A/N: Alright, so I don't normally don't write in this romantic flowery style, but I decided to experiment with it and it feels right for this fanfic. I have a number of other fanfics that are not like this, I promise. So if you don't like the way this is written, I would ask you to give one of my others a chance.
As the sun began its descent into the western horizon it found a young boy of about five staring at the grass with extreme scrutiny. It would seem to the sun that the day had not gone well for the child of this bright age. The age of clean air, and vibrant colors coinciding with futuristic ideals brought to life by the young boy's father.
Little Wilbur Robinson sat most forlornly in a practiced position and expression often misconstrued as defiance or a look of nonchalance. But the sun knew this better as the look of a boy ruminating on his lack of father on this sun-soaked day.
The boy's father, the sun noted, was recently a very busy man not often found with a moment to spend throwing a ball or pushing a swing as other dads of his son's age were doing. Controversy, this young man was found, more often than not, scrambling about his lab looking harried and pressed for what, the sun did not know. What the sun did learn, and often recalled later, were the events that took place the next day, almost immediately following the sphere's rebirth upon the eastern horizon.
After jumping from his bed at first light, Little Wilbur Robinson put his carefully devised plan into action. He quickly set off for his parent's room, skidding and sliding past the doors of his still-slumbering family until he reached the one he was looking for. Silently, he slipped through the door and onto the bed, thus completing the bulk of his plan. It was time, he surmised in his childish brain, to finish what he had started.
Preparing himself for the rebuff he seemed sure to receive, he sucked in as big a breath as his little lungs could hold, and yelled in his sing-song voice. "Dadda! Daddadadda! Wake up! Wakeupwakeupwakeup!"
The youthful inventor, truthfully much too young for the knowledge already compiled in his sponge-like brain, stirred, but did not wake. For the hours he slept were deduced not to be enough by his subconscious, he continued in his dreams no other mortal could comprehend, as is the nature of all individuals dreams.
The boy sighed and began again at a higher octave than even his boyish youthfulness thought fit to grace him with naturally. "DADDA, WAKE UP!"
At this, Cornelius Robinson's conscious mind overrode the warnings of his subconscious at the distressed sound of his son's voice and woke up. Groggily, his eyes found their way to the warm chocolate brown of Wilbur's own.
"Wilbur?" he asked as if his eyes might be deceiving him in sleepy hallucinations.
Wilbur's childish logic suddenly told him that maybe there was a better time and place for a confrontation of this nature. Irritated at himself for the lateness of this warning, he quickly dismissed it as he would come to do many times in his life.
Steeling himself for his coming deluge of words, he sat back against the elaborate headboard and invited his father to do the same. Adjusting his small frame so he could face his father, he began. "Dadda, I'm four now. Imma big boy. I've come to rea-reeli- see other boys my age with their daddies. Why are you gone so much?"
The sun watched as Wilbur squinted his eyes, waiting for his father's response. "Wilbur," he started; voice thick from sleep, "Your daddy works very hard. I know I'm not around like I should, but I hope one day you understand why."
"I can understand now Dadda, tell me where you go when you leave me?" Wilbur asked in the most forlorn voice he could muster.
His father sighed heavily, feeling the weight of guilt settle in his chest. "When I go, it's to make your future as best as I can. I go to make your life, and the lives of everyone, happy and easy."
Wilbur's eyebrows drew together in concentration. Soon a question bloomed in his growing mind. " How d'you do that?"
"I make things Wilbur. I make all kinds of things."
"And only you can make things?"
The young inventor's fair eyebrows rose at his boy's question, "No, other people can certainly make things. They can make wonderful things."
"Then can you lettum? I wanna have my daddy 'round all the time." Wilbur said with the most pitiful and heartbreaking eyes he had ever given his dad. The sun supposed this was the boy pulling out his biggest weapon.
Cornelius Robinson's face fell at the sight of his son so sad. No father wishes to see his sun hurt especially when it was inadvertently his fault. It was then, in the early hours of a promisingly sunny day that Cornelius remembered a promise that he had made many years ago. Of course the sun did not know this, but the inventor had promised to build a certain robot, but had not found the time to perfect the robot the way he knew he had to for it to fulfill all of the faculties it must too meet the demands it would come to receive.
"Wilbur, I know I am not around as much as I should. You understand why I have to be away as much as I do, and I hope you know I love you very much. I need to provide for you, our family, and the world, which requires a little sacrifice from everybody. What I can do, though, is make you a friend that will never leave you. He will always be there when you need him and will be with you and play with you when you need someone. How does that sound?"
It took Wilbur a full few minutes before he was able to translate what his father was saying after skipping the words he did not know. Soon, the sun observed, his small face was alight with excitement and hidden mischief. "That," he said, "is an excellent idea."
The boys' father experienced a brief moment of déjà vu that would become more frequent as the years went on before returning Wilbur's smile and hopping out of bed, taking the boy by the hand, and leading him into the future.