Ilsa felt really at home here in Sarah and Chuck's kitchen, probably more than she had ever felt at home anywhere, including the small factory village where she had grown up. Most people would probably be surprised if they found out it had been a village in the Midwest United States and not the middle of the Russian steppes somewhere. But it was an agent's prerogative to keep secrets, even from his or her loved ones. Ilsa, in her heart, naturally included Sarah and Chuck and their three children in that very small group of people whom she now considered her loved ones. Even their dog Flash had managed to find a small dog-shaped place there as well.

Sarah was bustling around the kitchen putting away the last of the cleaned dishes from their supper. When Ilsa closed her eyes a bit, she could imagine her mother, a flowered apron snug across her perpetually expanded waistline, moving around the family kitchen and issuing orders to Ilsa's many siblings and whichever other children had managed to wander in and through the house. It didn't seem to matter to the woman whose children were whose, they were all eligible for her seemingly limitless love and stern but fair discipline.

After that, Ilsa couldn't help but see a picture in her mind with herself at the center of the kitchen in Casey's house, their kitchen now, a warm glow on her face as a couple of small children that looked a lot like Casey ran through the room, Lisa and CJ and John and probably also Gaby running after them in some kind of game while Ilsa called out, "If you fall and hurt yourselves, it's not my fault!" just the way Ilsa's mother used to do. Casey would come up behind her as the setting sun slanted through the window and warmed her skin, his arms snaking around her thickened midsection as he caressed his unborn child inside her and whispered in her ear –

"There, that's done!" Sarah declared as she sat opposite her friend and leaned her forearms on the table, breaking the woman's reverie. "Now, what is it you wanted to ask me, Ilsa?"

"I'm planning the wedding, Sarah," Ilsa began, "Casey's and my wedding." Realizing this was probably unnecessary information, Ilsa flushed a bit and smiled in embarrassment.

"Go on, Ilsa," Sarah encouraged, reaching across the table to cover the woman's hand with one of hers.

"And I wonder if you would stand up for me, you know, be my matron of honor," she finished as she searched Sarah's eyes hopefully.

"Oh, Ilsa, of course I'll be there for you!" came Sarah's excited reply as she jumped up and ran around the table to embrace her friend. "Oh, I can't wait to tell Chuck!"

After Sarah had finished squeezing so tightly and Ilsa got her breath back, she stopped the agent from running into the living room, where Chuck and Casey had gone after dinner.

"Please leave them alone for a while longer," Ilsa said, a worried frown in her eyes. "Let them come in here to us."

Sarah paused a moment before understanding washed over her features. "Ah, I see. Well, in that case, let's have a cup of tea and some of those lovely pastries you brought with you. And then we can talk about dresses."

Chuck was standing in front of the stereo flipping through the display of music and trying to find something nice to play during dessert and coffee. Sarah had said she wanted to clean up before she served it but she and Ilsa sure were taking their time in the kitchen. Chuck figured that, with the kids eating over at the Charbonneaus' – Gaby's house – Sarah was enjoying a good gab with Ilsa without having to deal with the dessert demands of two boys and a girl.

After Chuck had keyed his playlist into the control panel, however, he was beginning to wonder if Sarah was finding it easier to ignore husbands and fiancés as well. He had gotten a look at the exotic European pastries that Ilsa and Casey had brought with them and was eager to give them a try. In the interests of cultural exchange, of course.

Besides, Casey was acting like, well, Casey. He was sitting perched on the edge of the big easy chair, his elbows on his knees and his fingers laced together, an uncertain scowl on his face. Chuck had known the NSA agent long enough now to recognize that look. It was meant to cover up some insecurity the big man was feeling and frighten off anyone who tried to ask him what the problem was.

And the problem was, Chuck knew, that it had never scared him off and never would. It hadn't scared him years ago because Chuck was a generous soul and a little bit cavalier when it came to his personal safety when a friend was in need, and it didn't scare him now because he knew Casey as well as any man knew a brother. Chuck was willing to wait a few minutes until the agent worked up the courage to reveal whatever it was that was bothering him.

As Chuck sat down in the chair opposite, Casey cleared his throat and began.

"The wedding," he said in a low voice, looking at his hands.

Chuck decided that the best thing to do was just wait some more and listen. Luckily, he didn't have to wait very long.

"Chuck, I want you to be my best man," Casey finally continued, looking up into his friend's eyes.

Chuck remained seated. Even though he was quite excited, he did his best to appear cool as he replied, "Why, of course I'll be your best man, Casey. Thanks for asking."

Casey let out a whoosh of air in relief and smiled as if to say I'mgladthat'soveranddonewith and sat back in his chair, releasing all the tension he had been holding in his shoulders.

Chuck smiled to himself. Other than with Ilsa, that was probably the most demonstrative Casey had ever been with anyone. It would be a mistake now to refer to it again so soon, so Chuck selected the next best option.

He began to chat about some new ordnance that he had seen at Los Angeles Headquarters and soon the two men were debating the pros and cons of automatic and semi-automatic weapons in various espionage situations. When Chuck could see that Casey was back to his old gruff, snarky and argumentative self, he stood up.

"Coffee and dessert?" he asked as he turned to go into the kitchen. When Casey nodded in the affirmative, Chuck added wryly, "That is, if our women haven't already eaten all of those pastries."