Summary: Greg goes out into the field with Catherine. It turns nasty, etc. etc. If you've read my other stories, you'll start to sense a pattern. This is just the same. More nasty stuff happening to Greg, but that turns out okay in the end...
A/N: Who knew you could get so much danger, and all in only 570 words?
BEGINNING
"Right," said Grissom. "We need to be quick, so: Catherine, DB in a chemical warehouse. Take Greg. Nick, DB in the desert. Sara, Warrick, you're with me. Let's go"
"Come on Greg," said Catherine, leaving the room.
Before Greg had even had a chance to open his mouth to say something, he was being dragged out of the room by his arm.
MIDDLE
"Greg, go take a look around upstairs," said Catherine.
Greg sighed. Catherine was in one of her bossy moods. He didn't like her when she was being bossy. She had this uncanny knack of making him feel small, and he didn't like feeling like that. It was bad enough he wasn't allowed out in the field by himself yet. He was looking forward to that day. He'd be allowed out by himself, and there would be nobody there to tell him what to do.
Greg picked up his kit, and walked up the stairs to the upper floor of the warehouse. It was darker up there, there were no windows. He put his kit down, and pulled out his torch. He looked around the upper floor, and found some large tanks, filled with acid. They had a strong smell, and a wave of nausea swept over the young CSI. He peered into one of the tanks, and someone grabbed him, and held him over the rim of the tank. Greg tried to struggle against the man who had his arm round his neck, but he wasn't strong enough to shake him off, and the man just tightened his grip on Gre's neck. Greg was feeling sleepy and dizzy, he was inhaling nothing but fumes from the vat of acid below him. He tried again to escape the man's grip. The man pushed Greg, and he fell over the edge of the tank. He managed to grab hold of the rim, and stop himself from falling into the tank. His feet were about three inches from the top of the acid. Greg tried to hold on, but he knew that he couldn't support his weight on just his fingers for too long. He needed some help. Greg looked up at the man. The man stamped on Greg's fingers, and his right hand lost it's grip on the tank. Greg gasped, but managed to grab a hold of the rim somewhere else. Greg swore at the man. The man smiled. Greg looked down, and wanted to pass out. He was finding it hard to keep awake. The man knelt down next to Greg, and peeled his fingers away from the rim of the tank. One by one. As he lifted up Greg's little finger, he slipped, and fell over the edge into the tank. Greg screamed as he heard a fizzing noise, the sound of the acid slowly consuming the man.
"Greg?" called Catherine from downstairs.
"I need some help," replied Greg.
Catherine came running up the stairs. "Greg? Where are you"
"Uh, hanging in the tank," replied Greg.
"What!" said Catherine, approaching the tank. She peered over the edge, and saw Greg. "Greg! Oh my God!" She knelt down. "Grab my hand"
Greg carefully let go of the edge of the tank, and grabbed Catherine. She pulled him to safety, and he lied down on the concrete floor, feeling dizzy.
"What the hell happened?" asked Catherine.
"I'm gonna be sick," said Greg, rolling onto his side.
END