Disclaimer: I do not own Meet The Robinsons. Or the board games Sorry! or Scrabble.
AN: Hey, hey! Look who updated! Yeah, I'm still writing. Let's see who's still reading! I never abandon a piece. Really, I promise. I hold myself to that. I just go MIA for...unreasonable amounts of time. Lol, my original laptop that had my files for this fic died a few years ago. But I just stumbled across my hard copy notes and after rereading chaps 1-6, I went...yeah, I got this. Sooo...thank you to everyone who left me reviews (they keep me motivated) and for your patience : D I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 7 The Horrible Houseguest
Seated on the couch with his feet propped on the coffee table, Cornelius snickered to himself as he watched another pseudoscience documentary (there was a marathon of them scheduled that day). It was the solemnity of the narrators' tones for each one that kept him endlessly amused.
He had his watch set to buzz him in an hour so he could make Wilbur some chicken noodle soup and give him a dose of children's aspirin for the fever he just couldn't seem to shake. If it didn't break by the end of the day, Cornelius was resolved to take him to an Ears, Nose, and Throat specialist the next morning.
He blinked in surprise when he noticed Wilbur shuffling toward him instead of being in bed sleeping.
He stood up and walked over in concern. "What's wrong, kiddo? You feeling worse?" If he needed to take him to the doctor now, by all means, let him grab his car keys and they'd be on their way!
Wilbur shook his head and fiddled with the belt of his house robe—cinching it tighter and confirming his dad's fears that he'd already lost some weight and that he might be dehydrated.
"Lulu's taking a call riiiight in the hall by my room," Wilbur complained. "I think she's hiding from Laz." He affected a higher, girly voice: "'You say goodbye, no, really you say goodbye. Ha ha, no, you' and I'm like, NO, I'LL say goodbye. Aaaand here I am."
Cornelius frowned. "I'll tell her to move-"
"Nah, s'okay." He moved to the couch and plonked himself down on the cushions. "I'm here now and I'm...just...stoked to watch," he squinted at the screen for a moment and then gave his dad an unimpressed look. "A documentary about the Loch Ness Monster?"
Cornelius grinned and shrugged as he took up his original spot—though he took care to lower the television's volume. Cornelius also didn't bat an eye when Wilbur set a pillow on his lap and laid down. It was always best not to comment on overt pleas for attention and affection since Wil had entered the dreaded tween years and had become hypersensitive to embarrassment.
If he dared to tease him about it, Wil would lope off like a spooked gazelle.
Neil gently carded his hand through his son's hair which (without its usual copious amount of hair gel) was soft.
Wilbur yawned, "It's weird…"
"Hmm?"
"Yesterday was so…"
"Mmmhmm?"
"...crazy…" Brown eyes looked tentatively up at him. "...sorry...about all that."
He smiled as he ruffled the dark hair, "Next time that you have doubts or insecurities, just talk to me, okay?"
"Deal."
Wilbur fidgeted. Then fidgeted some more.
"I mean it, Son. If you're ever in any kind of trouble, I want you to come to me first. Okay?"
"Right. It's..it's not that though."
Guessing that the fever was the source of his discomfort, Cornelius felt the child's forehead and tutted. "You're still a little warm. I'll-"
"It's not that, either. I just, I feel like I've forgotten about something. But I'm too...scattered to focus…"
Neil had that feeling too but he was quick to reassure his son. "The only thing I want you to focus on, buddy, is getting better."
"...kay."
It wasn't long after that Wil fell into a doze and Neil had to carefully extricate his boy's glasses from his face—so they didn't warp or injure him. He folded the spectacles and set them on the end side table, lenses up.
He draped an arm over his child and enjoyed the serenity of the simple domestic moment. He exhaled. They were nice and safe...at home...together…he literally had him in his arms. What could be more secure than that? It was a far cry from the panic he'd endured the previous day.
"Awww, looks like you've got an armful of cuddlebug," Franny observed. And then in a more serious voice warned, "Be careful you don't catch it, Neil."
"I know, I know, I'm taking my chances but…"
"He's snuggly right now," Franny concluded. "I'll remind you of this when you're sniffling and gross and try that with me because I won't go for it. I'll tell you to-"
"You won't want my contagious cootie cuddles?" Neil feigned shock.
Franny couldn't keep a smile off her face but shook her head resolutely, "Nope."
"You'll just leave your poor husband alll aloooone? Francesca, really?"
"Quarantined," she clarified.
"Fran, it's a cold, not a zombie virus."
Their laughter was interrupted by the doorbell.
"Honey?" He asked. "Expecting a delivery?" He overheard Spike and Dimitri arguing from their pots.
"...My doorbell is just better than yours. Accept it..."
She sometimes ordered specially tailored suits for her frogs.
"No."
Their butler answered the door but whatever transaction was occurring kept lagging on and on.
"The Girl Scouts get more aggressive every year," Cornelius commented. Really now, just because they had a large cookie-eating family and a big income, did they have to be hit up for every single fundraiser?
"Who is it, Lefty?" Franny called.
The giant squid motioned to the front door and complained that the person insisted they had an invitation.
Husband and wife shared puzzled looks until-
"Oh, no," Fran breathed. "Wilbur's little friend!"
Cornelius sighed. That's what they forgot.
Franny paced the kitchen while her husband stirred a pot of soup on the stove top.
"Well, he's already eaten lunch so we don't have to worry about that. But I just...I just feel terrible to have forgotten! But-but-but why didn't his mom call us before just dropping him off? There's a Mom-to-Mom etiquette for playdates. Every mom knows that. She was supposed to walk him up and linger at the front door with me. That's where the listing takes place. You list out the allergies, the curfews, the approved TV ratings, any and all social quirks and phobias-"
"Send him home," Neil repeated bluntly for the third time.
"Darling, you're not listening." Fran chewed at a nail. "I already told you. He says his parents aren't home. He'll have to spend the night. Oh, but I don't want him catching Wil's bug! He can't stay in Wil's room and I dunno if Laz will be a good sport. You remember the time he painted Lulu's friends' faces during that slumber party."
The corner of Neil's mouth went up.
"That was not funny, Neil."
He pointedly looked away.
"It wasn't," she insisted. "Now, there's a guest room near Billie and Joe, but the house is so big. I don't want him getting lost. We could ask Carl to stay with him, he has a nightlight feature but-"
"Get the number. I'll call his parents," Cornelius volunteered.
"Honey, I think it's a business trip."
Blue eyes didn't blink. "I can pay them whatever they would've made plus airfare or whatever they need to get here."
Franny frowned. "Careful there, big spender, you'll scare the fish away. I thought you wanted Wil to bring more friends over?"
He muttered something under his breath.
"Excuse me?"
"..."
"Ahem?" She put a little steel in her voice, "Darling?"
"...I don't think they're friends," he repeated as he poured the soup into a bowl.
She faltered. "W-why do you think that?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't show any concern over Wil being sick? Maybe it was the fact he scoffed at Wil's pajamas? Maybe it's the fact that he's a rude, little-"
"Cornelius!" she scolded, shocked that her normally pleasant, friend-to-all-children husband was acting so out of character.
And then he shared the incident he'd had twenty minutes earlier when he'd walked Mikey over to the closet where they'd stockpiled board games that week.
Apparently, Mikey had looked at the photos lining the walls and on noticing one with an ecstatic Cornelius in scrubs cradling a newborn blue bundle of joy, commented, "So you adopted him right on Day One? Cool. I tried talking to him about it, but he wasn't comfortable. I mean, I don't care that your family's a patchwork quilt."
Franny winced, "So…that's who...all that came from…"
Her husband's shoulders were tense. "Mmhmm."
She ran a hand through her cowlick. "Maybe he...misheard things about our family...and confused you two?"
"I wondered that too," Cornelius replied shortly as he rummaged for a spoon. "And when I explained very, very firmly that I was the one who was adopted and not Wilbur. You know what he said next?"
Franny sucked in a breath and shut her eyes—half prepared to assume a crash position.
"'So, you're not really a Robinson...and neither is he.'"
She rushed over to him. "I'm so sorry. Honey, I can't believe he'd be so-so-so-"
"Toxic?"
For the first twelve years of his life, her husband didn't have a last name...implying that the one he had now was false...was just...cruel.
She tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear. "Kids at this age...they're still...learning empathy."
She remembered how casually her own son had commented on "Lewis" being an orphan. Later, after that whole time travel fiasco was over, she took him aside and talked to him about it, and it still took him awhile to realize the insensitivity he'd flouted.
"Oh…" Wilbur put his hand on the back of his neck—looking uncomfortable. "I guess I was kinda harsh."
She nodded—lips pursed. Ya think?
"It's just…" He shrugged. "I knew he was gonna get adopted and-"
"Sweetie, you knew. He didn't. That was a very painful part of his life-"
His head cocked to the side in confusion. "Yeah, but that was forever ago. And it was just for a little while. And then there was the rest of his life. BAM! Adopted. BAM! Fourteen and he got his BA! Then he went back and got more. Like in a video game when you're collecting trophies and then he started his own company and invented all sorts of-"
She frowned, "Wil, he was almost your age when he got adopted. Imagine how that would feel. Growing up without us, your family?"
He blinked and pondered and then winced. "...I guess that would kinda...suck."
"When we learn things like that about people, we need to be compassionate, Wil."
"...It just didn't feel like something permanent. It just didn't feel like something that...that defined him, ya know? He was super smart already. He was gonna do great things. I guess I just, didn't think it really mattered where he was starting from."
Technically, Wil had a point there. Anyone, starting from anywhere, had great potential. And it was a testament to her son's own good character that he didn't automatically judge someone based off of where they came from or what their circumstances were; that people were only limited if they let themselves be.
It was a pearl she might even have to use on Wilbur himself, the next time he wanted to give up on a homework assignment he was frustrated with.
Still, the lesson she was trying to teach at that moment was that empathy needed to be embraced.
"Well, think about being in their shoes first. Okay, baby?"
"Maybe I can try to talk to him about what's appropriate...or...something, maybe, I-Oh, I don't know. Honey, you know how important you are to us. We lov-"
"Oh, I'm not upset for me, Fran," he interrupted.
She blinked. Because she distinctly remembered several occasions where a teenaged Cornelius had been very sensitive over his circumstances and any snide comment that his "adopted" family was somehow less valid than a "biological" one caused him great pain.
Even she'd put her foot in her mouth more than once when she'd forgotten how he might construe what she meant, given his origins.
"I've heard far worse."
She flinched. It was no secret that her husband's rivals had exploited that tender spot ruthlessly when he was younger. Sometimes, they still did.
Just a few months ago, her husband had received an award at a science convention. On their way out, they'd traveled by the bar of the hotel and two less than enthused rivals who'd been passed over, sang "It's a Hard-Knock Life" from Annie when they walked by.
That for all of his talents and intelligence...he was...unwanted…
Such a malicious insinuation... it just broke her heart every time.
"Cornelius-"
"Wilbur is not-not lessened just because I-I didn't bequeath him a surname toted around since my own birth-"
"Of course not."
She swallowed a bit nervously. Goodness, that kid hit the wrong button.
It was one thing to flippantly insult Cornelius through insensitivity or even mean spirited intention. He could endure that. It was when their son got caught in the crossfire...it just didn't matter if the perpetrator was an adult or a child. Neil was a very protective papa.
And considering what they'd gone through the previous day. She felt her heart twist. It was now very clear whom Wilbur had gotten those insecurities from.
The fact of the matter was Mikey had hurt Wilbur...hurt him in a way that Cornelius knew very well...having experienced it intimately for the whole of his childhood.
Wilbur was very wanted. Very. Wanted. For her husband to get a whiff of even the slightest implication that he wasn't…for Wilbur to have even one nanosecond of doubt...
The dial of his wrath was on full blast.
"Sssssssorry!" Mikey hissed with relish, knocking his opponent's piece hard enough to send it rolling off the board and onto the coffee table.
"Yeah, whatever." Wilbur blew his nose and pulled the waste bin closer to deposit his used tissue. He moved his red plastic game piece back to the start.
He was gonna lose yet another game. It wouldn't have been so bad if the rest of the family had been there, too. Petunia always talked a hilariously big game and Laz was super melodramatic whenever he had a setback. Wilbur and Tallulah always made strategic alliances and his uncles sometimes went easy on him when they knew he was having a tough time.
But they were trying to limit the spread of his infection, which meant no family fun time for Wilbur. If the whole family caught what he had, they'd keep passing it back and forth for at least a month. And he didn't want to get his grandparents ill at their age.
Still, he ought to have had Carl here. They could just Clorox wipe him down for germs at the end of the night. And his robot limbs would be nice and cold to lean against. Wilbur knew his fever spiking again. He'd already had to take his house robe off and was itching to pull his socks off, too.
"You're not very good at this one, either," Mikey observed as he scratched Buster behind the ear.
Wilbur gave the boy a 'For real?' look. He shouldn't have been forced to entertain him at all. He had like three brain cells on hand to commit to this. The rest were trying to rally his immune system into high gear.
You know what? To heck with pleasantries, he was going for the jugular.
"Dude, we both know I didn't invite you. So, what's up with you? Why are you here?"
Mikey's eyes widened—drawing Wil's attention to the bags under the brunet's eyes. He might look worse than him, which was saying something, considering how junky Wil was feeling.
Mikey crossed his arms and kicked his legs. "I guess I thought we'd have stuff in common. That you'd understand."
"Like Chargeball?" Wil answered, unconvinced. He stretched without success. He just felt so achey.
"Like our parents."
"Huh?"
"Don't you ever find it hard to deal?"
"..."
"They're so rich and successful and famous. Everybody loves them. Everybody keeps waiting for you to prove yourself. And you can't." Mikey glowered. "It's worse when even they get on your case."
Wilbur drew his knees up under his chin, unsure of what to do now and yet...morbidly interested to hear more. To hear...from someone else who...understood that aspect. Because...that wasn't ever something he could talk about to anybody in his family. They were all too talented to understand the woes of someone who was...average.
Mikey picked at the edge of his seat's cushion. "I'm not athletic, like Dad. I'm not artistic, like Mom. I'm not flashy like my sister, Mackenzie, or popular like my little sister, Molly. I'm just not great at anything, like you."
"...I'm good at...sports," Wilbur argued. As if he wasn't sweating enough before just from being sick...now, he was getting upset and defensive and sweating even more.
"As good as your mom? I saw pictures of her with trophies."
"...well…" No. Not yet. He wasn't good enough at karate those kinds of championships. He tried a different avenue. "...I...invent a little…"
Mikey raised an eyebrow and Wilbur felt his face heat up more and he snapped, "Yeah, I know I'm not in his league."
Wilbur chewed at his chapped lower lip. Lewis had been a whole year younger than him when he came up with the Memory Scanner. What did Wilbur have to show?
"See? Like I said," Mikey insisted. "We've got tons in common. I remember one time with my dad. We ended up spending a whole afternoon out at the pitch and I just couldn't do anything right. Hitting. Catching. Base-running. Nothing. And the way he looked at me and then at the other kids and their d-"
It was the disappointment. It was the sigh. It was the bridge-of-the-nose pinching or temple massaging that hit home just how exhausting dealing with him was. It was the way his parents' eyes would zero in on him when he botched something up again, for the zillionth time in a row.
Distress flashed through him as he remembered incidents that could put Mikey's pitch disaster to shame. Heck, yesterday was yet another prime example in a long list of misadventures. The mortification, combined with his fever, made the room feel even hotter.
Wilbur wiped his nose on his sleeve and fumbled with the remote to change the channel on the televid screen and hopefully change the topic, too.
Mikey's lip curled at Wilbur's choice. "I don't really like historical films."
"But come on, it's vikings, dude!" he laughed weakly and clownishly placed his hands by his head to imitate their winged helmets. "They're awesome! They're brutal! They're surprisingly polite-"
Mikey stilled. Yes. This was it. The slip-up he'd been waiting for.
Wilbur pushed his hands through his sweaty fringe. "They really love their meat-"
He waited with bated breath.
"-but they eat parts of a goat you wouldn't beli-"
Mikey rubbed his hands together.
"-tricked me into eating-"
It was going to happen. It was really going to happen. He felt his breath quicken.
"-kinda liked it. Though if you tell anyone, I'll rearrange your face and-"
"Any souvenirs?" Mikey asked.
"Nah. Dad found me before I could grab anything cool."
"Bummer."
"Totally. He was all on my case 'bout irresponsibility and blah blah blah. Though, that's hardly surprising. He's like the MOST boring-est guy who's ever lived. I remember being like, 'Well, why WOULD you make this if you never planned to USE it?' And he was all, 'For the sake of scientific phenomena,' and I was like, 'Oh, okay, so you did it for your ego!?' Eeeyeah, that one got me into more trouble than the whole stealing it to begin with. Everyone's always like, 'You're soooo lucky to be Dr. Robinson's son' but he can be a total dictator-wet-blanket-dude."
"Sounds like it."
Wilbur stared. "You...you agree with me?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, what else are you gonna do with a time machine but go through time!"
"Yeah!"
"Visiting far off times and places in the past!"
"Yeah!"
"Righting the failures of our fathers and creating better lives for all involved!"
"...yeah?"
"I mean, it's so unfair for him to get all angry at you."
"Yeah!" He nodded. Man, it was so hot in here. He pulled his socks off. "Everybody's always like, 'Oh, it's Dr. Robinson! He's the greatest, smartest man of our time.' And yeah, he is, but...but I'm not allowed to say anything against him. Ever. Lame!"
"It's like that with my dad, too." Mikey leaned forward. "Everybody thinks he's this amazing person. The best thing since sliced bread. And then there's me...and I'm not. And they're always super busy. With events and charities and-"
"...yeah."
"And I hate when they get you all dressed up for some special event and drag you there and then ignore you and if you do anything...anything at all that annoys them they just...give you that look like…"
They can't quite believe they're stuck with you. Wilbur remembered all the times he'd brought home less than stellar grades and the way both his parents would just...stare at the report card.
Both boys were quiet for a moment and tensed when they heard footsteps approaching.
"Hey, kiddo," Cornelius greeted as he set a steaming bowl of soup down in front of Wilbur along with more capsules of aspirin.
Franny gave him a glass of juice. "Here you go, sweetie."
He stuttered a numb "thank you" and kinda expected them to scurry off like they usually did when he had company over. So, it surprised him when both parental units stationed themselves on the couch beside him.
It was...kinda nice...in a bittersweet way to have them both there. Made him feel like they were a united front...though...it meant he and Mikey couldn't talk about parents anymore…and he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.
It was a reprieve...at least for the moment...and it made him feel relieved...kinda.
While the soup cooled a bit, his dad handed him a thermometer.
He set it under his tongue and waited for the beep.
His dad frowned at the reading it gave. "Your engine's still running pretty hot."
Definitely.
His mom fetched a wet washcloth for his forehead and they both encouraged him to rest.
They played with Mikey in Wilbur's stead for the next few hours. And Wilbur had to admit it was pretty refreshing watching Mikey get pawned at Scrabble by his dad.
When Franny left to get them all refreshments, Cornelius checked Wilbur's forehead with his hand and sighed, "It's just not letting you go, sport."
His dad's blue eyes looked awfully worried.
And it touched him...that he could count on that. To think he'd doubted all that the other day. It made him feel so dumb.
Of course he could depend on them.
Even if they were disappointed in him more often than not…
He knew his parents loved him. Which made his earlier complaints to Mikey seem just...downright ungrateful...
Even when he let them down, he knew they still cared.
They cared a lot.
It was obvious.
Even in their freak outs…
Like when Dad took one look at his bare feet and panicked about him being on the path to catching pneumonia and paging Carl to bring him a fresh set of socks.
Mikey hadn't hinted at anything like that underneath his parents' disappointment.
And he could feel something hard in the other boy's eyes as he watched the three of them interact.
Subconsciously, he pressed himself into his dad's side and felt a childish sense of relief when his dad gave him a reassuring squeeze.
"I tucked them both in," Franny replied while she kicked off her heels, let down her hair, and opened her dresser's pajama drawer. It had been a very long day. Mikey was...not used to their kind of home which led to certain clashes. He thought he could bark orders at Carl and Lefty and sometimes even her! Which took a lot of Mom-Zen-Patience to correct.
She didn't think he was a bad child necessarily, but...there were definitely some rough spots his parents needed to work on.
He'd enjoyed their usual dinner food fight but they'd had to be very adamant that while he could throw the food, he could not throw the dishware. They didn't want to hurt anyone.
She'd been very aware of her husband's ice blue eyes during that one—coldly, assessing the boy and tallying one more negative mark against him in that big brain.
From what she'd gleaned, Mikey's parents were away a lot and he was raised almost entirely by house staff.
That explained a lot. It was hard getting Cornelius's sympathy now though, with several strikes against him.
"Mikey's in the guestroom. I left Carl in charge of the hallway. Pookie's still warm, we'll have to take him to the doctor tomorrow. Did you get a hold of Mikey's parents so we can drop him off on the way?"
"I left a message," Cornelius sighed as he was buttoning up his dark blue pajama shirt. "But it's one of those impersonal ones. 'You've reached number blah, blah, blah. Leave a message.'"
"Hmm. That's so weird. They didn't even call to say 'Goodnight' or make sure he was settling in," Franny replied as she slipped into a nightgown and hung her earlier outfit on a hanger.
"Hon," Cornelius looked over at her. "You know we're helicopter parents and we can't fathom not hearing our son's voice at least once during the day. But I hear that their are other families where they-"
"You know you're the helicopter parent," she corrected, giving him a peck on the lips.
"And proud of it."
"I'll make you a badge."
"I look forward to it."
They slipped into bed and Cornelius turned the lights off via a panel on his side of the bed.
"Wow, you're not reading anything?" Franny teased—having long grown used to her husband's way of celebrating the weekend by indulging in a chapter or a magazine article before bed. "You feeling okay?"
"I'm tired," he admitted.
She clucked her tongue and felt concern creep in.
"Don't say it."
"I think you're-"
"Fran-"
"-catching it. And I'm always right-"
He grumbled incoherently and she heard the click of his glasses being set on his bedside table.
"I looove you." She gave him a playful poke in the ribs and he rolled back over so he could wrap an arm around her.
"I love you," he replied seriously, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck and then nuzzling his nose into her hair.
She set her hand on his and sighed happily.
As long as she stocked up on Vitamin C, she could probably withstand a few more cuddles. But the minute he entered the oozing stage, she was going to have to jump ship and escape to a guest room. Illness gave her migraines and migraines and music...not a good combination.
Her husband's breathing began to even out near her ear and the heat of his chest on her back had her entering that warm, hazy stage before sleep.
BAMBAMBAM!
She gasped.
Cornelius immediately sat up, threw off the blankets and clumsily hurried over to the frantic knocking on their bedroom's double doors while Franny stretched across the bed to turn the lights on.
Both adults winced at the bright light.
Cornelius barely finished unlocking the doors when Wilbur burst through. He just managed to bite back a curse as the left door hit his bare toes. "Wilbur, what-"
"-whathewasreallyafterit!whathewasreallyafterit'swhathewasreallyafter. Nowitallmakessense!I'msosorry. Daddaddadmomdad!"
Franny straightened the strap of her nightgown. "Wilbur, baby, did you get into Grandma's coffee patches, again? Those are not for-"
"He took the time machine!" Wilbur blurted in horror. "Mikey stole the time machine!"
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