They invited Warrick and me to join them for breakfast. We went to the same diner we always went to; we sat at the same table we always sat at. Instead of waiting for Grissom, we waited for a bleary-eyed Sophia to join us.

Sophia looked as if she had just been dragged to hell and back. She had that same look on her face that Sara did only yesterday. Sophia looked as if she might cause bodily harm to the first thing that approached her the wrong way. Her normally immaculate appearance was disheveled at best; her tight-fitting pants suit was wrinkled. Sophia's fingers were consisted of a myriad of paper cuts.

"You survived?" Greg asked. He might have meant it as a comment, but it came out sounding so much more like a question.

"Barely. Nice plant; Grissom left the lab the minute he read the card. Didn't even bother to yell at me as he walked out the door," Sophia replied as the waitress filled her coffee cup.

"Was this the angry, tyrannical Grissom that left the building or was this a humbled man?" Sara asked as we watched Sophia fill through the menu. We always ordered the same thing.

"Humbled man . . . maybe an embarrassed man," Sophia commented, "He knows that we know. I bet he thinks Catherine told us."

"You guys should warn Catherine before she catches hell this afternoon," Sara said.

"Too many damn choices. Greggo, what are you having?" Sophia said as she slammed the menu down on the table. Her English accent was much more pronounced in the few moments that she let her guard down. Sophia seemed much more human when she wasn't pretending to be the consummate professional. I guessed that maybe she figured out that professionalism wasn't the way to climb the ladder at work; it was all about shrewd politics . . . or kissing Ecklie's ass as often as possible.

"Garbage omelet," Greg replied.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are what you eat?" Sophia asked.

"Has anyone told you that the British are snobbish?" Greg replied in a horrible English accent. Greg, Sara, and Sophia began to laugh. Warrick and I probably just looked confused; for the first time, I could clearly see all the changes. Greg would have never made a comment like that to me. I may have had his respect, but I don't know if I ever had his friendship.

"Warrick, what are you eating?" Sophia asked.

"Ham and cheese omelet," Warrick replied. He was probably taken a little off guard. He looked like he might have been a thousand miles away.

"That sounds good. Sara, I was going to go for a pedicure this afternoon . . . want to join me?" Sophia asked.

"Sidle, you get pedicures?" I asked surprised that there was femininity somewhere inside of the tomboy persona Sara so easily portrayed.

"Yah, Greggo gets them too," Sara replied as she mock punched me in the arm. It was nice to have some familiarity.

"You swore that you wouldn't tell," Greg hissed as he punched Sara in the arm. Sara pretended to be hurt. Sophia threatened Greg with having to work up the next decomp . . . low man on the totem pole.

"Greg, my man, pedicures? You've got to be kidding," Warrick replied.

"I work with two attractive women and an emotionally closed off hermit . . . I choose to hang out with the two very attractive woman," Greg replied as he tried to put an arm around Sophia. I was surprised that she let him. I was even more surprised that she told Greg that you have the potential to grow-up to be a very lovely man. Her accent was becoming more and more pronounced as she began to loosen up.

"We never hung out," Warrick said sounding a little disappointed that his relationships with his co-workers were nothing like the closeness of Greg, Sara, and Sophia. I rarely hung out with Warrick; we watched an occasional football game together. We had gone out to a few clubs – we definitely never went with Catherine for pedicures.

"Well would you gentlemen like to join Sara and me for a pedicure?" Sophia teased.

"If you call ahead to see if the hot blonde is there, I will," Greg replied enthusiastically.

"You perv," Sara replied laughing.

"Well, she wore that low cut top and when she was massaging my feet . . ." Greg replied smiling.

"You perv," Sara replied as she self-consciously pulled the neckline of her shirt up a little bit.

"Greggo, they have hot blondes?" I asked. Sara shot me a glare that would put Medusa to shame.

"Norwegian . . . maybe Icelandic. Very nice," Greg replied.

For a moment everything felt normal again. Sophia was talking to Warrick about a conference that they were going to in Chicago. Greg regaled me with tales of the masseuse and the finer points of receiving a pedicure. Sara reminded Greg that he was a pervert; Sara said I wasn't too far from one either. What Greg didn't know was that I recently had developed a penchant for brunettes.

"Good morning," Grissom said as he approached our table. He looked a little dismayed to see Sophia was sitting in his spot. All of us stopped talking. Grissom immediately noticed and began to fidget self-consciously.

"Here you go, chief," Greg said as he pulled a chair over from the empty table next to us. I gave Greg credit for pretending that there wasn't a huge elephant in the room.

"Sophia, Sara, Greg, it was very thoughtful of you to send me that plant," Grissom said as he sat down. The three quietly nodded their heads.

"Who told you?" he asked. The three lowered their heads as if they were preparing to be yelled at.

"It doesn't matter . . . does it?" Grissom asked no one in particular.

In that moment, Grissom seemed to gain the wisdom that sometimes 'the how' doesn't really matter . . . sometimes it's all about 'the why.'