HEATHER

This unexpected surprise is . . . SO Zoë. I'm constantly amazed at the talents of my daughter. It sounds indulgent and cliché; after all what mother ISN'T proud of their beautiful, smart, charming, thoughtful, sweet, endearing child, right? And now into the mix I have to add—cunning.

For a Hungarian, cunning IS a compliment.

My daughter—my happy-go-lucky child has not only managed to stage the most beautiful reception, she's done it with the full co-operation of Jim's friends. So of course I'm in tears again, leaking mascara and laughing at the same time as I walk into a hall full of applause. Jim has an arm around me and I hear his quick murmur as he hands me a tissue.

"Chalk one up for the kid—she's something else!"

Oh she is indeed. The large and airy reception hall is beautifully decorated with streamers and silk bows in blue and white. All the tables have centerpieces of bluebells and miniature lilies, and a huge banner on the far wall proclaims 'Congratulations, Jim and Heather', along with the date. I look at Jim, and he gives me a slight squeeze.

"Seems somebody moved our honeymoon departure time to about seven tonight—somebody who's currently dating a travel agent—"

"Warrick?" I ask, curiously. Jim grins and shakes his head.

"Husky."

I snort a little, and we sweep into the hall, greeting people, laughing, talking . . . for a long while it's a matter of making the rounds and riding on the exuberant mood of the moment. I see Jim engulfed in hugs from my mother and from Ms. Willows and Ms. Sidle—Catherine and Sara as I have been invited to call them now—and I myself am surrounded by a few of my favorite employees who demand to see my ring and compliment my dress. So much rapid conversation, so much delighted chatter, but as I'm led to a chair and told to sit I still see a few interesting things:

The first is an amazing cake, a towering confection of white frosting with blue trim. It's topped with a little crystal castle, and I blink, suddenly sweetly touched at the sentiment. The castle is from Mama—I remember it was one of her most treasured Lalique pieces that she brought from Hungary, and it's always been in her locked cabinet. Now it's sitting beautifully on top of the cake, a perfect symbol of 'Happily ever after".

Before I start crying again I look around, focusing on the other scene that caught my eye—a huge mountain of gifts, spilling over the table near the entrance. Ohh—I gulp at the extravagance. Jim and I had been clear in our invitations that we didn't need anything, but by the shape of some of the packages I can tell a lot of it is baby equipment. Again, the thoughtfulness of our friends threatens to overwhelm me and I bite back a quick sniffle just as Latice, the photographer comes up and motions to me.

"Mrs. Brass, I hope you don't mind if I take a few general candids—"

I shake my head, marveling at the sound of my new name; my new identity as it were. She smiles at me and snaps a shot or two, then turns to the reception, prowling around while I try to pull myself together.

Mrs. Brass. Mrs. Heather M. Brass to be precise—although it's going to take some getting used to, it feels very good. I feel honored to take Jim's name, and I understand the sentiment in knowing it's one of the few things he CAN give by choice. Darling Jim . . . I look around and see Zoë with young Nicholas Stokes, looking very pleased. The plot thickens—although I suspect I'm looking at the two main plotters.

Off to the side, I see Grissom at a table, quietly observing the party and when our gazes meet he nods. I nod back, feeling a surge of pleasure that finally wipes away the faint traces of hurt of the last two years. He seems to sense it too, and smiles at me, a rare and very sweet expression. In that moment all between us is well. I turn and focus my attention on Jim, who slips his hand over mine, squeezing it gently.

"Sam brought a date—" he rumbles, a smile in his voice. Looking up I see Detective Vartan standing next to a beautiful girl, rounded and solid, with the most amazing crown of red-blonde curls. She seems nervous despite the arm of the man around her and I rise, determined to put her at her ease.

After all, it's my wedding day and I can at the very least share the pleasure of that.

BRASS

Sometimes it's a good thing to be broadsided, and this party is a great example of that. I'm grinning like an idiot here, sitting with Heather, looking over the whole thing and wondering when I made all these friends. Just when I thought this day couldn't get any better, the sneaky maneuvers of a few CSIs manage to put an extra luster to this afternoon.

Has to be Stokes. Warrick's been too busy, Grissom has NO interest in social activities and I know Catherine and Sara were out at Lake Mead most of the day, so by process of elimination, only Nick's left.

That and the fact that he and Zoë are standing together looking very smug. Actually, I may have to talk to him about how close he IS standing, too—But nah, he's moved and I beckon to Zoë, who flounces over.

"Surprised?"

"Absolutely, as is your mother, Sweetheart. This is . . . " I trail off, a little choked up as she bends and gives me a light hug. I get a whiff of perfume and a squeeze. Very dear. Then she laughs.

"Hey, do you know who made the cake?" she asks. I glance over at it, impressed. Big affair, three layers and pretty fancy-schmancy.

"The Sweetery?" I ask carefully. I'd hate to think Heather would be denied a bite of that gorgeous confection. Zoë shakes her head.

"Nope---one of the lab techs. He did it all—and part of the back section is sugar-free, just for Mom. Isn't that amazing?"

"I AM amazed," I agree. Heather is talking with Sam and his girlfriend, who is smiling now, although I can see even from here that Vartan's hand is moving from her waist to her backside. I don't think he even realizes he's doing it, though his girl is blushing.

He's a good guy; I hope it works for them. That thought sends my gaze in another direction and yep, Grissom is talking with Sara now, the two of them off near the punch. The noise level provides a good excuse to lean closer, and damn if Gil isn't taking it, moving in as he talks.

Interesting.

Over through the big doorway that leads to the adjoining room I can hear music; the DJ is playing some mellow upbeat stuff I vaguely recognize. I get up and start circulating, sharing a quick conversation here, a laugh and a hug there as I work my way over to the grinning figure of Nick Stokes. He flashes that sunny Texas smile at me, busted but pleased and I can't help but return it.

"So, going into the catering business on the side?" I josh him a little. He ducks his head in that shy boy manner that's probably won him more hearts than the rest of the night shift crew.

"Nah, just like to plan surprises. I don't think we get enough of the good ones in our lifetimes, you know?"

I look at him—this is the man who was kidnapped and buried alive. An optimist put into one of the more horrific scenarios any living being could ever face—and he's excited about planning my reception. For a moment I'm stunned and humbled, brought to a new level of respect for this kid.

Nick sees it in my face, I know he does and nods ever so slightly.

"So, Zoë seems real nice—" he teases, shifting the moment with just the right tease. I lift an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah. My daughter IS," I rumble back at him, sending the tease right back at him. Nick grins and holds up his palms placating.

"Oh hey, total hands off, I get the rules—besides, I already have someone I'm seeing. But you better keep an eye on Warrick—"

I roll my eyes just as I feel a hand on my shoulder. Turning, I'm not quite prepared for the full on body hug or the sticky kiss on my face, but it's clear Catherine's in a sentimental mood and I'm the recipient. Looks like two of us are going to be wearing lipstick—at least until I can get my handkerchief out.

"God Jim, I'm so happy for you. Both of you," she mutters to me, "It couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

Nick chimes in, "Or a more deserving one."

By the time the pictures are done, the guests have all danced and had champagne and nibbles. Things have mellowed, and I'm aware that it's time to cut the cake. I catch Heather's eye and we're in accord—dignity all the way. No smearing here, despite Sanders look of anticipation. He's been in awe of Heather the entire time and I suppose the kid's just waiting for her to do something forceful. I lean close to her and whisper.

"See the guy with the matted blonde hair? The slightly twitchy one?"

"Yes. He came with Catherine and Lindsay. Isn't he a friend of yours from the lab?" she asks. I nod.

"Do me a favor, sweetheart and vamp it up for him if you get the chance. Better yet, sic Pauline on him."

The smile I get in return makes me feel that Greg's going to remember this wedding reception.

ZOË

Man, it's been a heck of a party—I'm running herd on Mom, trying to keep an eye on Grandma and in between I keep getting asked to dance, which is VERY cool. I'm sensing some competition between Warrick and Nick, but it's not for me, really, it's to keep Jim looking at us all.

They cut the cake a while ago, and I was right there with Grandma, sniffling away. Mom was radiant, utterly stunning in her gown and veil, but I could tell she was ready to change into something a little cooler, so after the cake I went with her to the ladies room and helped her into an off-white halter dress and sandals. We snagged a sprig of baby's breath and I tucked it behind her ear—the white sets off her dark hair SO well—and she came back out feeling a bit more comfortable.

Jim took off his tie and jacket, and that seemed to be some sort of signal because ALL the guys followed suit and I could sense the relief around the room. I helped pass out the cake, which was delicious—whoever Warrick talked into making it should quit their day job and stick to baking. I mean, we're talking completely decadent stuff here, rich and yummy. Mom was careful only to take a little, even though her section was sugar-free while the rest of us sort of pigged out.

One of the young lab guys tried to sneak a second piece, and Pauline swooped down on him so swiftly and silently that if I hadn't been watching I'd have missed it. She caught him by the earlobe and hauled him up, then whispered something to him while she was smiling. His eyes got huge, and he blinked a bit. Then Pauline bent closer and licked his ear, which made me giggle. I bet he keeps his sports coat buttoned for a while.

And now the garter. Already the whooping has started, and Mom just rolls her eyes as she regally sits to let Jim squat and slide a hand up her calf. They're playing to the crowd, I can see it, but more than that I also see how he's keeping his gaze on her, smiling in a way that has me grinning to myself. Mom's holding her own though, and now the crowd can sense the contest of wills here—nobody's said anything too risqué yet but the tension is there, a sort of good-natured feel to it.

Jim slips the garter off and spins it on his index finger, then turns and shoots it over his shoulder all in one fast move. It flies up, up, arching high over all the bachelors—and plops right in the lap of this older guy with a beard, who's sitting in the back. He looks totally startled, fishing it off his slacks and holding it up; I can't believe how hard everyone is laughing. Man, Nick's bright red, and Warrick is hanging on to the doorframe. It hits me that this is their boss right when Jim shakes his head.

"Pop fly, Grissom—up to you to get it to third at LEAST."

That's when the room erupts again, and I go with the flow, even if I don't actually get the joke. Must be a baseball thing. I notice that Catherine is shaking her head, and the other lady from the lab is sort of pink herself.

Now it's time for the bouquet, and I let myself be herded out with the other women. Embarrassing, yeah, but I understand the need for the societal rituals. Besides, it's a nice bouquet and I know Grandma wants a picture of me anyway, sigh. Mom stands and with both hands tosses it; a little low and over to the right side of the room—

--Right to a lady with the reddish gold hair. I think she's the girlfriend of one of Jim's buddies, and she blushes SO red as people clap. Lucky woman—as the crowd breaks up one of the handsomer guys comes up and puts his arms around her, whispering something that makes her hide her face in the flowers. The music is shifting to something familiar as I recognize one of Mom's old favorites. I sit with Grandma and give a sigh, discreetly taking my heels off under the table.

I love weddings.

HEATHER

The low hum is a soothing sound, but I'm not ready to sleep. Jim is completely out, his head resting on mine as we slump together, blissfully boneless on this quiet evening flight. I have my shoes off, an airline blanket over us, and so many lovely things to think about that it's easy not to sleep.

I'm married. I, a formerly independent businesswoman am now married. When I delicately brought up the subject of joint property and mentioned the Dominion, Jim gave a thoughtful nod and told me to do whatever made me happy. He made it clear that he had no problem with me continuing to run the Dominion or sell it, close it down—the choice would always be mine.

That floors me. I was so sure he'd express some concern about my keeping the business and I know it hasn't been easy for him, considering our vocations are at such opposite ends of the spectrum. But Jim's been to the Dominion and seen how it works from the inside out; he knows its purpose. He's met my employees, he's watched me fuss and plan and throw myself into the job and through it all he's understood what this work means to me.

Darling man.

I'm considering semi-retirement though—and a new idea has been brewing my mind as an alternative. I'm not sure if it's feasible, but it would give me a chance to keep working on my own terms and manage a life with Jim and the Tadpole.

A school. A private school for dominatrixes. Formal training and certification, albeit of an exclusive sort. Las Vegas certainly has the clientele base willing to offer themselves up as test subjects and lab puppies, and by becoming a school I wouldn't need to be at the Dominion quite as frequently. Pauline would make a fine teacher, as would Baccarat and Simone. The idea is still new though, and I'm not completely committed to it yet, but it has merit . . .

And then the baby kicks. I laugh softly because it tickles and because Jim instantly drops a big warm hand to my belly. Baby seems to sense this and kicks harder, right into his palm.

"Soccer player—" Jim grumbles. I nuzzle his cheek. He smells warm and wonderful.

"Showgirl."

"Over my dead body, which I will booby trap. Place kicker."

"Olympic swimmer," I offer. Jim opens one eye.

"Olympic martial arts by the feel of it. Sheesh, doesn't this hurt?"

"Nope," I tell him honestly. "It's sort of tickly."

He gives a sleepy shake of his head and smiles.

"Yeah, well if it gets to be untickly tell me and I'll have a talk with the kid. No roughing up the Mama in our household."

"I'll DO that," I assure him with a grin and all three of us settle down as the plane moves through the night.

JIM

Costa Rica is nice—but to be honest, I'm not paying much attention to the scenery. Heather is stretched out on the lounge chair next to me wearing Ray Bans, sunscreen, and not a whole lot more.

We're in the shade of one of those huge palm-thatched umbrellas, stretched out with our feet towards the waterline only a few yards off. I have a cold beer in hand, and she's got a tonic, minus the gin, but with a big curl of lime in it. She looks over the top of her shades at me and winks.

"I'd flirt with you, but I can see you're a married man."

Love her voice when she gets all sultry. I clear my throat and glance down at my hand. It's interesting to feel a ring there again.

"Very married. Almost thoroughly domesticated," I reply, taking my time in checking her out. Loose hair spilling over her shoulder. Bikini top in blue and gold, with those strings a guy can untie in no time flat. Rounded bare baby belly, and bikini bottoms with ties at each hip. Long slender legs, shapely feet and peach painted toes. Earth Mother of the beach, sweetly scented in cocoa butter no less.

"Makes you all the more attractive. You have the broad shoulders of a man who can make a woman very happy," Heather purrs.

I think about that for a moment, fighting a smile. My shirt's unbuttoned, my Tom Clancy novel is open on my lap and I'm all too aware that it's hiding a rising interest in her comments. I let my gaze linger along her legs. Oy those legs . . .

"Although to be fair, you're married too. Respectably I hear."

Heather gives this sigh, like a cat waking up from a really good nap, and stretches her arms up over her head. This move does interesting things to her bikini top; things I am watching closely.

"Mmmmmm, yes. Utterly devoted and helplessly enthralled too—I don't know how he does it, but I suspect it involves his animal magnetism," she tells me in a playful tone while she shifts to face me. "And telepathy."

"Telepathy?" I ask, politely even though my concentration is quickly moving from the conversation to the visual effects—Heather has begun to untie her bikini top. This is . . . very interesting. After all, we are on a private beach but still—

She pulls it off and slowly rises, dropping the little scrap of cloth on the lounge behind her, looking completely confident and comfortable standing there and I'm not really breathing now. Heather is in her element, serene and sensual, her dark hair blowing in the breeze, full lips in an enticing smile. A Goddess on the sand; demure in her semi-nudity as she holds out a hand to me.

A hand with my ring on it.

"Telepathy. He can read my mind and know exactly when it's the right time to go back inside."

"Damn it," I tell her in gruff, heartfelt tones. I feel my stomach tighten with pleasurable anticipation, and so much warmth radiates through the very core of me that I'll never be cold again, not with this kind of love. "Your husband is one HELL of a lucky guy."

Into my arms she slides, dropping little kisses all along my chin until she reaches my mouth and plants a good one on me, deep and loving and slow. Then she sighs, pressing the Tadpole up against me.

"If you think he's a lucky husband, wait until you see the kind of dad he's going to be," she whispers.

My arms tighten around her, and I know out of all the undeserved blessings that have ever touched my raggedy scarred-up soul, these two are the best.

Are the ones worth everything to me.