Zorglub sits alone in his room in Champignac's château, the only light that shining down from the Moon through the open window. He watches it with distant expression, dark eyes reflecting the pale glow from above.
The scientist has a lot on his mind.
The Moon shines, beautiful and unreachable, in the midnight sky. It looks almost as if he could reach up and pluck it from the heavens, place it in his pocket and keep it for his own.
It's a nice thought to Zorglub, though the Moon glows on, impartial.
Indeed, there is little he wishes for more fondly. The Moon seems to mock him, just like the men down here on Earth. Just like…
He wishes he could make the Moon his. Then that would show them. Then the world would have to admit his greatness.
Especially de Champignac.
Champignac. Even if Zorglub could take the Moon right out of the sky, would he be impressed? At best his attentions are hard-won and fickle. At worst, his approval seems nonexistent.
He sighs glumly, breathing in the smell of the musty old room. It seems so unfair. Did he travel the long and difficult road to recovery only to be unhappy? He feels so alone. Now he doesn't even have his Zorglhommes and secret bases to make him happy. And all because of that… that infuriating old man!
The room feels suddenly cold and empty. The weight of the silence is near overwhelming.
Out in the hall, the sound of a cough can be heard. A quiet cough, and slipper-clad footsteps.
Zorglub turns toward the aged wooden door. A part of him hopes that the Count will walk by and leave him in sullen quiet. A part of him hopes he won't. The black-clad scientist stays perfectly still.
For another moment, silence; even the footsteps can no longer be heard. Then the softest of knocks, and the softest of voices: "Are you awake, my dear Zorglub?"
For a moment Zorglub hesitates.
"I am." He says, his voice proud.
Zorglub is always proud. He is always on top of things. No matter how weak he might be feeling deep down.
No matter how the other man really makes him feel.
The door edges open, quietly, as if there were other people in the house to wake. Champignac steps in, wrapped in that old robe of his and mismatched pajamas, and shuts the door behind himself with equal softness.
"I recall you always did have a bit of trouble sleeping, didn't you?" Champignac says, because any other greeting wouldn't have been irritating enough.
"Good evening, Pacôme," Zorglub greets with a small frown. With his back to the window, he appears in shadow, with a glowing outline. "Don't sound so pleased." He says. "I was just admiring the view from my window, that's all."
"Ah, but of course." Champignac says, with a private sort of smile, as though the two have just shared something as old and familiar as the Moon itself. He comes over slowly and easily to stand at the window by Zorglub's side.
Zorglub frowns a little harder. "Well, what about you then? You were never much of a night-owl, except when you had some big project due."
Strange thinking of those days. Strange looking at Pacôme and thinking that they had shared their university days, that this was, yes, the same man who had not believed in him, then, either!
He turns back to the window and looks up at the Moon.
"I suppose not," Champignac says, and he doesn't answer the question. "My, it has been a long time, hasn't it? I still do, from time to time, neglect my own sleeping habits in favor of an idea!" He chuckles to himself. "And I suppose you never took to a reasonable sleep pattern."
"Hmph." Zorglub huffs. "A true scientist, a true genius never rests." He makes a grand gesture. "I'd expect this to be past your bedtime, though, eh?" He raises his chin and takes on a haughty grin.
Champignac either misses or ignores the intended inflection of the remark, likely the latter, but meets the other man's gaze with that same damnably calm smile. "Perhaps. However, no one has yet told me to put my toys away and go to bed, so I think perhaps I'll stay up a bit longer."
Zorglub scoffs quietly. He does hot have a good comeback.
After a few moments spent in silence, he says, "I've made more progress, today." He does not look away from the Moon's glow. "I did a few equations this afternoon."
"Excellent," Champignac replies, and he sounds legitimately pleased. "You have come so very far, since this all began."
Zorglub tries to hide the delight he feels hearing that. "Thank you, Pacôme. It hasn't been easy." That's an understatement. But Zorglub is always playing things up or down, even if he isn't entirely aware of that. "You've been a… a big help." Another understatement. He'd still be a useless, babbling and drooling mess if it were not for the Count.
"I've hardly minded, my dear Zorglub," Champignac replies with surprising gentleness. "It's been… a bit of a learning experience, hasn't it?" This is true in more than a few ways, he thinks. You don't know how much you know about a person until you've changed their diapers.
"Hmm." Zorglub groans. He turns his head to look at Champignac, whose light skin looks even lighter in the silvery light. "I suppose so."
Now Champignac is the one gazing at the Moon; it's reflected in his eyes as he smiles thoughtfully. "Have you enjoyed living here?"
Zorglub is surprised by the question, and it takes him another moment to answer. "Well… well, as long as I've been well enough to, yes, I suppose I have."
They both know what he means by 'well enough'. Zorglub shifts a little, wonders where this conversation might be headed to.
Champignac picks his words unhurriedly. When he speaks, it's as soft as the Moonlight. "I'm glad," he says, and then, "and what are you planning on doing now?"
Again, Zorglub is surprised. "Now?" He says. "Now I think I shall test myself. I'm going to aim even higher this time, and grander!" He grins his broad mastermind grin, showing his white but slightly uneven teeth. He stretches his arm out to the window, fingertips nearly touching the cold glass.
Champignac's eyebrows climb a minute fragment upwards. "What kind of aim did you have in mind, my dear Zorglub?"
"Just what I've been looking toward," Zorglub says, and oh, he's serious. "The Moon, Pacôme!"
Champignac's eyebrows climb the rest of the way up. "And what about it, my dear Zorglub?" Despite the address, and Champignac's inherent calm, his tone has gotten perceptibly sharper. "I believe it's quite fine where it is."
"So what?" Zorglub answers, and his tone is notably sharper than his companion's. "I'm going to make it mine! It would be nothing short of my greatest achievement." He sounds much too pleased with those last words.
Champignac takes a breath, and when he speaks his voice is calm again. "You still have a lot to learn, Zorglub. It may be best if you were to save the great achievements for a later time."
The words deflate Zorglub, he loses his proud posture and his grin and his sense of position. For a moment, the Count glimpses the insecurity that Zorglub really bends to, and then it's gone as he covers it up. He frowns, and his face is dark with shadow, except for the gleam in his eyes. "But isn't it only right that I test myself?" He says. "I still have my knowledge, my greatness! I am still Zorglub!"
The Count rests a hand on Zorglub's shoulder. "Indeed, you are. With all that implies," he adds. "But there is a difference between testing yourself and proving something to yourself."
Zorglub looks at him helplessly. "But… well, what's that supposed to mean? I don't need to prove anything to anyone!" He seems just short of stomping his foot. Unfortunately, after what Zantafio did to him, it wouldn't be entirely surprising.
A little sadly, Champignac shakes his head. "No, you don't. But do you realize that, my dear Zorglub? What on Earth do you honestly need the Moon for?"
Now Zorglub feels and, indeed, looks even more helpless than he ever has—or at least as long as he's really been himself. "If I had the Moon," he says, slowly, carefully, "then no one could doubt my genius again."
In the span of a very long moment, Champignac's hand moves down Zorglub's arm, stopping just shy of the other man's hand. "I do not doubt your genius at all, dear friend."
Already in a uniquely vulnerable state, Zorglub is taken aback. He stares at the Count, the one man he's tried to impress more than anybody. And finally he manages to steady his voice and gather himself enough to ask, "You don't?"
Surely that can't be the truth. Not after he took away his Zorglhommes and his secret bases.
"No," Champignac says gently. "I don't. Perhaps you have not always directed it toward the best purposes, but I could not doubt your brilliance."
Now Zorglub frowns again. "You can't mean that!" He says, hurt and anger in his voice despite his efforts to conceal them. "You've always made me feel like a fool! Even when I tried to make changes for the good of science, even when I invited you to join me, you just mocked me! It was so funny, you said, when I got kicked out of school! Like everything I do is just a joke to you!"
"Surely you see the relationship between your own actions and my responses to them, on the whole." Pause. "Admittedly, perhaps I should not have laughed at your expulsion from university, but it was quite a humorous spectacle."
"'Humorous spectacle', huh." Zorglub's voice is low and thick. "I'm glad you think so, Pacôme, since that was basically my expulsion from the entire scientific community. You'd have thought me a lunatic the way they treated me! And not only did you laugh, you ruined my plans for revenge, the realization of my dream!" He glared at him, upset and confused. "I don't know why I bother!"
The silence is now thick and heavy and punctuated by darkness as clouds pass over the Moon.
"I am sincerely sorry you have been through what you have," the Count says at last. "I assure you it was never my desire that you should feel pain. It is true I have disapproved of your way of going about achieving your ends. I had hoped you would see your time here as an opportunity for a fresh start."
Zorglub sighs. He feels slightly better after getting that out of his system. But he is left with more confusion. "That's what I'm trying to do," he says. "I want you and everyone to see what I am capable of. I don't want you to… No, never mind." He turns back to the window.
"First of all, moving in the same direction is not a fresh start, but taking up where you left off." Champignac too looks out at the sky as the clouds pass away and the Moon shines through once more. "And secondly, you may say anything to me."
"Then perhaps the all-wise Count de Champignac could tell me how to make a fresh start." Zorglub's voice is not sarcastic, in fact it seems almost wistful. "And if you must know…" He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. "I don't want you to continue to think of me as 'Zorglub, the joke'. Don't you get that?"
"Oh, my dear Zorglub." The statement is soft, and there's something subtle about the way Champignac says 'dear'. "Lay your mind to rest. I no more think of you as a joke than I do anyone else, and if I ever did I assure you I regret it. Though admittedly I do find most people to be somewhat amusing."
Zorglub looks for ground. He bites his lip in the way that shaped his overbite. "Do you mean that?" He asks earnestly. He pauses. "And, what about people do you find amusing? You tell me to respect them, but you never follow your own rule." Stops, thinks. "You don't find those boys amusing. What do they do right that I'm doing so wrong, Pacôme?" His voice is imploring, so are his eyes. He means it. He wants to do right. Though he also wants to get his way. Even now.
"I mean every word that I say, Zorglub. Even the words I regret." The Count stops to think a moment before addressing the rest of Zorglub's statement. "And now, I do respect people on the whole, as much as I am able, and admitting I may have had a few problems with that in the past." Another pause, during which he scratches his prominent chin thoughtfully. "A few, yes. As to the boys… I think, perhaps, it's got more to do with the fact that they've become accustomed to my particular way of thinking. They simply aren't so phased by my amusement as you are."
Zorglub makes another little frown. "Perhaps so. I'm still not convinced that you've mended your ways or anything, but you… well, you have been kind to me ever since Zantas attacked me. I do want to believe you." He pauses for a moment, takes on a look of conviction. "Pacôme, let's both make a fresh start."
"I… yes," Champignac says, slowly. "I think you've got an idea there, my dear Zorglub." His hand finds Zorglub's arm again. "We've both got quite a bit of learning to do, haven't we?"
Zorglub manages to smile. "I believe we do. If you're serious, then, we could try over again." He tilts back his head in his usual proud way, but takes a deep breath. "Pacôme, I forgive you." A weight is suddenly lifted from him. But he still feels insecure about whether the older man might still mock him in the future.
"My dear Zorglub, I forgave you long ago," Champignac says softly, "and I give you my gratitude, as well, for allowing me another opportunity to, as they say, get it right."
Zorglub takes Champignac's hand in his, fearlessly, and grips it. "Well then, it's… it's settled." He says. He watches the other man silently for a moment. "Shall we begin now?"
"I think we just began." The room, which felt so empty before, now feels warm. "But what did you have in mind?"
"Watching the Moon," Zorglub says, truly sounding content. "Which," he adds, "I will someday possess."
"That does sound quite lovely. Though I must say, if it makes any difference to you," Champignac replies softly, shifting closer, "that I already think of it as being yours and no other's."
Zorglub looks at him, struck. "…You do?"
"Perhaps, in my mind, you've simply already made your mark on it."
Maybe that's good enough for him.