our backyard. He experimented with orchid hybridization. Taught me a thing or two."

Sara smiled, picturing a little curly-haired Gilbert side-by-side with his father, his small hands in the dirt. She already knew his father died when he was little and she got the feeling it was a difficult subject to discuss, not that she didn't understand. Stories of her past were never forthcoming and he never prodded. If it weren't such an awkward thing to do, she would thank him for sharing.

"So you know what some of these orchids are?"

"Most. Probably."

"Alright," she drawled out, sizing him up, "That one?" She pointed to a white flower with fuchsia speckles.

Grissom walked over to the flower and considered it, pursing his lips, studying. "Moth orchid."

Sara beamed at him. "Impressive."

His intelligence and vast array of knowledge never ceased to amaze her. Every time he taught her something new, his attractiveness increased exponentially. Pushing back the urge to grab him by his department-issued vest and kiss him, she bit her lip and looked away.

Detective Vartan's voice interrupted her reverie abruptly, "Jesus it's hot in here!" She looked up to see him loosening his neck tie. He went to prop the door open with a chair when Grissom interrupted him.

"Don't do that. The plants need the humidity."

"You're serious?" Vartan asked, incredulous. Sara ducked her head to hide her smile, finding it humorous that the detective was the least bit surprised. Grissom stared at him blankly, blinked slowly, and Sara wanted to kiss him again.

Vartan shrugged it off, waving a hand in the air. "Whatever. Vic's name is Dr. Sabrina Eubank. She's the president of this place."

"The president?" Grissom asked, interest piqued.

"Apparently there was a private tour of the facility being conducted by the director. All the guests are in the lobby waiting. One of them found the body. Coming with?"

Sara and Grissom both nodded, welcoming the reprieve from the clammy room.

The air-conditioned air hit her mercifully as she entered the lobby and it chilled the back of her exposed neck. Eyes scanned the slumped forms of the five people who had been at the conservatory when the body was discovered. They all looked agitated, tired, and nerve-wracked. When her gaze landed on a man leaning against the wall, eyes glazed and hands in pockets, she gasped audibly, freezing in her steps.

Grissom noticed her sudden stop. "You okay?"

She spun on her heels to look squarely at him.

"Grissom, I know that guy over there. The one in the blue blazer," she whispered, unable to keep her eyebrows from knitting together in concern. It wasn't a situation she ever wanted to find herself in, nor did she ever think she would.

"Know him how?" She watched his eyes drift over her shoulder, surveying the man in question.

She shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting to the side. "We were involved."

His eyebrows shot up quickly. "Huh. I learn something new about you everyday," he quipped.

"Very funny," Sara deadpanned. "What do you want me to do?"

He frowned in thought, his eyebrows raising at whatever he was telling himself. "Let's go take his statement." He shrugged casually and brushed past her, as if her admission had meant nothing.

Turning back around, head down, Sara bit the inside of her cheek and mentally prepared for her past to collide with her present.

xxx

"Oh my God, Sara?"

"Luke," she answered, a conceding of the bizarre moment that was occurring. A tight smile was all she could muster. His face was of shock and disbelief, the feelings she was hiding so clearly written on his face. "Good to see you," she lied.

It had been many years since she'd seen him, but his features were the basically the same. His face was slightly harder, strawberry blond hair shorter. His beard was cropped and neat, contradicting her memory of him as an endearingly sloppy and languid youth. He smelled the same, a faint but masculine cologne that immediately made her feel twenty again. His attire was sharp and mature, having shed the grungy style of the early 90's.

Sara swallowed nervously and glanced at Grissom. His face was impassive and relaxed.

"Luke, this is Gil Grissom. We're from criminalistics. We're hear to talk to you about—"

"The dead woman they just rolled out of here, yeah I figured." Luke shook his head, brow wrinkled, true bewilderment. "I cannot believe you're standing in front of me right now."

The sound of his voice, the way it could pull her into the past startled her and she shook her head to move past it. "I know, it's weird… and I'm sorry we're meeting again under these circumstances." The words were formal and felt uncomfortable in her mouth, like an itchy Christmas sweater she was forced to wear.

"So… what? You're in law enforcement now? That's just… I can't even — "

Grissom interrupted, his hand halting in the air, "Look, Mister…"

"Luke Walsh."

"Mr. Walsh, I'm sure you two will have plenty of time to catch up but for now, if you don't mind, we'd like to hear what you have to say about the, ah... dead woman they just rolled out of here." Grissom's said impatiently.

"Right, sorry." He paused and his hand ran through his beard. "I don't know much. I was walking through the facility with everyone else in this room. We were in the sensory garden, having some wine, when Linda — another guest — decided to walk into the orchid room. She screamed and we all came running, and there was Dr. Eubank, dead on the ground. I didn't even know she was here tonight."

"Why was there an after-hours tour being conducted?" Grissom asked him.

Luke gave a self conscious grin and the look he shot Sara was far too intimate for comfort, as if he were afraid of her judgement. "The director gets us all together." He nodded in the direction of the man Vartan was interviewing. "Wines and dines us. Spends and hour or so trying to convince us to stroke a check, you get the picture. I come up here once a year to see what kind of advancements the conservatory has made."

His embarrassment made Sara uneasy, but she didn't know why. Irritatingly, she had a stream of questions for Luke — none of them pertaining to the case. The idea that Luke Walsh was a financial backer for a botanical garden in Las Vegas was exhausting her, like a mathematical concept she couldn't line up in her head.

"Did anyone leave the tour earlier in the evening? Wander around alone?" Sara asked.

"Not that I remember. She must have been dead before we got here. None of us had been in the orchid room, yet."

"Okay," Grissom said, after a moment of contemplation, "We're gonna need to get your fingerprints and a sample of your DNA."

Luke glanced at Sara, a mirthless grin forming. "You think I did this?"

"It's to rule you out." Sara said, an accidentally consoling quality in her voice. She could feel Grissom watching her. "We'll be asking the same thing of everyone else in this room."

This seemed to ease him a bit and he nodded slowly, leaning back against the wall and sliding his hands in his pockets. He looked like he needed a cigarette. "Okay, fine."

"Oh and Mr. Walsh…" Grissom said, "We'll need your shoes, too."

xxx

Before Sara could begin collecting evidence from the witnesses, Grissom beckoned her to follow him into the decorative show room where they could be alone. The blue and green glass of the ceiling threw kaleidoscopic shadows on his face. He was looking at her tenderly, a look she rarely saw in the hours of their work life.

"Perhaps it would be best if you didn't handle any evidence until we clear your… friend." His tone was unassertive and it seemed like he was asking her opinion on the matter, instead of telling her what to do.

"Grissom, he's not my friend. I haven't seen him in so long, I doubt I know him much better than you do."

The statement was weak and it didn't convince him. She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed on her. She felt like a writhing bug trying to flee from under his microscope, which unsettled her deeply. He was willing her to say something meaningful, but was incapable of asking the questions she knew he had. Seeing Luke again had pulled her inward, leaving her bewildered and anxious. A small part of her wanted to indulge in her newfound closeness with Grissom and open up about her past relationship with Luke, but self preservation was winning, closing her off.

"Look, if you want to take me off the case then do it. I won't argue," she said calmly.

"Should I?"

Without missing a beat, she replied, "No."

He examined her face and she remained resolute, incapable of swaying. She wouldn't have argued with him, even if they didn't have a newfound ground to stand on. She felt suddenly weary by the whole thing, a gale of emotions pulling her in every direction. If nothing else, processing a crime scene would take her mind off of it.

"Then I won't," he said quietly, "Let's get back." He guided her out of the showroom with his hand pressed firmly on the small of her back.

They processed the orchid room quietly for the next three and a half hours.

xxx

The ride back to the lab was just as quiet, but comfortably so. The cool darkness of the SUV and the low amber glow of the center console was making her sleepy and Sara focused on the lulling movements in an attempt to escape her incessant thoughts. One of her favorite things about Grissom was that he never felt the need to fill silence with empty chatter.

A soft acoustic song reverberated quietly in the the confines of the vehicle, softening her, and she felt a sudden tug on her heart toward the man beside her. His hand was resting on the gear shift while he focused on the road and after a moment of consideration, she lifted it. It was pleasantly warm and heavy in hers as she pulled it into her lap, lacing their fingers. She had surprised him, that much was obvious, but he was malleable to the affection. He glanced at her and turned the sides of his mouth upward in a favorable grin. He squeezed her hand and looked back at the road, smile remaining. His strong presence was reassuring and helped her forget, if only for a moment.

Boston, Massachusetts - November 1991

"Alright, Sara, this is gonna be a bull's eye, ya ready?"

"You keep saying that," Sara replied, an impish grin on her face, "But — and I'm not sure if you realize this — the bull's eye is in the center of the dart board."

"I march to the beat of my own drum. That's why ya love me," Luke offered her a drunken smile, cocking his head innocently to the side.

The bar smelled of stale smoke and was unforgivably loud. The beer in her hand made her feel warm, light, and full of possibility. The tousled, red-headed man beside her, throwing darts aimlessly with a cigarette resting on his bottom lip, often made her feel this way — Like anything was possible but nothing was necessary.

"Aren't you glad you put those books down for a few minutes?" he asked her.

She watched him with a loving grin on her face as he pulled his hand back and forth in air with the dart, focusing on the board a few feet away. He threw it and it landed with a flat thunk a few inches from another bar-goer's head. The man turned, outraged and Luke laughed raucously.

"…The fuck Luke?!" The man shouted, eyes aflame.

"Move away from the dartboard, ya dumbass!" Luke replied, striding casually up to him to grab his dart.

"I'm not even near it fuckwhad," he growled out, his Boston accent almost cartoonish in its thickness.

Sara didn't know the guy, but had seen him talking to Luke in the bar occasionally. Whenever they spoke, it was usually alone in hushed tones, with dicey eyes, and harsh hand movements. Sara could usually brush it off, but he made her nervous and she wasn't thrilled that Luke had nearly pelted him with a needle-pointed dart. Suddenly, the guy grabbed Luke's flannel shirt and shoved him into the wall. Sara reacted swiftly, stepping in between the two men. The testosterone was rolling off the tall muscular man to her right, but Luke remained unruffled.

"Whoa! Just a party foul, Johnny. Chill," Luke said, rubbing his neck.

"Ya know what? Stay away from me, tonight. You're on my shit list." He thrusted a fat finger in Luke's face, then pushed his chest, slamming him against the wall again.

"What is your problem?!" Sara spat out, leering at the aggressor.

The man sneered; his eyes were small and mean. He merely glanced at Sara with indifference, then looked back at Luke.

"Control your woman," he said, a sinister curl to his lip as he turned away.

Sara felt a surge of rage. A turbulent flow of bitter emotions rushed to the surface and she immediately reached out to put her hand on the man's shoulder. Luke stepped in front of her and pulled her into a sideways hug, shielding her from making a dangerous mistake.

"Come on, let's get outta here," he said, kissing her forehead. "Not worth it. Not even a little. Hey shouldn't you be studying?" He smiled teasingly at her and they walked out of the bar, his arm thrown over her shoulder.

To be continued...