Invisible Sun

A/N Aneko-Kitana has delivered some adorable and outstanding artwork for this story. The link to her deviantART site is on my profile, and the sketches are in her scrapbook. Check 'em out!

MollytheWanderer as written a very charming companion to this called No Cake Please. It deals with Dexter trying to deal with his birtday. It's posted here on FFN and it is most definitely worth checking out!

Chapter Eight: Blue to Green

"Hello-ooo!"

"Hello. This is Professor Utonium. I'm Dexter's friend from Townsville."

"Oh, hi!"

"Is this DeeDee?"

"Yup!"

"I thought I recognized your voice. You're just the person I wanted to talk to."

"Really? Me? What do you want to talk about? Did Dexter tell you about the new dance I'm learning for my recital?"

"Um, no, he didn't but I'll be sure to ask him to tell me. I actually wanted to ask you about your brother."

"Is he in trouble? Do you want to talk to him? He's in his lab right now."

"No, I wanted to talk to you. You see last week when he came to visit he seemed quieter than usual. We couldn't get him to tell us what was wrong, but I think something upset him."

"Oh, he always gets the blues like that on his birthday. I think he's given up on them ever being a nice day. Mom and Dad almost always get him the completely wrong thing."

"His birthday? When was that?"

"The 21st. He's eleven now."

"Oh. I see. I didn't know that. What did you get him, DeeDee?"

"Sheet music."

"Sheet music?"

"Yeah. He wrote down exactly what he wanted and where to get it, so I got it. It was easy. Something by a guy named after a pickle. Gherkin or some other."

"Gershwin?"

"That sounds close. It was something like, Wrapped in Blue."

"Rhapsody in Blue, I think. So Dexter's a musician?"

"Yeah. He plays the piano. Didn't you know? He didn't want to, but Mom got him lessons when he turned eight. That was a bad year for his birthday. He asked for some brushes to clean his telescope and instead he got piano lessons."

"I . . . can imagine it made an impression."

"But he's really good. I mean really, really good. After a year or so he was a lot better than any of his teachers, so he wouldn't go back. Sometimes when he's in a good mood he'll play for me so I can practice ballet."

"Do you know what he asked your parents to get him for his birthday?"

"Yeah. Now this was weird, even for my little brother. He asked for Principle Newton's math book."

"Um . . . could he have meant The Principia Mathematica by Sir Isaac Newton?"

"Uh, maybe. Yeah. That sounds better. I don't think Principle Newton takes math anymore."

"Do you know if your parents got it for him?"

"Mom tried, but she couldn't find it at the bookstore in the mall, so she got him another pair of those crazy boots he likes so much for in the lab and a gift certificate to the mall instead. I told her to get the boots because he was saying his other ones were dirty. Well, actually he said fuzzy, but they didn't look fuzzy when I saw them. He gets a little wound up about dirt now and then, but he was glad for the boots even though I think he wanted the book more."

"Yes, my girls noticed the boots."

"I think he burned the old ones in his reactor. He gave the certificate to me and told me to get another Pony Puff Princess figurine because he hates the mall so much he won't go. There's a special edition Fairy Princess Pony that's come out and I can't wait to get it. It's got all these crystal beads and -"

"I'm sorry, DeeDee, but . . . did Dexter have a party?"

"No. He doesn't like them very much and he didn't want one. Mom asked. He hasn't got many friends and a lot of kids from school are away on vacation now anyway. We had cake and ice cream and a barbecue and then he went back to his lab to work on some generator-thing he needs for his next project."

"I see. Can I ask you to do something for me?"

"Sure!"

"Please don't tell Dexter that we spoke. I was concerned for him because he was so quiet last week and I don't want him to think I was prying into his personal business. Can you do that?"

"I won't tell anyone, Professor!"

"Thank you. I appreciate it. And I'll be sure to ask after your dance."

"Okay! Call again! B'bye!"

Utonium hung up the phone. So that was DeeDee. Dexter spoke of her with the typical contempt of a younger brother, but plainly they were devoted to one another. He sighed, wishing he had known about Dexter's birthday. His daughters' voices reached him from where they were playing outside and he thought back on their birthday celebrations. The girls were popular not just for their abilities but for whom they were, and they celebrated in grand style. He couldn't imagine not making some sort of fuss over them.

The more he knew of Dexter, the more he understood – or at least thought he understood. The arrogance, the aloofness was a defensive move, whether Dexter realized it or not. Though calculated to protect him from being harmed, he was only a child and there were chinks in his armor. That he had so few friends was obvious, but it was equally obvious that being used to isolation, he did not really know how to reach out for support. Had he been so alone his whole life?

He walked to the window and leaned against the frame as he watched his daughters play a game of catch in midair. They were laughing and teasing one another, enjoying the day and the camaraderie they shared. So bright. So beautiful. He had done so well.

What then of Dexter's parents? Utonium suspected that when he finally met them he would find affectionate and bland parents that were grossly outclassed by the blazing intellect they had produced. People of average intelligence and aspirations, perfectly normal, perfectly respectable, and completely out of their league when it came to dealing with a child that was anything but typical. He felt for them . . . almost as much as he envied them.

He watched as Bubbles twisted and whipped the ball to Buttercup. With a shout of, "That all you got, Powderpuff?" Buttercup threw it back and ratcheted the game up a notch. He smiled, grateful once again that she had avoided summer school.

Something about Dexter appealed to all three of his daughters, and he was mildly surprised that they had not wearied of his company or ever complained about his frequent visits. It probably helped that Dexter spent as much time in the lab with Utonium as he did with the girls, and that Utonium treated the boy with the respect he deserved. It was a pleasure to be able to discuss and debate science with a peer, young though he may be, and for all his quirks (or in part because of them), Utonium found Dexter uncommonly good company and he looked forward to time spent with the boy in and out of his lab. There were also the facts that he filled a brotherly role for the girls and he intrigued them utterly.

For Buttercup, Dexter was a challenge. She thought he was wonderfully boring and in desperate need of instructions on kicking back and enjoying life more. Since he had taught her math, she was determined to teach him how to loosen up. Blossom enjoyed his conversation, and they could talk for hours on end about literature and history and natural science. Utonium suspected that Dexter's intelligence intimidated her a little bit, but in a way that made her read more in order to be able to deepen their discussions. As for Bubbles, the sweetest of his daughters managed to bring out the inherent kindness of the boy. He seemed to surprise himself – but not her – at the extent of his own desire to please them.

And he did please them. He delighted and entertained them. He made them laugh - intentionally or not - and they in turn liked to make him laugh. They admired his inventive streak and his genius even when they had no idea of what he was talking about, and they thought his accent was nothing short of smashing. The girls were always happy to show him off to anyone, and more than once Bubbles had asked the Professor if they could simply keep him. If only it was that simply he would have gladly complied.

The capacity for love was clearly there. What, then, of Dexter's opportunities to express it?

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Professor . . ."

It was not an antique. It was not a particularly attractive copy of the famous book. But it had come from Utonium's own library, handed down through three generations of college professors. His own calculus teacher had been presented with the book from his instructor's collection when he graduated, and so it passed to Utonium when he graduated with his Master's degree. The slightly worn, leather-bound copy of Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica by Sir Isaac Newton filled Dexter's small hands, and he read the successions of inscriptions inside the front cover with unmistakable awe and satisfaction at seeing his own name at the end of the list. Closing it, he laid his palm on the cover with reverence, as much for the knowledge contained therein as for the sentimental value attached to the giving. He looked up, blinking rapidly and softly he said,

"Thank you, sir."

Utonium smiled, sensing his great emotion. "Happy birthday, Dexter."

"How did you know?"

He could not deceive him. "I spoke to DeeDee when you were so down last week."

A wry little smile touched his lips at what must have been revealed and he fondly said, "She is a good sister."

"Yeah, well, so are we," said Buttercup defensively, interrupting the moment in her usual brash way. Flanked by her sisters, she thrust their present at him. "Here! Open it up! And stop keeping important stuff like this from us!"

Confused, Dexter gave her the frown she expected and tore open the wrapping, also as expected. He opened his mouth in surprise, and then let out a little sigh midway between pleasure and surrender as he paged through the books of piano music.

"She had to tell you."

"Well, it's pretty obvious you sure weren't gonna say anything!" accused Buttercup. "Do you know how cool it is that you can play piano?"

"No," he replied, in a tone calculated to get her wound up. "Tell me."

"Argh!" she cried, tempted to strangle him for his own good. "It's wicked cool! You need to get a keyboard so we can have a jam session!"

Bubbles and Blossom laughed, and Blossom reached forward and moved one of the slim books to the top of the stack.

"I picked this one out. I've heard it before and I really liked it. I thought you might, too."

"The Firebird Suite by Stravinsky. Oh, thank you, Blossom."

"We don't have a piano," said Bubbles, "but Mrs. Martin across the street does and she said you could use it. So if you ever feel like playing while you're visiting . . ."

He smiled, and quietly promised, "I will play for you."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Hey, Red, ain't it a bit hot for gloves?"

Dexter lifted his nose out of the Principia Mathematica. He was seated on the front step of the Utonium house, waiting for the girls to get back from the harbor. They had left an hour ago to help with a fire that broke out on a cargo ship. The Professor was busy transcribing some barely-legible notes he'd taken in the midst of his latest experiment in genetics. Hearing the man growl in annoyance and frustration as he chewed on his pipe and glared at his own handwriting, Dexter had decided a hasty retreat was the wisest course of action and left him to his deciphering in his basement lab. Dexter wasn't sure if it was aggravation at his own poor writing or anxiety over his daughters off fighting infernos, but undoubtedly a wide berth was called for at the moment. Besides, the lure of Newton was too tempting to disregard and he was perfectly happy to gloat over his birthday present in peace. He'd sat up a good part of the night with the intent to read it, but mostly he had stared at the writing and dates on the inside cover. A first edition copy of the book could not have pleased him half so well as this hand-me-down from a succession of learned men.

But now . . .

He was faced by a green-skinned, greasy-haired, sharp-featured, rather tubular teenager with beady eyes and a conniving air. He stood just a few paces away on the lawn, leering at him the way a snake looks at a mouse. Dexter gave him a hard look before snapping, "Not in my line of work."

Closing the book, he stood, fully intending to enter the house and lock the door before alerting the Professor that there was someone green in the front yard. He had no sooner stood, though, when the teen shoved him right back down by sheer force. Dexter hit the step, falling to his side, and he could see now that his attacker wasn't alone.

Either they were all related or they all grew up drinking the same tainted water, because the other four misfits behind the tubular boy were just as green, greasy, and twisted. Even throwing Fuzzy Lumpkins into the mix, they were the strangest assortment of humanoids Dexter had ever seen. They ranged in appearance from squat to hulking with a grotesque thrown in the mix. Wonderful. A matched set of bullies.

Well. Bullies he could deal with. Grade school had been good for one thing, at least. He might not be able to handle so many at once, but he could deal with them.

"Oh, Snake, he fell down!" said an oily voice. "Help him up!"

He was yanked upright roughly, only to be thrust right back down. The book fell from his hand at the impact.

"Get your hands off of me!" he snapped. "Get off this property!"

"Feisty," said the oily voice. The speaker was as close to normal-looking as this crew got, a tall, shaggy-haired youth with dark sunglasses and a flip attitude. He stood next to Dexter's attacker, looking down with amusement and a superior smirk, and scooped up the book.

"Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica," he slowly read, massacring the Latin. "Hmm. I didn't think she'd go for the brainy type."

"And short, too," added the little green sprout, looking Dexter over with interest. He had a heavy Latino accent that Dexter could barely follow.

"She . . . ? Oh, not you, too!" muttered Dexter. Did all of Townsville think he and Buttercup were an item? He slapped the boy's hands away from him, revolted by his cold touch. "Unhand that book!"

The shaggy-haired teenager - plainly the leader of this troop of miscreants - laughed. He dangled the book overhead, mocking and teasing. "Unhand? Oh, that's great!"

The others hesitantly laughed. If Dexter had no concern for his birthday gift he would have fought to get to the front door, but the sight of the Professor's book in the possession of this thug made Dexter's stomach twist with sickening dread. No good could come of this situation unless the girls got home right now or the Professor chose this moment to come looking for him.

Please, Professor . . .

The hulking brute and the grotesque drew closer, cutting off any escape save a retreat, and the boy named Snake was still too close to him for Dexter to reach and open the door. Dexter got to his feet, fixing his glasses as he did so, and then he stood there, waiting to see what they intended to do.

When it became apparent that he wasn't going to play their games the leader laughed as if he wasn't fooled by the way Dexter ignored his hectoring. It was obvious he wasn't used to having anyone stand up to him, and he masked his unease in even heavier-handed tactics.

"So what does Buttercup see in you, Red?" he asked, producing amused laughs from his gang. He flicked his wrist and landed a sharp little hit on Dexter's cheek. "She think you're funny? Or does she just like your for your brain? Sure ain't for looks!"

"Or height!" added the midget, who seemed obsessed.

He did not care what they said about him - nothing they could say about his appearance or size would be anything he had not heard before - but to hear his friend so maligned was almost enough to set Dexter over the edge. By sheer force of will he kept himself from lashing out physically or verbally. It would not help to let this hooligan know he had touched on a vulnerable spot by dragging the Powerpuff Girls into this, and so he waited to see what they would do and looked for his chance to bolt.

Another slap. He rolled with the blow, lessening its effect with the motion. Amused, the leader stuck again, and again, and Dexter let himself be driven back.

He whirled, lunging for the front door of the Utonium house. His hand closed on the knob. "Prof-"

A cold hand clamped over his mouth, cutting off his cry, as his hands were knocked away from the door. Dexter bit the offending gag as he was seized bodily around the waist. His attack had no effect save to produce a hiss from Snake - instead the hand shifted to cover his nose as well, cutting off his air. He was dragged kicking and struggling from the front step. Desperately, he clawed at the hand across his face but he was too small to have any effect on Snake's grip. His vision was growing black at the edges. Panicked, he did the only thing he could think of - he swiped at his glasses, knocking them from his face and into the grass. If they were found the Utoniums would know something was amiss.

He heard jeering, nervous laughter, and then darkness ovewhelmed him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Finally. He was done. Utonium sighed, annoyed with himself. It had taken forever to transcribe these notes into something legible. He knew better than to drink anything stronger than lemonade when he was taking notes. Had long nights and early mornings in college not taught him anything? A glance at the clock made him do a double-take. It was past three in the afternoon. Had the girls come home? Surely they would have announced their presence. And where was Dexter?

The Professor remembered the boy's expression when he had started in on the notes and he realized he must have chased him off with his surly attack on the notes. He hoped Dexter had sense enough to have eaten lunch, but somehow he doubted it. In no mood to cook, Utonium was taking the children for pizza tonight and he was looking forward to asking Dexter what he thought of the book. This morning he had found the boy asleep with the book on his chest and the light still on. He was delighted that Dexter was so pleased with so simple a gesture, and Utonium derived a certain satisfaction out of being able to give him exactly what he wanted most for his birthday.

Upstairs the house was quiet, so he knew the girls couldn't be home. They would be exhausted when they got back. Fighting fires in this heat? Perhaps he'd order in instead . . .

"Dexter?"

No answer. No dishes or cups were in the dish washer, so he certainly hadn't eaten. That came as no surprise. He had never known a boy that ate less than this one, to the point where it was cause for concern. Utonium checked the back yard just in case. Dexter rarely went outside of his own accord and the yard was empty.

"Dexter?"

He walked through the house, checking each room, even the girls' room though Dexter would not venture in there unless dragged. Office, bedroom, bathroom, library - all empty.

"Dexter?"

A twinge of worry seized him. Hurrying down the stairs, Utonium paused when he saw the front door was not closed all the way. Quickly he opened the door, fully expecting to find the redhead sitting on the step and melting in the sun from his too-heavy clothes, too absorbed in his book to move, and burned to a crisp.

"There you - aren't," he finished in disappointment.

No Dexter. No note. No nothing.

No book, either, he noticed. Perhaps he'd gone for a walk? Utonium felt a pang of guilt. Had he been such a bear this morning?

A glint caught his eye, a shiny reflection in the grass. Hurrying over, Utonium felt a chill spread through him colder than a January frost as he lifted Dexter's glasses. Instantly he knew something terrible had happened. Without these, Dexter was practically blind. He'd never just leave them behind.

Clutching the glasses, he looked around, studying the lawn. The grass was in need of mowing as always, but for once he was glad he hadn't gotten to it because now that he was looking he could clearly see a number of trails from the street and driveway angled toward the front of the house. Keeping to the walkway, he went to the street, staring at the gravel in the road. He could see three sets of shoe marks in the grit that lined up with the paths on his lawn.

He forced himself to take a deep breath to quell the panic building inside. Had Dexter been kidnapped? Why else would he drop his glasses? They knew he had been targeted by the criminal element of Townsville - why hadn't he thought to tell him not to go outside alone? Utonium looked across the street at Mrs. Martin's house. She was the single nosiest person on the planet and kept a constant vigil on the neighborhood. Most of the time Utonium dismissed her as a harmless busybody, but right now she was his best hope. If anyone had seen anything, it was she.

Moments later she answered to his pounding on her front door. Before he could ask the elderly widow gave him a disappointed look and crossly demanded, "High time you showed up, young man! Don't you answer your phone anymore? And who are all those seasick boys that were at your house?"