Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirt/Perry the Platypus
Add tags: Human Perry, mute Perry, POV Outsider, possibly a sister fic of When We Didn't Get Along, whipped this up real quick before I go back to actual productivity.
A/N: Inspired by the ask sent to Liz here
Chamy shushes everyone in the bullpan pantry so loudly it throws spittle in James' face, making him quickly twist his body with a hand over the his cup of coffee to keep it from contaminants. He kicks Chamy in the ankle to retaliate, but they ignore him easily, already distracted by the screen.
He doesn't know why they think they needed to do that; the chatter falls into a deathly silence when the gentle whoosh of Dr Feelbetter's post opening credits flashcards whirl on-screen, which is impressive, considering the sheer volume of bodies a 6 by 9 ft room could ever hope to comfortably contain. But OWCA work PCs were monitored, and there was no hope in recording Dr Feelbetter's Specials on the Evil Channel without your device somehow blowing into pieces anyway. The only way to catch today's episode was to watch it live, and there was not a single gossip hungry soul in OWCA that would dare to miss it.
The camera pans to Agent Panda, hefting an armchair over his head, and James' eyebrows creep up his forehead, wondering if the drama happened in studio before the cameras could catch it. The audience would never forgive him.
But then Agent Panda throws the couch into a messy stack in the corner of studio, and the camera catches someone in the crowd swooning. Ah, comic relief. Someone in the pantry, James thinks it's Sergei, snorts loudly.
"Thank you, Agent Peter the Panda, I've been meaning to stack those chairs." Phil says, to which the agent bows sarcastically. The camera pans back into the studio set, and James is sure they weren't going to see Peter again. "Dr Heinz Doofenshmirtz, it's time."
The statement is almost somber, the lights of studio turned down low. The camera switches focus, back onto the men of the hour, and Jesus, fuck, James doesn't think he'll ever get over how agent Platypus looks like.
He's looking, there was simply no way around it, absolutely horrible. With the unmade hair and red-rimmed eyes, the unshaven stubble, and darting eyes. Hunched shoulders and chapped lips. Not fidgeting, though, and his suit—sans Blazer and tie--was nothing short of crisp and pristine, but it is a pocky sheen of dignity. It's…startling. Disconcerting.
Perry was the best of them. He always had been; the kind of hero-eque idol you'd count yourself lucky to meet, much less work with on a daily basis. He had a spleen of steel and the aura of giants, despite his less-than-impressive stature. Perry had the family, the respect, the reputation and the skills to back it up. Christ, Perry the Platypus had it all. The freshies talk about him like he's a God among men, and Perry even had the envy of haters who can't even pretend he isn't worth the hype when they look him in the eye. And to see him so reduced, and for…what? Some hacky evil scientist Francis keeps insisting wasn't worth the audio recorders they planted all around his laboratory is…
James sips his coffee, internally disturbed. Just who was Heinz Doofenshmirtz? What makes him so special?
"Tell Perry the Platypus how you feel." Feelbetter suggests, and James watches as Perry rubs his lips with the tip of his finger, the hollow look in his eyes.
"Perry the Platypus, I'm," Heinz starts, and stops, and starts again. His voice sputters, and his fingers twist, but his gaze-on Perry-they do not waver, and Perry seems to smile despite himself. "I'm sorry, I really am. Perry, I am so so sorry. I'm sorry that I-I hurt you, when I wasn't trying to hurt you."
Heinz's eyes, blue and watery, there was no mistaking the apology, the watery sincerity. When he gets on one knee by Perry's feet, James could've sworn he hears Chamy quietly sniffle. The songtrack, instrumental, slow and sentimental, is subtle—but it plays out the scene of the studio in perfect harmony. They're really milking this for all it's worth.
"I swear," Heinz continues. "If you give me one more chance, I promise to only hurt you in the right way. With cartoonish physical violence, and elaborate traps constructed out of strange things I purchased over the internet."
The humor is half-hearted, but Perry (along with some of the in-studio crowd, and the pantry itself) finds themselves chuckling anyway, despite the mood of the hour. Perry buried his face in his hands, the crooked upwards curl of his lips unmistakeable, but so was the sniffle (crackling over the mic), the fresh tears trailing down his cheeks.
There is a collective gasp in the pantry, and James hides his gawping behind the rim of his coffee cup. Behind him, Agent Beatrice the Bee lets out a sympathetic coo, and he hears someone go, "What the hell?" James can relate; he couldn't have brought himself to imagine in a hundred years he'd ever see Agent Perry the Platypus, the best agent of OWCA, brought to tears. He didn't think that was physically possible.
The studio had also been brought to sympathetic cries, but Heinz isn't paying attention to any of them. He was crying too, reaching out, and Perry clasps both Heinz's outstretched hands in his own, still attempting to muffle loss in composure. It's a beautifully heartfelt moment. He's sure Feelbetter's going to want to keep this one in the books.
"What do you say?" Heinz asks, like a vow. Christ. Feelbetter squirrels in by the edge of the camera, right by Perry's shoulder and James feels like throwing his coffee at the screen for ruining the moment.
"Well, Perry the Platypus? What do you say?"
Perry spares Feelbetter only a single glance, before he turns back to Heinz. Their eyes meet, gaze heavy with all the words they couldn't say in front of a live studio audience, before Heinz, finally smiles.
Perry smiles back. Off-screen, someone hands him his hat back on a silver platter, and he doesn't hesitate a single more second before he takes it, putting it back on his unruly hair. The audience coos and cheers.
"Oh, what a beautiful conclusion folks! How absolutely wonderful!" Feelbetter cries.
In the third floor OWCA's employee pantry, the crowd bursts into their own cries of relief, patting each other on the back as they celebrate while pretending nobody had cared either way.
"That's better than any of my soaps." Chamy quips, as the crowd begins to thin along with the end of lunchbreak. Both of them were still standing there, because James had a hunch that something was About To Happen. "Nice to be reminded that Perry's just like any one of us, really."
Chamy would know, of course. Their nemesis-ship with the Sinister Sisters would hit their 20th Anniversary this Friday. A nemesis-ship, he'd been repetitively told by his graduating supervisor back in the Academy, was a commitment, so maybe they all should've seen this coming, really.
James wonders about Peter. He'd heard the guy had his own nemesis, back in Seattle. Someone should be looking into what happened there, but Mystery—some Doctor or Professor or other—was infamous for being almost undetectable. Perhaps they had the better sense to keep whatever happened there under wraps instead of coming onto a live studio recording for professional help. Maybe Ann was right and Perry really was a sucker for attention.
James is pulled out of his thoughts as Heinz gets to his feet, pulling a button out of his lab coat pocket. Uh-oh.
"Thank you, Perry the Platypus." He says, before he clicks the button, effectively trapping all studio staff members and OWCA agents in the crowd, and alarms began blaring all through the headquarters as Monogram and Acronym are demanding cavalry to the Feelbetter set in LA, double time. Chamy curses, and James finishes off the last of lukewarm coffee in three large gulps.
"Let's never speak of this again," he says.
"Agreed." Chamy answers. Agent Jackal and Chameleon shook on it, before they rush out of the office to save the day.
