"I needed you, you know."
The Professor sighed, and tightened his grip around his coffee cup. He hated it when his son was like this. He stared down at the individual bits of fake creamer floating on the surface.
"We both did, really. But I think I did the most."
The Professor zoned out a little as Dib continued.
"I just wanted you to listen. I just wanted you to humor me, at least. God, I just wanted you BE there, even if you didn't want to do those things…" His son's voice trailed off, indicating an expectation of a response.
"Son, surely you can realize how you sounded at the time…"
His face darkened somewhat. "I was TEN! I tried to convince you…and other adults….the best that I could! No one….not a single person on this entire planet believed what I said! Surely YOU, of all people, can understand how that feels –"
Membrane's expression was neutral.
"-and the time you called me insane! In front of all those foreign dignitaries that visited our living room via vid-screen! They laughed at me Dad! THEY ALL LAUGHED. "
Professor Membrane took an uncertain sip of coffee. "Son, I wasn't trying to embarrass you."
"Do you have ANY idea how that made me feel?! Or more accurately, how utterly worthless it made me feel? Or how I was called 'insane' at school all the time? I didn't need it from you." He sucked in a deep breath.
"But of course you couldn't know about that – you were never there. Only for the rest of the world. Never us. Never me."
"Son, they all needed me. You know how THEY are - so foolish, so indifferent, our race…" He paused, brow furrowed.
"Even THEY have priorities. THEY didn't need to avoid their own homes in order to do their jobs. What were your priorities, Dad? What WAS important to you? What is important to you? Did you even think about us, think about what we were doing, think about what we were learning, or even think about what we would become?" Dib's voice rose in frustration.
Suddenly, his posture went limp, hands dropping into his lap. He looked up at his father slowly.
"Do you remember when I visited you at work, in your dressing room?"
The Professor thought about it. "No, although I do remember one little boy getting past security. Remarkable, considering that…that…" He stopped, and turned pale.
Dib felt a terrible emotion well up from deep inside; he could not make eye contact for a few minutes.
"Oh, son."
Dib stood up.
"Son, please."
He put on his trench coat. It flared out considerably as he marched toward the exit.
"Dib, stop!"
Dib stopped, and turned around.
"Son, I want to talk, please don't go. Not yet, I need to talk to you! It's important, please…" The Professor's voice was pleading.
The irony of the situation was not lost on Dib. He shook his head.
"It's too late."
"No, it can't –"
Dib looked sad.
"I can't let you hurt me anymore, Dad."
Then he left.