wow originally I was going to say how quickly I got this chapter up ... then I got stuck after the first two paragraphs...sorry about that...

I don't own CSI

For some people its the smell. Antiseptic, sterile.

For some its all the white. White sheets, white walls, white coats.

For some its the beeping. Heart monitors, phones, beepers, alarms.

For some its the noise. The doors crash open, the wheels rattle over the floor, doctors scream and shout, beeps, alarms, then nothing.

For some it was the waiting. Not knowing anything, coffee,looking forthe doctor, more coffee.

For some its the people. Sick, injured, bleeding, dying.

For Claire it was two things. One was the hard plastic chair she was sitting in. The one in every medical waiting room, reminding you that all you can do is wait. You can only sit in them for so long before you have to move, but it doesn't matter how many times you try, whether you cross your legs or your ankles, sit straight or slouch, lean to the left or to the right, at a certain point you just have to get up or give up. The second was the memories. Every other time that she had brought her son in here. Every doctor who treated him, every nurse who cared for him, every prescription, every pill, every injection, every test, every chair that she sat in and waited. She looked over at Sara. She had never seen her so scared since she had known her. She couldn't stay still. Claire knew that she felt responsible, she didn't blame her for Joey getting sick, but it didn't matter. She could tell her a thousand times that it wasn't her fault, it would never change anything.

Claire shifted against the hard plastic chair, and couldn't help but wonder if it would be the last one.

Sara stopped pacing and lent against the wall, she had long given up on the horrible chairs. She hated hospitals. She hadn't always though, when she was a kid hospitals were a refuge. They signaled the end a fight, the beggining of up to a week of peace between her parents. But most of all it ment they were safe. Her father never came with them, her brother usually didn't either, it would just be the two of them. They would wait for the nurse or the doctor, who would always know what to do or say to make her mother feel better and safe. They would speak to each other in French. It was her mothers first language, she loved it but rarely got to speak it anymore because Sara's father couldn't and hated not knowing what his wife was talking about. Sometimes they would wait for hours and hours, but Sara never minded, because when she got tired her mother would sing a french lullaby softly in her ear untill she fell asleep on her lap.

Then she turned eleven, and in the course of that year her life turned upside down.By the end of it, her fatherhad died, her mother was in a psychiatric prison, she was in foster care and her brother had been missing for almost six months. Compared to some of the stories she had heard from other kids, she'd never had a bad experience in foster care until June of 1985, when her foster parents took her to the doctor. She had some strange purple spots on her face and hands. They were a middle class family, completely cut off from the gay community and were blissfully ignorant about the AIDS epidemic. They knew nothing of how it was transmitted, the symptoms or the effects on the human body. All they knew was what they had heard in passing amongst their friends; that there was a deadly disease 'going around the gays', some called it the gay cancer, others the gay epidemic, others still called the cure for homosexuality. Her doctor knew imeadiatly what it was but didn't tell her them untill her blood work back and therefore could be certain. The first thing her fostor mother did when she was told was let go of her hand and it just got worse after that. They told social services that they couldn't take care of her anymore without disclosing her HIV status for fear that somebody they knew would find out that they had let AIDS into their home, and possibly exposed themselves and their children to the terrible disease.

Sara was put into a group home. She hid the KS lesions from the other kids by wearing long sleeved shirts and her hair down until they faded. Other would always replace them though. She wasn't treated for the disease at all until she developed a bad cough and was taken to the doctor by a social worker who knew more about AIDS then Sara's foster parents. Many of his friends had already succumb to the virus, other were on their way and he had lost his partner of eleven years three months ago.This particular social worker was the only one whose name Sara remebered today. It was Joeseph. Sara had always called him Joey. The doctor told her that She had PCP, an AIDS related form of pneumonia, it along with the Karposi Sarcoma, and AIDS related form of cancer, which, Sara learned were known as opportunistic infections. This ment that they only appered when the bodies immune system was depleted, and hence in a deadly circle of disease the immunse system couldn't fight off theinfectionsand the body got weaker and weaker. When she was fifteen she was hospitalised in a make shift pediatric AIDS ward close to the San Fransisco Castro district. Even there however where people knew of the disease, how it was transmitted and how to avoid infection, nobody knew what to do. There was no treatment that cure the sufferersand all the doctor could do was make the patients more comfortable. As her body wasted away, she was subjected to experiment after experiment. Some treatments were okay and while doing nothing to stop the progression of the disease, they did make her feel better, others were painful, and sometimes almost killed her. It was here in the heart and the height of the AIDS epidemic in the U.S. that Sara developed her hatred for hospitals.

She started to pace the waiting room agian.

Finally the doctor emerged. "Excuse me are you Claire Matthews ?" The doctor addressed his question to Sara.

"No, she is." She gestured to Claire who was now standing beside her.

"How's our son.?" The word our did not escape Sara attention, or the doctors. After a brief glance at Sara, he moved a few steps away from her so that he was standing on the other side of Claire. He spoke to her quietly.

"Your son is very sick, His heart is failing, eventually it will stop. I'm very sorry but the only thing we can do is to make him more comfortable, he probably won't make it through the night, he is awake though, you can go and see him." The doctor gestured down the hall to Joey's room. Claire fought back tears as she took Sara's hand, she felt it shaking in her grasp. Sara looked up at her. Her eyes were red and sadder then Sara had ever seen. It broke her heart and she pulled Claire into a hug to try and stop it. It didn't work. They pulled apart and started to walk towards Joeys room, when the doctor's voice stopped them.

"Ah mam," he directed his words to Sara, "it's family only at this point." She felt her heart jump in her chest, and took a deep breath to steady it, she hadn't been prepared for that.

"Pardon me" She said quietly. The doctor stood his ground and spoke curtly,

"I'm sorry mam you can't see the child right now, your not a blood relative and you have no parental rights over him.It's hospital policy. "He turned away from Sara, looked at Claire and again gestured down the hall, "Right this way mam." Claire didn't know what to do, she had to seeJoey but she couldn't leave Sara out here alone not knowing if she would she him again. Sara saw the question in her eyes and decided that she shouldn't have to ask it.

"Just go." She whispered. "He needs you." She held the eyes of the woman she loved for over a decade, and saw in them the fear of the next few hours of their lives and just for the briefest moment she saw that despite everything Claire still loved her back. She watched as Claire first walked then ran to their son's hospital room. She watched as the doctor refused to make eye contact and walked away. Then she sat there, waiting for word that her son had died. She looked down the hall to his room and thought...would she get away with it... would someone find out...she didn't care. She got out her phone and dialed a number.

... soo I'll try and have more up soon. Hopefully no more writers block. Please reveiw.