"Mmmph!" Greg's muffled yell came barely through the strip of duct tape plastered over his mouth. He screamed again but no one heard. He couldn't believe it. He had been left, bound and gagged, by Grissom and to add insult to injury, he was in a trash can. His feet and hands were immobile. The only available tool was a Burger wrapper and a half-eaten pickle–which he was sitting on. He tried not to think about it too hard but the wet stain on the seat of his pants was very uncomfortable.

Greg instead tried to maneuver his hands–which were taped rather tightly behind his back–to grab the wrapper. He wasn't sure what his plan was. Did he even have a plan? What was he going to do, paper cut the duct tape off?

After some rocking and one scare, when he thought the trash can was going to fall over into the path of a passing Honda, Greg had managed to get hold of the crumpled paper. He was breathing quite hard, his heart galloping in his chest, and trying to keep from passing out became ever more difficult since he couldn't use his mouth. The trash can smelled like dead cat, and Greg was getting claustrophobic. He felt close to panicking as his chest constricted from lack of oxygen. Greg's eyes leaked "sweat" (a more manly occurrence he believed) in his desperation.

Just think about Sara, the rational part of his mind said. Sara! Grissom had her, and the last he had seen, they were driving away, Sara was waving a roll of duct tape, and Grissom's shirt was half-unbuttoned!

Meanwhile...

Sara and Grissom were finishing something they had desired for a very long time-

Back to Greg...

Greg got a brilliant plan. He would use the acidic pickle to dissolve the adhesive on the tape! He immediately dropped the greasy wrapper and wiggled his hands underneath him. The trash can rocked dangerously. "Mmmph!" Greg yelled angrily.

At that moment, a passer-by noticed the rocking can and commented to a friend, "There must be some animal in there, listen to it growling!"

"Hey, yeah," his friend agreed. Unfortunately, Greg was concentrating to hard to hear them.

"Do ya think it's a 'coon?"

"It could be rabid, whatever it is. I've got a cousin in Animal Control, I'll give him a call."

Greg suddenly realized what was happening and screamed.

"Hear that?" one asked.

"Sounds like a dyin' weasel."

Greg mmphed again.

"Hey, ya know what, that sounds kind of like my friend's kid brother when we tape him to a tree and use him for target practice."

The kid walked over and plucked the lid off to reveal a smelly, dirty, taped, and crying Greg. "Dude," the teenager said. Greg's cheeks pinkened in embarrassment. The kid reached down and tore the strip of tape from Greg's lips.

"Aaaagh!" Greg screamed. Greg saw a flash of steel as a knife flew through the air towards him. Just his luck, the people who found him turn out to be psychotic teenagers who like stabbing helpless strangers. He sucked in air for another scream.

"Hey little buddy, relax," the other kid said. The knife sliced cleanly through the tape and his wrists fell to his sides. Greg wheezed a quick thanks and dove out of the trash can. The CSI lab was only a few blocks away. He hurtled in that direction only pausing to wipe the pickle that was stuck to him to the ground. A green noxious cloud trailed shortly in his wake. He didn't notice the stares of the two teenagers he had left behind, he was too busy hoping Grissom wouldn't find him before he found Sara.

Finally, the familiar parking lot came into view and Greg gasped in relief. He ran in to the station, duct tape still trailing behind him and collapsed on the receptionist's counter.

"CSI, may I help you?" she asked perkily.

"Tell me where Grissom is, just tell me," Greg heaved.

"Um, sir," she began timidly.

"It's me, Greg!" he said hoarsely, fumbling to show his grungy I.D.

The receptionist looked startled and her eyes began to water as the stench hit her. She wrinkled her nose and pointed at Grissom's office. "He's in there...with Sara."

Greg ran down the hall, his shoes slipping on the previously clean tile. The blinds on the glass walls were shut and the windows were foggy. Greg kept muttering "No, no" as he stood in front of the door. Moans and sighs were just audible from the hallway. His hand touched the handle and the door swung inward.

Sara and Grissom were on the desk. "Hi," Sara said brightly. "We're testing the euphoric effects of a certain kind of cigar!"

Greg felt his face go white as he looked at Grissom. "Oh, hey Greg!' Grissom said, "'bout time you got here, shift started over half an hour ago!"