"We should have rented the entire room," Jim said as soon as they entered the rear door of the hotel kitchen. Already they could hear the raucous beat of the music.

"Sure," said Pam. "All we'd have had to do would be to sell my car. And your car. And maybe one of your kidneys."

"Nah, I'm saving that for Junior's college tuition."

She looked at him, shocked. "Jim! I thought your kidney was our retirement fund!"

"I'm talking about the left kidney," he said, grinning. He held the door for her as she carefully gathered up her gown and entered the tiny kitchen.

Two young men in white coats hurried past carrying plates. A woman shouted into a cell phone propped on her shoulder as she chopped celery. A large man wearing a chef's jacket and a blue bandanna stood over a grill, wreathed in steam and the smell of frying hamburgers.  He raised his spatula in a salute. "You the bride?"

"I knew this dress would give me away," Pam deadpanned.

The large man stared blankly at her for a second. "I mean, which bride are you?"

Jim blinked. "My first. Why?"

"'Cause there's two receptions here today. Are you the Statlers or the Scotts?"

"Scott?" Pam said, her voice rising dangerously.

"Halpert," Jim said strongly. "Mr. and Mrs."

The large man shrugged and pointed the spatula over his shoulder. "That door goes to the party rooms. Statler party on the right, the other one on the left."

Jim took his wife's hand and tucked it into his elbow. "Here we go," he said. Pam concentrated on holding her dress up off the greasy kitchen floor.

"Remind me why we came in through the kitchen," she said.

"To avoid Michael and Dwight catching us at the entrance," Jim said. He stopped at the door, straightening his shortened tie. "I just know they're planning to douse me with Gatorade or something. How do I look?"

She beamed up at him. "Radiant. The blushing groom."

A corner of his mouth turned up. "Ready?"

"Could we go to the Statler reception instead?"

"Only if you want to be married to some guy named after a Muppet." He pushed the door open. The room beyond was not very large, certainly not large enough for the forty or so people crowded elbow-to-elbow. Overhead were swags of white crepe paper, some silver paper wedding bell cutouts, and a host of white balloons.

"Balloons? Did we order balloons?" Jim said thoughtfully.

"Hey! There they are!" cried a tall, gangly looking man. He elbowed his way through the crowd. Actually, Jim thought, it was more like he was weaving his way through it. Stumbling, actually. He caught his brother right before he would have plowed into his bride.

"Steady on, there, Pete," he said.

"Congraludashuns!" his brother slurred. "Gonna kish the bride!"

"No, you're not," Jim said, strong-arming his sibling. "Why don't you go fetch Mom a drink?"

"Already got a drink," Pete said, waving the champagne glass in his hand. It sloshed, spilling champagne on Jim's tie.

"Thanks," Jim said.

"The happy couple!" Michael Scott bounced up to them, beaming from ear to ear. "I am so happy today! This is the happiest day of my life!"

"That's...sad," Jim murmured. "Don't--"

"Michael, I think you should tell my new brother-in-law all about how you brought Jim and me together," Pam said brightly. "I am sure he wants to hear every detail."

"What?" Pete said, looking from Pam to Michael. "Gonna kish the bride."

Michael, enthusiastically chattering to Pete, led him away. Jim looked down at his wife. "Good save," he said.

"Someone had to do it," Pam said smiling. "You just cannot handle those guys."

"Never could," he admitted. "I --"

"Jim! Pam! They're here, everyone!" Andy yelled. Heads turned, hands clapped, digital cameras flashed, voices rang out in welcome.  Jim and Pam stood clutching one another's hands, smiling sheepishly.  Jim looked down once at Pam and saw her glowing face, and felt his heart give that slow roll it still did.

Mine. Finally. Doesn't matter about the rest of them, as long as she's here with me.

So he waved and nodded and smiled, even when Michael started singing "Auld Lang Syne" and trying to get everyone else to sing along. Dwight sang fiercely along with him, but Tom leaned down and said something in Dwight's ear. Dwight stopped, looked around, spotted a dark-haired woman on the other side of the room, and stepped away from Michael. Michael, left singing solo, faltered and stopped.

Pam knew that look. He was thinking of something to put himself back in the limelight. Remembering Phyllis' wedding, she knew she had to forestall him. "Let's get seated so we can eat!" she said brightly. Her stomach gave a lurch at the very thought of eating, but she forced her smile to remain in place. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be anyplace in the world but here. She glanced up at Jim, and caught his look.

Mine. Finally. Nothing else matters as long as he's here with me.

People began searching for their seats among the round, white-topped tables. There was some milling and churning, with people looking at place cards. Meredith snatched up one card. "Millicent. Crap. You'd think after all this time Pam could spell my name." She plopped down on the white chair and reached for the open champagne bottle in the middle.

"Who are these people?" Angela said. "I don't recognize any of these names."

Kevin was looking at a card. "Stacy? Is Stacy here?" He looked a little forlorn.

Dwight steered the dark haired woman to the table. "Here we are." He pulled out a chair for her.

She glanced at the name card. "But that's not my name!"

Dwight whipped out a black marker from his jacket pocket and scribbled on her place card. "There you are. And this will be me..." He crossed out the name on his card and wrote in his own. Then he sat down, leaning close to the dark haired woman. "Are you really European?"

"What about the people who are supposed to sit here?" she said, looking around anxiously. "Won't they be angry?"

Dwight smirked. "Doesn't matter if they are. Naturally, I'm armed."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

Dwight reached a hand down to his ankle and came up with a wicked looking throwing knife. "Japanese hand made World War II commando knife, the commemorative set. Naturally, I bring my best knife to a wedding." He twirled the knife around his finger. It slipped, slicing across the back of his fingers before it fell, embedding itself in the floor with a thunk.

"Oh!" she cried, grabbing a napkin. "You're bleeding! Oh, you poor thing!" She wrapped the napkin around his hand.

Over her bent head, Dwight smirked. Couldn't have planned it better, he thought.

"Ice cream!" Standing next to the table holding the wedding cake, Michael grinned. "Cake and ice cream! This is better than a birthday party!" He picked up a plastic bowl and spoon.

"You can't eat that until the cake has been cut," said Penny. She smiled brightly at Michael.

"Oh, so sorry!" Michael put down the bowl and spoon. He picked up a large cake knife with a pink ribbon around the handle. He sliced the cake from top to bottom, cutting through three layers and a pink frosting rosebud. "Oo! I love these!" He stuck his finger in the rosebud icing and then into his mouth. "Yum!" He smiled at the aghast Penny. "See? All taken care of. Better get to the ice cream before it melts."

Jim pulled out Pam's chair and handed her into it carefully. Leaning down next to her ear, he whispered, "I called the limo. They'll be here in ten minutes. Can you fake an attack of nausea?"

Pam stared across the room at Andy, who was whispering to the DJ and passing him some money. "I don't think I'll have to fake it."

"That's my girl."

A tall man in a brown suit and waistcoat, wearing a carnation in his buttonhole, peered at a card over Oscar's shoulder. "Excuse me, does that say 'Oscar'?"

"Yes, this is my place," Oscar said. "Oh. Hello." He smiled.

The tall man looked Oscar up and down, and he smiled too. "My name is Oscar, too. What a delightful coincidence." He sat down and laid a hand lightly over Oscar's where it lay on the table. "Are you a friend of the bride or groom?"

"Both, actually." Oscar's smiled reached his eyes and he leaned forward. "I have to work with both of them."

The other Oscar raised an eyebrow. "Really? You work two jobs? You're a busy man, I must say."

Oscar looked puzzled. "I beg your pardon?"

Across from them, a matronly woman in jonquil yellow, accompanied by a medium sized man in a gray beard, settled into their seats. "I thought they were going with yellow decorations," she complained to her escort. "That's why I bought this hideous dress, so it would blend in with the yellow roses. But there's silver and white everywhere. Why did they change it?"

A waiter arrived, wearing a biker bandanna, five earrings, and a leather vest. "Hi. I'm Ed. I'll be your waiter tonight. Do you want to know the special?"

"There's a special? At a wedding?" Oscar asked.

The waiter scratched under his bandanna with a pencil. "Wedding? Oh, right. I'm in the wrong party room. Sorry."

"I asked for the low-fat chicken plate," the woman in yellow said, but the waiter was walking away. "Well! I don't like this reception."

Oscar II leaned onto his elbows. "I'll be sure to tell Mark next time we're playing squash."

"Who's Mark?" said Oscar. "You mean Jim's old roommate?"

Oscar II glanced at him. "Who's Jim?"

Jim glanced around the room, searching for his mother's face. He found her, standing next to Penny, looking sadly at the ruined wedding cake.  "Hey, Mom. Can I show you to your seat?"

She looked up at her son. "Why are there two bobblehead dolls on the top of your wedding cake?"

"I know," Penny said. "I don't understand it. I was with Pam when she placed the order for the cake. It was supposed to have a bride and groom holding hands, with roses around their feet."

Jim closed his eyes. "Dwight." He opened his eyes, forced a smile, and thought about the limo on its way to rescue him and his bride. Eight minutes to go. "I think we need to get the toasts under way. Where's Dad?"

His mom waved a hand. "Over there talking to some guy named Andy. Don't worry about me. I'll find my seat. Next to Tom, right?"

Tom himself, as Jim discovered, was backing Andy against a wall in a very threatening manner, barely restrained by his father. "Take it back!" Tom said angrily, raising a fist.

"Come for the wedding, stay for the funeral," Jim muttered to himself. He caught his sibling's fist. "What's going on?"

Mr. Halpert shook his head. "This asshole made a crack about me wearing a dress to the wedding, and your brother decided to teach him some manners."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Can't teach him what he doesn't know," he said. "Come on, Tom, Marcie's waiting for you."

Actually, as they discovered when they reached the table, she was arguing with another woman. The table was full, and several people were standing behind the seated diners, arguing as well. As Jim came up, his sister-in-law turned to him angrily. "Jim, this ... this person is taking my seat."

"I am not," the woman said. "This is the second table. As a sister of the father of the groom, I was promised this table."

Jim, Tom and their father all stared at her. "What?" Mr. Halpert cocked his head to one side. "I don't have a sister."

"What?" the woman said. "Who are you? And why are you wearing a skirt at a wedding? Is that supposed to be funny?"

At the head table, Pete Halpert was downing the last of the beers he'd smuggled in. He looked up to see an elderly lady advancing towards him. Another of Pam's stupid grandparents, he thought. He scooted his chair closer to the table to let her get by.  She looked perplexed.  "Excuse me," she said. "Are you Walter's uncle? I thought I was supposed to sit next to him. You don't look old enough to be Walter's uncle Marty."

Pete burped. "Sorry. Who's Walter?"

Helene Beesly opened her compact and dabbed at her face. The bags under her eyes looked even worse than usual. That bastard across the room with his blonde cutie-pie, it was all his fault she couldn't sleep these days. It would serve him right if--

Suddenly a face appeared in her mirror, peering over her shoulder. "Powdering our curlies?" Michael chirped. He slid into the vacant seat next to her and handed her a bowl of ice cream. "This is good, but it's not mint chocolate chip. I can't believe Pam forgot that that is my favorite flavor."

"That's not your seat," Helene said edgily.

Michael dug his spoon into his ice cream. "So what? I'm the boss. Hey did you know there's pink champagne to go with the pink roses on the cake. That's just the kind of attention to detail that makes her such a great receptionist. She's always been good with the little things."  He barked a laugh almost in Helene's face. "That's what she said!"

A waiter leaned in to pour champagne into their glasses. Helene waved him away from Michael's glass.

At a table near the back of the room, a waiter bent over Meredith. "Ma'am, there's no smoking allowed in here."

Meredith waved away her cigar smoke. "Crap. I don't want to go outside. If you let me smoke this, I'll give you an around-the-world after the party."

Shocked, the waiter took a step away. "No, oh, er, that would be..." He looked around quickly and leaned back down. "Parking lot, next to the dumpster."

"As always," Meredith said in a bored voice. She took another drag on the Cuban and laid it in the plate before her. She reached under the table cloth and drew out a case. Inside it were five bottles of champagne. The sixth stood empty in front of her.

The teenager across the table had watched all this with fascination. His suit looked new, and he needed a haircut.  "Hey," he said. "Can I have some of that?" He nodded at the champagne.

"You're too young for it," Meredith said. She popped the cork expertly. Halfway around the table, Creed Bratton flinched and dove under the table. Ignoring this, Meredith poured herself a tumbler full of champagne. Setting the bottle down, she picked up the plate with the smoldering cigar on it. She handed it across the table to the young man. "Here you go, kid. Never too early to start, I always say."

"Thanks!"

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO--Oh, sorry." The DJ turned towards his volume control as people around the room covered their ears. An elderly woman at the head table said, "Finally, someone who speaks up!"

"What?" Penny leaned over to hear her grandmother better.

"I SAID, FINALLY, SOMEONE WHO SPEAKS UP!" said Meemaw. Penny winced and patted her hand.

Pam's cheek muscles were tired from forcing herself to smile. Blue spots danced in front of her eyes, thanks to some guy's over-enthusiastic use of flash photography. Come to think of it, where was the photographer? She didn't remember seeing him at the wedding, not that she ever wanted to remember that ceremony. The one on Maid of the Mist would be a cherished memory forever, but when she thought of watching Kevin shuffle down the aisle at her wedding wearing Kleenex boxes on his feet, she desperately wished there was such a thing as mental floss. When Jim slid into the seat next to her and took her hand, her smile relaxed into a real one.

As long as we're together, the rest doesn't matter.

"Pam, who are the people at that table next to the kitchen door?"

"I thought they were your family," she said, amused.

"They're Asian," he said.

"I figured it was the Hong Kong branch of the family."

"The only reason I noticed them was that they're the only ones behaving themselves," Jim said.

"They must be at the wrong reception."

"Pam, I think we're at the wrong reception."

Suddenly a commotion at the door leading to the restrooms caught everyone's attention. Kelly Kapoor stormed through the door, her mascara streaked. She stalked to the nearest empty seat and plopped into it, ignoring the man who had just been about to sit in it. Holding two glasses of champagne, he looked around for an empty seat and then wandered forlornly away.

"I hate Ryan," Kelly said in a voice all could hear. "I can't believe he wanted to have sex in a men's room with me. Honestly, couldn't he wait until after the first dance before he messes up my hair? It took me hours to get it to look like this." She became conscious of all the eyes  on her, and blinked. She squinted at the man sitting next to her. "Hi. Are you one of Pam's uncles or something?"

The man looked her up and down with a distinct air of disapproval. "Who is Pam?"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The DJ had finally gotten his microphone under control. He waved a hand in the air, and suddenly the lights dimmed, except for a spotlight in the ceiling, trained on the main door.

"What's going on?" Jim said. He glanced suspiciously at his brothers, but Pete was asleep at the main table with his head on his arms, and Tom was whispering fiercely to Andy. Pam closed her eyes wearily.

"Friends and family, young and old, from far and near, I give you MR. AND MRS. WALTER STATLER!" The DJ touched a button on his console, and music boomed from speakers in the ceiling.

"Hit the road, Jack/And don't come back no more no more no more..."

"No. Is that...?" Jim said.

Pam nodded slowly. "Yup. 'Hit the Road, Jack'. Did you do this?"

Jim scowled, shaking his head. "This has to be Michael. Does he never stop?"

"Really? You're asking this?" Pam said testily.

"Who is Walter Statler?" said Penny, next to Pam.

The doors swung open at that moment, revealing a pair linked arm and arm. They strode into the room, grinning from ear to ear. The man was tall and dressed in formal black; the bride wore a huge white wedding gown with puff sleeves and a silver lace veil flung back over her red hair.

"Who is this?" Jim said. "Why are they crashing our wedding?"

Half the people in the room had stood and now were applauding. Soon the applauding changed to a clap along with the beat of the Ray Charles tune.

The bridal couple advanced to the center of the room, then halted. As they moved out of the glare of the spotlight, they looked around the room. As soon as the bride saw Pam seated at the head table, she stopped. Her husband kept on going for a step or two, then brought up short as her arm slipped out of his elbow.

"What?" he said. Then he looked around. He leaned over to his wife and in a very audible whisper said, "Who are these people?"

Jim and Pam looked at one another. "Someone has mixed up our wedding reception with the others," he said.

"Someone? You don't know?" Pam's voice had an edge in it.

Jim shrugged. "Not even Michael could screw this up so badly," he said.  "It's karma. Fate. Destiny. Years of pranking Michael have come back to haunt us."

"What do we do? Michael would tell us to sacrifice a live hamster or something."

Jim smiled. "If you can quote Michael Gary Scott on our wedding day, I can, too."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "Jim, no..."

Jim was already rising, glass in hand. The spotlight winked off just as he reached his feet, and Ray Charles cut off in mid-syllable. Into the murmur of the puzzled guests, Jim cleared his throat.

"Friends, thank you all for coming," he said. He raised his glass with a friendly smile to the befuddled groom in front of him. "Fellow grooms included.  I know it's not the usual thing, but I'm going to break with custom and give the first toast. There are so many things I could say, should say. But I'll keep it short--"

"That's what she said!" yelled Michael.

"I'll just say, here's for never, ever, ever giving up." He raised his glass. Everyone who had one raised theirs; Meredith held up a bottle of champagne, with the liquid foaming down her arm. Across from her, the teenaged boy suddenly threw down a cigar, turned green and bolted for the men's room. Creed peeked over the edge of the table and then ducked back under again.

"For never, ever, ever giving up," the crowd echoed. For a moment all was silent as they drained their glasses. As he set his down, Jim saw the main door open a bit. A uniformed limo driver stuck his head in and caught his eye. Jim jerked his head towards the kitchen. The man looked at the door, looked back at Jim, and gave him a thumbs-up. He disappeared.

Mr. Walter Statler and his bride stepped up to the head table. "Uh, I think there's been some mistake," he said diffidently.

Jim sprang to his feet. "Oh, yes. This is so awkward." He reached down for Pam's hand and almost bodily hauled her upright. "But it's been such a wonderful party. It's only fair for you to take a turn." He backed away from the table, gesturing to his and Pam's seats. "Please, take our place. Your place. The bride and groom's place. I insist."

"But..." the new Mrs. Statler looked as if she were about to cry. "I don't understand."

"Joint weddings," Pam said gamely. "It's all the rage. Two for the price of one. We get to merge our guest lists and halve the costs."

Statler blinked. "What? That doesn't--"

Nick Lowe's voice boomed into the room. "I KNEW THE BRIDE WHEN SHE USED TO ROCK AND ROLL!" The song rolled over the crowd like a breaking wave.

Jim leaned down to Pam. "That's our exit cue."

Without a word, she gathered up her gown and put her hand on his arm. She nodded cheerily to the nonplussed couple before her. "Congratulations. Have a great time!"

"Where are you going?" Penny said. She put a hand out as if to stop Pam. "Are you leaving?"

"You bet I am," Pam said, her mouth a determined line.

"I KNEW the bride WHEN she used TO ROCK and roll..." The DJ frantically punched buttons on his console, trying to control the volume. Andy was leading a reluctant Erin out onto the dance floor. Michael was tugging on Helene Beesly's hand, trying to get her to dance.

"Time to go," Jim said to Pam. He led her off towards the kitchen door.

Michael rushed up. "Wait! Wait! You can't leave!"

Jim, looking increasingly desperate, swung Pam behind him. "Michael--"

"You haven't even tossed your bouquet!"

On the other side of the room, raised voices showed that matters were coming to a head between Kevin and some woman wearing a hat shaped like a bird. Jim reached up and jerked off his tie. He thrust it at Michael. "There," he said. "Better than a bouquet! You're a man, you don't want to catch flowers. You caught the groom's tie!"

Michael looked down reverently at the mutilated silk in his hands. "I caught the groom's tie!" He looked up, his eyes full of tears.  "I will never, ever forget this!" he said mistily.

Jim pushed open the swinging kitchen into the door. Behind him, a loud string of firecracker pops broke out, overriding even the wildly varying volume of the Nick Lowe song. He pushed Pam through the door and paused to look back at Michael.  "It's all yours, Michael. Have fun."

Michael's eyes got big and round. "Really!?"

The door swung shut behind Jim.  Pam stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking glorious and happy and a little tired, smiling back at him. Around him the clatter and smells of a kitchen in full court press mode surged and receded. Their wedding day had been a farce, the pictures were ruined, her parents were on the outs and the wedding reception was a mess right out of Monty Python. And it didn't matter one bit.

As long as we're together...

"Come on, Mrs. Halpert," he said, and held out his hand. On it, a gold ring winked back at him.  "Our life is waiting."

THE END