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 glare at my daughter suspiciously. "What party?"

She looks back, all innocence, but I can see the gleam of mischief in her eyes. "It's the night before your wedding--it's traditional."

"Zoë Powell, if there are strippers involved--"

"Gee, in Vegas?" She touches a finger to her lips, but before I can reach her she starts laughing. "Oh, come on, Mom. Can't you just see Grandma's face if there were? It's just dinner out with the girls."

I can't help but laugh too, and I have to admit, the idea of a bachelorette party does sound like fun. "Very well. As long as it's just dinner--I'm an old lady, you know."

Zoë snorts, sounding exactly like my mother. "Tell that to Jim."

"Zoë!"

Her laughter is still one of the merriest sounds in the world.

Dinner it is, but at the Stratosphere, an extravagance I would have vetoed if I'd known in time. I protest, but Zoë and my mother--and Pauline, who joins us just outside--do not listen.

"Hajana, let us do this," Mama scolds. "It is important, the gathering of women."

"Yes, but--" But they're all glaring at me with loving eyes, and I give in, and let them whisk me to the top of the tower. Jim and I have never eaten here together, but it's not the sort of place we would go; maybe someday, for an anniversary--

And that makes me smile again with that odd warmth, that we will, God willing, have anniversaries. Something we'd both given up on.

The view is spectacular, the food is, of course, superb, and the company is the best part. I'm limited to half a glass of champagne, but Zoë gets the giggles, and my mother--well, I forgot about her tendencies. She is the most proper of old ladies most of the time, but get enough alcohol into her, and she turns into her peasant ancestresses, which means on this occasion she starts telling earthy jokes. Half of them use Hungarian words that Zoë blinks at and Pauline can't understand, but even my most reserved and sober friend relaxes enough to hoot with laughter over the ones that are all in English.

We eat and laugh and share scurrilous stories, and I keep thinking about tomorrow with a thrill of joy. I've done marriage, so this time I know what to expect from it; and this time, I'm marrying a man wiser and smarter and stronger--and kinder--than Glenn.

They do say that practice makes perfect.

I steal a forkful (just one) of Zoë's chocolate mousse and glance out the window at the panorama below. The Tadpole rolls a little under my stomach, apparently approving of the meal, and I lay my hand on the bulge, content with my miracles.

JIM

I should have seen this coming. I mean, it happened the last time, and while the people involved are completely different, none of them are the type to turn up their noses at a party. Well, maybe Grissom, but he's here anyway. But I just forgot.

And man, I gotta admit, this is pretty great. Warrick reserved a room at Smoky's, which is not something I'd think he could afford, but life has finally hammered a few manners into my head and I'm not going to ask. So it's me and my best man, Grissom, Doc Robbins, Nick of course, Vega and Vartan, all sitting around a big table in a dim room, meditating over the remains of some truly awe-inspiring steaks.

Oh, and somehow Warrick knew to invite Husky, which makes me suspect supernatural powers, because I don't keep my little black book in my desk. But at this point I have two glasses of primo Zinfandel and a LOT of protein in me, and I just don't care.

The waiter's already come around with the cigars. Nick and Husky passed, but the rest of us lit up blissfully; I'm gonna reek, and I'll have to get this suit cleaned before I can wear it again, but this is pretty much a once-every-few-years ritual, and I'm going to enjoy it.

Warrick reaches into his coat pocket--this may be a smoking joint, but it's not a no-tie establishment--and brings out the inevitable deck of cards, snapping into an expert shuffle. "What's your pleasure, Captain?" he asks, with that look I've come to recognize as 'Rick about to really enjoy himself.

"Hmm…five-card stud. Nothing wild…yet," I tell him. Most everybody grins, and I know that gleam in Grissom's eye; this is going to be one cutthroat game. I hope Husky and Nick are smart enough to know when they're beat; I don't know how well Vartan plays, but everybody else is damned good. Including me, if I do say so myself.

The waiters are on the ball here. Another one brings a box of chips and fades away again; technically, this is borderline since Smoky's isn't a casino, but we're not going to be playing for money and it is a private party. Nobody would bust us even if we weren't all Las Vegas' finest.

Hey, Husky's even the city's best florist.

Warrick deals. I gotta wonder a bit about his gambling addiction, but from what I heard, it was mostly sports betting--and besides Grissom doesn't bat an eye, so I figure it's okay.

I've got a decent hand to start with. I look around the table; most everybody looks like they're having a good time, even Grissom, though it can be hard to tell with him. When I compare this to my other bachelor party, which mostly involved guys from Vice, I snicker to myself. Nobody knows how to party like a vice cop, but somehow I don't miss the beer and strippers. Those guys would have laughed at this, told me I was getting old and stodgy, but those are the guys who were on the take, or who turned their backs on me after I turned their buddies in. Anyway, I'm way past the age where getting plastered and getting lapdances is a good time.

I slide a few chips forward as 'Rick opens the betting, making sure to keep my face blank. Al chuckles, Grissom looks bland, Vega gets the smug look that could mean he has a great hand or nothing at all. Husky mutters to himself.

"So I hear you got your lady knocked up," Vega says smoothly, shoving out a couple of chips himself.

I shoot 'Rick a glare, but he raises his hand and shakes his head, and I'm inclined to believe him. The gossip mill in the PD is way too efficient.

"Against the medical odds," Albert adds smoothly, and I can tell he's laughing even if he's not doing it out loud. "It takes a special kind of man to impregnate a woman who's had her tubes tied, Jim."

Some of the others start snickering, but I decide to play along. "Yeah, well, what can I say? The old Brass genes are persistent."

"Are you sure it's the genes?" Vartan asks, smirking, and I give him a rude gesture.

Stokes grimaces at his hand, and folds. "Boy or girl?"

"We don't know yet." I consider my cards. "Heather wants it to be a surprise."

Vega leans back in his chair. "You mean getting preggers after having her tubes tied wasn't a big enough surprise? Bet you nearly passed out when you heard." He shoots me a friendly glance.

I think back to that moment, that first awed realization--you don't hang around CSIs as long as I have without learning what HCG means--but I was too worried about Heather right then to get dizzy.

And the first time I found out my woman was pregnant--well, I don't want to think about that right now.

"Nope." I give him a smirk. "I had more important things to do."

I look around the table at the guys, most of whom are staring at their cards, though Gil glances up and gives me one of those looks that's as good as a wink. I've got a whole evening to spend with this motley crew. These are my real friends, every one of 'em with integrity to put the whole NJ precinct to shame.

And tomorrow, I'm getting married. To the right one, this time.

Things are definitely much better the second time around.

ZOË

Working in a jewelry store has kind of given me a front seat to engagements--either seeing some guy come in to pick out a ring for his lady, all nervous and trying to be cool, or couples browsing. I've even modeled rings lots of times, because you would not BELIEVE how many guys tell me "my girlfriend's hands are as small as yours." Not that I mind, most of the time; usually they're kind of sweet and awkward about it, and they're happy to get a little female advice.

But that's as close as I've gotten. I've never been a bridesmaid for anybody, and when my dad remarried I was too old to be a flower girl. I've never been involved in planning a wedding or any kind of setup for one. So it's kind of weird that the first time I'm a member of the wedding party...is for my mom.

Okay, maybe not so much these days, but it still feels a little strange. Not that I mind! Jim's the best thing that's happened to her in forever. And while it's not much of a wedding as fancy goes, it's still fun. And a good excuse to buy new shoes.

I have to admit, though, the shoes aren't the first thing on my mind when I wake up. It's a fizzy kind of morning, when you know the whole day's going to be exciting and special.

I roll out of bed with a grin on my face, because there's more than just the ceremony today, though I'm the only one in the house who knows it. I didn't tell Grandma about the surprise reception because--well--I can't entirely trust her not to give it away. She's not quite as sharp as she used to be. Pauline knows, but she's going to meet us after breakfast.

I stretch and bounce a little and make a bathroom run before heading to the kitchen. As usual I'm awake before Mom, though her toast plate is on the counter in the kitchen to let me know she did her blood sugar test earlier. In about half an hour their alarms will go off, and I want to do something special this morning.

The kitchen still surprises me, big and open as it is; but then the whole house is really something else. I have to admit I was touched when I saw my room--not only was it painted in the colors I'd asked for, they'd moved all my furniture and even repacked the things I had in the dresser drawers. I still think they should make it into a guest room, but for the moment, it's pretty nifty.

The kitchen, though--whoa. The two of them probably have a lot of fun in it. Me, I'm still figuring out where they put everything.

I'm good at omelets, and I cook a big one and slice it in half while making more toast and some coffee. There's some melon in the fridge, and I snitch a white rose from the back yard for Grandma's tray, and a red one for Mom's.

I take Grandma's tray up first, and it's perfect timing, because I hear Mom's alarm going off as I get to the top of the stairs. She always hits her snooze button at least once.

Grandma's still asleep when I tiptoe into her room, so I set the tray on my dresser where she'll see it; I put a saucer over the coffee just in case, and she'll probably be up in a few minutes anyway. She looks so small under the sheets; I can still remember when she was taller than me.

I sneak back out and fetch the other tray for Mom. I kind of expect her to still be half-asleep, but she's sitting up in bed reading. I hesitate in the doorway because she looks kind of solemn, but then she raises her head and smiles at me. "Good morning, my darling."

"Happy wedding day!" I declare, and bring her the tray. She goes crosslegged under the blanket so she can support her breakfast, and I set it in her lap.

"Zoë, this looks delicious. How long have you been up?"

"About half an hour." I settle on the end of her bed and watch her sip her coffee; I had my breakfast while I was making theirs. "Ready for the big day?"

She laughs and picks up the napkin, tucking it into her nightgown collar since her lap is already occupied. "Absolutely. It's a lot less nerve-wracking this time around, too."

She tells me funny stories about her first wedding while she eats, and I giggle and enjoy how happy she looks. "Want me to call the Captain and make sure he's up?" I tease as she finishes the melon. He stayed at Warrick's last night, partly for fun, partly to placate Grandma. "The bachelor party could have gotten pretty wild."

Mom snorts. "I don't think we need to worry about Jim." She wipes her mouth daintily with the napkin. "Punctuality is one of his virtues."

Too true. Whenever the three of us have gone anywhere together, he's always been ready before either Mom or me. But then, he's a guy.

The faint sound of the William Tell Overture drifts down the hall, and I get off the bed. "Phone," I explain, and dash back to my purse.

The number's starting to get familiar, after our powwows. I hit the button and keep my voice low. "Hi, Nick."

"Hey, Z." His slight drawl is cheerful. "Wasn't sure you'd be up yet."

"Oh yeah. There's still lots to do."

"I think that's a girl thing," he says doubtfully, which makes me grin. "Anyway, I was just checking that we're still on schedule."

"Yep." I don't know how they're planning on getting Mom and Jim from the church to the Oddfellows Hall, but it's not my problem, and I figure that Nick and Warrick can manage just fine.

"Grandma know yet?" he asks, and I cock an ear to make sure that Mom hasn't left her room yet.

"Nope. I'm going to tell her just before the ceremony, I think. Look, they're getting up--if you have any questions, call Pauline."

"Right, the goddess," he says, and I have to admit, it's a good nickname for Pauline. I've always envied her a little, she's so gorgeous. "Good. I'm meeting 'Rick and Jim for breakfast, and then we'll see you at the church."

"Sounds good." I hear Grandma's old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock. "Oops, I gotta go."

"Sure thing. See you later, Z." And he's gone. Moving fast, I speed-dial Gisele, and we chat for a few minutes. When I leave my room, Mom's just coming out of hers with the tray.

"Who was it?" she asks casually, and I take the tray from her.

"Gisele," I say, perfectly honest. "She said to tell you congratulations."

It's really kind of fun getting ready, I have to admit. It's never been just the three of us, except for vacations, and certainly not in a big place like this. Mom and Jim haven't finished fixing everything up yet, not by a long shot, but the main stuff is done and it does look great.

I'm in my dress and nylons already, but I haven't put on makeup or shoes; Grandma's still wearing her bathrobe, but she's done her hair in an complicated braided bun that makes me wish mine was long. And she's helping Mom get ready.

Since the wedding gown hasn't got a crinoline or a train, we decided that it would be easier to get dressed at the house rather than the church; that way, it's harder to forget something. It would still be a little tricky getting Mom into her Miata even if I drove, but one of Jim's friends--the bug guy, I think--hired a limo as a wedding present. This is Vegas! It's going to pick us up and take us to the church, and then go back for Jim and his best man.

Mom doesn't really need the help, I guess, but like Grandma said last night, it's important. So I sit on the chair at Mom's vanity and watch as Grandma fusses over the dress hem and the way the sash ties. Janos did a terrific job--I only wish he'd had time to design one for me too!

Mom keeps shooting me little amused glances, and we share private grins over Grandma's running mutter, which is half compliments, half complaints, and half Hungarian. Mom does look gorgeous. Janos really is a genius--he didn't try to hide her tummy, he made it part of the dress, so she looks like a queen from another era.

Grandma finally pronounces herself satisfied, and Mom leans down to kiss her. "You'd better go get dressed, Mama, the car will be here soon."

Grandma snorts, but off she goes. I make a quick mental note to mend the seam in her bathrobe before we all go home again--her hands aren't up to much fine work any more--and pick up Mom's wreath. "Ready?"

"Let me put my makeup on first," she says, and I get off the chair so she can have it, and plop down on the bed instead. I love nonwrinkle fabrics.

When I was little, I loved watching Mom put on makeup--though, it was the eighties, she used a lot more then than she does now. Heh. It feels good to watch her again, sort of a continuation thing. I straighten one of the wreath ribbons and tease her a little. "Got waterproof mascara?"

She doesn't look at me, but I can see one of her eyebrows going up. "Do you think I'll need it?"

That makes me laugh, and she starts chuckling too, because we both know she's going to tear up sooner or later. It's inevitable. The tough dominatrix is a sucker for weddings, and if it's hers...well, let's just say that Pauline had better have a supply of tissues on hand.

Finally Mom's done, so I set the wreath on her head and pin it in place. Grandma braided her hair too this morning, so that it's done up in this elaborate sort of coronet that supports the wreath perfectly.

She looks gorgeous. I can't resist giving her a kiss, and she gets pink. "None of that, or I'll start crying now," she warns me, but she's smiling, and I wink at her.

"You can always blame it on pregnancy hormones. Got all the traditional stuff?"

She points at her little handbag. "Yes, it's all ready." We'd had a good giggle about that too. The tiny beaded bag is new, the lace hanky inside is old--it dates from Grandma's wedding; she's wearing my diamond solitaire necklace as something borrowed (though the earrings are hers), and--blue lingerie. Okay, it's white, but it has blue flowers in the trim.

"Ooh, Hajana, you look so beautiful," Grandma says from the doorway, and I turn to see her looking pretty natty herself. She usually wears black, but today she's got on a dark blue dress with lace at the collar and wrists--very elegant. It sets off her hair really well, and I give her a kiss too on the way out the door.

"You look beautiful too, Grandma. I'm going to go finish getting ready, be right back."

I hurry down the hall to my room for my makeup and shoes and bag. This is going to be...really great.

JIM

I can't believe this. I'm NERVOUS. How can I be nervous? I've done this before, and I wasn't the canny old fart that I am now. I should have this down pat, no problem.

But I don't. Which, of course, amuses my best man no end, though he's keeping it down to a few smart-ass looks. Good for him, or otherwise my nerves would force me to shoot him and hide the body.

Warrick does look good, though, I have to admit. Nice tux, very proper, except for the tie and cummerbund; they're in some funky swirl of colors that probably has a name that only clothing people know--I sure as hell don't.

He's busy putting in his cufflinks as I take one last look in the mirror. The groom's side ended up with the pastor's office as our territory, kind of a small room, but it does include a mirror for the Reverend to check his robes before starting a service. Makes me wonder for a second what he's going to do today, since we're in here.

But I look good too, if I do say so myself. The last time I wore a tux was for Ecklie's promotion, and I don't like monkey suits--well, who does. But once in a while an occasion deserves it. Nick was telling me I should wear my dress blues, but I dunno, this seems more formal somehow.

Speak of the devil--Nick pokes his head in the door. He's the liaison between us guys and the bride's side; I saw Zoë whisking around a corner when we got here, but the women are sticking to the bride room for the duration, apparently. He's had a smart-ass grin on his face too since we got here, and mentally I put him ahead of 'Rick on my list.

"Lookin' good," he drawls, and Warrick leans over and shoves at his head. Nick ducks, still smirking. "The ladies say they're right on schedule, and folks have started showing up, so Zoë and I are going to start seating."

"Sure," I say, though I'm hardly going to tell him he can't. We've gotten to the point where we're no longer really in control of this thing; it's up to the Reverend and his watch now.

"I always knew you'd be good at escort duties," Warrick adds, and Nick makes a face at him and disappears.

I check my pockets one more time. Handkerchief and breath mints all in place. 'Rick sees me glance over and pats his own pocket with a reassuring nod; the ring's still there.

Somebody knocks on the door, and he opens it. It's Grissom, looking like he's got a hot court date. I wave him in, and he nods to Warrick. "How are you doing?" he asks me, as though I'm going to lose it any second or something.

"I'm FINE," I say for the millionth time. "What, do I look like I'm going to pass out?"

"If you do, I'm not catching you," Warrick grumbles. Gil puts up one eyebrow and reaches into his breast pocket for a flask, and offers it to me.

I'm seriously tempted, but I don't want to kiss my bride with liquor on my breath. She wouldn't say anything, but she deserves better than that, so I shake my head and pop a mint instead.

Grissom holds it out to 'Rick, but he doesn't take it either, and Gil slips it back into his coat without opening it.

"You bring Sara with you?" I ask, and he gives me one of those superior looks.

"Of course. She's out chatting with your florist."

We didn't decorate the church for this, though Zoë insisted on a bouquet for her mom and boutonnières or whatever for everyone else. Husky pinned the thing on my lapel and I promptly forgot about it, though it was kind of handy having the flower guy be a guest, so to speak. I'll bet he and Sara are getting along like a house on fire.

There's one more knock, and the Reverend sticks his head in; I guess he's got some kind of backup dressing room, because his robes are on. "We're just about ready, gentlemen. If you'll follow me?"

Gil holds the door for us and then peels off, and when I trail Warrick into the sanctuary a minute later I see Nick escorting Sara and Zoë looking proud to have Gil on one arm and Husky on the other. Then the organist stops noodling and starts playing something expectant, and 'Rick and I trade glances and begin walking up towards the front.

For a second I remember the last time I did this, and how I was lots more nervous and still half-drunk from the night before, and really happy; and then we're past the last row of pews and I push the memory aside. As we turn to face the back of the church I can see lots of familiar faces from the force and the lab; looks like Catherine's already sniffling into a tissue, and Sanders, that geek, gives me a big grin and a wink. On the other side is mostly a bunch of folks from the Dominion, some of whom I recognize; Nick's just seating Mama Marazek with a flourish in the front pew.

And I'm not nervous any more. These are friends, all of 'em; I know what I'm doing, and I'm doing the right thing. Maybe it's happening a little sooner than it might have otherwise, but it's what I've wanted for longer than I knew.

This has been the best year out of the last fifteen, and the great thing about it is I can expect a whole bunch more.

I take a deep breath, and hold back the grin. I'm ready for this.

HEATHER

I'm NOT nervous. It's just that the Tadpole is on the move today, rolling and kicking, and it's not helping my digestion. I'm past the time of morning sickness, but the little one is about to make me reconsider the wisdom of that much breakfast.

Pauline gives me one of her sharp looks, and I put a hand on my tummy. "Somebody's restless."

"Stress chemicals," she says confidently. "You're internalizing." And with the crazy sense of humor that few people know is tucked beneath her cool exterior, she tells me four dirty jokes in quick succession. They're bad, but I'm laughing anyway, partly from the humor and partly from her sly delivery, and by the time I catch my breath the Tadpole has settled down.

"That's better," Pauline says, with just a trace of well-deserved smugness. I have to agree. We're down to the wire; Zoë has left us to handle her usher duties, and we're to wait until the church's wedding coordinator--a tiny, kind, bustling woman whose soft voice could rule armies--comes back to give us our cue. We haven't given her much to do today, but she's handled our plans with the ease and grace of someone who loves what she does.

And there she is, gesturing to us from the door at the far end of the room. I look Pauline over one last time, and she is immaculate, as always; in deference to my bride status she is not dressed in her favorite white, but instead chose a long, fluid halter dress in a vivid deep blue that glows against her chocolate skin. She carries no flowers, but--practical as ever--has a handkerchief in one hand.

She's giving me a last once-over herself, and apparently I pass, because she nods and hands me the bouquet. It's really just a sheaf of calla lilies with a ribbon around the stems--simple and elegant--and once again I have to admire the genius of Jim's florist friend. The one lily and twist of baby's breath pinned at Pauline's throat is by no means traditional, but it is stunning.

We follow Mrs. Baine out; she shepherds us into position in the narthex with such skill that I'm tempted to recruit her for my Dominion, and then Pauline is through the doors and moving towards the aisle with her usual stern grace.

From this angle I can see a bit of the sanctuary; people are turned around in their seats, watching Pauline approach. One corner of my mind, the part that observes behavior, finds this ceremony both intriguing and amusing; it understands the importance of ritual in human societies.

The rest of me is just excited.

Pauline is out of my sight, now, and Mrs. Baine slips her arm through mine. "You're doing just fine," she tells me cheerfully. "Keep in time with the music, and it'll be perfect."

She barely comes up to my shoulder, but she's definitely in charge as she guides me through the door, and then she fades back with one last pat. People are rising, looking back at me, but all I can see is the front of the church and the broad-shouldered man standing there.

ZOË

Oh, she's beautiful.

I watch Mom gliding up the aisle, and I can't keep the smile down. She's using her Lady Heather stride under that skirt, so she seems to float, but her face is all real, and I can tell that the only person she's really aware of is Jim.

I sneak a glance at him, and boy, it's mutual. I never thought him a real handsome guy--he's smart and kind and sweet and funny, but no hottie. But you know, right now, you can't tell. He's got a little smile on his face, and you could put him right next to Bogey himself and Jim would take the prize.

Grandma's sniffling, though she's trying to hide it behind one of her lace hankies. I reach out and take her hand as Mom passes us, and we all turn to watch her come up to Jim and the Reverend. As he starts to talk, and they look at each other, I sneak a glance at the attendants. Pauline's face doesn't give much away, but I know her--I can tell she's pleased by the whole thing. Warrick looks like he wears a tux every day, and I get the feeling he's amused, but he keeps his face straight.

Since they aren't doing anything very fancy, the ceremony doesn't take long. Reverend Book reads a prayer that rolls out through the room, and I don't think it's the microphones doing it; he skips the bit about asking who's giving the bride, but does ask if anyone knows any reason why they shouldn't be married. Of course, nobody has any objections.

He reads out a pretty short sermon, only about five minutes long; then the Reverend asks Jim and Mom the traditional questions, whether they'll love and honor and comfort and keep each other as long as they live, and I know it's a promise that can be broken and so do they, but from the looks on their faces they're going to take this one as seriously as it's meant to be taken.

They swap rings, and Pauline hands over a hankie along with Jim's ring, because Mom's sniffling. Grandma blows her nose next to me, and I can't help beaming as the Reverend pronounces them husband and wife. Jim cups his hands around Mom's face and gives her a really tender kiss, and then everyone's applauding as the organist starts playing again, and both of them have these huge grins on their faces as they start back down the aisle.

It's perfect.