"So?" Sara asked eagerly as she followed in Catherine's wake through the aisles of Macy's. "What did he say? Did it work?"

Catherine stopped short and turned around to face her friend. "You mean he didn't tell you?"

Sara pulled herself up just short of crashing into the other woman. "Uh-uh. He looked . . . abashed, maybe, when he came home, wouldn't say a word about what Warrick said or his response." Impatient, she gave Catherine's shoulder a gentle push. "Move it, blondie. You've gotta learn to walk and talk at the same time."

Catherine harrumphed, but began walking again, this time slowly enough to let Sara catch up. "Before I answer that, you have to answer this: did he pick that getup, or did you?"

Sara laughed. "He did, of course! For some mysterious reason he got pissed when I told him he has zero fashion sense and that he should let me dress him." She shrugged. "I warned him you'd laugh, but he's male, and I guess they're incapable of taking good advice. Though Warrick and Nick don't seem to have much trouble obeying you and me . . ."

"But Sara . . . jeans with a flannel lumberjack shirt? He's really that clueless?"

"More," Sara answered with a firm nod. "You should see his closet. I've been after him for months."

Catherine shook her head incredulously. "He shoulda stuck with the baggy pants and . . . oops, here we are." They'd just reached the "dress" section of the store, and she wasn't encouraged by what she saw.

Echoing Catherine's thoughts, Sara groaned. "Damn, I forgot it's prom season." She picked up something that resembled a dress and turned with a smirk. "You think this is classy enough? You know, the top may end six inches above my waist, but it has sequins."

Both women burst out laughing, garnering a nasty look from a saleswoman who happened to be passing by. "Can I help you . . . ladies?" The woman's snobbish voice matched her smart attire.

Before Sara could speak, Catherine said, "Why yes, yes you can. My friend here is looking for a wedding gown – something that's not made for fifteen-year-olds."

The saleswoman's attitude did a sharp about-face as she realized that she was speaking to the people who might provide her biggest commission of the day. "Well why didn't you say so?" she asked in a saccharine voice.

"I thought I just did," Catherine pointed out wryly, refusing to be intimidated. "What do you have?"

"Well, we're standing in the "formal" section right now, so for the most part what you see is what you get – but if you know where to look, you can 'see' a lot better." She curled her finger toward her, ordering them to follow her as she plowed past racks of pastel gowns and heavily beaded mother-of-the-bride dresses.

"Now," the woman said after a few minutes, gesturing toward a nearby rack, "here we have a white dress that would look just fabulous on you." Without waiting for their approval, she placed her hands on Sara's waist, causing the brunette to jump, then smoothly said, "Ah, you're a . . . six?"

Sara raised her eyebrows imploringly at her companion, but to no avail. "Yeah," she muttered eventually. "But my chest is more like a 12, just lately."

"Ah, you're one of those."

Sara didn't care to find out what "those" were. Taking a step back from the prodding hands, she looked at her watch, then at Catherine. "Oh, darn, Cath . . . we have to go do that thing."

Catherine blinked, then picked up smoothly when she realized what Sara was doing. "Oh! Yeah, that thing . . . forgot all about that." She patted the saleswoman's shoulder. "Sorry, miss, but we've got to go do something important. Bye!" Grabbing Sara's hand, she tugged her friend along, both women fighting their laughter until they reached the entrance of the store.

"Oh god," Sara managed between giggles, "are they all like that? Because if they are, I'm getting married in jeans."

"Most of them have a little more tact than that, thankfully. At least you didn't punch her when she touched you."

Sara couldn't help but grin. "I was this close," she said, holding her thumb and index finger millimeters apart. "Where to now?"

Just as Catherine opened her mouth to speak, Sara corrected herself. "Actually, just lead me. I don't care where we're going as long as it doesn't involve scary clerks or wedding dresses that cost half a year's salary. Meantime, tell me what went on with Grissom."

Catherine paused to assess their position and decide upon the next destination, then started walking. "Ok, well, his outfit was scary, we already established that. So he came over, did the whole 'raised-eyebrows and looking-over-his-glasses' thing at me and Warrick, then asked what Warrick wanted - in a really comical, apprehensive voice.

"At this point, I made myself scarce, so this is all second-hand from War, but here's the conversation he says they had." Catherine turned around so she was walking backwards, facing Sara, and began mimicking a conversation with her hands. "Left hand, Warrick, right hand, Grissom," she noted, by way of setting the scene up, then launched into it.

Left hand: "So I hear you guys're getting down to the wire for the wedding."

Right hand: "Not really, Warrick; it's still a month away."

Left hand: "Cool, then. So I guess you're wondering why you're here?"

Right hand: "The thought had crossed my mind, yes. Is something wrong?"

Left hand: "Not really. Well, kinda, but not the way you're thinking. We . . . I mean I . . . just wanted to talk to you about some of your home stuff."

Right hand, accompanied by a Grissom-like scowl on Catherine's face: "My 'home stuff'? What do you mean?"

Left hand, as Catherine's face cleared into a phony look of innocence: "Your, uh, well . . . your spending habits."

Right hand: "Excuse me?"

Left hand, with a sigh on Catherine's part: "Your spending habits. A few of us are worried that you're overspending to try to make Sara happy, or something like that."

Right hand: "I have savings, Warrick. I won't go to the poorhouse."

Left hand: "Maybe not, but you don't need to be spending thousands of dollars to please her. You do realize that, right?"

Right hand, scowling and in a testy tone of voice: "Yes, Warrick, I realize that. But it's my money and I like spending it on her, and I see no reason not to."

Left hand: "It's making her uncomfortable, you know. She doesn't like it. According to Catherine, she refuses to splurge on a wedding dress because, and I quote, 'All the money that could've gone to an expensive dress is currently either on my finger or around the dog's neck.' She knows you have enough savings – for now – but she won't buy anything for herself, to try to balance things out."

Right hand, breathlessly: "You're lying." Pause. "Or at least you're stretching the truth. She hasn't said anything to me."

Left hand: "Are you sure about that? Or did you just not listen when she did say it?"

Right hand, exasperatedly: "Fine. Assuming this is true, what do you want me to do about it?"

Left hand: "Hey, she's your fiancée. I'm just offering some friendly advice: let her spoil herself, if she wants to be spoiled. Sara's not the type to want to be showered with gifts."

Catherine let her arms fall back to her sides and sighed. "Then Grissom just kinda got quiet and hardly said another word while we all ate."

Sara was still waiting for an ending to the story. "So . . . did it work, or not?"

Catherine shrugged. "You tell me. Ask him about it tonight, see what he says. Try telling him almost exactly what Warrick told him. Maybe when he hears it from both of you in quick succession, it'll penetrate his thick skull."

"I'm not against buying an expensive dress because of that. Really."

 "Sure you're not, hon," Catherine said, patting her hand. "You just keep telling yourself that. Honestly, the two of you are perfect for each other, you've both mastered the art of denial."

"Can we just go buy a damn dress, Cath?"

"Nope. I'm calling off the search until after you talk to him. Let me know when you guys've resolved that issue, then we'll talk about more dress shopping."