Disclaimer: I don't own Meet the Robinsons
AN: Allo! Thank you for your reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. Yeah, Mikey's a brat : D Which makes him sooo much fun to write!
Now Onwards!
Chapter 2: But Words Can Never Hurt You…Right?
Cornelius had just finished typing up his report on particle fusion (a very important document, since he was holding a huge press conference the next day where he'd be hosting Globetron and SynTech representatives) when Wilbur entered the office.
He sent a fond smile over at his child that went unnoticed.
He blinked.
The teen was busy staring at the floor.
Cornelius craned a look over his desk's edge…nope…no spills or fallen papers.
When Wil was younger, he enjoyed finding patternts in the flooring or jumping from one tile to another, you know, avoiding "hot lava."
But the boy's eyes weren't tracing the ground beneath them…no…his gaze was just…boring into it.
Mouth down turned…shoulders slumped…eyebrows furrowed…
"Wilbur?" He got up and walked around the desk.
"Hey," Wil mumbled.
"How was practice?"
"…S'alright." The boy shrugged, eyes remaining fixed down.
"Still storming out there?" There was no need to ask that. One wall of Neil's office looked out into the sky where he had a clear view of the turbulent weather—very strange for the season…though not nearly as peculiar as his son's current mood.
"Yeah."
"Mom and I were talking earlier. We're thinking spinach casserole for dinner."
"Yeah, cool…whatever."
Wilbur HATED spinach with a passion. Even at thirteen, he'd hide under the table whenever it was served...or at least until a negotiation. Three bites and then he could eat whatever other course they had.
"Well, my shoes are flattered by the attention, Wil." He wiggled them for extra emphasis, waiting for a laugh that didn't come. "And I'm glad you're ready to give spinach a chance, but how about you tell me about your day?"
Kid must've had a tough practice.
Wilbur shrugged his shoulders. He normally had SOMETHING to say about it. Good, bad, or bizarre.
"You feeling okay, champ?" Cornelius checked for a temperature. "You don't seem warm."
"I'm fiiiine," his son answered irritated, brown eyes finally finding his.
"Then what's wrong, Son?"
The boy flinched a bit and looked back down.
"Did you pull something? Or twist your wrist? Here, let me see?" Cornelius gently took his son's left arm. Wil had fallen on it hard two years ago and ever since it'd been more susceptible to sprains.
Wilbur pulled away. "I'm FINE. I just…had a bad day."
"Yeah?"
Wilbur nodded but didn't elaborate.
Neil sighed. "Where's your mom?"
Franny had driven Wil over so they could beta test Linen XR90. He wanted them to have some fun tonight and test the invention out.
Neil knew he'd be busy all of tomorrow, and likely exhausted by the time the conference was over. And Franny always enjoyed watching her husband work at what he loved. She confided that she especially loved seeing him take Wilbur under wing.
'So adorable. He looks up to you so much. Neil, you know you're his hero, right?'
"Vending machine," Wilbur answered softly.
"Ah, getting a snack?"
"Mmhm."
"Wil? Is everything-"
"Hey, honey!"
"Hey, Fran!" He glanced over his shoulder and found his gorgeous wife sauntering up.
She winked when she noticed his attention and held up her bounty of snacks.
"I got us all a little something." She tossed Cornelius a bag of Ruffle's Cheddar Cheese.
"Heads up, sport!" Neil warned.
Wilbur barely caught his Nacho Cheese Doritos—staring vacantly at them for a solid three beats before joining his mom in the two client seats in front of his dad's desk.
As the inventor sat back down at his desk, he shared a concerned look with his wife.
He raised an eyebrow. Has he been like this since practice?
She gave a slight sharp nod as she opened her Lays Barbecue Flavored Potato Chips. Yes.
They began munching their snacks and sharing their days, while throwing surreptitious glances at their son—hoping he would jump in.
Wilbur's bag remained unopened…he felt far too nauseous to even consider it…
And talking? No chance…talking right now…would make him feel even worse…
Wilbur fell back onto his bed, hands massaging his temples.
LinenXR90 was really coming together. A few more tests and it'd be ready for some serious showcasing.
He should've been thrilled. Mom and Dad certainly were. Apparently, his name would be going down on it alongside Dad's.
Wilbur had found an alternate way to wire and program the drying cycle—more efficient—and voila! Now, he was part of a joint-patent.
Dad was going to show him how all that legal stuff worked next week.
It should've been a moment of triumph…but…
But…
He couldn't stop thinking about earlier.
It had started like any other practice.
Well, besides the fact that he had a killer migraine…which only grew in intensity with each passing hour…
Wilbur had done his stretches, practiced a few pitches and blocks with his teammates, and while on deck for the next open court…Mikey had appeared.
Since their ice cream escapade, he kept showing up each day this week—popping in to talk with Wilbur.
Wil knew his dislike of Mikey was rather unfair. It had less to do with anything he'd said or done, it was more…a feeling.
The fact was, he couldn't help reacting uncomfortably whenever the kid was near.
Being around him was like taking a spoonful of arsenic.
There was such a-a…Wilbur didn't know how to describe it…dark atmosphere? In cartoons, the character would carry around a thundercloud…it always struck Wil as hilarious until now.
He really wanted to cancel their (as his mother referred to it) "play-date" for Saturday…except…
His family seemed thrilled about it…
Uncle Art already had a pizza sensation planned.
Uncle Gaston was eager to show off his cannon.
Aunt Billie had put her "new" train on the track.
And Uncle Joe…was actually going to let him use the T.V. remote…
In short, they were all overjoyed he had a new "little friend."
Mom and Dad had already started piling board games for the boys to play. They were buying snacks and planning trips to the movie store and nearby park.
Dad had brought down PopperXLG, their seasoned Popcorn Popper (withstood the test of time—it was twice Wil's age!)
Yup, Family Robinson was pulling out all the stops.
And he didn't want to let them down…
It's true he didn't invite people over very often…come on, his family was kinda odd (Denture-hunting was a daily sport)…and usually his peers weren't there to see him at all…
He'd had it happen over and over again, classmates faking friendship so they could come over, ditch him, and pester his parents with questions and praise.
That's what you got when you had celebrities for family.
The Chargeball games went on for a long time; his teammates had all been well-matched today (which meant no escape from the dour boy).
Their conversation moved awkwardly through several topics before settling into family—Mr. Robinson in particular.
Mikey seemed very interested in the correlation between his father and his job.
Wil remembered thinking, 'finally, a subject I'm comfortable with!' Come on, this was his father; Wil had known him for his whole life!
Boasting about his Dad was second-nature. The man was amazing!
Mikey had responded, "yeah, your Dad seems really cool."
"He is," Wilbur assured. Duh! He'd invented…like everything! You couldn't go two feet in Todayland without encountering one of his magnificent innovations.
"I mean, on top of all his accomplishments," Mikey replied carelessly, "and busy schedules, he even takes care of YOU."
That struck him as odd…
"Well…yeah…I mean, he's my dad. Of course, he takes care of me..."
"That's what I mean though. He gave you his last name and everything. Real benevolent of him. I mean, for a while, I thought it was just a ploy for humanitarianism. But he really treats you as family."
"Huh?" Something in his gut twisted sickeningly.
"It's really nice of him. You know, especially since you're not his REAL son."
The world stopped turning for a moment, grinding to a screeching halt.
"Wha?"
"It's okay; I won't tell anyone if you're private about it."
"He…he IS my…dad…"
Mikey winked conspiratorially. "Riiight. Got it." He pantomimed zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key, unaware or perhaps uncaring of the torment he'd just unleashed in the boy beside him.
Doubt and fear would keep the young teen up all night contemplating what would happen if that accusation was true…
Cornelius paced and back and forth in his bedroom. His black and white striped pajamas rustling as he moved.
All throughout dinner Wilbur had remained despondent, barely flinching when a bowl of ranch dressing landed on his head…or when its cold contents oozed down his neck and into his t-shirt.
No amount of coercion had helped. He would NOT tell anyone what was bothering him.
And then when Cornelius (at a loss of what more he could do for the evening) had bidden him a warm "goodnight, Son."
Wil just stood there, like a deer in the headlights—he stayed rigid in Neil's bear hug.
It wasn't an 'I'm-too-cool-for-this' maneuver…no…it seemed more like a 'have-you-seen-my-soul?' response.
Very upsetting; he'd never seen his child like that.
Wilbur was such a vibrant, emotional (often dramatic) character that seeing any form of-of apathy in him was highly disconcerting.
Was he injured? Or distressed? Or sick? Or a combination of the three?
"Neil?"
"I'm worried about him." Cornelius sighed, finally sitting down on the foot of their king-size bed.
Franny crawled over to him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I know. He's not acting like himself."
"And he's not talking, Fran. This is Wilbur. Wilbur talks." He ran a fretful hand through his hair. "Wilbur talks a lot."
Franny smiled a bit guiltily into his neck. "He gets that from me."
"He gets that from both of us. He's a loquacious kid. He MUST be upset. But usually we can stumble our way to resolution unless he's embarra—Do you think this has something to do with the glasses? Do you think someone's teasing him?"
"I-I don't know, sweetheart."
"...Maybe I ought to dig out that old invention of mine: ThoughtProcessor5.0 Then we could have an idea what he's-"
"No," his wife interrupted firmly, "you remember how well that turned out with me."
He made a noncommittal sound in his throat. "I DID find out what you were thinking…"
His wife leveled him with a disapproving look.
"…And then some," he admitted.
"No, Cornelius, mind-reading is not the answer here. Honey, we can't force him to talk; we just have to be there for him when he's ready…whenever he's ready."
"But what if he doesn't become ready. What if we're-we're stuck on a repeat! Cosmically doomed to-"
Franny placed two fingers against his lips. "Nobody's doomed." Honestly, father and son were sooo alike sometimes.
It probably didn't help that Cornelius was starting to watch Captain Time Travel episodes with Wil. Undoubtedly, he was suffering first-hand what SHE discovered after three episodes: melodramatic monologues were a contagious side-effect for viewers.
"I don't want these negative feelings festering," he mumbled against her hand. "He was so happy, Fran. This morning he was happy and well-adjusted and hugged me goodbye after breakfast."
"I remember," she replied soothingly, removing her fingers to caress his face. "He's a teenager, honey. Everything is the end of the world, remember?"
He nodded begrudgingly—he'd had a ton of those moments and they both knew it.
"Now, you have a big meeting tomorrow," she reminded him, massaging his shoulders. "And you're going to need your wits against those competitors. You kick their nerd butts while I get to the root of Wil's moodiness. Okay?"
"A sound strategy."
"We'll tackle this together. We're a team, darling."
"What would I do without you?"
"One mystery we'll never know," his wife quipped—knowing full well he'd meant that as a rhetorical question.
Cornelius grinned, pulling her into his lap for a kiss. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he DOES get all the chattiness from you."
She giggled as they climbed into bed and cuddled together under the covers.
"…I'm always right."
5:30 AM found Cornelius L. Robinson rushing around, double and triple-checking his briefcase.
He couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach; they'd be broadcasting the event.
One would think that after years of this, he'd be a master of his nerves, but he still got a little tense every now and then.
A quick glance at the window revealed more overcast weather. Rain pattered softly against the glass…it was so strange.
"Handsome man," Franny assessed as she leaned against their bureau dressed in her house robe and nightgown, hair mussed and eyes still puffy from sleep.
In short…adorable.
He pecked her on the cheek and made to retrieve his briefcase.
"Hold on there." She straightened his collar and fixed his tie (she always did a better job of it than him).
Hand on his tie she tugged him forward, kissing him flush on the mouth.
He sighed contently, resting his forehead against hers.
Brown eyes gazed into blue. "Go get 'em, honey."
He grinned.
Humming happily if off-tune, Cornelius took a travel tube to the entry way—a quick pit-stop by the kitchen for a bagel and he'd be off.
He paused by his reflection in the microwave door, checking his teeth. Looked fine—all systems go.
Setting his briefcase down on the counter while he adjusted his watch and wedding band, he felt his neck hairs suddenly stand on end.
Something was off…
As he straightened his cuff links and suit jacket, he registered what it was.
Background noise…?
It sounded like the opening theme to one of Tallulah's soap operas, "All My Circuits."
The televid was on in the living room…odd…as it was four hours too early for Joe's work out time.
He walked over to investigate and he found his son sitting in the middle of the huge couch sectional, knees tucked up under his chin, arms holding them tight against his chest. His eyes were wide and unblinkingly focused on the tele-screen.
Eep…zombie mode…
He was such a thin child that being all scrunched up made him seem very small and insubstantial.
Vulnerable…
It naturally sparked Cornelius's protective side into high gear; his instincts actively sought out a threat to eliminate.
Already his eyes had scanned the room suspiciously four times—even though he KNEW the alarm system would've alerted him if there'd been an intruder.
He'd thoroughly upgraded the mansion's security since the time travel fiasco. Think about it. One door left open resulted in a stolen time machine and endangered the whole time-space continuum!
And that was on the more positive side of the spectrum of 'Worst-Case Scenarios.'
What if someone far more malicious had slipped in? Someone who could care less about thwarting a young Lewis's potential? Someone who really wanted to ruin Cornelius's life?
Fame and fortune would be utterly worthless in the wake of having his family brutally ripped away from him.
"Son?"
"Oh…h-hello," Wilbur replied, glancing at him wearily. "Y-you're up early…"
There were dark circles around his son's eyes.
"Wil, buddy, you having trouble sleeping?"
There was a glum, embarrassed sort of nod.
"Bad dream?"
Shrug.
"Insomnia?"
Shrug.
"Something fell over in your closet? Because if it did, I'm happy to investigate it for you."
He shook his head.
"Wilbur," he implored, sitting next to him. "I can't help you, if you won't tell me what's wrong."
"…I just can't sleep. I thought…maybe out here…"
"Change of scenery?" Cornelius smiled.
His son nodded hesitantly.
"Sounds like a good hypothesis, but how about we embrace and modify some extraneous variables?"
He reached for the remote sitting on the coffee table and switched it a music station. Soft chimes and harp chords now filtered through the air, replacing the moody undercurrents the T.V. drama had to offer.
Much more soothing.
"There we go."
Cornelius then arranged the pillows more comfortably. Before walking over to the end of the couch and gathering several more blankets.
He returned and began layering them down on the sofa. After smoothing those out, he looked at his boy expectantly.
Wilbur just stared, watching him with some sad expression Neil couldn't place.
"Bedding set…Sedimentary rock all perfect from thousands of years, now where's the fossil?"
It was an old game they'd play whenever Wil was resisting bedtime.
And just like a charm, Wilbur slowly made his way over.
The inventor sighed relieved. Finally! At least a little normalcy.
Cornelius pealed back several blankets and the child slipped between them.
"There he is." Neil pulled the quilts up to his boy's chin. "Gotta tuck him in nice and tight. Don't want him to erode away."
Cornelius gently removed his son's glasses, alarmed by how cold and clammy Wil's skin was.
"You're freezing! H.O.W.I.E, raise thermostat 8 degrees."
"Affirmative," a male electronic voice answered.
Home. Operating. Wireless. Implement. Enterprise: Essentially, it was a house computer that you could order about on trivial tasks: temperature, music, oven prepping, etc.
A simple software system, but that was necessary. Increasing the A.I. capacities of any program or machine had…potential for dangerous consequences.
If a bowler hat could dream of world domination, let's not allow a house to dream period.
Give an inch and they take a mile.
"Are you feeling sick, kiddo?"
"I…I don't feel so good," the boy admitted.
Aha!
"Any aches? Chills? Sore throat?" the blond inquired anxiously, smoothing out the blankets repeatedly.
"My head hurts."
"Here, I'll go grab you some medic-" Slender fingers grabbed his hand.
Cornelius paused, feeling a sudden great heaviness in the atmosphere. It was a crucial moment; he could literally feel it.
"Wilbur?" He knelt beside the couch, taking the smaller hand between both of his. "I'm all ears."
Wilbur swallowed several times before taking a deep shaky breath. "I-you…We…we are-"
"Honey! Don't forget your umbrella-shield!" Franny called from the entry.
The hand darted back beneath the blankets and Cornelius reluctantly stood back up.
"There you are! I'm glad I caught you!" She carried what looked like a simple umbrella but R.I. had improved their design years ago—resonating at just the right frequency to dispel rain away from their perimeter.
She handed him the device with a smile. "Don't want you drown out there. Now, you really better get going before the staff freaks out that you're-Wilbur?" She shuffled over. "Baby, what are you doing up?"
He mumbled something incoherent.
"Wil's coming down with a bug," Cornelius answered.
"Oh no. Aww, sweetie, I'm sorry." She knelt down beside their child pressing a hand to his forehead. "Ooh, you're like an icicle. H.O.W.I.E.? Be a lamb and raise-"
"I already adjusted it."
"Oh?"
"…Yeah, he did…" Wil murmured. "He was gonna grab me some meds too...for my headache."
"Alright, we'll get you set up then. And I'll make you some toast, how's that sound, baby?"
Wilbur nodded.
Cornelius stood by uncertainly, watching them both solemnly. He needed to leave right now, if he wanted to get to work on time. Whenever big events were planned, he made it a point for the staff to arrive early for the set up.
His watch's timer began beeping, and he swiftly shut it off. He needed to leave RIGHT now.
Franny braved a smile. "I'll stay with him. We'll just take it easy today."
His son continued staring at him morosely…so quiet and withdrawn and sad…
Stupid meeting, Cornelius didn't want to go. Publicly debating the pros and cons of fusion-powered subway systems for a bunch of rabid journalists…tch…a complete waste of his time.
But his staff needed him…sometimes being the head of the company was a real pain in the…
"I'll be home by seven tonight," the inventor stated, pecking his wife on the lips.
He leaned over and kissed the top of Wil's head. "Hope you feel better, buddy."
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