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Winter Crossroads // phineas and ferb

If one were to ask Ferb, he would maintain that he had always been a valiant supporter of seizing the day, no matter what the weather might have been. However, it was also of his opinion that carpe diem was a phrase extraordinarily well-suited to the summer months—and not quite as suited the late weeks of December.

The thick snowflakes fell down in swirls and caked atop any surface they could find, and still Ferb trudged down a sidewalk of downtown Danville, finding a simple sort of pleasure in listening to the snow pack under his own footsteps.

It was hard to find a good time to run out to get a present for his brother—they really never had a reason to be apart from each other, aside from dentist's appointments and such. (Sharp metal tools in his mouth, and no Phineas nearby. Doubly terrible. Ferb could do his dental x-rays himself.) Times like these, when their mother insisted on taking Phineas and Candace shopping for holiday clothes—Ferb had altered his a bit, and had been able to show that they still fit quite well—were opportune for heading down to Danville's quantum science outlet district.

Phineas had wanted to put holiday lights up on Mars so that they could be seen from Earth. Ferb had wondered if that would be detrimental to the Martians—the creatures were used to bright light, yes, but not go'oiel Ma'rghleorp, lights from strings on the ground. Though the fact that they had a word for Christmas lights had always struck him as odd, back when he first learnt the language. Phineas suggested that they buy their Martian friends gifts soon as well.

It was a usual late-night conversation, when either of them had too many ideas to sleep.

Phineas had decided that yes, maybe holiday lights would be too much, too quickly. Too many little lightbulbs—it wasn't economical. Perhaps they should wait for New Years instead? He had still been very enthusiastic about the whole see-it-from-Earth idea. A planetary New Years' ball, Phineas suggested—one that could light up when the clock struck twelve. Ferb had pointed out that if they hit the button when the clock struck twelve on Earth, the delay that occurred when the light had to travel the 51.6-some million miles would cause the light to be a bit late for the party, so to speak.

A theory had been proposed that the speed of light was not a constant. Perhaps, if certain circumstances could cause it to fluctuate enough—then it could be doable.

They could calculate how long they needed to press the button beforehand, of course—but Phineas mostly just loved the thrill of pushing the button at the stroke of midnight. It was more fun that way.

Ferb would figure something out. Neither of them had ever been good at staying within the constraints of physics.

In the darkness of the evening, streetlights glowed a pleasant gold, casting bright circlets of light on the snowy sidewalk beneath. A partridge—having come from the nearest pear tree, no doubt—perched on a store awning, where it gave him a bright singsongy whistle.

Green hair? Particular! it exclaimed in Old Partridge—or it at least conveyed a sentiment of that sort. Do they think you Christmassy too?

Ferb looked up to it in a friendly greeting, blinking and whistling back.

Yes, said his whistle, though a bit more concisely than that. At this time of year. But I'm alright with it. You?

The partridge cocked its head and blinked, considering him.

Them, it took off in a whirl of wings and a flutter, and Ferb stiffened just slightly at the sound of footsteps in the snow behind him.