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Penfold was alone, stuck in the lift.
Was it worth it?
“Danger Mouse,” he called, hearing the words bouncing in the metal box. A metal box several feet above ground and—no, he would not panic here. Not now.
“Chief,” he tried again, straining his ears, only to be met with silence.
He was truly alone.
The hamster sunk down on side of the elevator, curling up into a ball and feeling tears prick his eyes.
Was he worth it?
How many times was he abandoned, left at the background, a 'useless' sidekick, nothing but monster bait and an—an assistant?! He didn’t even ask for the job, half-paid as it was. And if he knew that he would be left in the middle of this thing once more, he would’ve left a long time ago.
And that’s not even considering the feelings he had for him.
After all, if he was going to fall for a guy, his Chief would be the perfect one. Strong, brave, has good looks and knows it. And he’s not going to even mention how infectious his excitedness is, or how he would go into battle without a single thought for himself (for the safety of the world, anything).
But the thing is, he cares more about the world than he cares about him. And somehow, somewhere, that hurts.
Even more than the other agents ignoring him.
Or the baddies getting to him (literally).
Or the Colonel forgetting his name.
Yes, it seems that the self-proclaimed best agent in the world has broken the heart closest to him.
“Can it, Narrator,” he sniffed, trying to unfoggy his glasses. The Narrator decided to give a break on listing all of DM’s faults and instead gave Penfold the ability to talk about it.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I just wished that someone could care about me for once instead of leaving me in a jam-forsaken lift of all things! I don’t even remotely like heights!”
Me neither, to be honest.
“And it’s not only that!” he rambled, trying to find something that made sense in this crazy and undefined world, “But he forgot about me! He never remembers how I can’t catch things, or how I’m allergic to risks, falling off buildings and mangoes. He complains when I don’t ask ‘how high’ to his stupid plans, and expects me to fawn over him…”
He stops, pulling his head up and watching his face on a small mirror stuck to one of the walls. Tears streaked down his face, making him look even more desperate as he raised his voice, almost yelling into the metal box, hearing only himself and his stifled sobs (somehow all that training about hiding feelings stuck with him, even though he was far from an agent). “And I do, I truly do! He’s caring, he’s courage in peak physical form, he’s amazing! He's amazing, just as he is… and you got me.” He sunk down again, flicking at a piece of fluff on his tie. “An unprofessional screamer and a coward to boot. No wonder he didn’t want me.” The last word barely a whisper.
But even with all this, he forgot something himself.
“What?”
The fact that he sacrificed himself just as many times to save you.
“But…” he scratched his head this time, looking up at the open top of the elevator, glaring at what I presume is either me or the mouse who walked away. “But that doesn’t make any more sense than anything else! He’s been so distant lately, so much more than before… and normally I wouldn’t mind! I like the quiet! I like not having to shout to find my voice, or to see how far I can fall before it gets ‘boring’. But it also gets so lonely, so much. When I wake up, he’s usually gone. When I sleep, he isn’t back. I just want to know what about me isn’t good enough.”
“Actually,” he started again, rubbing at his eyes. “I already know what’s wrong about me. I just want to know what did he see in me before that isn’t there now. Or what’s so important that didn’t matter before,” he gave a side-eye at who I’m pretty sure is most definitely me, “that does now.”
A long sigh.
“But mostly, I hate the way I don’t hate him, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all. He could drag me to a million missions, a thousand death traps, a hundred fights, and I would be with him every time. Oh, I'll scream and shout and try to run away, but I’ll always come running in the end, always finding myself following him to the ends of the world and beyond. It’s like he’s the sun,” he spaced his hands as wide as he could, then got one finger to spiral around in a miniature circle, “and I’m the planet, orbiting around him forever, following the same path. And when he ends…” A half-sarcastic clap of his hands. “So do I.
I have to admit that’s pretty dark, even for you.
“Why don’t you try being abandoned in a middle of a lift?!”
Well, have you thought about how he might be trying to protect you?
“Protect me?”
I mean, multiple times before he had chosen you over the fate of the world and let’s be real—no sound person would have to make the choice.
“The Chief’s never been the sound type in the first, if I’m going to go with honesty. Said ‘doors were for boring people’ or something once, don’t remember when or why but I’m pretty sure he searched it up on the internet because there is absolutely no way he made that up on the spot. When it came to quotes, that was the one thing his ego could never make up for.” A small giggle as his back started to straighten up, his eyes a little clearer, his voice less wobbly. I was doing a wonderful job if I do say so myself.
…And I really have no other motivation for this except for passing time in this bloody recording booth (I came on the wrong day because of someone mixing up my timetable, Jeffery), and it’s not proper to pry into other’s business along with the fact this goes totally against my hard-to-get character, but—you really do care for him, don’t you?
“You’re as hard to get as it is to find danger in London. But yes, against all reason and caution, I do.” The ‘yes’ was drawn out and tired, just as he was, but even with all this hidden pain, he hid it perfectly.
For when the time comes.
When being brave truly matters.
For when being brave, when facing his fears and puffing out his chest as his Chief’s would in such situations and sticking on a genuinely solid face, made the difference between defeat and success.
“But sometimes I wish I didn’t though,” he drew himself up, looking up at the countless floors between the top of the lift and the end of the line. “Love this freely, I mean. For anyone, from DM, to the Professor, to the Agency, even to our sworn enemies I just have to help sometimes for no good reason at all, or at least… Sometimes I wish I could be stronger in what really counts to them: brains and brawn. And that things would be a lot more simpler than whatever is happening now.”
If things were a lot more simpler I wouldn’t have my job, let me tell you.
“And I still can’t believe you have one.”
Said the hamster stuck in the middle of a lift.
“Low blow, Narrator. Oi, what are you laughing at?”
It’s just so funny because you’re up so high
He huffed. “I’m only being brave for the cause. I’m being brave for me, or him, or for when he comes back at the very least.”
Are they the same?
Penfold looked down at his hands. “They’re close enough.”
But they aren’t
“But it isn’t,” he finished. “Just like things aren’t simple, or danger being non-existent, or you having a proper job, or me being not scared at least once a day.” For once, determination glinted in his eyes, remnants of tears gleaming with the strength that actually matters as he balled his hands into fists, pointing a finger at his reflection in the mirror in the most ridiculous pose he could muster as a resolute grin graced that mouth. “But to start on a road is good enough, and I’m doing it for the cause. I’m doing it for the world, and I’m doing it for him. But most of all, it’s for me.” And he pressed his hand to his heart, feeling the steady beat of it vibrate through his core, feeling warmth at last in a (mostly) lonely place as he curled up on the floor with the same soft smile, looking up.
Because, dear readers, it is not brawn or brains that win battles; it’s not about the weapons or skill.
Well, maybe those are factors that can quicken or slow the fight.
But, mostly, above all, it’s all about what you faced and how you face it that determines your fate.
Because bravery is not a just a title, just like your intelligence isn’t numbers and statistics and your weapon isn’t about how much holes it can burn into a wall.
And when DM finally shimmed down the elevator cables and dropped down into the box, an infinite amount of apologies on his tongue for leaving him behind with zero finesse on how to break it to him that he ‘just didn’t want to get him involved in something when it was so close to his birthday and he knew how much he hated these missions’, he didn’t just see a defenceless hamster lying down at the bottom.
He saw his best friend, a (possible) love, The Reason Why He Does All Of This, and most of all, an independent person who Can Make Their Own Decisions.
He takes a deep breath.
He digs his arms underneath the loose body, nearly losing his balance.
He smiles softly, gives a little peck on his cheek, and pressed a button on his belt, slowly floating out of the top.
“You have some nerve coming back,” the snuggly bundle murmured, shoving half-heartedly at him. “I’m not sure I'm entirely happy with you, Chief.”
Danger Mouse curled his body around him, feeling his fur brush his. “Be as not happy for as long as you want,” he whispered back, holding him close as they drifted together. “Because I promise this will be the last time I do this, and a promise is as close to a challenge as you can get. But I challenged myself to protect you as long as I could anyways, and that matters the most to me.”
And as the floated out of the hole of the ceiling, dawn breaking out of the horizon and gracing their world, the last words—
“For the world, anything. For you, the world.”