AN: I got, er, very distracted by Perryshmirtz Week (now over). Here's my first fic from it, "Don't Really Know You, But I Know Your Name", title from Don't Turn Away by The Living End.
My headcanons, let me show you them.
"You want me to what?" Heinz Doofenshmirtz asked, taken aback. "I mean I'll do it, fifty bucks is fifty bucks, I just- Why does a secret agent need a theme song? I thought the whole point was secrecy, a theme song is just gonna call attention to them-"
"We're not paying you to ask questions," said the stern-looking man on the other end of the video, his nose almost wider than his monobrow.
Internally, Heinz sighed. This was going to be a fun conversation. "Fine, I won't ask questions- Okay, one. What's this agent's name? You can't expect me to just call him Agent P for the whole song, it's- it's not personal. Unless you're planning to replace him all the time, but-"
His client looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment. "Perry," the man grit out, with what appeared to be great reluctance. More than Heinz would know. Agents used code names for a reason, after all.
That much of that reason was so the human handlers wouldn't get too attached was not public knowledge. Or known amongst the agents in question.
"And what did you say his species was again?" Heinz prompted, jotting down a note, alongside the rest of the request. "Since that's apparently a thing with you and your Agency, secret agent animals." And he was to write a theme song for one of them, the best they had, a two-foot-tall teal-
"Platypus."
"Perry the Platypus?" Filing the name away in his mind, whether he planned to or not, Heinz wrote this down too. "Theme song for Perry the Platypus, got it. I'll have it done by next week-"
"Can't you get it done sooner?" his client, a man unused to having to wait for anything, demanded. Also unused to paying for anything, if his initial attempts to drive Heinz's rock-bottom prices even lower were any indication.
Heinz rolled his eyes. "Sure, if don't want the chorus girls - they don't work on short notice, you know - but that's half the-"
"Just get it done by tomorrow." With that, the conversation, and the call, was over.
"Sheesh, pushy," Heinz muttered to himself, stretching his arms up over his head with a groan. Under a day would be hard, but he'd do it. He'd done more with less. Now, what did he know about platypuses?
Enough to get by, as it turned out.
Sending a demo off that evening, he stretched again, almost instantly putting it all out of his mind. Not his problem any more.
He had other clients to deal with, after all. Charging the lowest prices in the area, by a wide margin, got peoples' attention, who would have thought? And it wasn't like he needed the money, with the alimony Charlene paid him. He could afford to charge far less than the usual going rate.
And in his spare time, of which he still had far too much, he turned time and time again to feats of mechanical ingenuity. It had kept him busy for much of his life already and would for a long time yet. His hands were, quite literally, made for it.
Time marched inexorably into the distance, and with it both Heinz's fortunes and the goodwill of his fellow songwriters, until he was once again left alone. Not an unfamiliar feeling for him. Lost and lonely, he scoured for meaning anywhere he could, until at last his search led him back to inventing. And, in particular...
"Evil," he murmured to himself in awe, clutching the brochure. How often had he had the word thrown at him in disgust? But now, he would embrace it, and truly make the world fear the name Heinz Doofenshmirtz.
No, Doctor Heinz Doofenshmirtz. Surely they made doctorates for evil science. He'd have to look into it.
The first step to being Evil, apparently, was to fill out the appropriate paperwork. This would be more fitting if it wasn't provided by the Good side of the dichotomy, making it firmly Not Evil.
While he waited, rather than sitting there and twirling his thumbs, he invented himself a moustache to twirl instead. From there he set about the process of inventing, scheming, and planning out his Evil monologues. That was what Evil always did in movies, after all. He had to look and sound the part. Hence the scripting, and even a few musical numbers, to prepare for his eventual nemesis.
The next step: Evil Science School. He blazed through the courses in the span of months in the hopes of getting himself a doctorate, some accomplishment he could point to. Alas, it was not to be. His professor, in a moment of petty evil, refused to let any of his cohort graduate.
He bought a doctorate on the internet instead. After all, he'd earned it.
In the end, despite his preparation, the arrival of his new nemesis caught him off-guard. A flash of a fedora out of the corner of his eye while going to get his photo taken.
Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned, his gaze roving over the suddenly-less-busy street for any sign of someone trying not to be found. With his life, he'd learned what that looked, and felt, like, albeit in far less benign situations than this. Charlene had never truly believed him, but maybe-
There, behind the mailbox. Webbed feet.
What sort of animal was his nemesis anyway? The welcoming gift basket hadn't mentioned, and it wasn't like he could go up and ask. For one thing, the street, as empty as it had become once people noticed the fedora, was not the stage he'd imagined for the first battle.
Secondly, why ruin the fun? Let his new nemesis think he hadn't noticed them. None of the Organisation Without A Cool Acronym's many by-laws had said anything about that, so he was in the clear.
Even so, he couldn't resist sneaking another look, to quiet the doubts in the back of his mind. A nemesis. He had a nemesis, at last.
Later that afternoon, a crash told him two things: one, that his nemesis was here, and two, that having a nemesis was going to come with a lot of repair bills. Good thing he still had those generous alimony checks to rely on.
The agent stepped into the main laboratory room, and Heinz got his first proper look at his new nemesis. An animal, of course. The largest evil-fighting organisation in Danville, the O.W.C.A., near-exclusively employed animals.
And what an animal his new nemesis was. Short, teal, glaring at him over a duck-like bill, beaver-like tail standing up straight, fedora firmly on head. A platypus.
In the back of Heinz's mind, gears turned. Why was that familiar? It wasn't like he knew any platypuses personally...
Either way, it was rude to keep the platypus waiting, so he launched into his monologue to fill the space. "So you're my new nemesis. Agent... Wait, don't tell me," he said, as the agent stepped forward, small teal fists raised. How did he not realise sooner? "You're Perry the Platypus."
Perry the Platypus, and his theme song, hesitated. The theme song Heinz himself had written a year or so earlier.
"I've never done this before," Heinz babbled, frantically trying to remember his prewritten monologue, "Evil, I mean, so I hope you're okay with- ugh, get it together, Heinz, you practised this-" Taking a deep breath, he put on his best Evil Scientist expression. "Behold! My latest inator!" Gesturing at the device, large and bulky and already displaying what would become the standard self-destruct button, he grinned. "What do you think, huh?"
All he got in response was a glare. Perry the Platypus, after all, was the O.W.C.A.'s best agent, and had better things to do than entertain a self-proclaimed evil genius. Like get home before dinner.
Heinz's smile faded, just a little. "Not much of a talker, huh? That's fine, I wouldn't want you to interrupt my monologue-"
That's when Perry the Platypus interrupted his monologue. Leaping up, he slammed his furry little fist into the man's jaw, sending his new nemesis crashing to the floor.
In the next few instants, Heinz took stock of his injuries, long experience having made him a great judge of the full extent of the damage. Barely a bruise. From a trained secret agent, best in the entire agency? Heinz certainly didn't think so.
Then, to Perry's obvious shock, the man moved, rising to his feet, with the same eager grin still upon his face. Most evil scientists, in Perry's personal experience, tended to freeze upon being punched in the face for the first time. He'd seen that a lot, as the one doing the punching. And yet...
"You are holding back, Perry the Platypus," Heinz said, reaching for a nearby wrench. A makeshift weapon.
Perry shifted his weight, stance widening, tail standing straight as a counterbalance. If his nemesis wanted a real fight, he'd give the man a fight. A proper thwarting.
Hefting the wrench in his hand to test the weight of it, Heinz scowled. "I can't believe you hit me, Perry the Platypus," he complained, swinging wildly. "It's bad form to hit a guy while he's monologuing, and I had a whole backstory for you, so if you don't mind, I think I'll trap you next time so you have to listen. It's the principle of the thing."
That would be fine by Perry, if there was indeed a next time. Which seemed increasingly likely with every moment Heinz resisted. It had been far too long since Perry'd had a real challenge.
As expected, Perry left the laboratory that day victorious, a sense of satisfaction curled in his chest, his new nemesis beaten and bruised. But not broken.
Doctor Heinz Doofenshmirtz did not break.
And so, the next day, and many more to come, Heinz would have a new scheme for Perry to thwart, some reason for Perry to come back. At least this way he could be sure someone cared what he did. And care, Perry would.
Thus began the most important relationship either of them would ever know.
AN: Reviews always appreciated!
