Archive of Our Own ^beta

John scowled at his reflection as, yet again, his bow tie failed to cooperate. It was the happiest day of his life, and it wouldn't be ruined by a silly strip of silk, but he couldn't help but swear as his fingers fumbled with the offending accessory once more.

"Wooow," Shaw drawled from the couch, "You're terrible at this." She was sprawled out with a mimosa in hand, feeding bits of appetizers to Bear, who was also dressed to the nines.

John sighed. "Harold is usually the one helping me get dressed up," he explained, trying the tie again, "Frankly, I wish he were here."

"Well, I'd say it's bad luck to see the groom before the ceremony, but I think it's lucky that we all made it here at all." She smirked as she said it, but John knew that she was right. It was a miracle they'd all lived to see the day. His stomach fluttered just thinking about it.

"Believe me, I know," he replied. Trying to distract himself and keep his hands from shaking, he added, "I just assumed- with plenty of supportive evidence- that I wouldn't get this. The happy ending."

Shaw hummed, staring into her now empty flute glass. "I know the feeling."

"And then... when I proposed..." John shook his head, smiling to himself. "There was one horrifying moment where I was afraid that the universe would realize its mistake, that things weren't supposed to turn out this way."

"And now here you are," Shaw said, lifting the glass in a faux toast, "Every inch the blushing bride."

"You know," John replied, turning to look at her, "You could stop making snarky comments and lend a hand."

Chuckling, Shaw stood and joined John in front of the full-length mirror. "All right, if you're sure you can't figure it out."

"You're the maid of honor," John mumbled, lifting his chin to give Shaw access, "This is basically you're job."

Shaw chuckled. "At least you're not a total bride-zilla."

On the other end of the engagement, Harold was having his own anxieties. Root had calmed him down on plenty of other occasions, but it was one thing when they were facing life and death situations in the field. This was different. This was personal.

Harold was fervently pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. They'd made the choice to write their own vows, and he wanted to get it right.

"Relax, Harry," Root purred, "You're getting married, not facing off against an evil super intelligence."

Harold chuckled dryly. "I'd almost wish I were. At least I've done that before. I never... actually got to. The first time around."

Root patted the spot next to her on the couch. "Come here. Tell me about your previous engagement. You don't really talk about Grace."

Taking a seat, Harold scoffed. "Why would I? Especially now, on my wedding day. Leaving her was one of my greatest regrets. It's not exactly something I'm anxious to revisit."

Root stroked his shoulder soothingly. "Trust the process. When did you know you wanted to marry her?"

"She was painting." Harold gazed off into the distance, losing himself in the memory as a soft smile played across his lips. "We were looking out at the river. I went to the railing, and when she looked up, she told me not to move. We just stayed like that, as she added me to her work." His face lit up. "I told her, 'That's not what I look like. I looked so content, at peace. But she told me, 'This is how I see you.'" His eyes were glistening as he finished, "I bought a ring the next day."

Root smiled at him. "And you feel that way now? About John?"

Harold met her gaze. She could see the conviction in his eyes as he said, 'I do. And... if I could paint him... if he could only see the way I see him..."

They shared a moment of companionable silence. Harold swallowed, smiling a watery smile. He was grateful for Root's company, and everything she'd done to help him get to that moment.

The opening door interrupted Harold's thoughts, and he stood. Fusco stuck his head in, looking dapper in his uniform. "All right, Glasses," he said, unable to restrain his grin, "It's about time to get started. Ya ready?"

Harold took a steadying breath, straightening his vest. "Oh, Detective," he said, his lips quirking into a smirk, "I have been ready for quite some time."

fin