She still waters the orchid. She doesn’t know why. It’s an unrewarding little bastard, not unlike the man who gave it to her.

Its needs are very particular and it gives little back to her. Still she waters it. It remains in place on the counter as everything around it is packed up. As she paces and waits for the moving van, she wonders why she doesn’t just throw it down the garbage chute.

But she doesn’t. She takes it with her to Indianapolis.

It was too little, too late. It was a gesture meant, perhaps, to keep her in Vegas. The morning after it was delivered she sought him out at his home. What was the meaning of it, she asked?

A very simple question, but he floundered. As much as she wanted the answer, it was uncomfortable to watch him squirm.

It meant, he finally stuttered, that he valued her. That despite his behavior, he respected her immensely. That she was the most promising CSI he had ever encountered. That he valued her friendship. That he wanted her in Vegas.

She had thought it was everything she wanted to hear. But as she left him heartbroken on that sunny morning, she realized that it wasn’t enough. She knew it wasn’t fair to him but she elected not to tell him that her needs ran deeper than simple respect.

She was in love with him, and she walked out of his house that morning without telling him so. She walked out with tears running quietly down her face. With her heart tucked silent in a bundle high in her throat, heavy like a stone. With a vow to make a clean break, to throw the orchid away, and to proactively construct a new life in Indy.

She does this, but still the orchid grows.