"Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope." - Maya Angelou

He pulled a lot of strings, cashed in a ton of favors and I-owe-you's, and had come perilously close to begging.

It was worth it.

She's pacing the Allen Room, a room dedicated to writers. She knows he did it on purpose, planned for her to be in the same room where he admitted to have written part of his third book; he knows it has always been her favorite.

It's not nerves that has her weaving between cubicles, the soft tulle of her dress caressing the legs of chairs. It's not.

She's just ready.

Ready to go down the curved stairs on her father's arm. Ready to watch him try not to cry because of course he made some stupid bet with Ryan and Esposito that he knows he's going to lose. Ready to stumble over her words during the vows. Ready to slip the gold band onto his finger.

So very, very ready.

She abandons her bouquet on one of the tables, closing the door behind her with a quiet click that echoes on the marble of the hall. There's a low buzz of noise coming from the lobby, voices of friends and family melding together.

It's his laugh that gives his location away. Full-bodied and joyous. She finds herself smiling at the door moments before she knocks on the panel gently.

"Listen, Paula, I don't care how much they're willing to pay," he's saying, eyes closed in what she knows is a hope for patience. "I'm not letting any cameras into the... Beckett?"

"Hi," she whispers.

"What're you doing?" he asks, clapping his hands over his eyes. "Bad luck!"

"Really?" she teases. "After all of the other stuff we've gone through, you're worried about seeing me before the ceremony because of some superstition?"

"I think our track record is reason to be careful."

"Fair point." She reaches out, tucking her fingers into the pocket of his tux. Her thumb brushes over the stem of the boutonniere. "But really. How much trouble could we get into while in the library?"

He steps closer, hands still over his face. "We could go back to your room, get a little inspiration." She can see the wiggle of his brows peeking from under his fingertips.

"Thought I was your inspiration."

"This place was my inspiration before," he admits. "I spent hours here. The librarians had to kick me out after closing."

"You mean you couldn't charm them into another five minutes?"

"Shush," he mutters. "I did all of my research here. Until I didn't have to anymore."

She hums, urging him on.

"I had you."

Kate doesn't have to push up far on her toes to touch her lips to his. "Always gonna have me."

His eyes almost open; she can see his lashes flutter, revealing the tiniest sliver of blue and white before he can close them. "You ready for this?" he asks, his voice quiet. She can hear the nerves playing under the calm, the fear that she's going to run.

"More than," she replies. "Why do you think I snuck out here?"

"Because you couldn't resist my rugged good looks?" he teases.

"Obviously. I need to go before Lanie catches me." She slides her hand to his neck, leaning his head down just enough for her to kiss him gently. "I love you."

When she steps back, she sees him peeking through his fingers, his mouth dropping open.

"Blaming you if everything gets messed up because you looked at me," she states, letting her fingers trail down his chest as she heads toward the door.

He catches her hand, pulling her back for another kiss.

This time, his eyes are open the entire time.

And he does cry. She doesn't even make it down the first flight of stairs before she catches sight of his tears, hastily wiped away as Esposito nudges Ryan's elbow. But he's not the first; her dad had to borrow tissues from Martha as they waited up in the mezzanine.

She messes up the vows, too distracted by his smile to listen to the justice.

He drops the ring, the slim silver band rolling to a stop at the toe of her shoe. She teases him as he finally slides it into place, whispering about the price he pays for looking.

But none of it matters when he sneaks her away from the reception, tugging her out to the front steps, and tucking them behind one of the lions.

"Thought about these cats a lot when it came to us," he confesses, fingertips curled loosely around the tulle. "Patience and Fortitude."

"Appropriate," she says, reaching up to touch the broad paw of the lion, the metal of her ring scraping along the stone. "I'm glad you were patient."

His lips are soft against her forehead as he leans into her, pressing her back against the pedestal. "I'd wait forever for you, Beckett."

The photograph that Jim takes on the sly of them hidden in Fortitude's shadow is the one that makes it onto her desk at work, not the numerous ones from the professional photographers.