You were drunk enough to sing, in mumbled words, Pitbull's "Hotel Room Service" at the end of your wedding. The best part? Well, besides eating the cake, dancing with Gaz, and finally kicking off those shoes for something more comfortable, let's not forget the flexing picture with Task Force 141. There you were, in Gaz's arms, the others around you, Kate in a sharp suit as the best bridesmaid, and the rest of the squad looking immaculate in their suits. But, truth be told, it was exhausting.

When Gaz picked you up in bride style and stepped over the threshold of the hotel room, he threw you onto the bed and collapsed beside you. His head hit the pillow, and he let out a big sigh, his eyes closing for a second.

"How fast do you think you'll fall asleep?" you teased, a playful smirk on your lips.

He slowly opened his eyes, looking at you. "God, you're a vision," he whispered. You were beautiful and, unbelievably, his spouse. He... he just couldn't believe it. He was married to you! Like... what? His eyes softened as he took your hand, his fingers sliding over your wrist, up where the veins are, fingers slowly spreading your palm open. He interlocked his fingers with yours, turned your hand around, and kissed where the ring was. He just adored you.

"Can't believe you're mine," he murmured against your skin, his eyes sparkling with love.

"Well, believe it," you replied, leaning in closer. "Because this is just the beginning, Mr. Garrick."

He chuckled softly, "Guess we better make the most of our wedding night then, Mrs. Garrick."