Author's warning: The silliness only gets worse in part 2. You've been warned!

Beeep-beep-bleepety-bip-beeep-bip-biiiiip-beep-bop-beep-beeeep …

"Greg!" Grissom all but shouted. "If you must play that gameboy, then at least turn off the sound!"

Looking insulted, Greg hit the sound button on his gameboy. The beeping mercifully ceased. Grissom turned back around, rubbing his forehead.

The Tahoe roared down the desert road. Sara leaned forward at the wheel, as though she could get them back to civilization by sheer force of will. "Okay," she muttered to herself. "When in doubt, retrace your steps. We turned left onto this road, and before that it was a right…"

Grissom examined his newly duct-taped map. "This must be County road 47," he said. "It cuts away from the main access road and goes southeast." Sara glanced at the GPS. "Okay, she said. "But I turned around. So why are we going southwest?" Grissom raised an eyebrow and lowered the map. "I told you that thing was useless," Sara said. She put the pedal down and the Tahoe kicked forward, dust spitting into a cloud behind it.

"Sara," Grissom said nervously as he was jounced in his seat. "Don't you think you're going a little fast?" Sara's face reddened and she stared ahead, concentrating on the road. "I'm hoping we'll find a gas station or something soon," she admitted. "I kind of have to go to the bathroom."

Greg snickered from the back seat.

Sara shot him a dirty look in the rearview mirror. "Zip it, Greg," she said, "Or you'll be walking back."

"Jeez," Greg sulked. "Everyone's so flippin' cranky around here. We'll find our way to a main road eventually. Why can't you two just chill?" Grissom turned around again. "Did you just suggest that I 'chill?'" Greg paused his game and reclined with his feet across the bench seat of the Tahoe, hands clasped languidly behind his head. "It's a mindset, Grissom. Just be Zen, and everything will work out in the end."

"Ah-hah!" Sara crowed triumphantly. Grissom's head snapped around. "What?" he asked. "Look," she replied, pointing. "A sign. An actual road sign. It should tell us where we are." She pulled to a stop next to a small brown sign.

"Oh no," Sara groaned, taking a closer look. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Shotgun blasts," Grissom observed analytically. "Twelve gauge, maybe. Buckshot obliterates the printing. Probably some local yokels who have nothing better to do than drive around and shoot at road signs."

"Wow," Greg said, leaning forward, impressed. "You can't make out any words at all. They really did a number on it, didn't they?"

"It's a felony offense to tamper with or damage government property," Grissom commented.

"Fabulous," Sara said. She slammed her foot back down onto the gas pedal. The Tahoe leaped ahead, and Greg's gameboy went flying. "Hey!" he yelped. "I hadn't saved that game!"

"Sorry, Greggo," Sara said. But if I don't find a bathroom soon, there's going to be trouble."

"If you didn't drink so much bottled water," Greg replied, feeling around under his seat for the gameboy, "you wouldn't have this problem."

"I read a study that said people who drink ten glasses of water a day live an average of seven years longer," Sara tossed back. "You may live seven years longer than me," Greg retorted, "But you'll have spent all of those seven years in the bathroom, peeing."

"Excuse me," Grissom interrupted. "This is fascinating, but can we focus on the task at hand, please?"

Suppressing a grin, Sara turned back to the road. "You're the boss," she said. "Hey Greg, how do you think we should find our way back?"

"Well," Greg answered half-jokingly, "We could 4x4 it. Just head straight west, and sooner or later we'd have to hit the highway." Sara's eyes gleamed. "That might be fun," she said softly. Grissom nervously observed her intrigued expression. "Not a good idea," he said swiftly, glaring at Greg. "Just stick to the roads please, Sara."

"Hey," she said. "Give Greg a break. He's not the one who got us lost in the first place."

"You know," Grissom replied testily, "Technically, nothing is ever lost. According to the laws of physics, it's impossible. Every physical thing that exists in this time and space has mass, and cannot simply vanish. It can be converted to another form, or it can be misplaced, but it can't be lost."

"So what you're saying is that we're not lost," Sara said.
"Temporarily misplaced," Grissom corrected.
"OK then," she said. "Greg's not the one who misplaced us."

"Would you two stop it?" Greg asked, exasperated. "You're either going to kill each other or have some weird freaky make-out session, and I don't want to be present during either of those scenarios, thank you very much." Sara turned red again. Grissom took off his glasses. They stopped sniping and pointedly avoided looking in each other's direction. Greg smirked and tucked his gameboy back into his kit.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, until Sara finally eased the Tahoe to a halt next to a particularly large rock formation. "Why are we stopping?" Greg asked. Sara sighed. "I can't wait any longer," she replied. Shooting a glance at Grissom, she pocketed the keys to the SUV and stepped out. To her surprise, Grissom opened his door, as well. "What are you doing?" Sara asked, alarmed. Grissom looked chagrined. "As long as we're stopping," he replied. "I could use the…facilities…as well."

Greg let out a snort of laughter.
"Quiet, Greg!" Sara and Grissom snapped in perfect unison.
Greg choked and nearly doubled over with mirth.

Sara looked daggers at Grissom. "You go on that side, and I'll go on this," she huffed, and stomped off around the rocks. Grissom stared after her a moment, then made his way in the other direction.

Sara arrived back at the SUV first.

"Feel better?" Greg quipped from the driver's seat.
"Greg," Sara said. "Are you wearing my sunglasses?"
"I think they look better on me," Greg replied.
"You are not driving," Sara said firmly.
"Greg?" Grissom asked, coming around the rocks. "Are you wearing Sara's sunglasses?"
"He's not driving," Sara informed Grissom.
"Why not?" Greg asked.
"Well, for one thing," Sara answered, crossing her arms over her chest, "You don't have the keys."

Greg held up a set of keys, jingled them with a smile, and slipped one into the ignition. The Tahoe started smoothly. Grissom gaped at Greg. "Where did you get a key to my Tahoe?"
"Well, it's not technically yours," Greg said. "It's the department's. I pulled a few strings here and there…" he shrugged mildly. "I have a key to every CSI Tahoe."

"Greg…" Grissom said warningly.
"Look," Greg replied. "You've both had a turn driving, and we're still no closer to finding this crime scene. What harm would it do to let me try?"

Sara and Grissom exchanged a glance.

"Shotgun!" Sara called quickly.

Concluded in part 3