M'kay— so Across the Second Dimension (In Fabulous 2D!) is going to change this a bit, but it's not really a big deal. Let's just assume that, with the exception of the movie, everything happens the same way it does in canon. Since FWoaN was published right after "The Doof Side of the Moon" was aired, I'm going to try to incorporate the new details we've been offered in addition to using the jokes I already had prepared and— since this is a substitute to AtSD, when it comes down to it— there will probably be a lot of shout outs to it, as well.

Aside from that, the only thing I wanted to say is that I hope everything seems in character; Ferb has more than a few lines, for instance. I tried to keep from going overboard, but future chapters that feature the boys by themselves will probably feature similar levels of dialogue. (It's difficult to write a scene with only two characters when one of them doesn't say more than two things, I've learned. This shouldn't be such a surprise, really...)

Anyway, enjoy— and feel free to give me a shout if there's something you want to say.

"In hindsight, I question the logic of making Buford our judge..." Phineas commented jovially, sliding the back door open, "And maybe making Baljeet the prosecutor was a stretch, too; I don't think 'That was objectionable' is a real objection. It was fun though."

Yes, mock-court had been something else. Between Buford the clueless judge, Baljeet acting as the prosecution, Irving's...unique testimony and the premise in general (murder with a clock— par for the course, really) there hadn't been a dull moment in the backyard-turned-courtroom. The only problem was that the activity hadn't lasted nearly as long as anybody had assumed it would; it was late in the afternoon— not quite evening, but close— which left another hole to fill. While it wasn't necessarily too late to start a new project, it was doubtful that anybody would get to enjoy it once it was done, which would be a real pity.

Ferb reached over and straightened his brother's bright red tie, prompting the elder of the pair to investigate for himself.

"Oh yeah, we should probably return these, huh?" He asked— mostly for the sake of asking— while fiddling with one of the navy blue suit's cuffs. Yeah, it was a little bit stuffy, but he had to look the part of a lawyer if he was going to be a mock-defense attorney, right?

Ferb's only answer was to take off the wig he'd been wearing for the past few hours and toss it onto the table, glaring at it. Phineas didn't bother fighting down his grin; the wig was a truly puzzling addition, but the guy at the costume shop was adamant— if they wanted to pass for a legal defense team, it was part of the look. At the time, the younger brother hadn't complained about the quirk— he'd even taken the costume without being asked— but it was obvious that, after several hours of ignoring the heavy beads styling the wig and dealing with an outfit that was more suited to a fortune teller than a legal aid, he was getting rather exasperated.

Phineas laughed, "I'll meet you upstairs— I'm gonna check today off."

Ferb nodded, wasting no time in retreating up the stairs— eager to be rid of the ill-suited clothing— while Phineas headed over to the calendar. With a flourish, he scribbled 'Mock-trial' at the bottom of the day, being sure to leave enough space for another description, and took a moment to study the layout.

The Fireside Girls' retreat was scheduled to end soon— it had been over a week without a single "What'cha doin'?", which was always strange— and, even though he didn't need the reminder, the calendar also marked the antique road-show which had started that morning. Candace said that she would come by to visit once Linda and Lawrence got back, so that was always there to look forward to.

Idly, he glanced over the other notes scattered across the sheet— apparently the Meatloaf Festival was early, this year— but didn't really come across anything interesting until about three weeks down the page: "Caroline's Vacation Time", it said in deceptively innocent writing.

Phineas sighed, his smile vanishing. Yes, it had to happen at some point in the summer and yes, it was only for a week, but it always felt so lonely when Ferb had to go visit his biological mother. It had the potential to be way worse, though; Caroline Desmarais never took a day off— 'vacation time' was only used because they couldn't think of any other term for it— and didn't fight to have holidays with her son, as many other parents would have. Just as well, since the Flynn-Fletcher family was loathe to let one of their own wander off on their own during such celebrations. (That had been an accidental discovery from many a year ago— and, in context, it would have been 'two of their own' as one would naturally assume. Who could have known that splitting off from the group to build a snow-bear was frowned upon?) Phineas had never met Caroline personally— it had never really come up, and he probably didn't have any business meeting her, anyway— but he'd heard enough griping to come to his own conclusions.

In some small, petty way, it was rather satisfying to hear his brother— who, like himself, usually tried to see the best in a things (even if he was prone to joking at their expense every now and then)— complain about the yearly visit.

The redhead shook his head, trying to dispel those thoughts; there were still several weeks before they'd have to worry about that; no sense dwelling on something that couldn't be changed, now was there? It would be a terrible waste of perfectly good time— and he couldn't have that.

Phineas turned around just in time to catch his sibling sliding down the banister, back in his regular choice of clothing; the older brother tapped at his cheek thoughtfully, before holding up both hands, two fingers folded down. Ferb cocked his head to one side questioningly.

"You separated your feet a little on the entry."

The other rolled his eyes and set down the plastic bag containing the costume before meandering over; Phineas was just about to question this when he felt the tie being loosened, which effectively answered the query.

"Just so that you don't strangle yourself." The quieter boy said simply, handing the cherry red piece of fabric over.

"I'm gonna figure that out one of these days." Phineas shot back brightly, setting the tie on the table and hanging the suit's jacket on a chair, "And then you won't be able to tease me about it anymore."

"So you keep telling me."

The redhead simply stuck his tongue out and headed up the stairs. Ferb shrugged and grabbed the abandoned jacket, adding it and the tie to the pile of neatly-folded fabric inside of the bag. With a definite glint in his eyes, he turned toward the wig, debating the merits of simply stuffing it into the sack; the accessory was only saved from this fate because he happened to notice something else sitting out on the table.

A book.

He reached over, spun it around so it was upright and chuckled.

Not a book— not quite. A catalogue of classes. No points for guessing where that had come from.

He decided to have mercy on the wig and let it live the rest of its life in untangled peace, opting to flip through the course catalogue instead. Ceramics, photography, woodshop... welding. That was certainly interesting, but it would be aimed at new welders, wouldn't it? What fun would it be to weld a metal box when there was the potential to build a jet-powered lawnmower out of spare parts? Physics, IB...

Eh, they'd end up discussing it eventually—even if Phineas didn't particularly want to. Speak of the devil...

Without looking up from the booklet, Ferb held up eight fingers when he heard his brother land, mimicking the reception he'd gotten earlier.

"Now you're just being vindictive, bro." The redhead pouted; he still wandered over, though, in order to look over the younger boy's shoulder, "What's that?"

Without a second's hesitation— not really caring about losing his spot in the catalogue— Ferb flipped the booklet closed and handed it over, snatching the costume up just a second later.

"Hey! I was going to take care of that!" Phineas objected, yet to spare the book a second glance; the green haired boy didn't respond, making a show of how 'distracted' he was folding up the rest of the suit. The elder of the pair rolled his eyes fondly and finally looked at the cover of the mass of paper he was holding. He raised an eyebrow, "Did mom leave this?"

Ferb shrugged before going back to his war against the wig, trying to get it in the bag without tangling it beyond recognition.

The redhead sighed, "Well... I guess we don't really have anything to do on the way to the costume shop. As long as we're not taking away from inventing time to go through this..." He opened it up to a random page, and— completely out of the blue— added, "I wonder if there's a Spanish class. 'Permanecer sentados, por favor!'"

There was a beat of silence before he tacked on, "Or maybe sign language, hmm?"

Ferb swung the bag of costume material at him, missing by a mile.

"What? I was just kidding!" Phineas claimed innocently, opening the back door again; it was mostly a habit, nowadays, to enter and exit the house through the backyard, "Huh, maybe it's not as early as I thought it was. I wonder where Perry—"

For a second, Phineas was at a loss— which was truly an impressive feat— and simply didn't know what to say upon catching sight the platypus.

Ferb kindly picked up the slack, answering the question with a comically straight face, all things considered.

"There he is."

"— and he just waltzes in like he owns the place! After I put all of that work into finding a good evil name and everything!" Doofenshmirtz paused, rubbing at the back of his neck embarrassedly, "I, uh, guess I could have been paying more attention to the acronym, but L.O.V.E. M.U.F.F.I.N. is perfectly evil as-is, don't you think?"

Perry didn't even deem that worthy of a chirp and, instead, fixed the doctor with an unimpressed stare. On this particular day, he was sitting— 'trapped'— in a blob of mostly-congealed tapioca pudding while listening to his nemesis rant and rave about the shift in 'evil power' ... which had absolutely nothing to do with today's scheme. If he wasn't horribly mistaken, the daily inator was designed to sap all of the vitamin C out of citrus fruits, and had a particularly terrible name— something like the 'C-U-L8R-Inator'. The brunet seemed to have forgotten about it in the heat of his tirade, though.

"It's just not fair, Perry the Platypus; all I want is to rule the Tri-state area, and all of these stupid laws are getting in the way! Rodney may support them, but... but they're just mean. Not evil, mean."

The platypus raised a brow. Somehow, the heady science of 'evil' versus 'mean' was lost on him; it did seem like Heinz had things a bit backwards, though.

"Don't look at me like that, Perry the Platypus!"

Perry rolled his eyes and dragged himself out of the pudding; the only challenge would be to get the globs of tapioca out of his fur later on. With any luck, the boys wouldn't question it and would simply attribute it to his 'mysterious' disappearances... which would be correct, but usually they didn't see a point in investigating further. Oh... and it might be a bit of a problem, getting it off of his jetpack.

Doofenshmirtz blinked, surprised, "You mean you weren't trapped at all? I don't understand— why were you listening to me if you could get free and thwart my plan that entire time?"

Perry simply shrugged before jumping out of the path of a badly aimed orange— part of Doof's own extensive supply to 'prevent scurvy'— and weaved around the various pieces of fruit rolling across the floor. After a moment's thought, he jumped back over to the tacky trap and scooped up a handful, making a beeline toward the inator, dodging a grapefruit and several kumquats in the process. As he jammed the pudding in the barrel of the inator— effectively gumming it shut— he had only a second to wonder why his nemesis hadn't thought to start throwing the durians before one sailed right over his head. Great.

Actually...

The platypus picked up the spiked fruit and weighed it in his hand momentarily, using the inator as something of a shield, before seizing it more firmly and slamming it not only onto, but clear through the control panel.

Durians definitely weren't in season, that was for sure.

Puzzlingly, there was no cry of 'Curse you, Perry the Platypus!' following this. Perry peeked out from behind the inator, curious, and tentatively left the (relative) safe haven when the doctor failed to pitch anything at his head.

The brunet seemed distracted, really— his gaze was unfocused and he was looking in the opposite direction—and didn't even react when Perry walked right up to him. Slightly concerned— though he'd be loath to admit it— the platypus tugged at his lab coat, only to earn himself a face full of something that looked like tiny grapes.

Doofenshmirtz cackled gleefully, smearing the dark fruit down his nemesis's front, turning the teal fur an unpleasant color that wasn't quite purple, but wasn't brown. Flicking the pulp off of his beak— and onto the doctor's lab coat— Perry sighed and turned to leave and headed back to his sorely mistreated jetpack, graciously ignoring the taunting call of "I got elderberries on you, Perry the Platypus! They'll never wash off!"

The platypus simply ran a hand down his face—accidentally getting berry juice on it, as well. He was done for today; the inator 'threat' had been neutralized and he didn't have to keep an eye out for any of the boys' inventions. He just wanted to go home and have some peace. Or... whatever they had instead of peace, back home, because 'peaceful' probably wasn't the right word to describe it.

Whatever. He was leaving, now.

He found that he was in luck upon nearing the house; today's activity had, apparently, ended earlier than usual and he could just use one of his normal lair entrances to drop the jetpack off. Or, well, he would have, if the jetpack hadn't been suffering from a major case of pudding-in-engine, and chosen that moment to die.

The yard being empty was especially fortunate, then; Perry didn't have to worry about the safety of his self-appointed charges— he could focus on keeping himself in one piece. Even though oddities fell from the sky on a semi-regular basis in Danville, it would probably be hard to explain an elderberry smeared platypus and assorted pieces of be-tapioca'd scrap metal.

By contrast, it was a simple matter to free himself of the ruined jetpack and pull his parachute, making a not-so-neat (but safe) landing next to the tree in the backyard. He whipped his hat off just in time to hear the back door slide open, and—

"Huh, maybe it's not as early as I thought it was. I wonder where Perry—"

"There he is."

Perry chirped, feigning mindlessness.

Phineas handed whatever he'd been holding off to Ferb, who stuck it in a plastic bag and then set that down, trailing half a step behind his older brother. The redhead reached down and ruffled Perry's fur, giving his hand an odd look when it came away dark purple; he glanced back at Ferb, who was focused on something else.

"Why does Perry smell like elderberries...?" Phineas asked, after a moment, "And what's this in his fur?" To the platypus himself he asked, "What have you been up to, boy?"

"Phin, I would be more curious about the parachute he's sitting on, if I were you."

"It's a good thing we're both here to notice different things, then." The redhead answered cheekily before glancing down, "But I have to wonder how I missed that."

Perry simply rose to his feet and meandered over to the house, pawing at the gap between the sliding door and the latch, trying to work it open like any normal house pet would.

"Oh no you don't." Phineas said, following him over and scooping him up, "We'd all be in for it if you track that stuff through the house." He laughed a bit— though not at all maliciously— when Perry squirmed, trying to get free, "Okay Ferb, I know what else we're going to do today; we're giving Perry a bath."

The taller boy gave a mock-salute and offered to take the struggling monotreme, but the older brother shook his head.

"No sense in both of us ruining our clothes— who knows, maybe it won't stain as badly if its diluted— let's just leave the costumes on the table and get his tub."

Through his struggles— purely for show, of course— Perry smiled to himself; there were perks to having owners... whether or not he could manage on his own. It would certainly be nice to have a hand in working the tapioca out of his fur, and he knew from past experience that— due to all of the finicky equipment that they tended to work with— both of the boys could be quite gentle when need be.

Okay, so he'd asked for some peace and quiet... but this wasn't a bad consolation prize. The platypus stopped struggling upon being placed in the half-filled basin and propped himself up, arms hanging over the side of the container as if to run off, but stayed put.

Phineas patted his head, "There you go— that's a good boy."

Perry felt obliged to try to shake himself dry once or twice— to a slightly annoyed but mostly amused "Perry!" — both to keep up his cover and... well, how often did he get to play with his boys like a normal pet would? He had to make the experience last.

"Is this...rice pudding?" Phineas finally asked, once they'd managed to get most of the goop out of Perry's fur. Parts of it were still that bizarre purpleish-brown, but that would probably fade with time... the stained clothing, on the other hand, wouldn't be so fortunate.

Ferb shrugged, running the pet brush through Perry's fur again as a final check; it snagged on the platypus's side, signaling that there was more work to be done. They were just setting back to work when a loud crack rang throughout the neighborhood and a wave of heat tore through the yard. Before half a second had passed, both brothers found themselves soaked as Perry leapt out of the basin, inadvertently knocking them into one another.

"What just happened?" Phineas asked, propping himself up on his elbows; Ferb shook his head and mimed zipping across his lips.

It was almost too late, but the older of the pair caught sight of the spectacle further in the yard. Something in the far corner of the property had caught fire— or exploded or something— and standing in front of them, arms (or was that forepaws...?) extended protectively was—

Now that couldn't be right...

At the question, Perry stiffened and hesitantly glanced over his shoulder before dropping down onto all fours as quickly as mammalian-ly possible. He had a bad feeling that he wouldn't get away with it for the second time, today...

"Um... let me ask again. What just happened?"

Perry chirped—feeling that it was less than convincing this time around— and steered himself in a wide circle, intending to nonchalantly meander away, but was less than surprised to find himself caught around the middle.

"Okay... we're going to figure this out." Phineas said, determined, as he watched the pile of slag — that, unbeknownst to him, used to be a ruined jetpack— burn itself out. Just to be on the safe side, he seized the garden hose and dampened the entire area around it, turning back around to an amusing sight, despite the serious situation they'd just been... er, pushed out of?

Ferb was attempting to tip the basin literally single-handedly while simultaneously keeping his grip on Perry, who couldn't seem to decide whether to fight for freedom or just go limp.

"Don't worry about it, bro— we'll get it later. Let's just go inside and... uh, discuss this."

There was an odd silence as the party of three headed back inside and settled on their bedroom floor— not necessarily awkward, but definitely bemused.

Upon being released, Perry wandered several steps away and acted like he was making a bed for himself, circling around one spot before laying down; from his perch on the windowsill, Steve took this to mean that it was time to settle down for the evening and hopped down onto the platypus's back, clearly intending to go to sleep.

Phineas chuckled and moved the chameleon onto his bed, adding as he turned around "So... I don't really know where to start with this."

"The hat seems like a good place." Ferb said simply.

"Hat?"

The green haired boy got back to his feet and gestured loosely out the window, toward the splash of color on the lawn. Okay, it was the parachute. And on the parachute, where Perry had been sitting earlier, was...

"Perry has a logo? And a hat?"

Perry blinked and, head still resting on his forepaws, chirped.

Phineas sighed, flopping down onto the floor again, "I guess 'chrrrl' means you don't trust us, huh?"

The platypus buried his face in his forelegs guiltily; he'd known that, if he kept up the charade, that would come up, but still hadn't figured out how to respond to it. What he hadn't expected was for his indecision to speak for him.

"No? Then I don't get it..."

Perry hesitated, weighing his options. It was doubtful that Monogram would let this go, even though nothing had come up about the O.W.C.A... but... what if Monogram didn't know? The surveillance tapes in his lair weren't reviewed unless there was a reason to go back and look for something; it would be possible— heck, the way the Major had been acting lately, it would be easy— to hide the evening's happenings. The only thing he'd need to avoid was Carl and his 'initiative'. In that case, it would be much easier to go about business if he kept the boys in his confidence. He was totally justified in his decision, wasn't he?

The platypus glanced at the boys, who appeared to be communicating something wordlessly— with contested levels of success, if their expressions were anything to go by— and nodded to himself; fighting all of his basic training he rose onto his hind legs and donned his fedora. Nobody moved, or seemed to acknowledge the change. Well that was anticlimactic. Still, Perry couldn't help the slight smile that curved his beak; leave it to Phineas and Ferb to subvert his expectations.

After several more seconds passed, he walked over to Phineas and nudged him, offering the infamous pamphlet that Carl had written up several years ago (after much complaining— he was adamant that nobody would read it). The redhead accepted the paper automatically, still giving his brother an odd look, and glanced away long enough to read out, "'So You've Discovered Your Pet is a Secret Agent: The Host Family's Guide to the Organization Without a Cool Acronym'... what?"

Finally, Phineas looked up, and blinked several times, as if to make sure he was seeing things correctly, "You're a secret agent?" There was a beat of silence, "And that was your hat? That explains the saw we found in it... We didn't know who it belonged to— you don't mind that we tricked it out, do you?"

And, it seemed, that was that. There was no denial, no anger, and the world as Perry knew it failed to end. The platypus shook his head, trying to keep his relief from showing.

"That's good, I'd hate to mess things up— especially now that we really get to know you." The redhead stopped to consider all of the information he'd found himself confronted with, "Hey, is Steve your sidekick or something?"

The three of them glanced over at the chameleon, who had burrowed into Phineas's sheets and was watching them without any real interest. Perry shook his head again; he knew a real house pet when he saw one.

What a sight they must have made; two sopping-wet boys— both smeared with elderberries— and a platypus in a fedora, watching a chameleon like it was liable to get up and start dancing at any moment.

Still, stranger things had happened.

"So then, what'll it be tomorrow?"

Business as usual, Perry decided, had never been so much of a comfort.

Later in the evening, long after it had occurred to the boys that they were, in fact, soaked to the bone and that it was getting quite cold, Perry followed Ferb downstairs, where the young inventor was surveying the calendar stoically. He shook his head and shifted his gaze from the end of the month, focusing on today's date, where he added something at the very bottom of the space.

Curious, the platypus wandered over— back on all fours— and did his best to see further up, but didn't get far; his fellow functional mute smiled slightly and picked him up, allowing him a better perspective.

In neat writing, 'Bathed Perry' had been printed on the calendar.