Hey heres the next chapter. Rating will probably go up because of this one.

I don't own CSI

Sweat slipped into the corner of her mouth. Salty.

Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. Drawing blood.

Her knees screamed in protest.

Her knuckles were bruised, her shoulders aching, but she kept going.

She felt free as her fist slammed again and again into her target.

No responsibility.

No guilt.

No sick kids.

Just her and the black heavy bag. The Gym was empty. Just the way she liked it. It was called Mikes. Funnily enough, because Mike owned it. Sara had met Mike when she was in Grad school back in California. Not that he was a student or anything; Mike had dropped out of high school in the 9th grade. No he'd been her dealer. For a little over four years he had sold her ice to her. Crystal meth. She'd put it in her veins, in her lungs, in her stomach. Sara stopped using for Joey and Claire. Mike stopped dealing because he was bored with it. According to him anyway. Sara knew better.

When they'd met up again in Vegas, he'd given her the combination to the lock on the back door of his gym, and in return she gave him her body. It was an odd relationship but it worked for them.

Sara heard the door open, she turned around to see Mike. It was after hours, for most people anyway. Sara on the other hand had to start work in a few hours. She gave up on the bag. Mike came over to her silently and helped her remove the gloves. As he taking them off, she reached up and kissed his neck. She didn't usually feel short next to someone, but Mike was a big guy, 6"4' easy. He gave up on her straps and pushed her up against the wall, kissing her back.

"You wanna talk about it?" Sara looked at him. When most people see Mike the last thing they would think of is a confidant. Most people are scared to death of him, and usually for good reason. On more then one occasion Sara had worked a homicide she knew was his doing, however he was smarter then he looked, and she could never link him to the crimes, though not for want of trying. She could never figure out if she wanted him in her life or not, and sometimes she thought that having him in prison would be better for everyone.

"Joey's sick" She finally replied. She was sitting on a bench, in sweat pants and a sports bra, she'd lost the rest of her clothes, including her underwear into a pile next to her gym bag.

"AIDS?" he asked.

"Yeah." She closed her eyes, "Claire says he's dying."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." She said automatically.

"That's debatable" She didn't reply.

"She's bringing him here in a couple of days to see me."

"I wouldn't have thought that he'd be able to travel, or that she'd want to be on your turf, so to speak."

"She said he wants to come."

They sat silently for a while. Until Sara had to go to home and get ready for work.