DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI

Alright, this chapter is technically still in the past but it's actually not the past-past. Greg is twenty four now, so this chapter is set in 1999, two yers after the previous chapters set in the past. And, as you might have noticed, I'm out of lyrics so I'm repeating them again, but at double the rate I was last time.

It's much too late to find

You think you've changed your mind

You'd better change it back or we will both be sorry

It had been two had been a good citizen, paid his bills on time, recycled paper and cardboard, voted in elections, picked up litter he saw on the street, donated blood twice. It didn't help. Neither did becoming a sponsor for Alchoholics Anonymous, or donating money to Nevada's biggest drug rehab centre. It didn't make it worse either, like searching the streets for Cat with Sam Braun. It didn't make it better or worse, it just made it tolerable. And for Greg, tolerable was intolerable. He began to lose contact with Matt, Karl and Joey. He missed his friends. Greg made new friends of course, people that he worked with, people that lived in his apartment building. They were the sort of people you go out for drinks with, or have over to watch a football game. Greg had friends who were girls, several who wanted more than friendship, but Greg wasn't interested. Lokking at the exotic dancers in the French Palace didn't do him any good either.

Greg had spent two years avoiding all memoried of Cat, moved apartments, stopped eating whipped cream, refused to eat anything with oranges and cinnamon in it. He'd ran away when he saw somebody with red hair the exact same colour as Cat's and he'd never listened to "We Are Young" again. He hadn't gone for another interview at the Vegas Crime Lab, because even though Cat had never even gone, it still reminded him of her. But he had to get over it. The pay scale was better, the working conditions were better, and they apparently had a better coffee machine. Greg was smart enough to know that he was way over-qualified for working at The University Research Centre, especially since he wasn't even the one doing the researching, just the one who made coffee and opened jars and occasionally took notes. When he'd read in the newspaper that The Vegas Crime Lab was looking for a new DNA tech, Grge had decided that he'd let Cat hold him back long enough. That was how he'd ended up walking throught the big double doors and into the foyer, being given a visitors patch that read Gregory Sanderson and led into a Gil Grissom's office.

"You must be Gregory" a salt and pepper haired man was getting up rom his chair and shaking Greg's hand.

"Greg." he told him. "Everyone calls me Greg. Sir."

"Gil Grissom" he said, gesturing towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. Greg sat down. The office was like something out of a cartoon, the mad scientist had jars lining the walls, filled with insects and strange liquids, intestines and what appeared to be a pig. There was a framed photograph of a spider on the wall and a tarantula in a cage. The walls were painted dark green and every single bookshelf was filled with books, magazines and encyclopedia. There was a huge pile of paperwork on his desk and a beekeepers suit hanging up with lots of coveralls and an LVPD FORENSICS vest in the corner.

"Mr Grissom, I am here to apply for the job of DNA anaylasist."

"So is half of Vegas. Why should we pick you?"

"I studied Forensic Biology, DNA and History in college. Here is my resume." Greg slid the folder across the table. The older man put on hsi glasses and began to read it.

"I also worked as a DNA researcher at University Research Centre for two years. And I learnt a lot from my supervisor, Thomas Oakman. There's aletter of recommendation from him there. I think that DNA testing is a job that I can do well, because I have a great interest and a great knowledge in the subject. Also I find that when..."

"What do you really think?" The old man asked, giving him a quizzical look.

"I... what I said..."

"Those aren't your opinions. What does Greg think?"

"I think... I think that I've been working at a job I'm overqualified for for two years, I've watched all my friends move away, get married or engaged, buy houses with their families. I've watched them all get their dream jobs and I've been stuck where I am. Stuck on some girl..." Greg trailed off.

Mr. Grissom looked at him curiously.

"Stuck on some girl and some things that happened years ago. Anyway, I think it's finally time for me to move on, to move forward. And this is what I've always wanted to do. Catch bad guys, corner them with evidence. I watch Law and Order. And Cops. I know what I' getting myself in for"

The man's expression changed. He seemed to sile, but Greg couldn't be sure. This man was harder to read than the Mona Lisa. He looked Greg up and down.

"You know, most of the people we've had in here have been wearing shirts and ties."

Greg looked down at his skinny jeans, Hawaiin shirt and red converse boots.

"Technically" he said, gesturing his patterned top, "this IS a shirt."

"You're the first person wearing jeans. And those aren't exactly dress shoes."

"Well, you aren't wearing dress shoes either." Greg retorted, poniting to the man's working boots. "At least mine match my top."

The man was wearing brown boots with black trousers. Greg's shirt had red flowers on it. He had a feeling he was winning so far.

"What about your hair?" the man aksed raising an eyebrow at Greg.

"My hair is my best feature, I've been told."

"And is it...is it naturally that colour?" Mr Grissom gave Greg's sandy brown tipped with blone hair a skeptical look.

"Is your hair naturally that colour?"

"Yes."

"So you were born with grey hair?"

"No, but..."

"Yeah, well I wasn't born with this colour hair either then. We have so much in common, don't you think?"

Gil Grissom smiled. "Will you be dressing like that, and spiking your hair for work every day?"

"Yeah. And I'll probably be playing music in the lab too. Marilyn Manson and Rage Against The Machine. But, I will always deliver results. Always on time. You can rely on me."

"Alright then, Gregory Sanderson, we'll be in touch."

"Greg. And I shortened it to Sanders. Less Norweigan."

"You're Norweigan?"

"A little"

"A little?"

"Not a lot." Greg responded, before leaving the office. He didn't like his chances.

"You interviewing a murder suspsect in your office?" Jim Brass asked Gil Grissom, looking at the reterating figure.

"He was here to apply for the job of DNA technician."

"Dressed like that?" the homicide detective looked confused.

"I like him. I'm going to give him the job."

"Him? What about that guy in the three piece suit? Or the English one? I like the English one."

"First appearance deceives many."

"I can always tell when you're quoting Gil. Who said it?"

"Ovid."

"The Greek guy?"

"Roman. Aincent classical poet and author."

"Yeah, him. Alright then, if you want to hire this guy, do."

"I will."

"You will what?" Catherine asked him. He hadn't even noticed her coming into the office.

"We were just talking about the new DNA guy Gil is going to hire." Captain Brass explained.

"Right. What's he like?"

"You don't want to know" Brass told her, leaving the office.

"Why don't I want to know?" she asked Grissom.

"His name is Gregory Hojem Sanderson. He..."

But Catherine didn't hear anything else after that. She cut him off.

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

Grissom looked at her, puzzled, as she left.

It couldn't be the same guy. Just beacuse Gregory Hojem Sanderson is kind of like Greg Sanders doesn't mean it's the same guy.

She tried to remember Greg's middle name.

I don't think he ever told me. But anyway, there's no way it could be him.

Catherine had covered her tracks well. Once she'd found out that Sam had been her father, she'd cut him out of the picture too. She'd sold the house Greg had bought for her and found a new one, almost as expensive. She'd started sending Lindsey to nursery, and now she went to one of Vegas's best elementary schools. She had changed their last name to Willows, found that her criminal record had mysteriously diappeared. At first she'd thought it was to make up for arresting her wrongly, when in reality it hadn't been wrongly at all. However, after wroking here for two years, she had a pretty good idea of the law and knew that they don't just get rid of your record. She assumed it had been Sam. He was a powerfull man. Catherine had almost not gone to this interview because she wanted to stand on her own two feet, didn't want Sam looking after her. She was glad she had gone. Gil Grissom had liked her, even though she had no experience and a not-so-good resume. Two years later ans she was assistant supervisor. She had helped Grissom hire Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown as well as several lab techs. Today she'd been out investigating a shooting so she hadn't gotten the chance to meet the new guy.

So what if it is Greg? You paid him back for the house, you don't owe him anything. Besides, you are the assistant supervisor. He's just a lab tech. All you have to do is give him evidence, go get your results, and then leave. Easy. He won't even attempt to make conversation about anything other than the case. None of the lab techs do.

But Greg Sanders would be no ordinary lab tech.