DISCLAIMER: Alas, I own nothing… otherwise there would be no need for me to be writing fan fiction, would there?

SUMMARY: Cute, random, plotless semi-fluff.  Why?  Because deep down inside, we all like it to some extent.  Warrick helps Catherine open a jar of pickles, and Greg walks by every few minutes singing lines from random eighties songs.  You've been warned.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written for three reasons.  1) It's 12:30 A.M., I can't sleep, and I'm bored out of my mind.  2) I love the idea of Warrick and Catherine together.  It occurred to me about two weeks ago that they'd be perfect for each other.  Although nothing more than some cute little flirting appears in here, it's still fun.  3) I want to do some more experimenting with my new, nearly 100% dialogue writing style, reserved mostly for plotless random funny stories like this.  Savvy?  Now read.  ^_^

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            "Oh Mickey what a pity you don't understand; you take me by the heart when you take me by the hand…"

            Greg… I doubt he even knows anyone named Mickey.

            "Oh Mickey you're so pretty can't you understand; it's guys like you Mickey…"

            Stupid pickle jar…

            "Catherine?"

            "Warrick?"

            "What are you doing?"

            "What does it look like I'm doing?"

            "It looks like you're trying to open that jar of pickles."

            "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

            "That's why I became a CSI."

            "Of course."

            "Oooh, baby do you know what that's worth?  Ooooh, Heaven is a place on Earth…"

            "Catherine?"

            "Oy?"

            "Why is Greg singing eighties songs?"

            "You got me."

            Stupid Greg, stupid pickles, stupid jar…

            "You want some help with that?"

            "With the pickle jar?  No thanks."

            "Well, you're obviously having trouble with it…"

            "Who says I'm having trouble with it?"

            "Because you're trying to open it and you haven't succeeded in doing so."

            "That doesn't mean I'm having trouble with it."

            "Maybe not, but it sure does imply that."

            "I am perfectly capable of opening this pickle jar."

            "I'm sure you are."

            "They say in Heaven, love comes first…"

            "Greg, you're a little flat!"

            "Oh, thanks, Warrick!  Ahem… They say in Heaven, love comes first…"

            "Why are you encouraging him?"

            "Well, someone should…"

            "But why does it have to be you?"

            "Are you sure you don't want me to help you with that jar?"

            "I told you, Warrick, I am-"

            "Perfectly capable, I know, but are you sure you don't want help anyway?"

            "Don't you have anything better to do?"

            "Actually, now that you mention it… no."

            Stupid… jar… "Ow!"

            "Catherine, just let me-"

            "Warrick, please.  This is something I have to do by myself."

            "You're not on a power trip, are you?"

            "Power trip?  Me?  Psh."

            "Then why won't you let me open the jar of pickles?"

            "Fine.  If it really means that much to you, be my guest.  But I should warn you, it's on there tight…"

            "Pour some sugar on me… in the name of love!"

            "Now you're sharp, Greg!"

            I hope he can't open it…

            Pop.

            "You're despicable."

            "Thank you.  Pickle?"