I got the idea from the song of the same title. The version I have is by the Paris Singers, but there are a few other versions out there.

I originally intended for this to be cute and fluffy.

I'm sorry.

Perry made his way out of the garage and into the driveway, staggering under the weight of the Flynn-Fletcher's old TV, which had been tucked away in the garage as a temporary solution until they somehow got rid of it, but had remained there to lurk in the dark corners for years. That is, until today. Today was the day dust's evil reign over the garage would finally be overthrown!

Perry paused to reflect on that last thought, readjusting his grip on the television. He was spending way too much time around Doofenshmirtz.

In any case, today's mission – personal mission, and stop that – was to help Lawrence organize the garage. It was a chore long overdue. Linda had a cooking class, and the boys had taken the day's invention to the park (naturally, Candace had followed), so it was just him and his uncle.

Lawrence chattered happily about every relic he unearthed, sharing each memory or circumstance associated with it. Perry smiled and listened, and did most of the heavy lifting.

He dumped the TV in the junk pile and returned to the garage, scanning the shelves and trying to figure out what needed to be done next. Half hidden behind a broken lawnmower, a small battered box caught his eye. Curious, he slid it out and easily broke through the crusted tape sealing it shut. It was full of VHS tapes. He pulled out one at random and blew dust off its cardboard cover. His eyebrows went up, and he turned it over to look at the back.

The rain sheets down outside, so heavy the houses on the opposite side of the street are only vague silhouettes. Water cascades off the eaves, forming a curtain behind the officer standing in the shelter of the front porch. Rivulets race down his black slicker, forming in a growing puddle at his feet. "The storm must have taken them by surprise," he is saying, but he sounds so very far away. Even the roaring rain seems distant. You realize hazily that you are having the worst kind of nightmare, because it's the kind you don't wake up from in the morning.

"Oh!" Lawrence said suddenly, directly behind Perry, and it takes all of Perry's self control not to instinctively whip around and dislocate his uncle's knee. "I was wondering where these had got off to! I remember, you used to watch these constantly when you first started living with us. Glued to the screen, you were!" Lawrence chuckled. "Why don't you bring those inside? Be glad to have them again."

Perry nodded wordlessly, but remained crouched in front of the box even after Lawrence had wandered off, the tape still in his hand. He hadn't forgotten, not at all, but they had faded into the back of his mind, perhaps much in the way they had faded into the back of the garage.

He turned the tape over and over in his hands, then put it back and picked up the box. Box cradled in his arms, he stood in the middle of the garage, still feeling unsure. Lawrence noticed, and the corner of his mouth tugged down briefly at the sight of his nephew looking so lost. Perry almost looked thirteen again, only just having stepped over the threshold of his new home, looking vaguely bewildered and gripping a box of his belongings tightly.

"You know," said Lawrence. "Why don't you take a break? I can handle things on my own for now. You look like you could use a breather."

Perry hesitated for another moment, but Lawrence made a shooing motion, so he carried the box out of the garage and into the den. He sat down in the middle of the floor and began removing the tapes from the box, laying them out on the carpet in chronological order without having to check the backs for the year. He knew them all by heart.

You don't cry until your first night at the Fletcher's house in London. It's been some time since the accident, and there had been a lot to do. The wake, the funeral, packing, moving. You've kept yourself busy, kept yourself from thinking. But now you're here and there's nothing left to do except think. You stare at the ceiling for a while before it all sinks in, and then you turn over and begin to sob helplessly into your pillow. And that's the problem, that's the worst part – you're helpless. There isn't anything you can do. You couldn't help your parents, you couldn't help but be part of the process of picking up the pieces. You couldn't help. And you know that long after you have finished grieving, after the hole in your life has healed into a scar, you will never be free of that helpless feeling.

Lawrence hears you crying and knocks softly at your door before letting himself in, and carefully sits on your bed beside you. He doesn't say anything, and you are grateful for that. Eventually he realizes that his presence is neither needed nor welcome, and he leaves. You cry yourself to sleep.

Finished with laying them out, Perry sat back and considered the tapes.

You've been living with your uncle and aunt for a few weeks when you find Lawrence's collection of James Bond movies. You've heard of James Bond. The movies seem interesting, and they seem like something that could distract you from the world, if only for ninety minutes. You choose the first tape that catches your eye. By the end of the film, you are in love. James Bond is suave and confident and nothing can touch him. James Bond always knows what to do, always has a gadget up his sleeve. But most importantly, James Bond is never helpless.

You aren't even halfway through the next tape when you know what you want to be.

You want to be James Bond.

Perry smiled slightly. Even when he was barely even a teenager, he'd been alarmingly tenacious, a trait that only became more a part of him as he grew older. He didn't just wish, he acted. He had worked, throwing himself into his new task with a fervor that alarmed his guardians. Perhaps they'd had a right to worry, but Perry hadn't cared. He was doing, he was becoming capable. He had known that when he reached his goal, he wouldn't ever have to feel helpless again.

The last time he'd seen one of these movies had been some time in high school. Perry reached forward and slid one of the tapes from its box, then pushed it into the VCR. He settled himself onto the couch and began to watch. He'd just finished a second tape when the kids returned from whatever adventure they'd had. It wasn't long after that Linda came home as well, and dinner was had.

Perry sat and poked at his food, listening to the enthusiastic dinnertime chatter. He glanced down at Ferb, sitting beside him. Ferb had been a little brother to Perry since he was born, and he shared the same affection for Phineas. Candace… well, Perry was fully aware of what the boys got up to, but whenever she called upon him for confirmation, he would just smile and shrug noncommittally. She resented him a bit for that. Regardless, he cared about her. He cared about his entire family, sometimes so much it hurt.

Perry was too modest to think of himself as suave, but he was confident, and he always had a gadget up his sleeve, and he usually knew what to do. But he wasn't untouchable.

Then, in the warmly lit dining room filled with talk and laughter, he realized that he wasn't James Bond.

He was better.