Work Text:
It has been a long day.
A very very very long day.
Actually it’s been several days. Since you last slept that is.
Your paws plod on down the familiar hallway as your tail drags on the floor. You don’t have it in you for a spectacular entrance. You don’t think you could dramatically leap over the balcony, launching your hang glider into the air with splendor, like the major suggested.
You were too tired to even roll your eyes at him.
Fucking OWCA. Fuck them all.
Except for maybe Carl, who looks more tired than you.
You hope Heinz isn’t mad. You step into the elevator and your guilt rises with every floor. You can’t give him a proper fight today. You won’t be able to put up a good struggle. Heck, you might not even be able to listen to his entire backstory. You’ll try, but the same wave of anxiety and failed perfectionism and sleepless nights and hopeless moments that’s been washing over you is becoming overwhelming.
You try to hold it at bay. You really do.
After all, you’re agent P. You should be able to work late nights and fight well and be fine. You should be able to back up your fellow agents when they need it. You should be able to provide for your host family in secret and use your paycheck to make an indent in their budget.
And if Phineas and Ferb wanna be your amazing and capable boys and build wonderful things every single day and offer them to the tri-state area for free, you should be able to foot the bill. That’s what they deserve.
You certainly work enough overtime to pay for it.
But that very overtime is starting to kill you.
The elevator stops on the right floor. You step out of it and try not to fall over. Has the hallway always been this… long?
The mission wasn’t even supposed to be that hard. And it came with a nice bonus check. The trouble started when Carl couldn’t find the files you needed. The two of you stayed up the entire first night, scouring through endless folders and dusty boxes in the OWCA basement, searching and searching and searching but you couldn’t find it. When even coffee (which you hate) didn’t stop the hallucinations, you gave up looking. Carl kept at it for another day, but he still couldn’t find anything. You know he blames himself for that.
Then it turned out the fucking major accidentally burnt the files on the mystery villain years ago, when trying to microwave popcorn. Carl fainted when he told you both. You debated between resignation and punching the fucking man, square in the jaw.
You did neither. You needed that bonus check.
So of course then came surveillance and city records, and long flights out to the middle of nowhere to track down someone who may or may not exist, and all the while you grew more and more exhausted.
On the fourth day, Major offered to just pay you anyway, even though you didn’t finish. Even though you didn’t fix anything.
(Maybe he felt a little bit guilty)
But of course you didn’t stop.
You couldn’t. You’re agent P. You’re supposed to be perfect. What kind of perfect agent fails a mission that should be simple and easy? It’s first-year training stuff for fuck’s sake! You should’ve been done nights ago!
But you failed.
And the failure tore at you, time and time again, tearing and ripping and shredding your insides because you failed, you failed, you FAILED.
You failed.
You’ve reached Heinz’s door.
You straighten yourself up. Maybe he won’t notice. He can be very oblivious sometimes.
“Ah Perry the Platypus, come in.”
You make it two steps in before you trip and fall flat on your face.
“Perry the Platypus?”
Fuck.
“Are you okay??”
Fuck.
“I mean you just fell and you never fall!”
No really? Wanna say it one more time, just to drive it home?
But suddenly he kneels down, to where you’re still sitting on the floor.
“Perry?”
Something breaks.
Something crashes and rips and tears and everything comes pouring out, all the late nights and failed sleep and waves and waves and waves of anxiety because you failed and you never fail and maybe you should just quit your job because you're not good enough, not good enough anymore, and you can't even reach a basic standard and you, you, you-
“O-oh! Perry the Platypus! Awww it’s okay! I mean, I trip over stuff all the time! Hey come here.”
Of course. He thinks you're crying because you fell over. Idiot.
But you’re too tired to refuse him.
“Hey hey hey, it’s alright, I don’t mind. Here, let’s sit in the chair.”
He picks you up. He fucking picks you up and carries you, carries you over to the chair and sits you on his lap, and you burry your face in his lab coat because you can’t even-
“Shhh shhh shhh. It’s okay. You can cry Perry the Platypus, let it all out. That’s what you always tell me anyway.”
Fucking Heinz. How does he even know the way you like to be petted, bony fingers easing the tension in your joints?
“Perry the Platypus you’re so tense. Here, relax. I’ve got you.”
He’s got you?
Nobody ever has ‘got you’.
You’ve got yourself. That’s the whole point of being… being whatever you are. Right?
Right?
“You seem exhausted Perry the Platypus. Why don’t we just take a break today? You can lay down if you want.”
Take a break?? Who does he think… you… are?
Why-
Why do his arms feel so nice?
What is this feeling of warmth?
Wha-
Oh fuck it.
You collapse in his arms.
“That’s it Perry the Platypus. Lean on me.”
Fine. But only because... because… because you’re… you’re so… tired...
“I’ve got you.”
You can always deny everything later anyway.