Work Text:
"Get out there and put a stop to it. And... cut," said Major Monogram, shifting his eyes from the camera lens to the intern's workstation.
Carl cut off the video feed from Agent P's lair and pulled up a map of the Tri-State Area on the screen in its place. "That whole dish soap thing sounds pretty sinister," he remarked.
"I'm sure Agent P will take care of it with his usual panache," replied Monogram nonchalantly. "Meanwhile, we've got a bigger problem. I need to find some new interns."
"Oh, no, you're firing me!" Carl wailed. " Give me another chance! I'll try harder, I swear, I--"
"I'm not firing you," Monogram interrupted. "You're a valuable member of this organization. No need to 'freak out'." He pronounced the decades-old expression as if consciously appropriating some newfangled jargon.
"You're promoting me?"
"Don't get cocky, Carl."
"Yes, sir."
"It's not even for me. The agency's a bit understaffed at the moment, and Admiral Acronym wanted me to see if I could locate any new interns for some of the other divisions. I was asking you for your help."
"Of course, sir. Sorry, sir."
"Anyway, you're in college. Don't you know any bright young minds who would be suited for the exciting world of espionage?"
Carl shrugged apologetically. "It's summer, and I haven't really been keeping up with any of my classmates...." He thought for a moment, trying to come up with another way to be helpful, and then an idea struck him. "But I do know a couple of bright young minds. Sir, what about Phineas and Ferb?"
"Phineas and Ferb?" Monogram repeated incredulously. "Aren't they a little young to be interns?"
"Yes; yes, they are--but they're not that much younger than I was when I joined, remember? And let's face it, they are pretty amazing. Imagine what they could do for the agency!"
"Hmm." Monogram rubbed his chin and nodded abstractly. "And imagine how good I'd look for snatching them up! All right, we'll look into it. Carl, you've infiltrated one of the boys' projects before, and your cover is intact..."
"Oh, boy, a mission!"
"That's right," said Monogram. "Get out there, get close to Phineas and Ferb and find out if they're O.W.C.A. material."
"I won't let you down, sir!" Grinning uncontrollably, Carl hurried off to wardrobe. "This is so exciting! I remember the day I first joined the agency..."
It had started out like any other day. Carl's mom had come into the kitchen fully dressed for work, five-four in heels and still taller than her son as he stood at the counter with a bowl of cereal. "Morning, kiddo," she said, tousling his hair as she walked by. "What are you going to do today?"
"I dunno," Carl answered between bites. "Maybe I'll work on my summer book report."
Carl's mom poured herself a Thermos of coffee. "Didn't you finish that yesterday?"
"Oh, yeah. I guess I could proofread it some more..."
"Or you could go outside and play with your friends." Carl looked at her blankly, waiting for the punchline. "Really, sweetie, it's summer vacation! Have you left the house at all this week?"
Carl thought about it. "I got the mail," he said.
"So, for all intensive purposes, no."
"You know, Mom, it's actually 'for all intents and purposes.'"
She gave him a tolerant smile. "It's a beautiful day. Go outside."
So, later that morning, Carl obediently went outside to play with his friends. Or went outside, at any rate. With the school year over, and no more forced interaction with his peers, he didn't really have what you might call 'friends'. As for 'play', he wasn't any good at sports, and, not coincidentally, hated playing them. And when you don't have any friends, and you don't like sports, what else does the outside even offer?
He took his scooter from the garage, knocked the dust off, and wheeled aimlessly down the sidewalk. In the cul-de-sac, some kids were playing baseball. Carl recognized the tall boy at bat from his English class--Erik, the most popular kid in their grade. Susie from Math was pitching. She threw the ball straight and hard, and Erik hit it.
Carl ducked automatically, although the ball was nowhere near him. It hit the ground and rolled. Albert, the right fielder, caught and threw it to third (Susie's mailbox), cutting off Erik's path around the bases.
Erik trotted back to second base (a garbage-can lid), and then glanced at Carl in the outfield.
"Hey, kid, what do you want?" he asked. Carl had sat behind him all year, and he didn't even recognize him.
"Um--nothing," Carl squeaked. "Sorry." He turned his scooter around and rushed back home. Leaving it in the garage again, he walked around to the backyard. He sat down under a tree and pulled the spy novel out of the pocket of his cargo shorts. At least he could say he'd been outside. Carl leaned back against the tree and began to read--and that's when things got weird.
"Intern's log," Carl dictated into his watch. "Field notes on qualifications of Phineas and Ferb. Ten... uh..." He looked at the watch; the gadget guys had apparently neglected to include a chronometer function. "Whatever. Targets sighted; preparing to move in..."
As before, Phineas spotted him over the fence. "Oh, hi, Carl! Come on over!"
Carl did so. "You remembered my name," he said, slightly disappointed that he'd again missed out on the chance to be called Nitro. Still, it was flattering to be remembered; and there's always something nice about being addressed by your name.
"Sure," said Phineas easily. He probably remembered everybody. Carl made a mental note to add that to his log. "You're just in time! We were just about to decide what to do today."
"Oh, yeah?" asked Carl, trying to sound nonchalant. "What were you, uh, thinking?"
"Well, that's the thing, we don't know yet. Maybe you have some ideas!"
"That's right," chimed in Isabella. "Carl wasn't here when you guys took requests."
"Well, that settles it," said Phineas. "What do you want to do today, Carl?"
"Oh, I--I couldn't--"
"Nonsense! There must be something you want."
Carl reached for the nearest thing to the top of his mind. "Well," he said, "I sort of wish my watch would actually tell time."
"Hmm," said Phineas. "You know, the thing about watches is that only the person wearing them can see them. But if we built a really big clock, then everybody in the neighborhood would know what time it was. I bet if we made a clock big enough, we could share the time with everybody in the Tri-State Area! How big can clocks get, anyway?"
"Buford?" asked Baljeet.
Buford reached into a pocket and handed him a thick book. Baljeet flipped through it a moment. "According to the World's Most Pointless Book of Records," he said, "the biggest clock in the world is on the Mecca Royal Hotel Clock Tower in Saudi Arabia. The clock house is six hundred fifty-six feet high, and each of the clock's four faces is one hundred fifty-one feet in diameter."
"We can beat that easy!" said Phineas. "I know what we're gonna do today! Hey--where's Perry?"
"I don't know!" said Carl, unnecessarily. "What are you looking at me for?"
The ground trembled under Carl, and he looked up from his book.
A squirrel in a forties-style fedora was fighting a masked man in a mecha tank.
Carl took off his glasses, wiped them on his T-shirt, put them back on, and looked up again. "Cool," he breathed.
The battle was still raging right there in the middle of his backyard. Neither of the combatants had noticed him. Oddly enough, the squirrel seemed to be winning.
"Hold still, you--" cried the man in the tank, punching wildly and missing every time. The squirrel scurried up the tree, probably to gain home field advantage. The mecha followed him, which meant rushing towards the tree, which meant rushing right towards Carl as he sat under it. He got half to his feet--there was no time to run.
"This is why I never go outside!" Carl screamed to nobody in particular. But it was probably the screaming that saved him. The squirrel's eyes went wide, and it leaped back to the bottom of the tree. With surprising strength, it grabbed Carl by the wrist and pulled him roughly out of the way of the mecha, moving so quickly that its hat fell off and rolled behind the tree.
Carl found himself several feet away. His braces had knocked painfully up against the inside of his mouth in the tumble, but he was otherwise unharmed. He looked up again. The squirrel had re-engaged with the mecha. It scurried up one arm, the man trying in vain to knock it off. It reached the torso and--Carl squinted, but it looked like the squirrel was only pressing a button.
It must have been the right button, because the mecha tank abruptly exploded. Its occupant went sailing off into the sky, his scorched cape rippling out behind him. "Curse you, Sandra the Squirrel!" he cried.
The squirrel glanced back at Carl--it looked almost panicked--and then ran away into the next backyard.
"Wait!" Carl ran after it. But he was out of breath before he had gone fifty feet, and he'd soon lost sight of where the squirrel had gone. He walked back to his own backyard and sat down under the tree again. That's when he noticed it.
"Wait," he called again. "You forgot your hat!"
No response.
Carl turned the tiny hat over in his hands. It seemed to be very well-made, and it was heavier than it looked--Carl wondered if it had some kind of secret super-spy gadgets hidden inside. That was what the squirrel was, right? A super-spy? This had novels beat any day of the week. Carl reached inside the crown and discovered a switch. He pressed it lightly.
"Whoa!" Carl dropped the hat as a buzzsaw sprang out from the brim. It vanished as soon as he stopped touching the switch, and in a moment he picked up the hat again, gingerly this time. On a whim he balanced it on his head.
"Hat scan complete," said a female voice from the tree. Carl jumped.
"Welcome back, Agent S." A panel in the tree slid aside, revealing a small doorway. Carl looked at it. He looked back at the house. He slipped the hat into his pocket and stepped inside.
And was sucked into a large tube. "Whoa!"
"So, Phineas," said Carl casually, as the two of them poured the metal into the gigantic mold of an hour hand. "Have you and Ferb ever thought about going into law enforcement?"
"That's a great idea!" said Phineas.
"Really?" Carl hadn't expected him to go for it so immediately.
"Yeah! We were a superhero once, but we've never tried working on the side of law and order! Ferb?"
Ferb had already written it down in a notebook; he looked down at them from the scaffolding and flashed Phineas a thumbs-up.
"Way ahead of me as always. Maybe we'll try that tomorrow!"
Carl flipped his goggles back onto his forehead and looked at Phineas. "Oh, no, I--I meant--"
Phineas took off his own goggles. "Hold that thought, would you? I gotta go sign for the hundred-and-fifty-two-foot glass discs."
"Intern's log," said Carl into his watch. "This is going to be harder than I thought."
From across the yard he caught Phineas's voice: "Yes, yes I am."
Carl had to restrain himself from humming spy theme music as he poked his head around another corner and came across another empty corridor lined with all kinds of gadgets. The tube he had entered by had been a bit of a tight fit, but the rest of this place was high-ceilinged, vast and kind of creepy. It was like some kind of abandoned underground office building. The hat had gotten Carl through every door he had encountered, and by now he was starting to wonder if anyone else was even down here, and if he would ever find a way out.
He moved down the hallway stealthily--or his best approximation of stealthily, anyway--and came to another set of doors. He took the hat from his pocket again and put it on. A red laser scanner shone from the top of the doors and they slid open. Carl stepped into the doorway, and then gasped and shrank back.
This was not another empty corridor. This was a room--an inhabited room. On one side was a large wall-mounted computer console showing a screen saver. Standing in front of it was a black-haired, mustached man in some kind of olive-green uniform.
"I put up barriers to shield my emotions," the man was singing to himself in a pleasantly folksy baritone, "a wall that you could never break apart..."
Carl wondered whether he should approach the man and ask about this place, or whether he should run away. It occurred to him for the first time that he probably wasn't supposed to be in here. Still unsure, he took a tentative step forward. The doors closed behind him, and the man whirled around at the sound.
"Great googly-moogly!" He froze and stared down at Carl wide-eyed as if at a dangerous wild animal. Avoiding any sudden movements, he slowly raised his arm and spoke into his wristwatch. "Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Security breach in progress. There's--" he hissed urgently, "--a human child in here."
"Actually, I'm fourteen," Carl offered.
The man started. "Egad, it talks!"
"I... um... yes? You don't really get out much, do you, Mister...?"
"Monogram. Major Monogram," the man answered, making up for his earlier surprise with a stern professional tone. "And no."
"Hi, I'm Carl!"
Major Monogram ignored the offered handshake, but at least he seemed to decide that an unarmed human teenager was not a threat. He turned his back and walked a few steps to the computer console. "Now, then," he mumbled, hitting a few keys experimentally, "where was it? Hmm..."
The doors opposite where Carl had entered slid open and a green blur somersaulted through them; it was not until it had landed directly in front of Carl and assumed a kung-fu stance that he recognized it as a frog, upright on its back legs and wearing its own tiny nineteen-forties fedora.
Monogram seemed to take this bizarre occurrence for granted. "Ah, Agent F," he said. "Thank you for arriving so quickly, but I believe I have the situation under control." He punctuated the remark with a suspicious glare at Carl.
The frog saluted and turned to leave, but Monogram stopped it.
"Wait a second, Agent F, do you remember how to get to the databases on this thing? I can't seem to find the..."
The frog--Agent F--rolled its eyes, which was somehow even weirder than the saluting; but hopped easily up to the console and performed the required three keystrokes with its tongue. Monogram thanked it and again turned to the intruder.
"What's your surname, Carl?"
So he had registered the introduction. "Karl. --With a K," he added, after long habit.
"Karl," Monogram repeated, typing it in. "Karl... That's odd, we don't seem to have any record of you."
Carl sighed. "That's okay, a lot of people don't really notice me."
"We've got a Carla Karl..."
"That's my mom!" Carl peered over his shoulder at the screen. "Good picture."
"No record of any children..." Monogram looked at him. "Since our surveillance of the neighborhood hasn't picked you up, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that you don't get out much either."
"Sometimes I get the mail..."
"Then what are you doing here?"
Carl explained what had happened, and gave back the little hat when Monogram asked for it.
Monogram thought for a moment, and then turned back to the screen. "Wait a minute, Karl? Karl at 225 Plum Street?"
"That's me."
"Ooh, this is awkward. We thought nobody was at home during the day. An empty house, and a defunct wing of the Agency... I told Agent S that that backyard was a safe place to take her fights with Professor Destructicon." He looked up something else on the computer. "They've been there three times this week--didn't you notice?"
"I--I was wearing headphones," Carl admitted.
Monogram gave Carl a scrutinizing look that he flinched under. "All right, kid. Personally, I believe your intentions are non-hostile. However, you know too much for us to risk letting any of it get out, so you'll be taken to a holding cell while we figure out what to do with you." He pressed another button on his watch, and in less than a minute the frog entered again through the sliding doors. "Agent F? Take the boy to Level G."
Agent F saluted, and then beckoned to Carl, who fell into line in spite of himself.
"And he's a highly trained agent," Monogram added to Carl, "so don't even think about trying anything funny."
Animals in brown fedoras shot curious glances at Carl as he followed Agent F through a more inhabited corridor. They seemed to be mostly pets or smallish suburban wildlife, but there were a few specimens of more exotic species, and he shrank back once at the sight of a grizzly bear--who, noticing this, tipped its hat at Agent F with a clear smirk.
The two of them stepped into an elevator, going down, and stood in silence for several long seconds.
"Soooo," said Carl at length. "You're all secret agents, huh? What's that like?"
Agent F spared him a moment of impassive eye contact.
"Oh, uh, I--I guess that's probably classified." He giggled. "Classified. That's so cool. --Wait a minute, or do you just not talk?"
The same deadpan look, held a moment longer.
"Oh. Oh, okay. Hey, to be fair," he said, defensive although no verbal insult had been given, "most of the frogs I know don't wear hats, either. Um--no offense."
"I am getting dizzy," said Baljeet. "Is it not wound yet?"
"Almost there," said Phineas. "One more cycle ought to do it."
The five of them, minus Ferb, were on top of the clock pushing on one side of an enormous key. There was a click, and the key stopped moving forward. Carl almost tripped, but managed to keep up his share of the pressure on the key--good thing, too, because in a group of kids he probably wasn't the weakest link for once.
"It's wound!" Phineas exclaimed. "Keep pushing, guys. Ferb? Is it set?" He looked over the side at Ferb, who had positioned the hands from a robotic suspended scaffold like the kind used by window cleaners--or like the kind Phineas and Ferb would use if they were window cleaners, Carl supposed.
Ferb must have indicated an affirmative.
"All right, let go!" They all let go of the key, and rushed out of the way in case it should spring back at them. The key vibrated ominously for a moment, and then the whole clock shook beneath them. Tick. And then again: Tock.
"It's working!" said Carl, the only one who was in any way surprised. They could feel each second tick away beneath them. "This is amazing!" He turned on the recorder on his watch again. "Phineas and Ferb are amazing," he dictated.
"Um, thanks?" said Phineas. "Anyway, who wants to go down and look at it?"
"Me!" chorused Isabella, Buford and Baljeet.
"Cool! We'll take the elevator."
The holding cell on Level G turned out to be a windowless room about the size of a large closet. The light, apparently emitted from the ceiling but by no visible bulb or fixture, took on a harsh cast against the featureless white walls. A table and two chairs were bolted to the floor.
Agent F shut the door on him with a last look that might have been sympathetic or mocking. There wasn't much in these surroundings to examine--nothing to do but wait--and so Carl had simply chosen the chair with its back to the wall, and drawn the book from his pocket.
When the door opened, Carl looked up hastily, unsure how he should compose himself to greet his jailer. He fumbled with the book and dropped it on the table without marking his place.
Major Monogram entered with a plastic folder, and sat down opposite him. "On Her Majesty's Secret Service," he intoned, reading the title upside-down.
"It's nothing--oh, jeez, and just so you know, it's not actually about, uh--" Carl stammered, frantically covering up the scantily clad bombshell on the cover and shoving it back into his pocket.
"Isn't that the one where he goes undercover as a baronet to infiltrate an evil ski lodge?"
Carl blinked. "Yes! Yes, it is."
"And at first he tries to act all aristocratic--"
"--But then he realizes a real baronet wouldn't act like one!"
"Oh, I used to love those!" Monogram was genuinely enthusiastic. "It's been too long since I've had the chance to read them."
"You can borrow this one if you want," said Carl, and added sheepishly, "But I guess they're probably pretty boring if you run a real secret agency. I mean, this place is awesome! Animal spies--I never would have suspected."
Monogram smiled. "I like you, kid."
"Th--thanks--"
"Anyway, here's a form letter detailing what we're going to do with you now that you've stumbled upon our secret organization." All business again, he took a sheaf of papers from the folder and slid it facedown across the table.
As Carl picked up the letter and began to skim it, Monogram went on: "Frankly, you don't have a lot of options. I'm afraid the agency wasn't prepared for something like this. You see, when an agent's cover is blown, standard procedure is to reassign that agent. This greatly diminishes the risk posed by the family's knowledge; and the threat is such an effective deterrent to carelessness that exposure rarely occurs. But this isn't just a case of one of our agents being discovered--you've actually managed to penetrate deep into division headquarters. You'll understand that we can't simply let you out of here with that kind of knowledge."
"No, I... I guess not."
"And now you know where the holding cells are, too! Of course Agent S will have to be reassigned, and we'll be decommissioning that entrance. But the higher-ups still consider you a threat."
Carl nodded.
"So, as you see, one thing we could do is relocate you, send in an order to move your mother's job. In another region, your knowledge of our operations would be less of a threat."
"I don't really want to move again..." said Carl.
"Well, then, if we subjected you to our new experimental memory-erasing procedure, you could go on with your life as if you'd never discovered the Agency."
"Experimental memory-erasing procedure? Isn't that kind of dangerous?"
"Of course not," said Monogram, and then looked off blankly into space. "What were we talking about?" Just as Carl began to feel alarmed, he chuckled heartily. "Amnesia humor! That one never gets old. Actually, I shouldn't joke; it's highly dangerous. I don't recommend that option."
Carl sank in his seat. "And those are my only choices, huh?"
"Well, we could imprison you here forever, but the agency tends to frown on that sort of thing. So, what's it gonna be?"
Ferb rejoined the others at the bottom of the tower.
"So, clockmaking," said Carl, as nonchalantly as he could muster. "You guys are pretty good at that. Have you ever thought about going into that as a career?"
"A career?" Phineas laughed. "Probably not."
Carl jumped at that. "What then? Law enforcement?"
"Well, gosh," said Phineas. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it."
"I have!" said Baljeet. "I want to be..." Carl looked at him oddly, and he trailed off. "Nevermind. I know, nobody cares what Baljeet wants to be when he grows up."
"It's summer," Phineas explained. "I don't even know what I wanna do tomorrow--right, Ferb?"
Ferb nodded.
"But haven't you ever thought about, you know, being a part of something bigger than yourself?"
"I think we're all a part of something bigger than ourselves," said Phineas.
"Wow, that's really profound," said Isabella.
"Oh, no, I mean"--Phineas pointed behind them--"we all helped build this clock, and it's bigger than all of us put together! I mean, look at it, it's huge!"
The others gazed at it philosophically. "Yeah."
Finally, as they all stood there looking up at the massive clock tower, Carl asked: "So what time is it?"
Isabella took out her cell phone. "It's three fifty-..." she began, and then it dawned on her. " Oh."
"The world's biggest clock is too big!" Baljeet exclaimed. "Everyone for miles around can see it, but we are too close!"
"Plus, it's analog," complained Buford. "I don't have time for looking at hands pointing to numbers!"
"Not to worry," said Phineas. "After all, what's a clock without a bell to strike the hour?"
Ferb handed each of them a pair of earplugs in turn. Carl put his in, and he could just make out Phineas's muffled shout:
"Wait for it..."
Carl shuffled the pages of the form letter again, slowly re-reading every line. "You know," he said, half-automatically, "'compromised' is spelled with an S."
"Really? Man, I knew I had that wrong."
"And I'm not sure why this is printed on index cards," he added, holding it up. "Oh--unless all the documents are scaled to make it easier for the agents to read them?"
"No," said Monogram reluctantly. "The agency just upgraded its computers, and I can't figure out the printer settings in the new 'word processor'."
"I could fix it," Carl offered.
Monogram raised half of his single eyebrow. "What part of 'secret agency' don't you understand?"
Carl shrugged. "I mean, you're going to relocate me or erase my memory anyway, I might as well help you out first, right?"
---
"Wow, you really know your stuff, kid," said Monogram, watching Carl's quick fingers run over the keyboard.
"Oh, this is nothing," said Carl. "But, I mean, I do know my way around computers. I know how to format, spell-check, text edit..."
"Do you know how to use that..." Monogram hesitated, looking for the name. "... World Wide Web thing?"
Carl laughed. "Of course! I'm an expert!" He stood up from the computer console. "There you go, all fixed." He sighed. "Guess you'd better get started relocating me or something, huh? Just show me where to go."
Monogram looked at him for a moment, and then seemed to come to a resolution. "Now, wait just a minute there," he said. "I've got an idea. What else are you good at?"
"Well--um--lots of things, I guess," said Carl. "Making coffee, repairing plumbing, building humanoid robots..."
"Seriously?"
Carl nodded.
"I could use someone like you around here," said Major Monogram. "Kid, how would you like a summer job?"
Carl looked up, eyes wide. "A summer job? Would I get paid?"
"No."
"I'm in!"
"Four o'clock," said Carl aloud when his glasses had stopped vibrating with the lingering bell.
"Just about time for Mom to get home!" said Phineas.
And as if on cue, Candace Flynn ran into the backyard. "It's still here! Mom, Mom, Mom!"
"What?" asked Mrs. Flynn loudly. "I can't hear anything!"
Candace ran back to fetch her.
A beam of light from the direction of downtown hit the world's biggest clock, and it shrunk into an elegant little clock that would fit on a mantelpiece.
Candace returned, dragging Mrs. Flynn by the arm. "Eek! It's gone!"
"Surprise, surprise," said Mrs. Flynn loudly. "Come help me with the groceries."
"What just happened?" Carl asked when Candace and Mrs. Flynn had gone inside.
"It shrank," said Phineas, picking up the clock. "Guess cleanup is easy again! Awesome!"
"That happens every day?"
"Something like that, yeah, pretty much."
Carl wondered if he should ask Major Monogram to mention something about that to Agent P; then again, it seemed to be working out pretty well so far.
The morning after he was hired--well, taken on--Carl told his mom he had a summer job at the Ordinary Working Clerks' Association ("That's where my wife thought I worked for years," Monogram had said), and she was just happy to hear he was doing something with his time. He used the entrance in the backyard again, pending its decommission and the installation of his own teen-sized entrance, and after reporting to Monogram went straight to work in the main computer room. By midday, he was so absorbed with getting to know the ins and outs of the O.W.C.A. systems, learning what all the buttons did, that he didn't notice Major Monogram poke his head into the room.
"Hey, Carl!"
Carl started. "Major Monogram!"
"Were you planning to eat? It's after noon."
"Oh." It hadn't occurred to Carl. "I--I mean, I'm not that hungry--"
"Why don't you eat lunch with me?"
Carl stared at him, certain he must have heard wrong. "Sir, you--you want me to eat lunch with you?"
"Sure. It's nice to have another human around the place. We can talk about James Bond some more. Unless you're too busy--?"
"No--no, sir!" Carl exclaimed, beaming. In three seconds he was in the hallway walking beside Monogram.
"Come on, Carl," said Monogram, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll show you where the cafeteria is."
"Hey," said Phineas, "it's still running. Listen."
They all gathered in silence around the little clock. Sure enough, it kept up a steady tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.
"Time really flies, doesn't it?" said Isabella, taken by the sudden solemn atmosphere.
"'Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,'" quoted Buford in time to the ticking, "'creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time.'"
"That reminds me," said Phineas, breaking the mood, "what do you think we're gonna do tomorrow?"
"I'm sure whatever we do," said Ferb, "it'll be glorious."
"Yeah," Phineas agreed. "Oh, there you are, Perry."
Agent P chattered amiably. Hatless and on all fours, wearing an innocuous wall-eyed expression, he was like an entirely different platypus. But when the kids were distracted by Mrs. Flynn's call of "who wants pie?" he broke character long enough to fix Carl with a sharp interrogative glance.
"I can explain--" Carl whispered. Agent P's eyes flicked downwards to take in the overalls, and then redoubled their glare.
They were interrupted when Phineas doubled back. "Hey, Carl, don't you want some pie?"
"Oh, um--thanks, but I should probably get going... Ma--uh, my dad probably wants me home."
From behind Phineas, Agent P growled in agreement.
---
"So," said Major Monogram, turning to face Carl as soon as he re-entered the office, "when can they start?"
Carl had resumed his regular clothes. He walked slowly up and stood behind Monogram's desk. "Well--" he began.
"I spent all morning looking at Phineas and Ferb's Web site," Monogram continued, unhearing, "and reading through the archives of Ferb's blog. Then I found that kid Irving's fan site--talk about comprehensive. I never realized just how incredible those two boys really are. All summer long I've been running surveillance on Agent P's missions, when I should have been watching them! The things they do--did you know they built a skyscraper as high as the moon? And they were the directors of cult hit The Curse of the Princess Monster! Oh, I can't wait to see what those kids can do for the agency."
"Well..." Carl had been mentally rehearsing this line all the way back to headquarters, and now he steeled himself for the plunge. "Actually, sir, I cannot recommend approaching Phineas and Ferb for this position. I think we'd better just take them off our radar."
"What?" Monogram laughed. "Come on, Carl, they're amazing!"
"Ehhh, not really," Carl replied, in his most casual, dismissive tone. "I mean, they seem a lot cooler than they actually are. I've been observing them, and frankly I think they're just not up to our standard."
Monogram glanced at the Web site again. "I think you're crazy," he said. "They're the most talented young people in the Tri-State area, and I intend to recruit them to this agency."
"Wait!" Carl exclaimed. "You can't--I mean, there's other reasons you can't recruit them."
Monogram looked skeptical. "Like what?"
"They're... unprofessional!"
"Unprofessional?" sputtered Monogram. "Where did you get the idea this was a professional organization? Nine days out of ten I don't even wear pants. Honestly. If that's the only problem..."
"It's not!"
"Well?"
"Well, sir," Carl hedged, "this is a secret agency, and... and, you know, I'm just not sure Phineas and Ferb can keep a secret."
"Oh, yes--no wonder their sister busts them every day!" Monogram's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Why, Ferb is the biggest blabbermouth I've ever seen! Quit stalling, Carl--what's really going on here? Why don't you want Phineas and Ferb to join the agency?"
"Because... because..." Carl stammered, and then burst out: "They wouldn't like it!"
Shocked at himself for saying it, he clapped both hands over his mouth and waited to be reprimanded, punished, even dismissed for such an unthinkable insult. But when Major Monogram did speak, he only sounded puzzled. "Carl, you mean... you don't like it here?"
"No, sir!" Carl contradicted him in an instant, and belatedly realized how that answer had probably sounded. "I mean, yes, sir! I--I mean--I love interning at the O.W.C.A. I do the things I'm good at. I have friends here. People--and, um, animals, I guess," he added, "--appreciate me. I have something to do every day, and even if it's not much, I know that what I do matters. This agency was the best thing that ever happened to me! But sir, everything the agency gave me--Phineas and Ferb already have all that stuff. And I don't want to risk taking it away from them. They really are amazing kids, but I don't want them to stop being kids before they have to."
Monogram considered. "Well, couldn't I just ask them if--?"
"No! You can't!" Carl cried, surprised at his own vehemence. "That's the worst part--they'd say yes! They're so eager to help. They'd get into it! But Phineas and Ferb aren't like me, they're not cut out for routine. They're not meant for a boring, dead-end job--um, no offense. And when they got bored, then what? You couldn't just let them leave, could you? They'd be stuck here. They'd lose their freedom. It would mean the end of summer for Phineas and Ferb, and--and, sir, I can't--I just can't let that happen!"
Carl fell silent and stared at the ground, unable to meet his superior's eye. "I'm sorry," he half-choked. "Please don't fire me."
Major Monogram was dumbfounded for a moment--he was always awkward in these kinds of situations--and then stood up and stiffly put a hand on Carl's shoulder. "I'm not firing you," he said gently, or as near gently as he ever got. "You gave me your honest recommendation, agent. And, you know, you're right. Maybe this organization isn't the best place for those two right now."
"You mean... you won't approach them?"
"No."
"Thank you." Carl looked up into Monogram's face again. "Major? Did you just say I was right?"
Monogram smiled. "Don't get cocky, Carl."
"Yes, sir."