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It had been three days since Major Monogram, Dr. Doofenshmirtz, and Agent P had worked together to defeat Doofenshmirtz's Ultimate-Evil-Inator, and things at the O.W.C.A. had almost returned to normal. Almost. Major Monogram still wasn't certain how to deal with the newly Re-Good-Inated Carl. The jet ride back home had gone pleasantly enough, but since that day Carl had seemed quieter, and Monogram hadn't seen much of him. Carl had even been eating lunch alone; it was as if he was avoiding Monogram. But perhaps some awkwardness had to be expected after what had happened, even if it had all been the work of an Inator. Monogram had decided to go ahead and give him some space.
This afternoon, though, Monogram made up his mind to speak to the boy about his work. Perhaps relating to him on a professional level would help to mend the break between them. The agency sensors led him to find Carl in the file room, where he was up on a stepladder putting away the latest case files.
"Carl," said Monogram.
"Yes, sir?" Carl replied without looking away from the shelf.
"I wanted to speak to you about the quality of your work yesterday. You only got through half of the reports you were supposed to edit, and what you did finish was full of typos."
"Sorry, sir," said Carl dully. "I'll try harder next time."
Monogram paused. This wasn't exactly the level of conversation he had been hoping for, but he had said all that he professionally needed to say. "Well," he said. "See that you do. It's not like you to be so careless."
Carl had started to climb down the ladder; now he missed his footing and stumbled backwards with a small cry of alarm.
Monogram moved quickly, caught the boy firmly by the shoulders, and set him on his feet again. "Careful," he admonished. "Watch where you're..." He trailed off, because for the first time since he'd entered the room--probably for the first time in two days--he had a good look at Carl's face. The intern was a shade paler than usual--no mean feat for somebody who spent half his time underground--and there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.
Monogram stared. "Carl, you look terrible."
"Sorry, sir."
"Don't apologize!" Carl started to apologize for that, but Monogram cut him off. "What's the matter, are you sick?"
"No, sir." Carl wouldn't meet Monogram's searching eyes. "I'm fine. I just haven't gotten much sleep, that's all."
Not sleeping? Monogram looked at Carl critically. "Have you eaten anything today?"
"I've been busy. I wasn't hungry."
Monogram raised his eyebrow. "You're going to make yourself sick if you keep that up. Is something bothering you?"
"I'm fine, all right?" Carl insisted, his voice rising in pitch. "I'm just really busy. Just--just leave me alone and let me get back to work. I've got a lot of catching up to do."
But Monogram pressed on. "Catching up--? Carl, what's gotten into you? Is this about the whole 'bringing the Agency to its knees' thing? I'm not mad at you, you know."
"I know, sir--" Carl broke off and tried again. "I know, sir, but--" His voice cracked, and his lower lip began to tremble.
Oh, no, thought Monogram. The boy was about to cry. If there was one thing Monogram didn't know how to handle, it was crying. Emotional scenes had never been his forte. His wife usually handled them at home, and Monty had always been a pretty stoic kid anyway. Carl swallowed and bit at his fingers, trying to fight it back. Monogram was silently rooting for him, but the tears won out at last and began to run down his cheeks.
Carl averted his face, took off his glasses and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Sorry," he choked--for crying, Monogram assumed he meant. Then he looked straight up at Monogram with big, wet green eyes and began to sob in earnest. "I'm sorry!" he repeated. "Oh, sir, I'm so s-sorry!"
"Steady, Carl. Don't cry," said Monogram, half-comforting and half-hoping the command would get him to stop. No such luck. "Oh, jeez," he muttered to himself. For one panicked moment he thought about calling for backup--"Agent P, get in here, Carl's crying and I don't know what to do"--but rejected the idea. No, this was a private matter, and he would have to figure it out for himself. He reached out and touched the intern's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. Carl almost shied away, but then leaned into the touch--and suddenly his arms were around Monogram and he was sobbing into his chest.
Well, this jacket would need to be dry-cleaned, that was for sure. Still, if this was how it was going to go, Monogram would do his best to cope with the situation. First things first. He took Carl's glasses from his hand, where they were likely to be broken or at least badly smeared, and set them carefully on a shelf.
"There, now," Monogram said, tentatively patting Carl's back, and the words sounded nonsensical even to him. How was this supposed to help, again? "There, there. Now, now." Worse and worse! There must be something he could do, something practical and rational. "Let's just sit down for a minute." He looked for somewhere to sit, and sighed inwardly. His back was not going to thank him for this later. Nonetheless, he led the limp bundle of sobbing intern in his arms to the edge of the room and sat down on the thin carpet, leaning against the wall.
Carl followed, sinking to the floor beside Monogram without removing his face from his jacket. "I'm sorry," he kept repeating like a mantra between sobbing gasps. "I'm sorry."
"It was only a couple of typos," said Monogram lightly. That just made Carl cry harder, and Monogram regretted the quip. Of course he had guessed what was really the matter; what else could it be? "You're upset about the Ultimate-Evil-Inator thing, huh?"
Carl managed an affirmative-sounding wail.
"It's all right now, you know. All's well that ends well. It's all right."
"No it's not!" Carl replied, muffled by Monogram's jacket. "I'm the most evil threat the Tri-State Area has ever faced. I've betrayed everything the O.W.C.A. stands for."
Monogram patted Carl's back. "It wasn't as bad as all that," he said.
"You don't have to lie to me. I--" and Carl broke into another sob, rendering the rest of the sentence unintelligible.
"What was that?" Monogram asked.
"I remember everything!"
Monogram's eyes went wide. That would be hard to deal with. "I thought you said you didn't remember anything."
"It came back," said Carl. "I think--I think when the immediate effects of the Re-Good-Inator wore off, it started coming back, and now I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about everything I said--everything I did--"
"Hold on," Monogram cut him off. "It wasn't you, Carl. It was the Inator."
"It was me!" Carl insisted.
Monogram froze. "It was?"
"Not like that," Carl clarified. "But it felt like me. I was the one who captured you. I was the one who attacked Agent P with evil robots. It was me who chased Agent P to Africa. I felt evil. When Agent P disappeared, I didn't even feel sad. I was just angry because he'd cut off my computer access. I was actually happy to be rid of him!"
"Carl--" Monogram began. But Carl wasn't finished.
"Sir, I--I fired a laser at children! At my friends! And I told Doofenshmirtz to attack Agent P with the Inators--it was only dumb luck that the Go-Home-Inator got him. What if he'd been hit with the Disintegratinator? Or--or--or the Smudge-Inator?" Carl sobbed.
"Doofenshmirtz didn't build a Smudge-Inator," Monogram reminded him.
"That's not the point! I could have really hurt someone! Sir, if--if you and Doofenshmirtz and Agent P hadn't stopped me, I would have--"
Again the end of the confession was lost in renewed crying, but this time Monogram didn't ask for clarification. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Instead he waited for Carl's sobs to calm down, and spoke again. "It wasn't your fault," he said.
"You keep saying that," said Carl. "What does it mean? Does it even matter? An Inator turned me evil, and an Inator turned me good again. If all it takes is an evil beam to make me turn against everything I believe in--I feel like I don't know who I am anymore. And--and you promote me? Sir, you should have fired me! I'm dangerous! I'm a liability!"
"That's not true," said Monogram firmly.
"But--"
"Listen to me. You're not a liability. I should have promoted you long ago. I meant what I said the other day, Carl. I don't know what I'd do without you. You're a good intern--and you're a good kid," Monogram said, stressing each word of the last clause. "Trust me."
"Oh, sir!" Carl's arms tightened around Monogram's torso, and his face pressed harder into his chest.
Monogram blinked. Had he said the wrong thing? He hadn't meant to make Carl cry more. Resigned, he gently returned the hug and began rubbing Carl's back. "It's all right," he repeated. "It's going to be all right."
They sat like that until at last Carl's tears ran dry and he sat up, still breathing hard and sniffling. Monogram handed him his handkerchief.
"Thanks," said Carl dully, staring at the floor. He wiped his eyes and nose and consigned the dirty handkerchief to his pocket. "Um--sorry about that, sir."
"It's fine," said Monogram. "You ready to stand up?"
"Yes, sir." Carl stood up. Monogram grunted as he tried to push himself up--the hand-to-hand combat with the robots had been satisfying, but he wasn't as young as he'd used to be, and he was still stiff from the unwonted exertion. Carl noticed, reached a hand down to Monogram, and pulled him to his feet.
Monogram walked over to where he'd left Carl's glasses and handed them to him. Carl put them on, and even with his face still flushed and tear-streaked, it was reassuring how much more the purple frames made him look like his usual self.
Monogram fished in his pockets. "Paper and pencil," he muttered aloud, "paper and pencil..."
"There's some over here, sir," said Carl, and brought him a sheet of paper and a pencil. Good: he was acting more like himself too. Always helpful.
Monogram wrote a name and phone number on the paper and handed it to Carl.
"What's this?"
"Carl, I want you to know that I'm here for you. You can talk to me any time if you need to. Well, no, not any time--you know what I mean. But I also think you should talk to Dr. Godunov. He's a counselor who works for the O.W.C.A. Our agents see him from time to time about the stress of the job."
"A counselor? Sir, I don't--I don't want to be any trouble--"
"It's no trouble. Just give him a call and tell him I sent you. He'll see you. We're still not paying you, but you can think of this as a benefit." He put a hand on Carl's shoulder. "I know it can be very hard when you get too close to evil. And because you're not an agent, you were never trained to deal with anything like this. I think it will help you to see him."
"Yes, sir." Carl folded the sheet of paper and pocketed it.
"Good. Now, go wash your face--and then what do you say you and I take off early and go get lunch at Mr. Slushy Burger?"
Carl smiled. "Yes, sir!" He turned to go, but stopped in the doorway and looked back. "And sir? Um--thank you."
The door closed behind him before Monogram could respond with anything but an answering smile. But perhaps, Monogram thought, he wasn't so bad at this sort of thing after all.