The graveyard shift of Las Vegas' crime lab are gathered together for the first time in months. The end of another shift under their belts, stomachs growling in protest to the long hours. Their usual booth at Frank's diner for a celebratory meal. The first since they have been drafted back onto the same shift after Nick's ordeal and recovery and Warrick's marriage bombshell. Grissom is packed in up against the wall cleaning his glasses carefully, Sara immediately to his left, Nick flanking her other side, showing her some pictures on his cell from his parents recent stay in Vegas. Opposite Nick sits Greg, hair blonder and spikier than ever, Catherine sandwiched in the middle between him and Warrick. They are cramped but comfortable. Catherine shifts in the booth's vinyl seats.
'Greg, can you move over, I need to use the rest room.' She shuffles closer towards the edge of the booth, forcing Greg to stand and step aside.
'Yeah me too. Do you mind?' Sara pipes up to Nick as he pockets his cell. They all shimmy out of the booth gracefully. Greg and Nick walking over to the window, hands in pockets, staring out in the parking lot as a stretch limo pulls in, girls pouring from the vehicle. Most it seems to stretch their legs, others, to vomit violently in a dark corner. Dresses short, handbags falling, feather boas dangling into said vomit.
Grissom and Warrick sit still making idle chit chat as the waitress comes over, a large black tray filled with everyone's meals. Dishing them out onto the table, Warrick begins to arrange everyone's plates to their respective seats. A steak, fries and eggs for Nick, chicken Caesar salad for Catherine, another steak with extra eggs for Greg, Sara's veggie lasagne is pushed towards her spot, a large side of garlic bread teetering on the edge of the dish. He pulls his burger over in front of him as Grissom steers his burger and fries around the numerous plates and glasses to his corner. Sliding the cutlery jug to the middle of the table, Warrick stares down at everyones meals spread across the table, ensuring no extras have been forgotten. Content everyone is sorted ready for their arrival back, he looks down at his burger and reaches for the ketchup just as Grissom's hand jolts out. He gestures for Warrick to take the sticky bottle first. He smiles in thanks and lifts it over his plate as he squeezes a healthy amount out onto the corner. Ready to hand it over to the older man, he watches as Grissom picks up Sara's garlic bread, tearing it in half, dropping half on his plate, the rest back onto hers, then reaches for a handful of fries from his plate and places them on the edge of Sara's. Wiping his hands on a napkin, he lays her cutlery out for her, popping open the lid of the parmesan cheese ready for her to devour. Happy with his handwork he looks up, Warrick still watching in awe. Grissom quickly realising what he must look like manhandling Sara's meal like that. Sara is a germophobe, self admitted. She bleaches any cup before she drinks out of it from the break room, and washes her hands about twenty times a day at least, not including toilet breaks. Grissom sighs, shrugs innocently. It clicks in Warrick's head. She has been different since her kick off at Catherine and Ecklie, hell they both have been different. He can count on one hand the amount of times either of them have worked over time the past few months. Extra days taken off here and there. The lack of tension between them on shift, the renewed calm and ease of their conversations in the car on the drive out to scenes. Out of context he wouldn't have thought anything of it but watching the relaxed, familiar approach to seemingly sharing food, between co workers, those as up tight as Sara and Grissom, it suddenly becomes obviously. They have a new level of comfort, understanding that overspills from friends of god knows how many years and definitely that of co workers for five, coming onto to six years.
'What?' Warrick, knowing both Grissom and Sara for long enough to know that they are private people decides to play it safe, just incase he has got the wrong end of the stick here.
'Do you share food often?' He pinches a fry between his finger and thumb, wafting it towards their plates before chucking it into his mouth. Grissom looks around the diner quickly, to make sure no one is heading back over or is in ear shot. There is a long pause as Grissom weighs up his options, come clean, deny it all, knock the table over and flee the diner hot tailing it back to his town house to hide. He decides on none of those things.
'We err…' Warrick interrupts, picking up the ketchup bottle, handing it over.
'It's ok.' He winks and nods at Grissom as he dips his fries into the sauce. No more than five seconds later do the women come back to the table, whispering something between them. Their recent spat, weirdly bringing them closer than the boys could have imagined. Greg and Nick materialise behind them, eager to dig into their meals.
'Thank god, I'm starving.' Sara drops down, quickly followed by Nick and they all slide back into place. Warrick notices Sara doesn't acknowledge the fries on her plate, or the other half of her garlic bread on Grissom's. He understands this is a usual occurrence for them both, confirmed now without Grissom having to give anything away.
'So, Warrick. Any plans for the weekend?' His internal ministrations brought to and end, he snaps back into the table and his friends surrounding him.
'Shopping…. With the wife.'