A/N- It's been a hell of a long time since I wrote a fanfiction. If I'm breaking rules and such, please, message me. Anyways, Hi! I'm Rehgai (duh), and this is my first fanfiction in SEVERAL YEARS. Please, read and enjoy. Thanks, KittyLuv, for betaing. If you all have time, check out my profile for new story ideas. Also, check out Fizzy Fitz and Kittyluv's work. I write for them.

DEDICATED TO KITTYLUV AND FIZZY FITZ, the reasons why I'm even writing this right now.

Disclaimer- I do not own CSI, for if I did, Greg would be dead weekly, only to be alive the next week.

Summary- Sitting alone, Grissom pauses and remembers all the ways Greg Sanders was not what he expected. WARNING- CHARACTER DEATH, Greggo Angst.

Deep within the pale, off white walls of Desert Palm Memorial Hospital, doctors rushed about, people cried over lost ones, rejoiced over those saved, and prayed silently for those in limbo. For one, though, the hospital seemed eerily still and quiet. He wished he could blame it upon his medical condition, but, for Gil Grissom, he knew the surgery had been successful, and the calm was created by his mind.

The older man knew, somewhere, deep down, he had so much to do. He had calls to make, reports to write… He had to submit paperwork, look for a new CSI. Knowing all of this deep down in his heart, though, didn't make him move. Instead, all he could do is lean back and think, reflect on all the times the Level One CSI, Greg Hojem Sanders, had not been, or done what the man expected.

How, when he first read the man's application, he expected a clean cut, no nonsense lab technician.

Not some youth that enjoyed baggy clothes and smiling way too much.

How, when he first saw the young man, he actually thought it was joke.

Not greet Grissom, shake his hand instantly, and answer all the older man's questions with a knowledge way beyond his age.

How, on the first day, he expected his first sample done after 2 hours.

Not have all the samples finished, double checked, and presented in a quirky, yet very informative manner.

How, as the CSI met the boy, he expected them to see him as just another lab rat, there to do their bidding.

Not integrate him into the group, making him a part of their family.

How, on Greg's days off, he expected it to be a normal day.

Not develop a migraine as the replacement worked impossibly slower, and without the boy's usual quirkiness.

How, after he was injured because of a series of unfortunate events (even in his mind, he would not place blame on Catherine), he expected a letter of resignation.

Not the boy, who was slowly becoming a man, to come up and ask to be in the field.

How, after Nick was hurt (buried alive, even in his mind, he would rather say hurt than the truth), he expected anger, aggression.

Not a mature man working hard to save a fellow co-worker, a friend.

How, after a group of kids (all younger than Greg when he first started here) had brutally attacked Greg, he expected a letter, be it resignation, or re-assignment back to the lab, that Grissom wasn't sure of.

Not Greg to try and continue like nothing happened, still doing such a dangerous job.

How, after so much pain and suffering, he expected a simple B and E would be simple for the man.
Not put Greg into danger's way.

How, after all these years, he expected to see Gregory Hojem Sanders smiling face in the morning.
Not look for another replacement, this time for a man too young to die.

How, after Greg called him, saying he arrived safely to the crime scene, he expected Greg to come back out safely.

But, Greg was truly never what Grissom expected.

Sighing, Gil Grissom ran a tired hand over his face, before sitting forward. He suddenly felt all the years he had lived on this never forgiving earth. Slowly, he opened his phone, dialed a number he had imprinted into memory after the bashing.

"Hello? Miss Sanders? This is Gil Grissom from the crime lab… I'm sorry.."

In a hospital, in the middle of the desert, a man by the name of Gil Grissom listened as a mother started sobbing for a lost son, and felt a single tear trail down his own face. Life would never be what he expected, and he wondered if he would ever expect much anymore.

FinFin

Thinking of writing about each person's pov of finding out Greg is dead. Please, comment, and check out my profile, I am constantly posting ideas for possible stories that I want to write. If you like an idea, tell me, and I will work on it. Or, ramble. You might inspire me.

Thank you for reading this, hope to hear from you soon.