A/N – One of my favorite P&F episodes is "My Fair Goalie," and I've wanted to do something with a certain object from that for a while. Where did that come from?

Ferb and Vanessa belong to Dan & Swampy.

Out of the Box

Vanessa Doofenshmirtz was sitting on the floor of the Flynn-Fletcher basement, flipping through an old photo album. "Oh my gosh, Ferb, is this you?"

The young man in question craned his neck to see what she was looking at and cracked, "I'd think the green hair was a giveaway."

"You look so cute in your little tux," she cooed teasingly. The photos were from his parents' wedding, and Vanessa was looking in particular at one that showed the dapper four-year-old holding the hands of a pretty, red-haired bridesmaid. "Who's that you're dancing with?"

"Aunt Tiana. Mum's sister." Having satisfied her curiosity, he got to his feet and went in search of another carton of relics. "I thought you were helping me look for things I might want to take to Ackerton."

"Like what?" she asked, turning another page of the photo album.

"I don't know, things I might need for college?" Ferb was starting at Ackerton State University in the fall, and on top of that was moving into the little bungalow Vanessa was already renting near the campus. There had been some parental flapping around over this arrangement, but Ferb was eighteen and legally an adult, and had been quietly insistent that he and Vanessa would be living together regardless of any objections. He was fully prepared to put himself through university with the aid of scholarships, odd jobs and a couple of inventions, but his parents had no intention of withholding the College Fund they had started long ago for his education. Ferb's mother and Vanessa's mother were both still concerned that this unusual romance would somehow all end in tears, but were gradually accepting the fact that their babies were grown and would have to learn any unfortunate lessons for themselves.

Now, Vanessa put back the album where she had found it and scooted herself over to another carton promisingly marked with the single word, 'Ferb.' Prying apart the overlapping flaps, she looked inside. The box contained several trophies and medals, and a large envelope marked "Awards." There was a familiar yellow soccer jersey, a pair of very small bowling shoes, a well-worn baseball mitt, and in the bottom of the box, under a silver medallion in a plastic case, something Vanessa at first thought was a folded flag. When she took it in her hand for a closer inspection, however, she discovered that it was a spandex garment – a boy's unitard patterned with All-American stars and stripes. Holding it up by the shoulders, she regarded it with a smile of surprise and amusement.

"Ferb, what's this?"

He glanced over his shoulder, and she saw his cheeks flush red. His mouth wrenched into an embarrassed half-smile as he said, "Oh, that old thing."

When he gave no further explanation, she took a guess. "You did wrestling?"

"No," said Ferb. Vanessa's persistently inquisitive look forced the confession from him. "Acrobatics-slash-gymnastics."

Acrobatics? From her lips burst a delighted chuckle that she didn't want to try to explain. Ferb really could do everything.

He came over and knelt by the open carton. "When I was young, I went to some sort of camp every summer, just for a few days. It was Mum's idea – it gave me a bit of breathing room. Let me do something just for myself. Baseball camp, banjo camp, debate camp. I did that when I was eight," he indicated the unitard. With a modest smile, Ferb fished the plastic case from the box and held it up for her inspection. "Silver medal on the rings."

With an admiring gaze, Vanessa shook her head. "There's nothing you can't do, is there?" Ferb's lips parted, but before he could protest, she stopped him. "And don't say 'sing.' Your voice is perfectly fine. And don't tell me you can't touch your ear with your tongue or – or juggle elephants, because no one can do that."

"Theoretically," he mused, "with the application of a few anti-gravity devices, elephant juggling is well within the realm of possibility."

"Don't change the subject," Vanessa warned. "I want you to tell me one thing you're not good at."

Ferb avoided her eyes as he reached out and retrieved the American flag unitard from her grasp. He folded it in silence before a tiny smile plucked at his lips and he ventured, "Saying 'no' to you?"

"That's not what I mean," she pressed stubbornly. "Admit it, Ferb Fletcher. There really isn't anything you're not good at."

Vanessa watched him closely as he replaced the unitard in his box of mementos and folded the flaps of the carton closed again. He got to his feet and brushed a little dust from his hands before he finally cast a sly, sidelong look down at her and said, "I'm afraid you'll have to find that out for yourself."

THE END

A/N – Is there anything Ferb's not good at?