Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and we do not have permission to borrow them. All the others belong to us, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask us first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit.

Spoilers: "Slaves of Las Vegas" and "Lady Heather's Box"

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Heather

I'm astonished to realize how much I've forgotten. For all the first precious moments, the new understandings, the determination to hold on and remember, many things slipped away. Only now are they returning, as I experience them again.

The sudden reminder that my acid stomach means I'm sharing living space, not that I've eaten something disagreeable.

The renewed wonder whenever I catch sight of myself in a mirror. There's no visible difference yet, of course, but-

The awed look in Jim's face when his gaze drops to my middle. Different man-thank Heaven-but that same humble joy.

The intensely private nature of the whole thing. So far, the only people who know are Jim and myself and Dr. Phal; well, and his receptionist, but she doesn't count. Jim has kept silent. I haven't told Pauline, though I should; I haven't even told Zoë, and I really need to. It's frightening to realize that I have no idea how my baby's going to react to this news.

My rationalization-and it's a weak one-for general silence is that it's early days yet. So many pregnancies don't last beyond the first weeks, and losing a baby is terrible enough without its being public.

That's an excuse that's reasonable for most people, and perhaps even for my mother, whose comprehension isn't quite what it used to be, but none at all for my daughter or my friend. Not telling them is bordering on irresponsibility.

And yet, and yet-

One more day, my heart whispers. One more day to keep this secret between just the two of you.

I stand up, suddenly restless, and pace across my office. The ordinary sounds of nightly normality are all around, howls and shrieks and commands, but they are muffled by the walls. I've delegated most of my work tonight, and Pauline knows something's up, but she's saying nothing-she just watches me out of those gorgeous cool eyes and keeps her suspicions to herself.

Actually, it'll be fun to tell her. Whatever she's thinking, it's certainly not that. I'll be curious as to whether my news actually surprises her, though. "Imperturbable" was coined for Pauline.

And there she is, her knock on my door perfunctory and unique; she pushes it open even as she raps, in the old familiar pattern, knowing that if I wanted privacy it would be locked. "Derek says a party just booked for tomorrow night, and your 2:30 will be ten minutes late," she reports calmly.

I sigh. Sometimes I think Pauline would be calm if the mountains surrounding Vegas were falling on our heads. "All right. Mr. Tresor is testing his boundaries again." Striding over to my computer, I take a look at tomorrow night's schedule and its new addition. "We can use the poolhouse-how many in the party?"

"Eight." She's looking particularly good tonight in leather, though like most of my employees she'll probably change costume at least two or three times throughout a shift. The back of my mind goes off on a tangent of worry on how I'll outfit myself when I start to show, but I shut it down for the moment.

"Hmm." We don't usually take parties-my Dominion is not a tourist attraction-but Derek's judgment is excellent, which is why he is often assigned to handle booking. "Yes, that will work. Tell Sapphire and Chen."

Pauline nods. The exchange would sound harsh to an outsider, but Pauline and I have worked together long enough to have communication down to an art, and she prefers efficiency to courtesy in private anyway. "Anything else, Lady Heather?"

The wild imp of impulse escapes its chains. "I'm pregnant."

Half of me is appalled that I let our secret slip-so much for my heart's desire. The other half watches Pauline with interest.

One slender brow arches, slowly, and I know I have surprised her. She steps into my office and shuts the door carefully, but doesn't lock it; no one will come in without permission, she is the only one with entrance privileges.

"I thought you had a tubal ligation." She cocks her head, and I drop into my desk chair with a sigh. Pauline takes another seat opposite me and looks inquiring.

"So did I." There's a certain relief in telling her, I realize. The guilt of keeping quiet, when my health and that of the baby could be at stake, was weighing on me. "Apparently, once in a while they...ah...repair themselves."

This time both brows go up. Her eyes narrow, and she's silent for a moment before finally speaking. "Going to ask for a refund?"

I can't help the giggle that escapes me, and it feels so good to laugh. Pauline's smirking now. "Don't tempt me. Anyway, I'm not that far along, and I don't know how this is going to play out with work. We'll just have to wing it, I suppose."

Which goes against the grain. I didn't achieve my Dominion by ignoring the value of careful planning. But some things can't be helped.

She nods, and I answer the question she doesn't have to ask. "So far, I'm healthy."

Another nod, and I know that the casual eye she keeps on me is about to get a lot less casual. It's just something she does-she watches me because of my diabetes, and Frank because of his epilepsy, and Juanita because her HIV-positive status makes her more susceptible to ills even if she only works the cyber end of the business.

Sometimes I wonder why Pauline hasn't gone off and started her own business; she's a superlative majordomo, but she could be a great success as the mistress of her own Dominion. But I've never asked. She seems content to stay where she is, and I am deeply grateful to have her.

We sit for a moment, content in the quiet of friends, and I make a mental note to find us both some time for tea this week. Her schedule is even more hectic than mine. But duty calls and clients await, and we both push to our feet with sighs.

"I still have some things left over from when the girls were tiny," she offers, and I nod and thank her. The only thing I have left from Zoë's babyhood, other than mementos, is the family christening gown-generations of hopes and fragile old lace. But it's too soon to start stocking a nursery.

A nursery. Good heavens, where are we going to put the baby? Where are we going to put ourselves? At the moment we have two houses, neither of which is really large enough for one infant, two set-in-their-ways adults, and a part-time young woman- I shake off the dizzying questions. As Jim said, we have about thirty weeks or so. There's time.

We go to work.

xxxx

Jim

There are times, tonight, when I think that the only thing stopping me from buying a box of cigars and passing them out is the explanations I'd have to give. I mean, Grissom and Nick know about Heather and me, and I'd bet a lot that Catherine's figured us out, and Sara knows I'm seeing someone, but as far as everybody else is concerned, ol' Jim Brass is still a confirmed bachelor.

That didn't bother me. Heather and I weren't really a secret, but we're both kind of private people, and somehow we just never got around to mentioning to folks that we were dating. Or whatever it is you call it when you're both way past adolescence.

But this is different. Call it male pride, call it whatever you like, but I keep having this urge to tell people that I'm going to have a kid. Maybe it's because this time I know it's mine-

Okay, ugly thought. Once I laid eyes on Ellie for the first time, her DNA didn't make any difference at all to me. She was my daughter, that was the end of it.

But this is-I can't help thinking, even though it makes me guilty-this baby's a new chance. Another chance to try to get it right, to avoid the mistakes I made with Ellie.

That's stupid. This kid isn't a rerun, and thank heaven, I'm not the man I was, nor is Heather anything like Karen.

I shuffle some more paper around on my desk. There's always more paperwork, and since I'm not currently chasing down any baddies, I have to deal with this stuff. Boring as hell, but it's part of the job.

And while I'm checking boxes and signing forms, the back of my mind is still wrestling with the issue. I mean, Human Resources doesn't care what the beneficiary name is on my insurance form, as long as I fill out all the blanks, but sooner or later I'm going to have to tell folks that I'm going to be a dad. Again.

And, by all that's holy, I'm looking forward to it.

It keeps coming back to me in little rushes through the night. When I'm called out to a murder in suburbia, it's there, reminding me to be more careful because there's somebody depending on me now. Not that I was careless before, but...

And it's pushing. Not something I really expected, but then I wasn't exactly expecting the news that I was going to have another kid, either. I told Heather that I already wanted to marry her, and it was the truth, but I'd been letting things proceed in their own sweet time, which was slow. This news, this baby so small yet that I'm going on scientific faith that it's there, is speeding it up.

Not that I really mind. I mean, Heather and I are both independent adults, used to spending the last chunks of our lives without a partner. But it was getting pretty lonely waking up alone every evening, especially when I knew that Heather was waking up by herself too, all warm skin and sleepy smile.

The murder's no mystery; abused wife snaps and takes out abusive husband with his own gun. I keep my cheers to myself and thank God that it's Catherine and Nick processing this one, not Sara. That girl still worries me sometimes.

The upshot is that I have a little time on my hands afterwards, so I take myself down to Human Resources. Fortunately for us nightwalkers, they have a smaller staff running the place at night, and it's actually easier because there's usually no wait.

The guy behind the desk is probably ten years younger than me, and skinny as a rail. He finds my file without any problems, and we settle into making changes in my health insurance, life insurance, my retirement plan...and then we hit a snag.

"Name." I stare blankly at the guy. "Uh...we don't have one yet."

"Sorry?" He blinks, focusing on me, looking about as confused as I suddenly feel.

"The baby's not born yet," I explain, a little heat rising in my face. "We don't even know if it's a boy or a girl."

I expect him to laugh, or to tell me to come back when I have a birth certificate and Social Security number, but instead he nods and starts typing. "Okay, that's fine; we'll put in 'Brass minor' as a placeholder, but you'll have to come back and fill in the data when your child's born."

I must be gaping a little, because he looks up from his screen and chuckles. "Believe it or not, Captain Brass, this is fairly common. When they designed the software, we asked specifically for this feature. We like to encourage responsibility." He sobers a little. "Way too many people don't bother planning for their own future, let alone their kids'."

I blow out a breath and sit back. I know what he means; I saw it all the time as a beat cop, elderly folks trying to scrape a living out of Social Security checks, little kids whose parents took 'em to the emergency room for anything because they didn't have health insurance. It's easy enough to think of this guy as just another bureaucrat, but it occurs to me that he probably thinks of himself as someone who tries to help people.

He types away for a few minutes, asking me questions about paycheck withholding and investments, and then looks up again. "Now that that's all squared away, Captain, are you aware of the state's college savings fund?"

I blink at him. College seems like eons away for this kid who's not even a bump in Heather's tummy yet, but I know just how fast time can melt away. But this reminds me of something I've been putting off dealing with-the fund I started all those years ago for Ellie's college expenses, the one that she never touched because she never went to college.

I need to talk to Heather before I make any more decisions. "Do you have a brochure or something?"

He laughs again and gives me three different ones, one with his card attached. "I'll be happy to discuss them with you any time. Just don't forget that you have to provide us with the name and Social Security number when you have it."

I thank him, take my copies of the forms, and get out, feeling a little dizzy. Ellie was the primary beneficiary of my insurance before, and Karen was the secondary, so I hadn't bothered to change them after Ellie's death. Now I wonder if Karen even remembers, and whether I should tell her.

And why.

My head hurts.

xxxx

Heather

I'm glad that I set up the crockpot last night before going to work, because Jim looks like the night has wrung him out. His face is all drawn as he sheds his jacket, and I lean up to give him a kiss and take it from him. Once in a while I don't mind playing the housewife role. "Hard night?"

"Not really." He shakes his head, then rolls it, and I can hear the pop of his vertebrae. "Just thinking."

"What about?" I hang the jacket in my front closet, watching him peel off his tie and loosen his cuffs.

"Lotsa things." He frowns, but thoughtfully. "Can I tell you later?"

"Of course." Something's troubling him, but that's one of the beauties of our relationship-it'll come out in its own time. We don't have to say everything at once. "Hungry?"

He smirks at me, turning my question into a double entendre. "Starving." And I'm enveloped in an embrace that's gentler than usual but still wonderfully warming, as his lips come down on my throat and he growls a little to make me smile.

I laugh, I can't help it, but after a minute I wiggle free. Decades spent monitoring my own blood sugar has taught me to recognize when it's low in someone else, and even though it's not a danger for Jim, I know it doesn't feel very good. "Dinner's just about ready, darling, why don't you go wash up?"

It's nothing special, just a good rich stew, but I stopped to get a loaf of new French bread, taking advantage of one of the perks of working nights-the bakeries are setting out their freshest goods just as I'm heading home. It's not quite as good as the stuff one can get in Paris-something to do with European flour-but it's the best in Vegas.

We sit, and eat. It does me good to watch Jim tucking into a second plate of beef and vegetables, to see the lines of strain in his face ease as his stomach fills. There's a certain primal satisfaction in feeding someone, no matter their age, and it's all the more satisfying when it's someone you care about.

We keep to light topics throughout dinner, both of us putting off any sensitive discussion until later. It's a sign to me of how close we've become, that we make this sort of decision without having to say anything.

Jim insists on doing the dishes, shooing me out of the kitchen, and I give in and

leave him to it. But I can't settle, and eventually I end up out on the deck, watching the backyard become slowly visible as the sun rises. I curl up on one of the chaise longues, seeking comfort. I don't know why I'm feeling nervous; I trust Jim and his love for me.

But old doubts are oozing up from the bottom of my mind. We were pretty content going on as we were; this baby, as much as I love it already, has put an entirely different spin on things. Jim's past fifty, and has recently lost his daughter; is he really prepared for another child, for starting all over again with an infant? Does he even remember how much time and energy a baby requires? Is he really willing to risk the heartbreak all over again?

He's still tired when he comes out to join me, but he looks a lot less stressed, rolling down his sleeves. I expect him to take the other longue, but instead he bends over, and in a show of the strength he so rarely displays, he scoops me up into his arms and then sits down with me in his lap. He sighs, arms tight around me, and finally speaks. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"I think I'm supposed to be asking that," I tell him, smiling a little even though I can't see his face; my head's tucked into the curve of his jaw and neck.

He snorts, the sound rumbling under my ear. "How much do you want to bet we're worrying about the same thing?"

I laugh, but it fades quickly. "Jim..."

"Give, already." There's humor in his voice, but it's also firm, and I sigh. There's no point in hiding my doubts, and I won't weaken our relationship by trying to keep my fears from him.

"Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?" I ask softly. "It's all happening so fast. If you need more time to think about things..."

The chuckle surprises me a little. "I figured this was what was bugging you," he says. "Heather, yes, this is moving fast. But I told you I've wanted to marry you for a long time now. This baby is just one more reason."

He hugs me closer, his voice going serious. "Besides, it's more practical. Heather, what if something happens to you? Heaven forbid, but if it does I want to-I need to have some kind of legal status in the tadpole's life."

I hadn't quite looked at it that way. And the knot just under my breastbone starts to loosen. Jim is one of the most responsible men I know, but the urgency running under his voice isn't mere responsibility.

It's need.

Jim

I didn't mean to push this right now. But all of a sudden the conversation's got a lot more serious than I meant it to get, and I can feel the tension in my shoulders even though I'm trying to keep my arms loose.

I hope she understands. I keep my voice light. "You know they'll only let me into the maternity ward with you if I'm your husband-and you gotta have someone to cuss at."

Her shoulders start to shake, and I realize she's laughing. "All right, Jim, all right! You win. We'll get married before the baby arrives."

"Good." Relief makes me feel a little lightheaded. "Good."

Leaving one arm around her, I feel in my pocket for the item I picked up a few nights ago. I keep a safe deposit box at the Half Moon Casino-much easier than a bank for my hours-and the little box has been waiting a long time. I pull out the contents and put my arm back around Heather.

"When I asked Karen to marry me, we went shopping for a ring the next day," I tell her, the ache now gone from the memory. "She wanted something shiny and new. But this wouldn't have been right for her anyway."

I hold out my fist in front of Heather, and open it. "It was my mother's," I say.

It's nothing spectacular; just a simple gold band, with a diamond in a classic cut. But it's elegant and timeless, and I knew it was right for Heather the first moment it occurred to me that I wanted to marry her.

She sucks in a breath, and reaches out to touch it with one long finger. "Jim, it's beautiful."

It occurs to me, a little late, that it might not be what she wants, though. "If you'd rather have something else-"

"No." Her voice is firm. "No, darling, I'd be honored to wear it."

So with that, I pick up her left hand and slide the band on. It's a little big, but getting it resized will be no problem. For a long moment I look over her shoulder at her slender hand in my square one, and again I get this entirely blissful feeling of everything being right. "I love you," I tell her, because I do.

She turns in my arms, and I can see the tears in her eyes, but I'm old and wise enough now not to worry about them. Her hands go up around my face, and I can feel the band pressing against my right cheek. "I love you, James Thomas Brass," she says sternly, and I kiss her.

It seems the thing to do.

It's much later that I wake up, surfacing in the warmth of Heather's bedroom, feeling her head resting on my chest and my own muscles aching a little. Making the promise formal seemed to set something off in both of us, and I tried to be gentle at first, but Heather ran out of patience somewhere along the line and explained that her body was perfectly capable of protecting the tadpole, thank you very much, and I could quit holding back now.

I never argue with a lady. At least, not under those circumstances.

Her hair's all over my chest, and she's got one arm wrapped around me and one leg between mine, and I feel thoroughly owned. Suits me just fine, by the way. Her other arm's pulled up to her chest, but I can see the ring sparkling a little there in the muted light.

There's still a million things to discuss and decide, but they're not so urgent at the moment. Whatever happens, we're together. The three of us.

That's the important part.