Hey guys! So here's the long-awaited dinner scene I was talking about! Sorry it took so long!

I know it's a little short, but it doesn't really need to be that long. You'll see why! :P I hope you guys like it! It's slightly unexpected... Ehehe... I'm evil. Evil for extra crediiit!

Okay, okay. Getting a little too excited, sorry!

**FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVEN'T READ IT, it's probably best to read my one-shot "Isabella, Why Are You Naked?" before reading this just so you know what happened earlier. If you guys like this one-shot, feel free to check out my story "(Please) Don't Read This Journal" to find out what happens after this scene!

DISCLAIMER: I'm not cool enough to own Phineas and Ferb. They belong to Jeff and Dan. And Disney.

*Reviews are super appreciated, but please be civil!

-Blythe

"Pass the salt, Phineas."

The guest at the other side of the table made no movement.

"Phineas. Phineas..."

"Wha-? Huh?"

"Please pass the salt?" Ferb asked again.

Phineas eyed the hand-painted glass salt shaker and bent forward to hand it over to his green-haired step-brother before returning to his former state of thought-induced catatonia, "Oh, sorry. Here."

"Thank you."

The next conversation held at the table would be among the forks and knives as the clatter and scraping sounds of dinner utensils took the place of sentences and pronouns. Mouths were too busy chewing and each pair of eyes was fixed on the floral design of the saucers placed in front of them until it was a game of whose mouth was vacant enough to start the next topic of conversation. All had had a turn at it; all but Isabella and Phineas, whose minds were occupied with more troubling matters.

Everyone had helped themselves to a feast, but Phineas and Isabella didn't feel fit enough to eat - not after this morning's occurrence. The tension in the room was as thick as the brothy, seasoned aroma of the pork chops and homemade vegetable stew, but no one aside from the two of them seemed to notice it. Both of them had surrendered their willingness to speak. There was too much to be said, yet neither wanted to approach the topic, nor did they want to experience again what had happened that morning.

Linda and Vivan filled the seats at opposite ends of the Garcia-Shapiro's dining room table, unfolded decorative napkins neatly placed in each of their laps. Candace had stayed home, ever present in her misery; her bout with morning sickness hadn't subsided even after discovering the reason behind her inability to keep down her meals. She had decided that eating in public wasn't an option even when she was feeling stable enough to partake, so the rest of the Flynn-Fletchers ate dinner at the across the street in her absence. Even so, the two women discussed her big news as if she had been at the table the whole time.

Phineas prodded at his zucchini. His thoughts - though already infamous for being disjointed - were in frenzied bewilderment as he slumped back into his chair. How could he possibly have an appetite when he was feeling this way? He couldn't stop thinking about her eyes - those trembling blue orbs that stared up at him in horror that morning. Her pale, colorless skin; her quaking voice when she tried piecing together fragments of words to explain why she'd been outside in the cold for six hours without clothes or warmth. His mind couldn't help but remember her broken spirit and the weighted feeling of dread as he picked the eggshells out of her hair bit by bit, listening to her choking on sobs and failing to compose herself after the trauma. How could he - or anyone - think about eating with those images on the brain?

Besides, he disliked zucchini anyway.

Isabella was feeling no different, seated next to him and leaning her head in her hands with an empty offering of words. Humiliation was the reason why she was still awake, and pride (whatever was left of it) was the only motivation for her to be sitting next to the boy she so desperately wished would forget about it - forget about everything. They didn't look at each other, they didn't talk to each other; they only shared the same feeling of discomfort.

Meanwhile, a warm exchange continued between the two mothers as they spoke about shared pastimes and fond recognizances of the book club and town-wide festivals from summers ago until now. Though it wasn't something that needed input from the other guests at the table, it was better than silence or ambiguous answers to unnecessary questions.

The british side of the table listened genially. Every now and then, Lawrence even added an occasional "mhm" and an "oh yes! Right you are, darling" to the menagerie of unfamiliar phrases. Ferb's less talkative nature made him more concerned about how many times he was allowed to have second helpings of -Shapiro's pork chops before he was considered a glutton, quietly blaming his insatiable hunger on his fast teenaged metabolism.

This was dinner at the Garcia-Shapiros as of February 5th - a day the two disquieted guests at the table would want to forget, but likely wouldn't.

But the day hadn't ended yet...

Dinner had come and gone by the time the hands on the Garcia-Shapiro's dining room grandfather clock struck eight o'clock, resulting a bellowing, metallic clang to echo through the rest of the house. Each room was darker than it was before and cast a modest silver glow through the blinds of the windows, which meant the sun had disappeared entirely and left the full evening moon to shine in its place. Second and third helpings of stew and vegetables were being served after the pork chops had disappeared from the table (courtesy of Ferb). Soon after, dessert was retrieved from the freezer and distributed among them along with coffee for those who settled for hazelnut decaf.

"Isa, you barely touched your stew!" goaded Vivian as she served the other guests, "eat, mija! You're getting too thin!"

"I'm not really hungry, mom," replied a very flustered Isabella. She offered Linda an apologetic expression, "I don't mean any disrespect for not eating your stew, Mrs. Flynn-Fletcher. It looks delicious..."

"Oh, don't you worry about it, Isabella. I understand! Sometimes you just gotta be in the mood for beef stew."

Carefully clutching the side of her ceramic plate, Isabella excused herself from the table and ducked into the kitchen to clean up the remains of the dinner she barely touched. Phineas watched her from his seat, wondering if he was better off doing the same thing. His appetite wasn't returning; in fact, it seemed to diminish every time he looked at whatever fraction of food was left in front of him.

The buzz of conversation continued at the dining room table as Phineas followed Isabella's path to the kitchen, approaching the kitchen sink and casting his half-eaten portions into the garbage disposal. The two were next to each other again, but there was still eerie silence between them as they ran the faucet over the used silverware.

Phineas opened his mouth but uttered nothing, searching every corner of his mind for some way to talk to his childhood friend. He took a moment and tried again, coming up with more hesitation. Finally, he managed a word, "Isabella...?"

She stopped scrubbing her plate, putting it back carefully into the sink and wringing out the dishtowel, "...Yes, Phineas?"

Phineas opened his mouth again, but then lost the thought, "Uh...n-nothing."

The silence continued once more until there was a third attempt; it started as an intake of breath, but then reduced itself into a mere thought for the third time. Eventually Phineas closed his mouth again, feeling a fine layer of guilt swallow up the tentatively pursued exchange. He didn't know the reason why he felt it necessary to speak to her, but the way they had too much to say left a sour feeling of negligence on both consciences.

Both finished cleaning the dishes and found excuses to wander around the kitchen instead of returning to the dinner table; looking for a napkin, putting away leftovers in microwave-safe containers, fixing a glass of ice water, and other unneeded activities until eventually their paths intersected.

"Oof!"

"Oh! Sorry, Phineas!"

"No, no! My bad."

Another pause.

"So Phineas, I just wanted to-"

"Isabella, there's something I-"

A quick moment of awkwardness was followed by more interruptions:

"You go first!"

"No, I interrupted. You go first."

"It's nothing, really," muttered Isabella, "I was...uh... I was just going to ask if you could help me put away the leftovers."

She was lying, of course, but Phineas didn't seem to notice. A smile broke across his face, followed by a curt nod, "Yeah. Yeah, absolutely! Good idea, Isabella!"

With that, he was gone again, bringing in pans and pots of dinner's remains into the kitchen and setting them on the counter before going back for more. After three or four trips, he'd made a habit out of it and carried two or three platters at a time, carefully maneuvering his fingers so that he could transport wine glasses simultaneously. He became amused at his service. I've always liked being a waiter, he thought.

Isabella brought out several plastic containers and shoveled what remained of each dish into each one. She, like Phineas, enjoyed the busy work; after all, it was working out better than standing around waiting for a conversation to take place. If she was busy with a task, she didn't have to think about this morning. First, the girl made a habit of clearing the dishes plate by plate. From there, she sorted all the tupperware until each was filled and put onto a shelf in the refrigerator. Ship-shape, tidy, and stress-free until...

WAH BAM!

"Argh!"

SMACK

CRASH!

As soon as Isabella's ears regained from the sudden, booming cacophony, she opened her eyes to what she had done, discovering in horror the result of her carelessness: Phineas lay on the floor surrounded by three or four broken plates - unconscious.

She let out a panicked shriek and wasted no time dropping to her knees, "Phineas?! Oh my gosh, Phineas!"

The boy didn't budge for a moment, but then his eyebrows pulled together as he let out a labored moan, "...ohhh..."

The other four flew through the doorway in the same state of panic, each of them just as baffled as Isabella. Linda was first, "What happened? Did someone drop somet- Phineas?! Oh my goodness!"

Ferb was next, staring wide-eyed at his nearly unconscious brother. Next came Lawrence, "Oh my! What on Earth happened here?"

"Isa, what did you do?!" exclaimed a very startled Vivan.

"I-i don't know! One moment I was putting dinner away and the next I hear crashing and he's on the floor!" she shook Phineas gently, carefully lifting his head off the ground, "Phineas, are you alright? Does anything hurt?"

Phineas blinked, "nnn...nose...and my...head."

Soon after his reply, his nose began to bleed. A rivulet of red trailed down the side of his face and continued down through the creases of his neck Linda grabbed a paper towel from the countertop and dabbed the blood away, all the while panicking and fumbling around for her cell phone, "He's bleeding! Do I need to call someone?! What do we do?!"

"Judging by the fact he fainted briefly, we might have to take him to the hospital. He might have a concussion." informed Ferb, "And judging from the epistaxis, he might've also acquired a nasal fracture."

Everyone looked at Ferb questioningly. He sighed, "...he might have a broken nose."

"Wait, wait!" interjected Linda, "How could he have gotten a broken nose?!"

Suddenly, the recollection filtered back to Isabella, causing the color to drain from her face.

During her post-dinner routine of stocking the fridge, Isabella had unknowingly whipped the heavy refrigerator door open without the knowledge that Phineas was arriving just around the corner. She remembered feeling a quake as the stainless steel collided with an unseen force, followed by a painful grunt and the colossal onomatopoeia of sounds following that. Her memory receded and she glanced down at Phineas as he rubbed a place on the back of his head. How could she let this happen? Why did it have to be Phineas? Why couldn't she be more careful?

"How badly did you hit your head?" she asked gently, stroking his hair.

"Ow..." whimpered Phineas. This was not a good sign - given his usual chatty nature, it was out of the ordinary to receive a one-word answer from him. Without needing to say another word, the rest of them knew what had to happen now.

"...I'll start the car." offered Vivian, removing her car keys from a hook on the wall.

Thanks for reading! If you wanna find out what happens after this incident, try reading "(Please) Don't Read This Journal" to find out!

If not, that's cool too! Thanks for taking the time to read my one-shot :)

-Blythe