Disclaimer: Allo! I don't own MTR. Yep, the cat's outta the bag now! For anyone who's shocked and scandalized...Good.
Author's Note:Heh, I've incorporated PS2 Video game elements (I liked the house) :P
Thank you to everyone's who's reviewed and favorite-ed, I'm sooo glad you've enjoyed my ramblings! I hope you continue to be entertained.
Again, I apologize for grammar/spelling mistakes/scientific logic leaps...I make them...all the time...hopefully you'll squint at those unfortunate moments and smile at the rest.
Chapter 2
BLURRED
Franny paced by the window in their retreat—a brilliant vantage point where she could gaze over most of the yard and the driveway to the garage.
Cornelius had it built almost immediately after the hover trampoline incident; one of the few battles that she'd readily admit defeat.
He'd been dead-set against the toy from the moment it was purchased.
"What goes up, must come down Fran, and at 9.8 meters per second, if it moves even a little bit it could mean a bad fall."
She'd waved off his concerns with a "What's life without a little risk?"
Not an hour after being set up, Lazlo and Tallulah were busy having a competition on who could jump higher. No one noticed toddler Wil climb up and join the fun.
Realizing he wasn't going to win, Lazlo had somersaulted to the side—a wicked idea taking root.
Wilbur, already used to jumping with Mommy earlier, figured out how it all worked. If he stood in the right spot his cousin's weight would keep bouncing him higher and higher.
Lazlo watched his sister spring up: Down…Up….Down….Now. Timing it just right, he heaved the trampoline forward—out from under the jumpers—realizing too late that Wil was there.
Oh boy, Franny sighed, even years later she was sure Lazlo's ears rung every time he thought about it.
It was one of those rare occasions where Lazlo got a heated lecture from his Uncle Neil as well as his father.
Needless to say, the toy was disassembled and returned the next day, and the sponge lawns were installed not a week after; a major score for Robinson Industries, every house and schoolyard in suburbia was eager for one: All the fun of a trampoline without the injury.
Neil shrugged it off as a lucky shot in the dark, but it was stark brilliance in Franny's book.
He also had this window made so they could keep an eye on the little ones. With it they'd intervened on more than one harebrained scheme since.
Franny twisted her hands restlessly.
The sun was setting, casting shadows over the yard.
The city across the way began sparkling with lights in the oncoming gloom. Like an overture, but whether tonight's piece was a comedy or tragedy remained unknown.
Her nerves had been all a twitter since her husband's call. There'd been something hard in his tone.
She hoped Wil hadn't already worn out his welcome at RI. It'd be nice for him to have another place to hang out.
The house still needed some serious TLC to be put back in order.
She's still not sure WHAT Wil did to the blender, but it exploded last week and she's still finding bits of dried out tapioca smoothie in the crevices of the kitchen.
And to think…They still had another two months of summer break to survive. She shuddered at the prospective dooms still waiting in the wings, maybe she should look for a camp…that way when Wil brought on a mini-apocalypse they wouldn't witness it up-close…and could just pay for the damages.
Thanks to Cornelius' genius and her own musical brilliance, they were quite well off. She's certain that with enough zeros, any facility would be thrilled to entertain their son, regardless of the hazards. Ooooh, it was tempting.
But it'd probably interrupt with his Chargeball schedule. Goodness they were holding a lot of practices lately, and they were taking their toll.
While Wil was washing up for dinner yesterday, she'd noticed her boy's fingers were looking singed.
When she'd asked, he shrugged it off as "a risk of the game."
That maybe so, but she'd have Neil check his glove for loose wires again, just in case.
She smoothed out her dress nervously—eyes catching on her wedding ring.
Cornelius…
She hoped everything was alright; nothing Neil said implied anything…but dread had already settled in her stomach.
Linen XR90 was fried—she could feel it in her gut. Which was a shame; her husband had been really excited about that one.
A couple of months ago, the women of the household had been discussing the laundry situation.
Every week the shift would switch to the next family member…Only the boys tended to shirk, leaving it all on the ladies.
No one complained because honestly, the women didn't really want most of them doing the laundry anyway.
Gaston wouldn't read washing labels, finding Grandpa Bud's teeth in your favorite sweater was unsettling, and Art…actually Art was pretty great in that department it was just hard catching him between deliveries—man was a demi-god of ironing; must've come with the territory of preferring spandex.
Meanwhile, Lazlo couldn't keep himself from experimenting with dyes…which led to a rather devastated Wilbur mourning one of his favorite Captain Time Travel shirts turned pink.
Uncle Fritz could clean and dry clothes, but folding wasn't his strong suit and it was hard listening to Petunia berate him for it.
Cornelius was rather proficient, but really…besides sports what couldn't that man accomplish?
Carl also proved quite helpful: accessing databases with the best tips for stain removal, perfectly measuring detergent to the ratio of the load.
Why allow a robot to partake in the chore? Well, don't let Carl fool you…he had a fair share of scarves.
They were all family here: so everyone was expected to help out.
With the exception of the twins for obvious limitations, and Wilbur, who wasn't allowed near the machines since the horrific laundry catastrophe two years prior.
No one's quite sure how Wil managed it, but he'd somehow found the right sequence of buttons to set off a doomsday reaction—ended up flooding two levels of the house. They were swabbing up bubbles for hours. Wil was the only one who enjoyed it—armed with a snorkel and a mop…and maybe Lefty. It wasn't often that Lefty could maneuver so easily through the house.
She should've known that complaining about the tedious affair would result in an invention. Cornelius was a problem-solver and he LOVED inventing for his family; especially things that could eliminate stress or make them smile.
He constantly indulged them in their hobbies; giving a hand in cannon designs for optimum thrust, better railing for trains to shave off time, tweaking pizza ovens for a perfect bronzing of the crust…
Heaven knew he spoiled their son rotten. And whenever she called him on it he'd give a "guilty as charged" grin while discreetly handing their son the gift anyway.
Wilbur's closet burst with countless toys and gadgets.
Boy had his own trophy case (with special inset lighting), chargeball practice simulator (highline virtual reality), state-of-the-art telo-vid screen (lowered from the ceiling), surround-sound room stereo (voice-automated), and an advanced computer system that RI's competitors would die for.
Not too mention that extravagant solar system display Neil rigged up.
For Wil's eleventh birthday his father installed a second floor, making his huge room even bigger.
Whatever Wilbur wanted, doting Daddy would provide.
Not that she was much better; designer clothing, a beautiful wristwatch for special occasions with a matching belt and shoe combo, a leather wallet, solid silver cuff links…
Each year she'd have him fitted for some nice suits to wear to concerts and awards ceremonies.
Every game station and corresponding videogame…every comic book issue was swiftly purchased and added to the collection…opening day tickets…backstage tours…In short, Wilbur wanted for nothing.
Maybe that was to blame for his bratty behavior lately.
Now she knew he was a good boy, if a tad self-centered…alright, extremely self-centered and rather narcissistic.
But that wasn't to say, he couldn't be helpful:
He'd work in the garden—mowing lawns, trimming hedges, hosing down the porches.
Other benevolent pastimes included: volunteering as Test Subject for various science projects, playing referee and judge for his cousins, uncle and aunt, taking Buster for walks and sleuthing for dentures.
But lately, a rather callous side kept rearing its ugly head—a snide remark, cold glances, blatant lying…
Most of which was aimed at Neil; not to say, that she hadn't deflected a few barbs herself.
The moment she noticed tension rising between the two most important men in her life, she'd started strategizing. After doing some serious soul-searching and reading an avalanche of self-help books she realized the boys needed one-on-one bonding time.
Something she'd immediately began prodding her husband to take to heart. Pestering him to take Wil to R.I. or a movie or fishing…well maybe not fishing her hubby wasn't really the outdoorsy type…but a movie, they could definitely catch a movie.
Neil was THE most crucial male role-model in Wil's life. Boys emulated their fathers after all. And the more positive time they spent together, the better.
According to the books, as far as father-son relationships went theirs was fairly healthy.
No cursing, no alcohol, no drugs, no abuse: physical, verbal, emotional etc.
No matter what T.L. Middle School said about Wil's short fuse, her boy was no barbarian.
Sure Wil earned plenty of detention slips for "Aggression." But she knew her baby better than that: He'd get backed in a corner and rather than use his words (as she and her husband encouraged—or better yet summon a teacher), he'd settle the matter with his fists. He was always close-lipped as to the reason of each skirmish—boys and their honor codes…
And Cornelius…her husband would sooner eat the Transmogrifier than even think of harming a hair on Wil's head.
At the end of the day, under the petty arguments, they loved each other deeply.
The thought that other families couldn't say the same made her shiver.
Defiance was part of the territory of teenage years—challenges would be made.
But she knew Neil was aching for the closeness he'd had when Wil was younger.
Bouncing him on his knee, taking him to the park, pushing his swing, making a mad catch for him when he lets go of the chains and tries to fly…again, making Wilbur cry because Daddy was angry with him for endangering himself, taking Wil for ice cream because Daddy couldn't stand his tears…
Reading him bedtime stories and giving different voices for each character, making PB & J sandwiches and cutting them carefully into triangles for little fingers, building extravagant pillow forts in the living room (No girls…or robots allowed).
Knowing how he cherished those vice-like hugs around his neck, those sloppy kisses to his cheek, those loud "I love you's" you could hear rooms away.
All those precious little wonders that parents hope will last forever.
In the blink of an eye, Wil was suddenly too big, too mature, too cool to even consider committing such atrocious acts of LAMENESS.
(Though Wil never did grow out of loudly announcing MWAH whenever he kissed her or Grandma Lucille's cheek)
It seemed that Neil couldn't quite accept those days being gone. And who could blame him, she missed them too. Especially given the current contrast. Ugh, her heart was still heavy from yesterday night:
She'd been staring at her glass for the better part of the evening.
Wil had been in a particularly obnoxious mood and it seemed he wasn't pulling punches.
If it had been anyone else, he'd have been shut down already. But once again, his target was Cornelius.
Franny supposed she was the "Cool" parent. Wilbur never voiced it, but it was implied. That night Wil directly announced that his father was "THE laaaaaamest, most-rule abiding citizen to walk the earth." So she was the cool one by default.
Maybe her husband wasn't the gung-ho, swashbuckler type, but there was no reason to phrase it like that. There were plenty of amazing feats he could accomplish that Wil's idolized Captain Time Travel couldn't touch.
She rarely intervened, though she was itching to. If she always came to the rescue, she'd be undermining her husband's own authority over Wilbur. Besides, Cornelius usually shrugged it off with a yin-yang phrase or some clever quip about Darwinism favoring the cautious.
He didn't that night. He just resumed eating. And when Tallulah began the family food fight. He didn't participate. Just continued chewing methodically—eyes boring into his plate.
When Grandma Lucille's victory was declared—her pasta attack invincible, he quietly left the table—visibly deflating as he went.
Franny followed, pausing only to level a matronly scowl, which went totally unnoticed by her son. He had been covered in Alfredo sauce, and was unsuccessfully trying to blink it out of his eyes. It seemed that there'd been some cheese added in it tonight, and it was making his lashes stick together.
She hoped with the life of her, that Wil didn't know the effect his words had on his father. Because if he did…if this malice was purposely or strategically aimed…
She found her husband in their retreat, flipping through one of the family albums. She sighed, knowing instinctively which one: he favored Wilbur Years: ages five through nine. She personally preferred infancy through four; back when he'd been Mommy's helper.
Once Wilbur was old enough to appreciate his father's work, it became Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.
She felt she'd taken her fall from grace reasonably well. Or perhaps she'd been softened by how earnestly, how patiently Cornelius had waited on the sidelines for their son to notice him. That when Wilbur's universe began revolving around Dad, there'd been no hurt feelings.
But a new age had dawned. Neil's reign of influence had ended and now Wil was neither Mommy's Angel or Daddy's Boy. Now he was…well…maybe he was Captain Time Travel's. Not that the fictional hero would appreciate it (though his marketers probably did; Carl insisted that Wilbur should be paid for advertisement—he was a walking billboard for the show).
Her husband sighed heavily, tracing a photo. He wasn't facing her, so it was easy to move closer.
She recognized Wilbur's eighth Halloween. That year he'd demanded a lab coat. Young Wil beamed at the camera—oversized goggles hanging around his neck. He clutched a Robinson Industries clipboard to his little chest. Cornelius had even lent him a glass beaker (one of the few occasions where Wilbur didn't break it.)
Even if the Science Phase had just been a passing fancy. She knew how much his approval meant to Neil.
Cornelius wanted to be that Dad you were eager to share with your class on Presentation Day. That Dad you'd tell every fear, joke, and secret to. That Dad you'd hang out with for fun rather than because you were sneaking into his lab again, and he'd happened to be there.
On more than one occasion, Neil bemoaned his sudden state of lameness. To which Franny suggested he do as she does.
First condition: Limit the calls to twice a day.
Call One: make sure he got to school on time.
Call Two: make sure he got home.
Second condition: Let him walk alone to and from school barring stormy or sweltering days.
And it was that order that always riled him up. Walking with Carl was no problem, sans Carl…DEFCON 2.
Cornelius would frown heavily, brow furrowing deeply and declaring that the city was dangerous for thirteen-year-olds to roam through…even for ones as clever as their own.
The way her husband would describe it—you'd think there were muggers lurking around every corner. She decided then, that she wouldn't make him watch any more episodes of True Story. His paranoia had him speculating countless morbid scenarios that had her eyes rolling.
Her husband had a very active imagination…it was no wonder where Wil got it from.
She would sigh, stating that THIS was what drove Wilbur crazy. He was a budding teenager, they had to give him space; Independence.
To which her husband argued, "Not at the price of his safety."
She groaned, from the way he'd act, you'd think she was encouraging their son to run with scissors or skydive without a parachute or some odd blend of both.
Acting like Wil was glass, to be kept safe on some shelf would only gain resentment. Franny's own mother had been like that. It wasn't a mistake Franny would make.
And so…she was the cool parent. She might've handed out more orders; more punishments, more scolding…but she also gave more freedoms.
Cornelius liked keeping their son on a short leash—probably for damage-control. But THAT sort of thing always made Wil worse: acting like he was a hazard motivated him to BE one.
She crept out of the room, determined to find her son and get to the bottom of his newfound attitude.
Her search ended with the second floor grand suite bathroom. She could hear the shower going.
She should wait until he finished. Teens were pretty obsessive about their ME-time; especially where hygiene was concerned.
An image of her husband's sad blue eyes lingered in her mind's eye—his tall frame wilting over an album of happier times. She was getting an answer from Wilbur.
She glared at the door, focusing on the lock. She'd always been mortified as a teen, just being addressed while bathing. To be barged in on…
She shook her head.
For God sakes' she was a Mom. Years of diaper-changing, spit-up cleaning, potty-training, bedwetting, bath time, flu bugs, and general mayhem/mess scrubbing earned her this right.
There was no such thing as privacy where Moms were concerned.
Mama Framagucci would be proud—Franny shuddered at the thought as she overrode the doorlock, and marched into the suite.
To her astonishment, Wil heard the door open and shut.
"Leave me alone Carl, I don't wanna talk about it."
Franny remained quiet.
"Sheesh Carl, the silent treatment, huh? Not five anymore my robotic buddy, that ain't gonna work on me."
Several beats passed.
"…Okay…so I kinda saw that going differently. I admit it; my mouth ran on without my brain…again. A real shocker I know……….Well fine Carl, don't disagree! Be that way! Yeah, yep, it's me. I'm the jerk here. Me. And since you clearly feel that way, you won't want me polishing your servos tomorrow. Grab someone nicer to do your maintenances."
Franny blinked in surprise—for as far as she knew only her husband was well-versed enough in Carl's schematics to update him.
"Gah! This sauce is hard to get out! What did you put in it Carl?
There was a huge, melodramatic sigh, "I'm gonna need the Ultra Glamour De-tangler Shine Smooth Conditioner. It's under the sink. Come on Carl be a pal. It's a hair emergency!"
Franny's eyebrows rose, she'd wondered where that bottle had gotten to.
"Can we call a truce?" he whined.
She slid the cabinet open and selected the bottle—rolling her eyes as she caught sight of his impatient silhouette tapping a foot.
She set it on the corner of the bath with an audible thunk.
"Thanks Carl. You're a life-saver."
Such a vain little boy. Maybe all the fuss he was making really was just a tug-of-war with his hormones.
She slipped out, contemplating it all.
With no real destination in mind, she wound up in Wilbur's room.
His study area was a mess as usual, desktop littered with odds and ends.
She moved closer inspecting the debris. Talk about a fallout zone…
Looked like a spool of thread, some nicked wire from the lab, a scattering of tacks and his retainer case tossed haphazardly to the side. A supped up lava lamp his dad had made him when he was six and in need of an "awesome" nightlight.
She frowned at a light scattering of crackers and candy wrappers and gagged as she noticed a glass filled half-way with juice that appeared to have a floating growth of mold.
His waste paper bin was overflowing, she moved towards it, nose wrinkling as she her foot crunched on a paper that hadn't quite made it.
She picked it up, ready to discard it when she recognized a symbol—eyes widening at what it signified.
Her husband retired early that night. Three guesses why. Exhausted and heartsick, he was ready for this day to end already.
Franny fiddled with the sleeve of her flannel nightgown as she settled down beneath the covers.
He'd already removed his glasses and set them on his nightstand. She focused on those, preparing herself for what was bound to be a tricky request.
"I think you two need bonding time," Franny announced bluntly.
"Fran."
"I think it'll do you both worlds of good."
"Fraaaan"
Clearly dinner's cutting remarks were still tender.
"Neeeeil"
"Honey, I...I DO want to spend time with him…but I won't survive another Captain Time Travel Convention."
"Sissy, you've only been to three. I'll have you know I've been attending them since he was six!"
"That one with the weird helmet-"
"Leutenant Nitwigz"
Cornelius blinked, "…you know their names?"
"I'm a mom. And my son is obsessed; which means I've suffered every movie and nearly every episode with a smile on my face. Because I love him and it makes him happy to share it with me."
Cornelius shifted guiltily, ears reddening with embarrassment—he normally sprinted for the lab every time he heard the Captain Time Travel theme song.
"You know I don't like Sci-fi flicks and if I can sit through one as cliché as Captain Time Travel, you can survive a few dorky conventions."
"Fair enough" Neil sighed.
"You need to spend more time with him honey."
"…I know."
"Maybe you could take him to RI?"
"You know I like to give the staff a 48 hour warning before I bring him. Things like to explode when they're in an 18 foot radius of-"
"-Honey" she scolded.
He sighed as she cuddled close to him.
He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her hair, "He doesn't like science stuff Fran. It's-" he heaved a sigh "Laaaaame, remember?"
And there's more than a little sadness in his voice, no matter how he tries to quash it.
"Neil, please take him. I think he'll surprise you."
He pulled back a bit—disbelief lined his countenance, but Fran held his gaze.
"If it makes you happy" he relinquished at last.
"It will."
They sealed the deal with a kiss.
And so her plan was put into motion today.
She'd been tapped awake at 6 am by a frazzled Cornelius, who'd apparently been up since 5 getting ahead on reports.
Having no idea how this was all going to pan out, he wanted to free up as much time as possible.
Damage-control, her subconscious whispered rather viciously.
She was always his sounding board, and ever the over-achiever, he was eager in meting out the details.
Cornelius would give him another more in-depth tour, say his hello's to the staff, retire to his office, teach him how to sort and file some low-scale paperwork, take him to lunch (that place he loves with the arcade), return to the lab tinker a bit, and drop him off at his Chargeball practice.
Father and son left promptly at 7.
Oddly enough, despite having the plan sprung on him, Wil had been extremely agreeable–Probably still feeling guilty over last night…as well he should.
With her fingers crossed for good luck, and her heart full of hope, she kissed them both goodbye.
12 hours and one phone-call later, Franny was a wreck.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions…kept echoing in her brain.
She watched her husband's hovercar pull up the driveway and into the garage.
She waited with baited breath—an eternity passing between every heartbeat until her husband finally entered the room.
"Hi" he gave a little wave. "Wondered where you were."
She smiled weakly as he approached.
He embraced her—pecking her on the lips.
"Soo Mr. Fix-It…how did it go?" she did her best to hide her nervousness.
"It had its ups and downs" he admitted, releasing her to undo his tie.
She followed him back to their bedroom feeling her nerves tighten again when he closed the door. Something he did when he needed to share less than desirable results from their son.
"…And?"
"You were right" he confessed grinning "He took to Science."
"I knew he would."
Her husband's smile faltered a bit.
He set his tie on the dresser, fingers fiddling with the ends—studiously avoiding her gaze.
"Neil?"
He reluctantly faced her, "Honey, how DID you know? Did he…Did he tell you?"
Hurt showed in his eyes at the possibility. She empathized: Music was her passion, if Wil had learned an instrument without even telling her…
"No" she assured him.
His eyebrows rose, perplexed—a rare expression for her brilliant hubby.
"Then how?"
She offered him a plastic bag filled with balled up wads of paper.
"Fran?"
"I searched his trash" was the pointblank response.
Cornelius blinked, mulling that over. "You know Sweetie, that's a federal off-"
"I didn't intend to" she snapped as she pulled a paper out of her pocket. "This one didn't make it to the waste bin. I found it on the floor…and it wasn't crumpled as tightly as the others—that's the only reason I noticed."
She handed it carefully over.
Wordlessly, Cornelius smoothed the paper out. His eyes scanned the dotted lines, equations, question-marks, and side-notes. Schematics.
Franny smirked when he practically lunged for the plastic bag. He spilled the contents on their bed and carefully began unfolding each one.
Franny joined him and soon they had thirty pages of ideas on crinkled paper.
"These are great!" her husband exclaimed, pouring over each one with unbridled enthusiasm, "Portable Microwave Toaster Combo for people on the go, Hoverplates for the standing meal-eater, Blender Radio?…Oh! I see, it converts what most construe as operating noise into a beat of your choice! Now that's an interesting one!"
"Definitely interesting" Franny agreed. Though she wondered how her son came up with that bizarre gem.
He made a tutting sound in the back of his throat, "I can't believe he'd just toss these aside."
"Well, maybe he didn't think everyone would appreciate the uh, Blender Radio?
"They're great" he defended resolutely. Franny couldn't help but smile.
Cornelius was his son's number one fan. It was vastly entertaining watching him at Chargeball games—her usually mild-mannered husband yelling with the rabid crowd about bad calls. Ah, parenthood at its best.
"It just takes hardwork, dedication-"
"-and confidence" Franny supplied softly—a cruel suspicion shooting painfully through her heart, as she suddenly remembered an exchange between Mother and Son three months ago.
She'd been ecstatic for his B minus on a History exam, urging him to share it with his father.
"Oh yeah, I'm sure it'll be a real sight for him. Bet he's never seen one up close."
He'd ripped the test from her numb fingers and shoved it back into his satchel. The depth of bitterness there had shocked her into silence, giving him ample time to stalk away to his room.
She ended up rescuing that exam from the trash and pinned it to the fridge.
The family had warmly applauded him at dinner and Wil nearly choked on his steak sandwich.
His father had pulled him into a tight embrace, proudly congratulating him for a job well done.
In the midst of it all, she and Wil locked eyes—a silent pact—neither of them would speak about that moment earlier OR about what he'd done with the test.
Now she found herself itching to tell Neil about it—knowing it needed to be shared, knowing that it would hurt him, knowing that if they could find out what fueled that outburst—peace would reign through the Robinson Household again…barring the occasional explosion.
Neil frowned, tapping his finger on a nearby sheet, "These are solid, good ideas—what's not to be proud of? I think the Blender has merit, don't you?" It's said rather pointedly.
It's clear he wants a "Yes, of course." Wants her to support their son.
"Well, it's-" she swallowed thickly; the knowledge that she must voice something awful tightening her chest. "Brilliant as it is" she quickly added, watching his scowl deepen—because he already senses the 'but' on the coattails of her words.
The full weight of her husband's gaze settles on her and she ploughs on, "Well, Neil, it's not a Memory Scanner."
The silence that ensued was thick and uncomfortable.
The shocked and offended look he shot her stole her breath away.
He rigidly collected the pages, holding the stack carefully away from her. Like her gaze could contaminate the paper dreams.
"Honey, I'm not saying they aren't great ideas. They are. But they're not the sort that society will instantaneously recognize as phenom-"
"PB& J came before the Memory Scanner Francesca"
He rarely used her full first name—testimony to how angry and betrayed he's feeling.
Their fights were few and far between, but when they occurred they were rather explosive.
She'd always gone off like fireworks—quick to anger and quick to apologize.
Cornelius was slow to anger, but once he was hot it took him a while to cool back down.
A branding iron: and the words he spat when mad burned deeply in your heart.
The only reason her own temper wasn't flaring was because she knew…he was shielding their son.
"Darling," she laughed softly, gently laying her hand over his tense one. "Who do you think you're talking to here? I'm the woman with singing frogs. If I had a dime for every time people scolded me about supposedly ludicrous ideas…"
She felt him relax and she cautiously continued, "But Wil's always been rather preoccupied with how others perceive him."
He nodded gravely.
"He may feel…he doesn't quite measure up. It's got to be hard being constantly compared with the Father of the Future."
"He said this?!" Cornelius pulled away incredulous.
"No-"
"-Good because that's ridiculous!"
"Well, he may be a teensy bit intimidated Honey. The skill level between you two-"
"-I've got a few decades on him" he remarked dryly.
The atmosphere crackled tensely, a change in subject was needed. They could revisit this issue later.
"So, did you get to show him XR90?".
"Yep, he fried it."
"Oh Neil, I'm sorry"
"Nah, it's in the past. We're going to fix it together."
"Oh? So he proved himself?"
Her husband chuckled uneasily, "More or less."
Her eyes narrowed, "What happened?"
"Well," Cornelius took a deep breath before blurting out hurriedly "he fried it, I scolded him, and he apologized and left for Chargeball Practice. But I only THOUGHT he went to Chargeball Practice, when I arrived there he was missing. I-well-I freaked out-called him, called you, used his GPS to track him. He was at RI. Apparently, he'd never left. So I jammed back there, found him in the lab levels--"
"Whoa whoa whoa…whooooa!" Franny placed two fingers against her husband's lips interrupting the rushed explanation. "He WHAT? He lied?!"
"Honey there's a Part Two-" he mumbled against her fingertips.
"He lied to you?!" her hand fell away "To Us! He called me and said, but he was actually-"
"Franny-"
"-That sneaky little-wait, in the lab? Oh no, don't tell me he was playing with-"
"-Seems he was helping out Dr. Haynez-"
"Haynez, Haynez." She muttered distractedly, brain searching for a face to put with that name. "Oh! Haynez? That nasty ol' windbag?"
She had a distinct memory of him at R.I.'s New Year's Eve Party, scowling at her and Wil, muttering "trophy family" under his breath.
"What could he possibly help him with?"
"Apparently inventing Sweetheart"
Franny blinked rapidly, "Come again?"
"Soldering, welding, programming, wiring—the works! And it seems Haynez was more than content to just soak up all the credit." A sour expression darkened his face.
"How did you find out?"
"In my…" he sighed deeply before admitting, "In my mad dash about R.I., I stumbled across them working together."
Franny nodded, eyes appraising him carefully—he's reigning himself in, trying not to show how upset he was.
"I…" He swallowed, teeth clenching "I got to watch them interact. He was so-so mean. So blatantly vicious to Wil—when I think of the verbal abuse he suffered almost daily-"
He slammed a fist down on the dresser top. Struggling to convey exactly what he felt: Anger, Fear, Worry, and something deeper…more painful.
Righteous parental anger for his mistreated child proved easiest to deal with—he'd gotten to act, to punish the perpetrator.
The awful anxiety that accompanied a missing child was harder to placate. If anything HAD happened to Wil, he'd never forgive himself. But Wil was safe, that awful "What if" was just another fuzzy nightmare left to fade with time.
Still, Cornelius found himself fretting even more: How oblivious was he? How in the dark was a man who didn't notice his child vanishing intermittently on him?
Even while he kept trying to reassure himself that teens were naturally secretive at this age. That this was "normal" behavior that HE himself had his fair share of teenage adventures that ranked under the Never-To-Be-Mentioned-To-His-Parents-Under-Pain–Of-Torture Category, he couldn't help thinking:
His child would rather spend his time with a scientist who degraded him at every turn; who scorned his talents, mocked his interests, and demanded unrealistic results.
Would voice his ideas to him and not his father who once spent six hours waiting in line, drenched by unrelenting winter rain for the newest Captain Time Travel videogame. THAT was the ONLY item on the nine-year-old's letter for Santa that year and he'd be darned if Christmas morning passed without seeing that 100 watt smile with all its glorious little gaps (courtesy of the tooth fairy).
Years might have passed, but that smile still meant the world to him, especially since he'd seen precious little of it as of late.
Their earlier interaction with XR90 kept replaying in his mind: Bossily instructing him what to do—scornfully simple orders.
As if Wil could be content pushing buttons, flipping switches, and mopping spills rather than offering scientific input.
Neil took off his glasses, cleaning them rather forcefully.
Did he act like such a know-it-all that Wil didn't feel comfortable venturing the slightest suggestion?
"Why wouldn't he tell us?" Franny murmured watching her husband set his frames back on his thin nose.
He looked at her sadly, "I don't know."
"So you called me after you went to pick him up and he was M.I.A. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I GPS-ed his location WHILE I was talking to you. Didn't want to send you into panic mode unnecessarily."
Truth was she'd been in panic mode since his call.
"It was all" he groaned rubbing the bridge of his nose "too complicated to try and explain in a phone call."
"I knew something was wrong. Your voice-"
"Yeah, missing son equals brink of hysteria. First stages of DEFCON 1"
"So he lied to us both."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Several weeks ago he visited R.I."
"Right, didn't he end up blowing out two wall sockets?"
"Yes, apparently he also totaled Dr. Haynez project. For one reason or another, he got it in his head to personally offer his help"
"And Haynez accepted. Now I understand Wil keeping secrets—he's sneaky, but why didn't Haynez say anything about it?"
"Because he's shrewd and manipulative and immora-"
"Sooo, I take it you dealt with Haynez."
"Yeah" her husband answered shortly—his tone dark and hard. "He's no longer working for us. When he found out whose kid he was bullying, he resigned."
"Convenient."
If the angry countenance on her husband's face, was even a shadow of the undoubtedly P. look he'd worn earlier—that other man didn't have a chance.
"You'll need to explain to Wil that it's not his fault."
"I will."
The last thing he needed was Wil shouldering unnecessary blame.
"What were they making?"
"Portable generator—impractical operating theory on Haynez' part, but brilliant construction by Wilbur."
"So he showed you the invention?"
Franny noticed her husband looking troubled again, "Neil?"
He ran a hand through his stubborn hair.
"Yeah, but he was so…timid. Unsure…like he was afraid of me. Or of what I'd say. It was awful. But I think with proper encouragement, we can booster his confidence."
She nodded, though it was hard to imagine her cocky son ever being shy.
"Okay, okay. So he broke Haynez' invention. Offered his aid. Began skiving Chargeball practices to help in the lab. Lied to both of us about his whereabouts--taking advantage of our trust, using our ignorance to traverse the town, and willfully if unknowingly endangering himself. If anything HAD happened during his little unannounced trips, we'd have been at a loss of how to find him."
"Yes" His stomach still churned at the morbid possibilities. Fame had its pitfalls: securing the safety of his loved ones was always a top priority. He'd meticulously designed their home security system—house was practically a Fort Knox. That didn't stop him from worrying though.
Franny much like a commander, sizing up strategies had gone silent—tapping her fingers against her lips, tapping her foot, nodding grimly, "We're going to need to lay down the rules here firmly."
Cornelius shifted uncomfortably, "True, but I don't want him to associate inventing as a cause for punishment. We need to clarify that we're reprimanding him for the lying."
"Well of course it's for the lying, the inventing part is wonderful."
"Yes…yes it is. And it worries me that he felt the need to omit what was clearly an accident. He needs to know that he can tell us anything. Parental Units don't exist solely for punishment. We're here for guidance, reassurance, and affection. I mean, he needs to feel free to come to us, ask us questions, confide in us."
She stared at him just a second too long, because his eyes narrow in thought before his mouth slackens.
"It's just me? Why me?"
He was smart. He could answer questions. He could soothe fears. He could keep secrets and offer companionable anecdotes.
"It's probably just because you're busy—he doesn't want to interrupt your work-"
"-I'm never too busy for him."
"…Well you can impart that to him while you two work on Linen XR90."
Neil nodded enthusiastically. Yes, yes that invention would provide an excellent bonding tool. Here he thought equal parts encouragement and reassurance would patch up their relationship…the possibility that its very foundation could be cracking rattled him deeply.
Brow furrowed, head bent in concentration, Neil sported his usual 'calculating' expression. The one he wore when dealing with particularly difficult equations; too bad where family was concerned, simple answers seldom existed.
Franny sidled up to her husband, rubbing a soothing hand on his forearm. "You two will talk it through. Just be open with him. Let him know how much you care."
He nodded stiffly, it should be obvious to his son how deeply cared.
Franny laid her head against his shoulder, "He thinks it's manly to keep his problems to himself. Adult-like. He wants to make you proud, you know."
"I'm already proud."
"You need to tell him that."
"I have."
"Good. I think five million more times should do the trick."
"Probably right."
"Always right."
Franny glanced at a family portrait; their 17th Anniversary spent at the Global Music Awards—a black-tie affair—her, Neil and Wil between them.
"So we have another inventor in the family. Well, there go my hopes for him being a musician."
Her husband smiled warmly, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her temple.
"Well the maracas are taken, but maybe he can try the tambourine?"
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DunDunDun
Franny has yet to be informed of the SPECS!
