(Disclaimer: I don't own these awesome characters, Fox does.)

She was so stoned she thought she could fly. As the heroin coursed through her veins making her it's bitch, it never occurred to Sara for even a moment that the mass of tangled bodies beneath the stage would fail to catch her; buoy her up to the sky where she belonged, riding the high that was keeping her alive in this insane world of political fathers and dead mothers who were either never there; or left you too soon to teach you the way the world really worked.

She stared out glassy eyed for the briefest of moments and then raising her slim arms up and out to the sides she flew from her perch on the stage, like a shooting star, the music at her back pounding into her; pushing her forward, towards an adrenaline release that sent the air rushing from her lungs.

She landed hard, but sprang back against the many hands that touched her body in intimate and not so intimate places, some purposeful, others accidental in their groping embrace. And then she was lowered to the floor by the sweaty teenagers surrounding the mosh pit.

She met the smiling faces of the handful of hopeful guys; her eyes dead as she moved forward leaving them behind on her way towards the back of the club.

She pushed her hair out of her face, the black streaks her father had blown up over just last week, dark in contrast to her rich auburn locks. She had stuck to her guns though and the streaks stayed.

Sara knew her father was much too busy these days to argue with his belligerent 17 year old daughter. The black clothes she wore, the eyeliner and pale skin were already frowned upon by her father, what was the difference if she streaked her hair a little? He would have no problem if she were a sun streaked blond who begged for tennis lessons so she could flirt with the club's overly tan instructor.

Sara moved lazily through the crowd pushing roughly into those in her way. her small frame would be bruised in the morning and she would only be able to guess at how each mar on her otherwise perfect skin came to be.

She didn't care though. Her body was used to the abuse. Her body was hers to abuse and no one else could lay any claim on Sara Tancredi. That was the way she wanted it.

She pushed again at her two toned locks, her eyes to the floor; her coppery eyes that shone in the moonlight and hid from the sun.

She was bringing her head up when she felt him plow into her; unmoving against her momentum in his solidness.

She hit the floor and he stood over her like an angel, his head silhouetted in the light, casting a halo over him.
Still seeing him on the backs of her closed eye lids she pushed herself up from the floor and shoved passed his feeble attempt at a shouted apology.

She moved through the club unaware that he was following her until she reached the much cooler hall. In the hall the music was muffled and the air was slightly fresher, smelling only of spilled beer and cigarettes, the smell of sweat left behind the closed doors.

Sara leaned up against the wall, trying not to fall down. Her body was sheathed in a light sweat and the cool air felt good on her exposed flesh.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't see you. I mean I saw you, but it was too late, I was already running into you."

Sara stared at him her eyes moving from his blue gray eyes to his mouth which wouldn't shut up.

"I'm Michael, by the way." He held out his hand.

"You always talk so much Michael?" Sara asked pulling out her pack of cigarettes.

She noticed his slight frown.

"I take it you don't smoke, huh?"

Michael shook his head. "But I do talk a lot... sometimes anyways, mostly when I'm nervous. I tend to babble"

Sara just looked at him. "You tend to babble? What are you a brook?"

To her surprise he laughed at her joke.

She lit her cigarette and took a deep pull, blowing the smoke straight out in front of her.

"So, you get high, Michael?"

Sara figured this would scare him away for sure. She knew his type only too well; the goody two shoes who was dragged to a club by friends and then ditched when he refused to have fun

"Um, no I don't get high. It's ah, a waste of brain cells?"

Sara laughed at his answer and took another deep pull, the nicotine enhancing her high.

As she sized him up through mascara hooded eyes she wondered how she could get rid of him.

Little did she know he would be her salvation...

(No idea at the moment if I will be continuling this.)