A/N – I didn't want the Paris Wedding to be officiated by a complete stranger (otherwise known as an OC), but it took me a while to strike upon an appropriate canon character for the job. This instantly gave me Vanessa's reaction, a tip of my hat to another of my favorite authors.

EVERYONE, I am delighted to say, belongs to Dan and Swampy.

Wedding Favors 2: Celebratory

Ferb Fletcher regarded the computer screen with a smile of exhausted relief. The latest Wedding Crisis had just been averted – or at least so he hoped – and he owed it all to one person.

"Gran, you're brilliant. I love you."

The dear, elderly lady smiled back at him from far across the Atlantic and said, "I love you, too, sweetheart. You'll let me know how it works out?"

He nodded, then kissed his fingertips and held them out toward the web cam. Gran did the same for him and with a flurry of farewells, they ended the video chat. Ferb sat back in his chair, still mulling over the good fortune, or divine intervention, or whatever you wanted to call it that had prompted his grandmother's call. He and Vanessa were within four months of their Matrimonial Raid on the Eiffel Tower and still without an officiant for the ceremony. Oh, they could have gone through any of several agencies to find a Celebrant for hire, but Ferb had the mad notion that he'd rather say his vows in front of someone who was not a complete stranger. Vanessa's father had volunteered to do some online ordination thing if he could cadge the money from her mother, but Vanessa had wisely pointed out that he couldn't walk his daughter down the aisle and do the "who gives this woman?" bit, and walking his daughter had won hands down. Ferb was relieved to have dodged that bullet. He had managed over time to forge a cordial relationship with Doctor Doofenshmirtz, but he still didn't quite trust the man not to have a change of heart and sabotage the efforts of this green-haired hoodlum to carry off his Baby Girl. Ferb and Vanessa had even discussed the fact that, since the Paris wedding was merely symbolic, they didn't actually need someone legally qualified to marry them. This opened up the field, but still no satisfactory choice presented itself. Well, one did, but the traditional ceremony didn't translate well into platypus chatter. And besides, the merest whisper that the Flynn-Fletcher Family Pet and Agent P of the O.W.C.A. were one and the same was still something strictly forbidden.

He had dinner ready when Vanessa came home from work that evening, and told her about his conversation with Gran and the person she had recommended.

"I haven't seen him since I was twelve or thirteen," Ferb admitted. "But Phineas and I used to cross paths with him pretty regularly on our visits to Gran and Grandpa. He was a cheeky fellow," Ferb chuckled. "But always a good sport. Gran told him what we're up to, and she says he's game to help out."

"Yeah, that's great, Ferb," said Vanessa, sounding skeptical. "But what does he know about weddings?"

"That's the brilliant part. It seems that he's a licensed Celebrant. No legal standing, of course. We'll still have to do the courthouse wedding here. But he started at Oxford as a divinity student before he decided that the life of a Humble Village Parson wasn't really his calling. His parents were already renting out the castle for weddings and things, so he took a professional course and started officiating."

Vanessa still looked unconvinced as she voiced her reservations. "We're not getting married in a castle."

"Oh, no, of course not," Ferb assured her. "It's Paris or Bust. And if you don't like him, say the word and we'll keep looking. But we should at least talk to him."

The next day, after exchanging a few emails, a face-to-face was scheduled and at the appointed time, Ferb and Vanessa settled on the sofa with the laptop in front of them and logged into the video chat. Ferb wondered if he would recognize the chap at the other end, but when the Englishman's face flickered onto the screen, there was no mistaking his fine features, fair hair and clear blue eyes. He was now a young man of twenty-eight, but Charles Pipping the Fourth really hadn't changed all that much since they had staged the Medieval Tournament at his castle when Ferb was ten.

This impression was apparently mutual. "I say, Ferb, old bean, why, you haven't changed a bit. What ho," he acknowledged Vanessa with a smile. "Your lady fair, I presume?"

"Miss Vanessa Doofenshmirtz," Ferb presented her proudly.

"Delighted," said Charles, regarding her with respectful admiration. "However did this green-headed blighter win the heart of such a pippin?"

"Tenacity," the pippin replied, looping her arm through the blighter's and taking his hand. "And a lot of patience."

"I'm a lucky fellow," Ferb acknowledged with an adoring glance at his fiancee.

"And now you're ready to march down the aisle," Mr. Pipping beamed at them. "Jolly good. Dear old Mrs. F says you're tying the knot in Paris, of all places. Quelle romantique, as they say. Have you a venue lined up?"

It was Vanessa who answered, and Ferb felt the stiffening of her backbone that always accompanied the declaration of their intentions. "We're getting married at the top of the Eiffel Tower."

Charles appeared surprised by this news, and his expression became one of cautious concern. "I say, is that cricket?"

"We're working on that," Ferb assured him.

"No doubt, old chap, no doubt." The fair-haired fellow forced a game smile clearly meant to soothe them. "But, I say, what? Bit of a sticky wicket if some Pooh-Bah calls a halt to the thing halfway through. Gendarmes tossing you in the chokey, dashed inconvenient, what?"

Ferb felt Vanessa press her lips against his shoulder, not kissing him so much as stifling the exasperated words he was certain she was struggling to contain. He sought to defuse the argument before it started. "Honestly, Charles, it will be all right. We know people." More accurately, he knew a supremely imaginative red-headed brother who didn't know the meaning of impossible, a platypus with ties to the global spy community, and an over-protective father with too many inators for anyone's good. Ferb was confident that between the lot of them they would figure out something.

Pipping appeared persuaded by his words and chuckled lightly as he declared, "By Jove, old bean, if anyone can manage it, you can. Stiff upper lip, what? I say, Ferb, old egg." He grew solemn again as he advised, "I'd be delighted to do the honors, of course, but you do realize that the I Dos won't be legally binding, so to speak. Strictly celebratory, you understand. You'll still have to bung round to the registrar or what have you."

"Oh, yes," said Ferb, "we've got that covered." He was surprised to feel his intended still rooting against his arm. He could have sworn she was chewing on his shirt sleeve.

Whatever Vanessa was doing, Charles had noticed it, as well. "I say, dear girl," the man addressed her, "everything all right? You don't seem quite tickety-boo."

Ferb felt a splutter as Vanessa dug her nails into his palm and choked out the word, "Fine." Then all at once she clapped a hand over her mouth and bolted from the couch. Ferb watched her dash for the bedroom and slam the door, and glanced sheepishly at Charles. "I'd better…" he pointed in the general direction of Vanessa's exit.

"Right-ho," Charles agreed, looking a bit uncomfortable, himself. "Let me know…"

Ferb nodded. "I'll be in touch."

The other man gave a nod of his own and signed off with a, "Pip-pip, old chap."

Closing the chat, Ferb ventured toward the bedroom. As he drew near, he realized why Vanessa had removed herself in such haste. One closed door and probably at least two pillows were not enough to completely cover the sound, and it was with a gentle hand that he turned the knob.

"Ghee-hee-hee-hee-hee-Ghaa-ha-ha-ha-ha…" The Doofenshmirtz Cackle escaped from the muffling pillows as Vanessa raised her head and looked helplessly at him. "Oh, Ferb…" she laughed and sobbed, pushing herself upright and reaching out to him in appeal. "Baaa-ha-ha-he's not – still – ?" she flailed a finger toward the living room.

"He's gone," Ferb assured her, sitting on the bed and drawing her into his arms, where he rubbed her back and let her expel the rest of her mirth against his shirt front.

"Oh, Ferb," she said again, when she was down to the last exhausted giggles. Her flushed cheeks dimpled by the smile she couldn't break free of, Vanessa gasped out, "He's like something out of Wodehouse! I kept wanting to call him Bingo or Pongo or something…" An aftershock of amusement scrambled through her and shook out a few more chuckles.

"It's all right, love," he murmured comfortingly. "We don't have to use him."

"Oh, no," she protested, raising her head to meet Ferb's eyes. "He's sweet, I like him. He's a 'good egg,'" she grinned, with a soft final chortle. "But if he gets up there and says, 'I say, old bean, do you take this spiffing bird to be your bally ball and chain?'" she uttered this with a passing imitation of the Pipping accent before resuming her own voice, "I can't promise to keep a straight face."

THE END

A/N – P. G. Wodehouse was a British author of humorous stories, written primarily in the 1920s and '30s. He was the creator of Bertie Wooster and his unflappable manservant, Jeeves, and he really did have characters called Bingo and Pongo. He's an old favorite of mine, and Charles Pipping the Fourth would fit right into his world. Oh, and I trust we all remember Charles from the early P&F episode "A Hard Day's Knight."