Disclaimer: I do NOT own Meet the Robinsons. Or references to various stuff like Star Trek or badly punned medicines and soap operas. :D
AN: Allo! Thank you for your reviews! Hope you enjoy this next chapter! :D
Huzzah for Wilbur angst, jumping to conclusions, and parental concern!
The drama continues!
Chapter 3: Doubt
R.I's staff had been running around frantically since 6 AM—filing reports, reciting speeches, running through projector pieces, moving hazardous experiments and substances to the lowest sub-levels, staging the lobby where the debate would take place.
A.k.a. working their butts off to iron out any last-minute kinks.
Keeping R.I. in tiptop shape could be stressful even on the smoothest running days, so it definitely didn't help that twelve people called in sick, the floor waxing machine was malfunctioning again (leaving large wax puddles which everyone was slipping in), two interns dropped four carts' worth of brand-new glass beakers, and, for some reason, the fire sprinklers in Lab 4 had gotten triggered and no one could shut them off.
In short, there were countless catastrophes which needed cleaning up immediately before they could be opened to the public—or lawsuits would definitely be in effect before 5 PM.
And that wasn't even the worst part!
Their boss…was in a particularly surly mood—prone to snapping over the most trivial of things.
Thus, veteran workers split in pursuit of "Important Tasks" whenever he entered the room, leaving the interns to take the brunt of his ill mood today.
Finally, Alice (who'd worked for the company for ages and took pity on a teen who was getting chewed out for stacking crates incorrectly) abruptly confronted him, "alright Neil, what's wrong with the chick-a-dee?"
Cornelius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's sick."
The chubby woman tutted sympathetically, "poor thing, there's a virus going around."
Her boss nodded miserably as he ran a hand through his hair.
Confident that she had his attention, Alice made a discreet shooing motion which the intern swiftly heeded, sprinting out of the room—like a little mouse escaping the cat.
"He's usually so healthy," the inventor stated. "But whenever he's hit, he falls hard. And I worry about all the medications; I don't like too many chemicals running through him. He's got my tolerance to them…nonexistent. Which means he'll be loopy and confused and ugh!"
"We've still got another two hours before show time; you want to go make a call?"
"…Yeah."
"Well then, hop to it, and tell Wil I'm hoping he gets better soon."
"Thanks, Al."
"How's he holding up?" Cornelius asked anxiously—watching his wife's face on the Tele-tron Monitor.
She wore no make-up, her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and she was dressed in jogger pants and a t-shirt.
Mom-On-The-Job attire.
He knew his child had been left in very capable hands…but he couldn't help worrying. Other parents might scoff at the common cold, Cornelius regarded it very seriously.
He'd always remember Wil's infancy where he caught a bad flu bug and stopped eating—had to spend three whole days in the hospital. Very scary. Mom and Dad never left his side.
"-Very groggy and congested. Not too hungry, but I did get him to eat," Franny answered promptly, knowing how her husband took comfort in facts.
Her husband nodded attentively as she continued.
"He's holding down breakfast and lunch well. Toast at 6 AM and a plain turkey sandwich at noon. Been drinking lots of juice and water. I think if he rests, he'll be back on his feet by Sunday. I've already called his coach and told him Wil won't be coming today. No problems there."
"Good, I'll swing by the store on my way home and grab some soup."
"Poor baby, he's not going to be able to play tomorrow." Franny sighed; it'd have been so nice to have the family meet his little friend.
"Do you have Mikey's phone number? We'll need to call his parents to cancel it."
"I'll ask Wilbur later, he's sleeping right now."
Cornelius sighed with relief. "Good, I think he's been staying up late again. I keep telling him how crucial sleep is for boys his age, but-"
"I know, Dr. Dad." Franny smiled fondly. "And I'll give you free reign to lecture away the moment he feels better."
Cornelius frowned. "I don't enjoy lecturing."
"Of course not, darling."
"…I hate seeing him sick."
She glanced back at the couch where Wilbur tossed and turned, sleeping fitfully.
"I know, honey, me too."
"Dad?" Wilbur absently kicked his feet on the cabinet beneath the counter he was sitting on.
"Dad?" he repeated as he watched the inventor hunch over his latest metal monstrosity.
"Daaaaaaaaad."
"Stop that."
Wilbur blinked, caught off-guard by the harsh command. Usually, he received a "just a minute" or a "yeeeeeesss?" or a "Wiiiiiiiiil."
"…Too loud?" the boy murmured.
"Yes, and besides that fact, it's incorrect."
"Huh?"
His father sighed exasperated. "We've…been meaning to tell you, Wilbur…I'm NOT your biological father."
Stated so easily…like he was commenting on the weather…as though his casual dismissal of the foundation of Wil's existence wasn't shattering their universe into pieces…
"Wha-whaddya mean?"
"I'm not your dad," Cornelius repeated, resuming his work.
"…No…no you-you HAVE to be my dad. You…you've always-I-I always-we-we're-"
"You are NOT my son. I know you're not the brightest crayon in the box, but I think you'd have realized it by now. We are NOTHING alike. We LOOK nothing alike. We HAVE nothing in common."
Shocked silence ensued.
"I'm busy right now; please go play with your little toys."
Wilbur slid off the counter, feeling numb, unbelieving, devastated…
As he trudged to the door, he overheard his father muttering, "think he'd be grateful but oh noooo-"
"Dad…" He clipped the doorway, staggering under the weight of it all.
"Never appreciates how I have more important things that I could be-"
"…Dad…?"
"…Such a nuisance…"
"Daddy, please don't say-"
Something cold and wet landed on his face and Wilbur awoke with a start.
"Sorry, baby, are you okay?" his mother asked, crouched beside him.
He breathed in and out rapidly, as he tried to focus on her.
A dream. Just a bad dream…it didn't mean anything…hopefully.
Franny smiled. "You were getting a little warm, so I thought that would help."
Wilbur reached up with trembling fingers and felt a washrag on his forehead.
"What's the matter, sweetie, did you have a bad dream?"
He nodded.
"I'm sorry, want to tell me about it?"
She leaned against the couch, one soft hand petting his hair as the other smoothed out his twisted blankets.
He opened his mouth but nothing came out—it was like all of his words were stuck in his throat. And he couldn't share them or swallow them or anything.
It was made all the more painful as yet another cruel possibility filtered through his mind…
"You know…especially since you're not his REAL son"
Did he even know if he was hers?
Carl brought him down some comic books to read while Mom gave him another dose of sinus medicine and some Tylenol.
He supposed they were helping his symptoms but…but whenever his eyes moved too fast or he changed position suddenly, dizziness set in.
He watched Carl arrange the stack based on consecutive numbering by issue.
Brilliance struck.
Carl was a robot AND family and had been around for YEARS. Great memory capabilities. If anyone knew things for sure, it was him.
But how would he feel being told upfront by a robot…cold hard facts… 'Sorry, little buddy, they were going to tell you when you turned sixteen.'
Could he handle that?
"C-c-carl?"
"You got the chills again, little buddy?" The robot tucked the blankets around his charge more securely.
No. I got the fear of uncertainty. Best to do some subtle detective work…
"Carl…can I see the photo albums? Volumes 3 and 4?"
Flipping through pages of memories, Wil searched meticulously for any clue while dread filled his gut.
He WAS a Robinson, right? Right?
There were teenager snap shots of his parents; all nervous smiles and tentative hand-holding.
Followed by tons of mushy newlywed poses in their early adulthood...sheesh, they couldn't keep their hands off each other or be farther than four inches away...
They seemed to love each other…
"Hey sweetie, whatcha looking at?"
"Gah!" He dropped the album. "Bub!"
Franny grimaced. Oooh, that congestion was really taking its toll. All his m's had transformed into b's.
She picked up the album and sat beside her son, opening it up at the middle.
Her eyebrows rose in surprise as she gazed down at her wedding photos, was this it? Was this the day Wilbur wanted to talk about romance? Yes! She'd been waiting for ages to share their love-story.
"I had a question," he sniffled.
"Uh huh?" She smiled, handing him a tissue—waiting for a confession of 'there's a girl in my class and she's kinda…cool.'
"You and Dad were happy, right?" He motioned to the picture where a young Cornelius and Franny beamed at the camera in their tux and gown. Assuming they loved each other. Assuming Wilbur was AT LEAST Franny's son. Assuming that HAPPY couples didn't HAVE affairs.
He gritted his teeth apprehensively.
Her head tilted in confusion. "Honey, we're still happy. Happier actually."
"People say barriage kinda ya know…kills that happy stuff."
Franny frowned. "Nonono. Marriage isn't what does that-it's-well it IS a relationship. And of course no relationship is perfect-"
At her son's shocked expression, she gently explained, "even your father and I have our disputes. But we love each other and are ready to work through any challenges we face—together."
He nodded slowly, still a bit stunned. He didn't think his parents ever really fought...or so he hoped…challenges, huh? Was he one of those challenges?
"So yes. Some parts are a little rough. My way or the highway doesn't cut it anymore. You'll have to change your perspectives, problem-solving strategies, and communication skills from when you were single; because now there are two of you and no mind-reading…usually," she added under her breath.
At her son's wide-eyed stare, she continued a bit more delicately in a more optimistic direction. (He was too young to fully grasp all of this. You had to WORK at Happily Ever After.)
"What I'm trying to say is being married does NOT 'kill happiness.' No, no, no. You have someone to share your life with! New adventures, sweetheart, ones so great and challenging that you NEED your soulmate present. It's a wonderful blessing."
She flipped back and forth through the pages reminiscing aloud for her son's benefit. He needed examples:
Adding another wing to the Robinson House and all the construction chaos that followed, Tallulah's birth, Franny's first international concert, Gaston retiring from the circus after a bad cannon misfire.
"Robinson Industries' 6th Anniversary," Franny noted. Goodness, she and Neil looked so young! "You, your father, and I spent the whole day talking to reporters and posing for cameras."
Wilbur blinked in surprise, searching the photo and finding nothing; every nook, every cranny, every corner to no avail.
"I'b not there," he stated contritely.
"Oh yes, you are," she trilled sing-song back to him.
He raised an eyebrow, not amused.
Franny smiled and tapped the photo—finger resting on her younger self's slim waist, "Somebody found out he was a daddy that night!"
Franny sighed as she stood in the kitchen arranging their family box of medicine before she put it back into the cupboard.
It was a very odd conversation.
Asking if his parents were happy in their marriage…
Then regarding her pregnancy with him so uncertainly...
It almost seemed like Wilbur doubted his origins.
Ridiculous. The resemblance between mother and son was uncanny! He was like a male-versioned carbon copy of herself.
She shook her head. That boy. He'd been watching too many soap opera dramas. Next, he'll be asking if they're sure the hospital gave them the right baby to take home.
"Hey Aunt Franny, got a cold?" Tallulah asked, leaning against the door frame.
"It's Wilbur. He's not feeling too good."
"Drats."
Franny raised an eyebrow. "What can I do for you?"
"Oh well." The red-headed teen fidgeted. "Tommy's 'sposed ta call me today. I was hopin' to recruit Wil to help me screen the phone lines. Laz is being a pain lately and keeps hangin' up on whoever's askin' for me. Ugh, brothers."
Franny felt her lips twitch in amusement. Oh the stories she could tell about her overprotective siblings.
"Well, I'm afraid you'll be flying solo. Willy's down for the count."
Tallulah nodded, offered a quick "hope he gets better" and was about to saunter away when-
"Tallulah?" Franny asked—a sudden suspicion snaking through her mind.
"Yeah?"
"You don't let Wilbur watch 'All My Circuits' do you?"
The girl cringed guiltily. "Eh…sometimes I'm watching it while he's doin' homework and stuff."
"You DO tell him how unlikely all that stuff is, right?"
"…Eeeyeah."
"He's very impressionable, Lulu."
The fashionista nodded, nervously straightening the Saturn styled ring belt of her teal dress.
Franny pursed her lips discontentedly. Well, that answered one question.
She and Neil were going to have yet another long conversation with their son about tele-vid and reality.
"Ummm." Tallulah bit her lip. "Uh, what parts was he talkin' about?"
"What part are you thinking about?"
The redhead flushed as bright as her hair.
"Lulu! You let him watch that stuff!?"
"No! I change the channel when it's gettin' fresh with the PG 13 rating! It's just…well he's a smart cookie, Auntie. I think he puts two and two together. 'Specially since David's been flirty with Amy since Tabitha was attacked by the crocodile—they're always gettin' all gooey with each other in elevators and stuff. Even with Amy gettin' married to Teddy, they're all clingy and now that baby Edgar's in the picture and the whole 'who's the father' arc has started-"
"I'm setting a parental block."
"Heh…eyeah…that'd prob'ly be best, huh?"
"Yep."
The teen sighed. Now, she was going to have to ask Marcia to start recording the series for her.
Time to leave, before Franny asked about any other shows. If her Aunt blocked 'Cyber Date-a' she'd never survive.
"Well…uh…Hope Wil shows that cold who's boss…Oh! And whatever you do, don't give him Cleartron X."
"…Why?"
"That stuff's uber strong and I'm pretty resilient. I swear, one pill and I was bouncin' off the walls with it. Totally loopy!" she called over her shoulder as she sauntered away.
Franny stared at the box of capsules in her hand.
She'd already given him two.
Well, he was definitely his mom's son.
There was enough evidence for that
If all the photos of nine-month-ed glory hadn't been enough, his mother happily and graphically informed him how dear he was.
33 hours of labor…ouch…that was REAL LOVE.
Heh, heh.
Love. Love. Love.
His head swam as he moved, lugging the photo album back to his parents' bedroom retreat. They had a special shelf where they kept all their memorabilia.
Lots and lots and LOTS of pictures of their family decorated the hallway he was traversing. Lots of the three of them…which made sense…this was their wing…
They were happy weren't they? All of their faces were smiling, right?
He tried to take a corner too fast and promptly tripped.
"Whoa there, buddy!" Carl's extendable arms grabbed him securely, saving his face from an intimate meeting with the carpet.
A photo had slipped out during the action; Wil picked it up curiously, turning it over; a tall, dark eyed, dark-haired man in a dapper suit smiled handsomely up at him with one arm wrapped around Franny.
"Who is this?"
Carl's LED eyes scanned it. "Oh, that's Dr. Calvin Isaacs C.E.O. of SynTech, he-"
Wilbur glanced at the photo, confused. The man was holding her pretty snug into his side…almost as if…
"He…knew Bub?"
"Had a real soft spot for Franny," Carl replied easily, "helped her out a lot with her frogs when she was first starting out. Real friendly-"
"Oh…" His spirits plummeted.
"Yeah, but Franny's heart always belonged to your D-"
"…Not his REAL son..."
"Kind of a scandal for a while-"
Maybe he wasn't!
"-She was happily married but he-"
The young teen glanced at the man sizing him up, comparing, wondering…
"-Finally backed off once you were in the pict-"
He HAD to know.
"Guess he took the hint! Sheesh some people have to have it spelled out for-"
The album hit the floor, photos scattering out.
Wilbur blinked confusedly at the mess, while Carl watched him wearily.
All the blood had drained from the boy's face. He looked ready to keel over.
"Buddy? Maybe you should go lie down; I'll take care of this," the golden robot assured him.
Wilbur stared at him—brown eyes wide in his pale face, before muttering a breathy, "kay."
Thoughts looped around his head at record speed. He was drowning in maybe's.
His shoulder bumped the door frame hard as he staggered to his bedroom.
A tiny voice whispered soothingly in the back of his mind about 'double recessive alleles' and 'you're overreacting. Take a breath and relax.'
But if Dad wasn't DAD then-then-everything he knew was-
He laughed suddenly—the stress getting to him—she's breakin' up, Captain!
He snickered, well on the bright side, if Cornelius wasn't his dad, well, he wouldn't be the boss of him anymore!
No more lectures! No more 'don't-talk-to-me-that-way-I'm-your-father-young-man' admonishments! No more 'when-I-was-your-age-I-listened-to-my-parents' spiels.
Nope! No more agonizing over perfect Father's Day presents! No more feeling dumb because he wasn't like his father. No more comparisons.
No more…no more Father-Son bonding adventures. No more tucking him in or attending his Chargeball games. No more calling for Dad when he got into sticky situations or had a bad dream or there was something lurking outside his window. No more being called 'Son.'
He laughed again, choking a bit as his throat closed up. To think, the man who raised him wasn't his actual-
WAIT! He didn't actually KNOW that yet. YET.
And what was HE getting all upset about? He shouldn't be sad. He should be angry!
And if this all WAS a lie-a-a-trick, then Wilbur DESERVED to know. He deserved to know RIGHT now.
RIGHT NOW!
Brilliant plan! It was like a light bulb had suddenly flashed on in his head.
He'd. Just. Ask!
Yeah!
The room spun dizzyingly as he wiped sweat from his forehead.
Yeah, to heck with all this uncertainty.
He pulled on his discarded jeans from yesterday and walked past his desk where his earpiece sat on its charging station.
Yeah, he'd totally just come out with it upfront and Dad would tell him!
He started laughing some more.
Dude, it was soooo simple.
Why didn't he do this earlier?
O-kay!
He glanced outside his window where a torrential downpour was taking place.
Hmm. Kinda rainy. All the mud and puddles would squish between his toes.
He shook his head vigorously. Silly boy! That's what he had shoes for!
He pushed his window up, the icy breeze feeling nice on his flushed face.
R.I.'s staff continued to avoid their C.E.O. as much as possible. He'd calmed considerably since making a private call home.
But he was still…edgy.
Which was a two-sided sword: good, in that it meant the other companies were in for a lashing once the debate started, bad for any R.I employee who got in his way before then.
Cornelius sighed. Less than thirty minutes until the debate.
Maybe he'd text an 'I love you' to Franny?
An affectionate 'I love you 2! Good Luck!' would do worlds of good for his ego.
He pulled his earpiece out of his pocket and switched it back online.
Whoa! 18 missed calls! Almost all of them from his wife. Now, what in the world could be going on?
As if sensing his thoughts, the phone vibrated in his hand and he answered, "Fran! Wha-"
"Cornelius! Thank goodne-Is he there? Say he's there! I've checked everywhere. His phone's on his desk—don't know what he's think-"
"Franny? Honey. Slow down, I-
"-T here."
"What's wrong?"
"He's NOT here!" Hysteria and fear laced every syllable.
Cornelius's stomach tightened into knots.
"Wilbur?" he murmured faintly.
"He's GONE!"
Read and Review Pleeeeaaaase! :D
Oh medication…sometimes it makes things better…and sometimes it makes things worse.