A/N: I posted this on tumblr a while back and figured since I haven't posted anything on here in forever, I might as well post it here too. I hope you enjoy it :)
Perry is worried.
It started about three weeks ago when the OWCA banquet was announced. Perry isn't really sure what it's for, but from what he's heard from the other agents, everyone is pretty excited about it. The Agency doesn't have events very often ("It's not in our budget," Monogram always said, and then shushed Carl when the intern pointed out that perhaps it would be if they hadn't blown all that money on so many lair entrances), so Perry figures he should go, if only for the social component. He turns in his RSVP the day after the event is announced. His "and guest" box is checked.
"Hmm...I don't know if we want Doofenshmirtz seeing the inner workings of the Agency," Monogram had said. He stroked an invisible beard with his thumb and index finger, looking over Perry's RSVP card. "I guess since he worked here for a day, the damage is already done. Well, it's highly irregular," he concedes, frowning deeply, "but I suppose you can bring your nemesis as your plus-one, Agent P." Perry was satisfied with that.
After that, though, things had started...happening. Things that made the platypus agent wonder if being so carefree was really very wise. The other agents seemed increasingly distant with him and they averted their eyes nervously when he passed, as if they knew something the platypus didn't. Two weeks ago, after some particularly boring paperwork at the OWCA Headquarters (Pay No Attention To This Sign), he'd delivered his work straight to Major Monogram. He announced his presence with a polite chatter, and the Major started in his seat as Perry came toward the desk. Perry is not a nosey platypus (he has a bill, thank you), but he couldn't help but notice some files on his boss's desk. It might have been because they said "AGENT P THE PLATYPUS" at the top in large letters, or maybe it was the fact that one of them had "DO NOT DIVULGE TO AGENT P" written in red and circled sloppily and the other had a big red date on it underlined several times (for two weeks from now, the platypus calculated quickly).
"Agent P!" Major Monogram blurted, quickly shuffling the papers around in a manner that was not at all dignified. When this only resulted in several of them fluttering off the desk, he instead opted to lean forward, clear his throat, and ask briskly, "Um, I mean...what is it you need?" The way in which he attempted to cover the documents with his arms was not even a little subtle. At the time, Perry didn't give too much thought to this behavior. Monogram's quirks frequently baffled him and he'd learned to just meet everything with a poker face. He held out his completed paperwork in answer. Seeming to recover himself a bit, the Major smiled and accepted the proffered papers. "Turning your paperwork in in-person, eh?" he said. "Or...in-platypus, I suppose." Perry just blinked at him. Monogram cleared his throat again. "Right then," he said, sounding more businesslike. "I expect you to be ready for your mission bright and early tomorrow. Have a good night, Agent P."
Perry saluted smartly and left.
Three days later, he dropped down into his chair (he'd used one of the lair entrances concealed in the side of the house today-it required one to turn the water spigot clockwise once, counter-clockwise thrice, and then clockwise twice). He was not, however, greeted by the usual "Good morning, Agent P." Instead, he saw Monogram's back. He was speaking to Carl, who was obviously out of frame.
"For the last time, Carl, we can't tell Doofenshmirtz about it," the Major said firmly. "He can't keep a secret to save his life. He'd ruin everything. He always does," he added in grumpy undertone. Perry made a noise halfway between a polite cough and a platypus chitter. His boss turned rapidly, almost stumbling in his haste. "Oh! There you are, Agent P." He cleared his throat and continued, hardly missing a beat. "We've received word that Doofenshmirtz has purchased a large fan, a giant mixing bowl, 10 gallons of molasses, 20 pounds of feathers...and, uh, a tube of toothpaste, but we aren't sure if that's related." Perry blinked, his face stoic and unimpressed. "Right," Monogram said hastily. "Probably not. Well, no good can come from the other things. Find out what he's doing and do your thing, Agent P!" Perry saluted and hopped into his platypus-sized jet, barely hearing Monogram's mutter of "I can only imagine the horrors one can unleash with that many feathers."
He wondered somewhat worriedly what secret Monogram wanted to keep from his nemesis. He didn't stop wondering all day.
Two days after that, he'd caught Carl looking over photographs of Perry and Doofenshmirtz (where had he gotten those?) that had been paper-clipped to unknown files. The next day, he'd overheard his boss whispering, "Not a word of this to Agent P, you understand? We don't want to fluster him." Carl responded seriously that his lips were sealed. What in the world would fluster him, an unflappable secret agent, he wondered? What were they trying so desperately to hide from him?
Four days after that, he'd heard the intern asking Monogram in hushed tones, "But sir, shouldn't we at least tell Agent P what it's for?" He sounded quite distressed, and his voice had adopted a pleading tone. "I feel like we owe him that, at least!"
"If we tell him what it's about, he won't even show," Monogram had responded gravely.
Perry wondered very seriously if the Agency was going to fire him.
Now, with only two days to go before the banquet, Perry finds himself consumed with anxiety. He looks over his shoulder at every turn, convinced that someone from the Agency is watching him and evaluating him. He tells himself he should have been more careful. His host family has almost caught him entering his lair multiple times, a friend of the family knows his secret and he is hiding this from his superiors, and a year ago he destroyed a car entering his hideout. He thinks guiltily that some of his confrontations with Heinz are the exact opposite of "low-profile."
Heinz. Perry is sure that, like every other anxiety in his life, this is all tied back to Heinz. Their battles have become more and more public. He's attended social events with him, gone grocery shopping with him. For goodness' sakes, he has appeared with him on television, helped him throw a birthday party for his daughter, and attended his family reunion. In retrospect, all the things he's done with (for) the evil scientist seem ridiculous. What has he been thinking? This is a guy who has thrown him off of buildings, tried to turn him into a bunch of bugs, built a robot specifically to destroy him, and left his nemesis in the desert.
(He's also a guy who loves his daughter more than anything, always offers him something to eat, bought him a vase for Christmas, and came back for his nemesis in the desert, but Perry's not thinking about all that. Much.)
His fellow agents continue to treat him with carefully-contained nonchalance, like there is a pressure-sensitive trap under Perry's feet and they are all afraid of setting it off if they don't tread lightly. He's getting sick of being treated like a fragile little snowflake-he wishes someone would just get it over with and tell him that they've overheard what a disgrace to the OWCA Agent P is. Additionally, neither Monogram nor Carl are behaving like themselves. Monogram speaks to him in clipped, business-like tones, and Carl seems merely nervous and quiet. Neither will meet his eyes, not even as they wish him good luck on his missions. Perry would be angry at them about it if he wasn't so heartbroken.
Heinz is excited about the upcoming banquet. "It will be so nice to see all your little agent friends again," he says gleefully, clasping his hands like some kind of teenage girl (Perry would know: he's been one for a day). "Except for the duck," the doctor adds with sudden vehemence. "Ooh, I hate that guy. Hate him!" Perry crosses his arms and glares, which is considerably less effective at communicating irritation when you're in the ridiculous position of dangling by one webbed foot from the ceiling via a complicated pulley-based trap.
Perry wonders if it's best to un-invite Heinz from the banquet. He doesn't know how he would tell him something like that, both because he is incapable of actually telling him and because his nemesis just seems so enthusiastic and happy to be included (although if you asked him, he'd probably say he was just going so he could gather information he could use later to blackmail everyone). No, he won't turn his back on Heinz. The man has had enough of that (from everyone) for several dozen lifetimes. Even as an ever-present weight of dread takes up residence in the pit of his stomach, he carries on as if everything is normal. He only feels a little panicked when he jetpacks off the roof of DEI to a wave and a cry of "Curse you, Perry the Platypus, and see you tomorrow night at the banquet!"
If the OWCA discharges him, would they demolish all his secret entrances to his hideout (not to mention the hideout itself)? Would they repossess his fedora? Would they prevent him from fighting and visiting Heinz? That, he decides, would be where he draws the line. Thwarting the eccentric scientist was the only thing that gave him purpose as a force for good. He could find satisfaction in being a pet and love in being a part of a family, but it is his daily battles with his nemesis that ignite his determination and let him know who he really is. No, he thinks, even if he were to no longer officially be Doofenshmirtz's nemesis, he would still thwart him and visit him. Become a vigilante, maybe.
Making a promise to himself about this gives him comfort, if only a little.
