Disclaimer: I refuse to go through this again. I will cry if you remind me they are not really mine.

Author's Note: Sorry for the technical difficulties and that the story was taken down, I apologise.
And yes, I know I have become queen of the flashback fics, but I can't help it. It's such an untapped portion of the CSI universe -- and I find Sara's past particularly intriguing. I'm not exactly sure what direction I am taking with this, but I would really like your comments and opinions.

Also, never fear, an update of A Trial of the Heart should be up shortly.

Summary: We always believe our first love is our last, and our last love is our first.

An Exercise in Futility: Chapter one

San Francisco, California
1988

The fuzzy realm of unconsciousness was momentarily difficult to escape, and when she finally opened her eyes, the first outline she could make out in the dim moonlight was a green Christmas tree; a tacky air freshener swinging idly to and fro in the gentle night breeze.

Her head was cushioned on something hard and smooth, and she twisted, wincing at the pain in her neck from lying in such an unnatural position as she slowly sat up, realising she had wound up sprawled on her back in the back seat of someone's car.

She closed her eyes, tasting the alcohol in her mouth before she hit a telltale empty bottle with her left foot on the floor. Bracing her hands on the open car door, she climbed out on wobbly feet, slowly taking in her surroundings.

They were in a flat clearing, air fresh and clear and lacking the stifling pollution of the city. Thick trees lined the outer rims of the small clearing, and damp, green grass stretched away from their haphazard park on a dirt track.

She stopped as a wave of nausea hit her, waiting for it to pass as she leant her back against the polished side of the old SUV. She squinted slightly, and even in the dim moonlight she could discern a male form spread out flat on the grass, staring vacantly at the starry sky.

His head lifted when her foot crunched on a piece of bark, and lolled back on the soft green earth so he could study her.

"Hey".

She swallowed, wondering how she had possibly gotten herself into this situation. She couldn't remember his name, and his friends and her foster brother were noticeably absent.

"Where… is everyone?" she asked, licking her lips when she realised her tongue was dry and parched.

He slowly shook his head, and judging by the pain it appeared to cause him, she assumed he was as wasted as she was. "I don't know.

He patted the damp grass beside him, closing his eyes. "Stargaze with me. It's Sara, right?"

She hesitated, deciding the ground looked marginally more inviting than the back seat. And without the others-- and undoubtably the car keys-- she decided they were probably going to be there for a while.

Sara made her way over, settling slowly on her back beside him, letting her brown gaze wander up dimly to the sky.

"It's so bright", she observed, surprised, feeling a dull throbbing in the back of her skull.

He chuckled beside her, and she was suddenly incredibly repentant she didn't remember his name. "Yeah. That's why I like it out here so much."

The entire night was a blur. Most of them were, really. She had been with her current foster family for three weeks, and she had been spiralling into a fit of depression long before she met the Foresters. She had been in the system for two years now, and moved about too frequently to even pretend she had become settled.

In those first few weeks, when she was still an innocent thirteen year old, battered and vulnerable from her violent childhood, she would have wondered how family services had cleared a family like the Foresters. Now she just knew how easy it was to hide anything, as long as you were getting compensation in return.

Her foster brother Ryan was seventeen, and had been in and out of group homes for most of his life. He had been with the Foresters for six months when she got there. They developed some mediocre of closeness in the extremity of their home situation, and he invited her out to escape with his friends.

In the darkness, she could barely make out the features of the guy lying beside her, but she knew she didn't recognise him. Ryan didn't have many friends, and she knew all of them. He wasn't one of them.

He was handsome, she decided, with intense, dark brown eyes and slightly scraggly, unkempt brown hair. He looked about eighteen.

He obviously noticed her scrutiny-- subtlety was hardly her strong point, even when she was sober. He chuckled. "You don't remember me, do you?"

She hesitated, and then shrugged. "No. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Myles Davies. I knew your brother from the group home before I left for L.A. I've only been back a few days".

Sara drew in a breath, taking in the musky odour of the damp grass. She could feel it seeping into her skin, through the cotton of her shirt, but she didn't care. "L.A.?" she said slowly. "If I left Frisco for L.A., I would have stayed there".

Myles sounded amused. "You've obviously never been there".

She didn't reply, closing her eyes again.

"This is my favourite place in the world", he said softly. His voice had a very lulling quality, and Sara found tiredness overtaking her again.

"I like it here", she admitted in agreement.

"You don't seem like the kind of person to be out here, though".

Sara frowned, feeling a little defensive. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged. "I don't mean it as a bad thing. Just let me give you some advice. Ryan isn't as nice as he acts sometimes. Be careful around him. He has some bad stuff in his past".

"Who doesn't?" she muttered softly.

Myles smiled slightly. "Yeah. Well, I'm serious about this."

She swivelled her head, glancing at him with a crinkle in her brow. "You don't even know me. Why are you warning me about him?"

"Maybe you look like a nice girl", he said vaguely, turning his head back towards the sky. A small smile twitched at his mouth as he closed his eyes. "Maybe you look like you got a shot at getting out of this life, unlike the rest of us".

Sara stared at him; doubtful he could glean that much from just a few short words with her. "How could you possibly know that?"

"You're still in high school, right?" he guessed.

"Yeah".

He nodded, warming to his theory. "I'm guessing you're a perfect student. You get straight As, maybe you're into science a little, and you get left alone because people like you always threaten people like them. You like to learn things, but maybe sometimes you don't try because you just don't see the point. You think you're going to end up like your mother, like your father-- whichever screw-up in your family was the one who landed you in foster care."

Sara blinked, swallowing, surprised at how well he'd been able to read her. He nodded at her silence, folding his arms over his chest to generate some level of warmth. "Yeah. See what I mean, Sunshine? You can't hide yourself as well as you think you can. I know exactly who you are".

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Las Vegas, Nevada
Present Day

Sometimes Sara liked to amuse herself by wondering how long Ecklie was going to stay in his present position of dictatorship.

She knew that Bobby Dawson would have started a pool to take odds on that very bet, hadn't he been in serious fear for his job. Other, kinder superiors would have taken it in their stride, accepted the joke in the situation and moved on with only minor disciplinary action, if any, at all.

Not Conrad Ecklie. He strived to make their jobs as difficult as possible day in, day out, vindictiveness and personal fury colouring his every decision as assistant director.

Sara had no doubt he took a great amount of personal gratification in her current predicament.

Swing shift was, not surprisingly, tapped short again, and needed the nightshift's help with a high profile case that the team would have tackled with ease a year ago. She wondered if it had been Ecklie's intention to create personal divisions between them all when he made the team split.

In any case, she was sure he was enjoying the fact that she was working with Catherine again, eagerly anticipating the moment one of them would make a personal slip, and her suspension could manifest into a more permanent punishment.

She and Grissom had agreed to give their assistance on the case, and the nightshift supervisor had already arrived at the scene, an impressive ranch style house on the outer fringes of Vegas.

Things with Catherine had improved slightly over the last few weeks, but neither of them had apologised about their previous misdemeanour, and the car ride over was stiflingly quiet. Sara was making a conscious effort not to say anything to Catherine that might be taken the wrong way, and Catherine was obviously determined she wasn't going to say anything at all.

They all knew about Catherine's inappropriate relationship with a murder suspect recently, and the fact that she had covered up her involvement in the case. It wasn't Sara's suspension that was creating this newfound tension between them. It was, rather interestingly, the newfound rift the event appeared to have caused between Grissom and Catherine.

Sara had never seen Grissom so utterly cold towards Catherine, and Catherine was clearly making it her agenda to have a beef with all members of the nightshift in response by default.

Sara sighed deeply, watching as the yellow stretch after stretch of Nevada desert swept by outside.

Their case was, apparently, the murder of a rich heiress at a horse and cattle ranch, a ranch that happened to be owned by Senator Hollander, and acted as his home away from home whenever he visited Vegas. His daughter had returned home from college in New York for a brief holiday with her family, and her body had been discovered mauled in a paddock belonging to several prize stallions.

Over the phone, Brass had sounded positively distasteful, like he couldn't quite tell if the man was more upset about his horses or his daughter. Sara did not look forward to the case. She had learnt the hard way last year that high profile cases received an annoying amount of priority above other crimes, and were not going to be helpful for her career any time soon.

They pulled up outside a set of imposing wrought iron gates, and Catherine slowed to a crawl, halting the Tahoe behind a police cruiser and the unmarked coroner's van.

Sara mutely retrieved her kit from the backseat, following the swing shift supervisor around a maze of pine built enclosures, where several impressive horses grazed idly, ignoring the sudden buzz of voices around them.

A narrow enclosure running alongside the side of a stable was obviously the site of their crime scene.

Brass stood firmly on the outer side of the fence, tapping his notepad vaguely against the side of his thigh. He unconsciously tugged on his tie to loosen it against the stifling heat every moment or so. His face was drawn and stressed. She knew high profile cases got to him and that he wasn't a huge fan of politics-- though he knew how to play hardball when he had to.

Crouched low over the mangled body of Veronique Hollander was David Phillips, who frowned as he contemplated the best way to estimate her time of death.

At last he decided to swivel around to her abdomen, where several hoofs had clearly indented her flesh, and slid the thermometer tentatively into her liver.

The body was facedown, but it was clear how much damage she had sustained. Her legs were torn from being trampled on, and her clothing was ripped and impossibly dirty, like she had almost melded into the ground below. Her arms were spread out at impossible angles, and her neck looked snapped, and Sara sincerely hoped for the victim's sake that she had already been dead when that had happened.

Leaning heavily against the fencepost beside Brass, was Nick Stokes, who swiped irritably at a fly as it buzzed around his sweaty features. On the other side of the body, standing opposite David, was Gil Grissom, who studied the area with a contemplative distance that she would have found disturbing, had she not known him so well.

"Good morning, boys", Catherine said dryly, announcing their presence as she and Sara came to a halt at the periphery of the enclosure.

Brass glanced around at them, lifting an eyebrow darkly. "Gee. How nice of you ladies to finally show up".

Catherine blinked back at him coolly, accepting his sarcasm without offence. "It doesn't look like you've been here that long, Jim".

Brass grumbled under his breath, looking uncharacteristically irritable and messy in his otherwise immaculate suit and tie. "Long enough. The A/C in my car is fried, and it was a long trip".

Nick smirked, looking incredibly amused, and nodded his head in greeting to Sara.

Sara smiled back, glance sliding away from his when she realised Grissom had lifted his eyes to look at her. His gaze unconsciously darted to Catherine before returning to her, and she offered him a grim smile in reply. Something unidentifiable flitted behind his eyes before he looked down again, and she sighed deeply. She felt like some kind of intangible bond had formed between them over the last year, but at the same time, they felt more distanced than ever before.

"So, how do we know this isn't an accident?" she spoke up at last, gaze descending over the body in consideration, lowering her kit to the dusty earth.

Nick tapped the pine post beside him glibly, looking incredibly in his element. She wondered if it was because she had always imagined him in this kind of setting, knowing he was from Texas.

"Well, it'd be hard to say without a proper autopsy, but I'd say the big old wound on her head might have something to do with it".

Sara frowned, sliding through the fencepost with effortless grace, and glanced more closely at the body.

Sure enough, a deep wound covered the back of Veronique's skull, matting her once blonde hair with blood. She frowned, attempting to remain doubtful. "She could have sustained that from the fall…"

David rose to his feet, as Grissom commented, "If you look closer, you'll see there are tool mark impressions in her skull".

Sara did so, unable to conceal her wince when she noticed said injury. "Ouch", she muttered darkly.

She glanced up, realising there wasn't much distance between she and Grissom now she had moved closer, and unconsciously took a step back.

David cleared his throat. "Time of death was about two hours ago. She's all yours".

"Thanks, David", Grissom acknowledged, turning to glance around grudgingly at Catherine. "I think we can assume that the killer is still here".

Nick nodded in agreement, before Catherine could offer an opinion. "It's about an hour back into Vegas, and it's the middle of a work day. I'll see if any of the ranch hands are missing, or if they noticed anyone leaving the property."

He had unintentionally fallen into sync with Grissom, and Sara could see the act annoyed Catherine. She felt a swell of sympathy for the blonde. She knew what it was like to be the outsider, and now suddenly, Catherine was on the fringes of the team, not one of them, but clearly not an accepted leader, either.

"Where's Warrick?" she asked, glancing at Grissom as Nick slid through the fence, striding towards the stables.

He gestured inside. "He's checking the girl's room. Apparently she had received several death threats from an anonymous source since returning to Vegas."

She slanted an eyebrow, glancing warily at Catherine, attempting to anticipate how they were going to play this out.

Catherine sighed, sounding rather resigned. "How about you two take the body? I'll go see what Warrick's found, and then talk to the parents."

Brass swiped his brow, looking relieved, and she wasn't quite sure if it was because they had avoided a disagreement, or because he was allowed to go inside. "I'll go with you. They were both too distraught to get a statement before. How genuine it was, well…"

The pair strode off in silence, and Sara swiped her hands distantly on her jeans, reaching through the fence to retrieve her kit and snap on a pair of gloves.

Grissom watched her for a moment, lowering to a crouch over the body.

They worked in comfortable silence for a while, allowing David to cart away the body, and continuing their examination of the scene. A messy blood trail ran through the dirt away from the victim into the covered area of the enclosure, and Sara followed it until she found clear blood splatter cast over the top of a fence post.

"Splatter", she announced briefly, lifting a swab to test it fluidly.

Grissom rose to his feet, striding over to inspect it over her shoulder as Nick reappeared on the other side of the fence.

"All staff are accounted for", he announced, and Sara felt the warmth at her back retreat as Grissom moved away to approach the male CSI.

She clipped the swab closed, glancing around to see if she could pinpoint the item that had the potential to be their murder weapon. The end of the paddock was covered by shelter, and assembled on its walls were several coils of rope, saddles and brushes. A few rusty tools were hung in chaotic locations, but none looked as if they had been recently disturbed.

Sara chewed her lip, striding over to join Grissom and Nick.

"It looks like they might have taken the murder weapon with them", she reported, leaning on the fence.

Grissom nodded thoughtfully. "Which indicates premeditation, perhaps".

"Well, any one of the people working here could have been the killer", Nick said, flipping open a page of notes. "One of the officers got me a list of all their employees. Seven ranch hands, two cooks, a gardener and a maid. And not one of them are a fan of the Hollanders or their daughter".

"None of them are missing?" Sara asked.

He shook his head. "No. Of course, all of them said it was possible someone came up to the house unnoticed, and left again. Apparently Veronique has a lot of unannounced visitors; the kind that make Daddy very unhappy".

"The death threats seem to point in that direction", Grissom mused.

Nick shrugged. "I still think there's somethin' off with these people. I asked Officer Johnson to get a sample of all of their handwriting, but a lot of them are Spanish and speak very little English".

"I suppose it's time to touch base with Catherine and Warrick", Grissom said slowly.

Sara glanced at Nick, who was obviously well aware of the tension between the pair. He waited until they joined him on the other side of the fence, and she was surprised when he spoke up about it.

"You know, Griss, I don't want to step on any toes here, but this thing with Catherine…"

Grissom glanced at him mutely, with the kind of stone faced glare that sent even the toughest of criminals into meek silence.

Sara, wisely, decided to stay out of the conversation. She hefted her kit against her side, glancing down when she noticed the duct tape she used to keep it together was coming undone.

Nick faltered. "I, um, I just mean that for the sake of the case…"

Luckily, he was saved his trek into professional suicide as a deep male voice interrupted him. "Excuse me, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute…"

Sara felt her heart expand irrationally in her chest, and glanced up slowly as she, Grissom and Nick came to a halt on the edge of a brick courtyard, leading into the property's main garden.

There was something distinctly familiar about that low, gentle voice, and she stiffened when her brown eyes lifted to meet the source.

He was dressed in a white t-shirt and comfortable jeans torn at the knees, looking reasonably at ease in his surroundings, and was obviously one of the seven ranch hands.

His brown eyes, just as darkly intense as she remembered them, slowly trailed over the three of them, and fixed slowly on hers. She saw him swallow, and his gravely voice trailed off in uncertain recognition.

"Sunshine", he drawled slowly.

Beside her, Grissom came to an abrupt halt, and Nick's head swept a wide angle to stare at her in mute surprise.

Sara froze, unable to say anything.

Myles smiled with genuine pleasure. "Long time, no see."

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