Disclaimer: I do NOT own Meet the Robinsons.
AN: Allo! Thank you for your reviews! Hope you enjoy this next chapter! :D
Sooooo sorry for the wait. My life got crazy again.
But yesterday as I was perusing the aisles of the grocery store selecting ingredients (I've recently started trying out recipes from library cookbooks…apparently my maternal side's cooking curse has skipped me! Mwahahaha) I was reaching for ground ginger (which I've now discovered is horrifically overpriced) when IT started playing: Little Wonders. And I went O.O …It's a sign. MUST UPDATE. And so here we are. I finally re-tooled this chapter, which seemed like it was never ending. And discovered this handy solution…I'll split it! Eeeeeyeah…I dunno why it took me so long to figure that out either…Anyways…The drama continues!
Chapter 5: Who's Your Daddy?
Gaston pulled into R.I.'s back parking lot, blatantly ignoring the Employees Only sign.
There was no way he was even going to try the front parking spaces; the place was a zoo.
Cornelius had never been real fond of the media, preferring to keep himself and his family out of the limelight. So any occasion where he needed to give a speech to the masses was a field day for the paparazzi.
They loved pestering the inventor about his wife—telling him obvious lies to try and rile him into saying something. But lately, they'd been backing off that front and choosing a new angle.
The razzi were getting interested in Wilbur again. Someone they'd been told in no uncertain terms was strictly off-limits.
Gaston sighed; they'd never get that through their thick heads.
From the moment his nephew was born, they'd been eager for the scoop—wanted to plaster his little face all over the tabloids.
Too bad Cornelius put his foot down, and (one great big nasty lawsuit and restraining order later) had doused their ambitions.
Now, it seemed that Wilbur was slowly being rediscovered; having finally reached thirteen years of age…that wonderfully rebellious time where they could have a juicy interview.
Gaston shook his head; his sister and brother-in-law had decided the less Wil knew about the whole mess the better.
They definitely didn't want the kid calling these photo-psychos up every time they told him, "no, you cannot skateboard in this house."
So yeah, it was probably better for Franny and Wilbur to leave via the back entrance, away from the tabloid scene.
As for the parking violation; he doubted anyone would give the C.E.O.'s wife a hard time about it. Speaking of whom, he flicked his sight over to his passenger who was still hiccupping.
Franny dabbed at her red rimmed eyes with a tissue.
She'd taken today's events HARD.
And who could blame her?
Abra Cadabra his nephew was GONE…completely…no note…no clues…not a single trace except missing tennis shoes and an open window.
From the moment Wilbur had been deemed M.I.A., it'd been DEFCON 1 at the Robinson Household.
Billie sent urgent messages to all her fellow engineers to screen all Passenger AND Crate Trains for young brunette teen boys.
Joe was checking all the News Channels broadcasting R.I. information; if Wilbur had decided to join the mob of admirers in front of their doors, he'd be able to tell.
Lazlo searched the estate on his hover boots, while Tallulah was calling all of Wilbur's haunts from A to Z.
Spike and Dmitri were interrogating every plant in the vicinity. The begonias were clueless but the fern…the fern knew something…
Lefty was checking all six attics, while Art was circling the city in his ship.
Fritz, Petunia, Bud, and Lucille were searching every inch of the house. Wilbur had been known to get locked in the basement and sub-lab levels.
Meanwhile, Gaston remained near his sister who was on the brink of an emotional meltdown.
She kept obsessively dialing her husband until he FINALLY picked up.
It was…rough…catching tidbits of their conversation. Both of them were scared and frustrated and they were taking it out on each other.
Afterwards, Franny had caught her brother's eye murmuring, "he's angry…" She sniffled. "He's…angry with me…"
Not ten minutes later, while Gaston was unsuccessfully trying to comfort her, Cornelius had called back.
Wilbur was safe at R.I.
Naturally, the household rejoiced; their youngest family member was alright!
Then there'd been a meltdown between the siblings on who should go and pick him up; Gaston hadn't given it much thought—Franny was a volatile driver on a good day, it was best not to tempt fate and Art's job was calling him to get back to work.
Hence, Gaston reasoned he should go.
Art relented; Franny thought otherwise. Her child, she'd go pick him up.
They eventually compromised. Gaston would drive, Franny would ride shotgun.
Gaston shifted into park.
"We're here," he announced uncertainly.
The petite woman nodded sharply, fingers moving jerkily to undo her seatbelt.
He picked up the plastic (rainproof) bag, containing a nice, warm change of clothes for his nephew.
"Hey Carl, care to hold these?"
The robot glanced up; he'd slipped into the backseat while the siblings fought in the garage. And was wise enough to stay silent the whole ride over.
"S-sure thing."
Gaston stepped out into the rain. Wilbur was safe…that's what mattered…still…Gaston had that sense of dread in his stomach—similar to the feeling he'd had right before his final performance for Cirque du le Fantastique.
It'd been a slight apprehension, a tightening of nerves, a shortness of breath—perfectly natural responses to stage fright…except…his usual stress presented itself as hiccups…until that night…when his cannon had misfired.
Now, here he was…feeling it again…they weren't out of the woods yet.
Cathy sighed, checking her watch (the debate was SUPPOSED to have started a half-hour ago). "These things always run late."
She approached her boss who was pacing.
"Dr. Robinson, sir? Globetron's executives are stuck in traffic. There was a pile-up collision. They weren't involved, but it's going to be a while before the scene's cleaned up. Do you want us to go ahead and-"
"Dr. Robinson, sir, I-" A lab assistant piped in, skidding to a stop in front of the inventor, a clipboard in hand. Kevin? No, Ken?
"Cornelius!"
The blond whipped around. "Franny!"
His assistants were left blinking at a blank space as the man sped over to his wife; he spotted Gaston and Carl just a few steps behind her.
His normally cheerful brother-in-law looked solemn and his robot looked particularly anxious.
Wilbur, Cornelius thought heavily, do you know what you put us through with your little stunts?
His wife was a quivering mess.
"Oh, Fran." He held her close. "It's alright, everything is alright."
She released a shuddering breath against his collar.
He rubbed her arms soothingly. "He's fine. He's fine, honey."
"Where is he?" she gritted out and there was more than a hint of steel there.
Cornelius grimaced; Wilbur was in for it. But what else could that kid expect, scaring them like that?
"Come on, I'll show you." He tugged her by the hand, mouthing a "wait here" to his brother-in-law and robot.
Carl discreetly handed him Wil's change of clothes while requesting that he "please go easy on his little buddy, you know he's always been a little crazy. Some people are just wired that way."
Cornelius nodded; he, for one, was not looking forward to the discipline talk. Maybe this time Franny could be the "Bad Cop," though he doubted it. Big bad Dad seemed to be his constant role.
Hopefully, he could delay it a couple of hours…maybe tomorrow…or Sunday. He definitely didn't feel like scolding the kid while he obviously wasn't well.
"Sir!" the younger man exclaimed, his dark bangs sliding into his face as he moved. "Sir! Siiir!"
"In a minute," he snapped. Restoring harmony to his family far outweighed some stupid science spectacle.
It was a tense journey to his office with Franny gripping his hand so hard, he swore he was losing circulation.
He fumbled a bit, taking two tries to enter his correct password (you'd have trouble too if your wife was breathing fire next to you).
The moment the door unlocked, she brushed past him.
She glanced at the room, head jerking as she inspected it from one side to the other before spinning around to face him, hands on her hips—positively fuming.
"Fran?"
"Where. IS. He?" she demanded, frame starting to tremble.
The cot was empty.
His chair was facing the other way.
He made for it, desperate with hope. "Son, I think you owe all of us, especially your mother-" He spun the chair around. "An apolo…"
Cornelius gulped. The seat was empty. He was sooo dead.
He glanced helplessly at his wife who looked ready to bawl for all the frustration.
"Sir! It's what I've been trying to tell you, sir!" Ken exclaimed from the doorway waving his clipboard emphatically.
"What is it?" he snapped.
"Someone's overrode the security of the analyzer!"
The inventor slapped a hand to his forehead. "I don't have time for that-"
"Sir, it's highly important-"
He glared. "What is the relevance for-"
"-It was you!"
Cornelius blinked. "What?"
"You overrode it, sir! Or…your badge did."
Neil's mouth gaped. He automatically touched his left pocket…no tag.
He hurried over to his lab coat, where it lay innocently across his desk.
Nothing.
"He has my badge," he murmured; Nice going, Neil, you pretty much handed him a skeleton key.
He ran a hand through his hair, as a sense of impending doom crashed around him. He swallowed nervously. "What did I override?"
"A paternity test," Ken offered promptly.
Cornelius spluttered. "What!?"
"Yes, sir. R.I.'s performed an illegal paternity test. But that's not the part that I'm confused by," the assistant explained, "the user is inside the block level that we locked up. No breaches in door security. Except for the chute between labs."
Ken flipped through the pages again before shaking his head in exasperation. "Sir, I don't know how he got into the room. I mean…It's like he materialized through the walls."
But his office was locked and there was no sign of tampering…
Cornelius tapped his teeth, neck craning back—thinking, thinking, think-
When he saw it…
If he was anyone else, he might casually dismiss it, but he hadn't it made it this far without having an eye for detail.
One of his ceiling tiles…
The left far corner was slightly crooked…
His mouth gaped in disbelief.
No way…
Then again this was Wilbur…Brilliant, clever Wilbur who glossed over his intellect with immature phrases and obnoxious behavior.
That way he could depend on being underestimated…
But he was sick, so he was sloppy.
And his carelessness had revealed him…
Cornelius hefted himself onto his desk, ignoring the groan it made.
"Sir?" the assistant inquired uncertainly.
"Neil," Franny replied tiredly, "honey, what are you-"
He reached up toward the tile.
It lifted easily.
Too small of course for him, but for a skinny, athletic Wilbur (who apparently had memorized the ventilation outlay of the building), it'd be a piece of cake.
"Ooooh that boy!" Franny cried outraged. "He knows we banned the 'Secret Agent' game for a reason!"
Cornelius L. Robinson hurried down the corridor, his wife swift on his heels.
He keyed in the password, stepping forward the moment the door slid open.
Only…the lab was empty.
"Cornelius."
He stared at his wife.
She took in a shaky breath, lips trembling. "Where is my baby?"
But how?
How could he possibly have-
Cornelius heard something crunch underfoot.
He knelt down, picking up the crumpled piece of paper. He carefully smoothed it out while scanning the contents.
As he did so, at the edge of his vision, he saw a foot.
"Wilbur?"
Franny followed his line of sight, glimpsing the foot just as it ducked out of sight.
They shared a concerned look before approaching the lab table where they'd seen it.
"Wilbur? Baby, what's wrong?" Franny crooned.
No response. The inventor knelt down, peering underneath.
"I see you there. Are you alright?"
"…Yes."
"You don't seem alright. Come here, let us see you."
The boy didn't budge.
Cornelius sighed and crawled under the table, silently cursing his great height which caused him to hunch over awkwardly.
Terribly uncomfortable…but that was nothing; relief was seeping into every muscle and bone and it was hard to keep from smiling at his boy.
Something which wasn't okay considering that his son definitely seemed to be taking this as a solemn moment.
Franny crouched down and scurried in between them—squinting in the darkness of Wil's hiding place. She reached out, placing a concerned hand on his forehead. "What's the matter? Are you hurt? You still have a fever…baby?"
No reply, though he made a slight sound in his throat. A "grmm" noise which they'd learned in the 'terrible two's' was his 'I'm angry' sound.
"Sweetie, are you upset?"
The young teen tensed a bit.
"Is it because of this?" Cornelius inquired as he shook the offending piece of paper.
Franny gave him a quizzical look as a heavy silence descended.
"Wilbur? Did you read it?"
The boy plucked at a sock, purposely not looking at him.
"If you read it, then you shouldn't be angry or sad, unless…you were hoping for a-" Cornelius couldn't keep the chuckle out of his voice. "Mutation of some sort."
"Don't laugh at be. I don't wanna talk to you" was the hissed reply, but his congestion removed any chance of it sounding particularly intimidating. He just sounded upset.
Franny glanced back and forth in concern.
"Maybe you should read it again," Cornelius offered gently. "Try reading it aloud."
The raven-haired boy snatched the paper out of his hand, glaring at him while he announced contemptuously.
"No Relation. Test Subjects 1 and 2 unrelated. Incobpatible in given subtext Hobo sapiens and-"
Wilbur felt his breath leave him in a whoosh of surprise and more than a little mortification.
"And…Canis lupis fabiliaris."
He stared at his dad who was unsuccessfully trying to keep a smile off his face.
His blue eyes were glinting with mischief, as he solemnly delivered a "woof."
Wilbur groaned, shaking his head in disbelief.
"A dog hair," he murmured aghast. "I tested a dog hair."
Cornelius smiled. "Buster jumped on me the other day, it's probably one of-"
"Ugh, I'm dubb! How could I not tell the difference between a huban hair and a dog one? Dubb!" Shouldn't he have noticed the texture? The length? Something?
"You are NOT dumb," his father argued sharply. "This was all rather…ingenious," if illegal. "What concerns me, Son, is why you felt the need?"
"I just…wanted to…to…bake sure…It's just…sobething sobeone said the other day and I..."
Cornelius shook his head; that boy valued strangers' opinions too much.
"What did they say?" Franny asked sharply.
"…"
"Wil, what did they say?" she asked again gently.
"…That-" He gestured at the blond. "-That you're not…by REAL…dad."
"Wilbur, that is ridicul-"
"I'm your real dad," Cornelius replied flatly. He ran a hand through his hair. "But Wil, there's much more to being a dad than blood. Your Grandpa Bud and Grandma Lucille are YOUR Grandparents, they raised m-"
"I-I KNOW that but, but, but-"
"Honey, you are 100% NOT adopted and I-I am NOT the sort of woman to-to-" She shook her head. "Daddy and I-"
Cornelius sighed; Wil WAS only thirteen. And he'd been much the same at twelve, thinking that genes alone defined families when it was love that really connected people together, something which transcended flesh.
He opened his mouth to voice that, but hesitated…struggling with himself.
"-oved each other very much and we wanted to share that love. So we-"
He couldn't quite dismiss the importance of biological ties…
No, the depth of emotion he felt for his son, was definitely influenced by his paternity. While he could most definitely come to love other children (as he had for Lazlo and Tallulah), Wilbur had his own special spot in his father's heart. One that was his from the moment Cornelius knew they were expecting him.
Big brown eyes watched him closely.
"-and you were born. We wanted you very much, sweetie."
Though, now wasn't the time for philosophical debate and discussion with his child (that could wait until Wil was older and Cornelius had his own feelings sorted out), now was the time to soothe his fears.
"You want to do the honors?" He bowed his head, blond spikes readily available.
Wilbur promptly reached over and plucked a hair.
Cornelius crawled out from under the table, trying unsuccessfully to get the crick out of his neck.
R.I. would be performing TWO illegal paternity tests…still, if that's what it took to put Wilbur's mind to rest…so be it…even if it did mean loads of paperwork next week.
They stood beside each other watching as the Analyzer took their samples and computed its findings.
Franny rolled her eyes as she stood up—still shaking her head in disbelief. She couldn't believe this. The idea of Cornelius NOT being Wilbur's father. Preposterous. So what if Wilbur didn't look like him? They shared so many mannerisms…many of which were growing more apparent as Wilbur aged.
Even this pretty much spelled out their bond. Forget heart-to-heart discussions, Cornelius liked cold hard facts. Wilbur often preferred cold hard facts as well—he'd always enjoyed having Carl rattle out percentages versus advice.
A data sheet sped out; cold, hard irrefutable facts...and somehow for people like them it was comforting...she definitely didn't understand it...
Cornelius took it, eyeing its contents. "…Whoa."
"What is it?" Wil asked nervously.
His father looked over his glasses at him seriously. "…You're a boy…"
"Huh?"
"Congratulations to me. I'm a father! Drinks and cigars all around." He handed Wilbur the paper.
RELATION VERIFIED:
PATERNITY CONFIRMED
And just like that Wilbur felt all his fears evaporate.
In fact, the more seconds that trickled by, the more foolish he felt…
His family would never keep such a big secret from him. They didn't see anything wrong with adoption to begin with, so if he had been…they'd have told him.
He should've deduced all that…past experience should've been more than enough to tell him that…except…it was HARD to reason when you were upset.
Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose in agitation. That Mikey kid…making him question stuff…
He felt a deep burn of resentment at the other boy before shaking his head…No…no, this was because of his own insecurities.
He glanced sheepishly at his father, who smiled gently back.
Maybe…deep down…he'd wanted to use this. Blame it for their lack of similarities.
Franny sent a glare her husband's way, less than amused by his little joke. He shrugged before turning to his son. She appraised the boy again and blinked in shock; she'd been so concerned about Wilbur himself she had overlooked his state of dress…or lack thereof.
She couldn't quite hold back her snort.
"I'll go grab his change of clothes." She snickered.
Neil slapped a hand to his forehead—he knew he'd forgotten something. "They're in my office."
"We should march you up there, Mister," Franny mused aloud. "But I guess since there are photographers lurking around, we should allow you SOME dignity."
"Buch appreciated," Wilbur quipped dryly.
Franny paused at the doorway. "Honey, the code?"
"You remember the carnival?" her husband asked back.
Her eyes lit up with amusement—clearly aware of what the password was now.
"I do indeed," she giggled before continuing on her way.
Wilbur watched the exchange feeling like a bit of an outsider looking in, sometimes it seemed like his parents had their own language.
Maybe if he'd never befriended his dad when he was younger, he wouldn't feel like such a third wheel now…?
Maybe all of his solo "missions" through time had resulted in him feeling alien in his own era?
More and more he felt like he wasn't "clicking" with his family anymore.
The one time he'd implied that to Carl, the robot had scoffed about "hormone fluctuations" and "teenage angst" and how "no human can escape it, not even the 'Amazing Wilbur Robinson.'"
Well…if it was hormones…having them sucked; they made the implausible seem possible and the trivial seem grandiose.
(Much to his shame he totally overreacted at the last CTT movie. Something about Admiral Vrak's death scene hit him hard and the girl next to him shared her packet of Kleenex. Eeeeyeah…another one of those "I-will-never-own-up-to-that-aloud-even-under-pain-of-death" moments…they kept getting more frequent too…)
The young teen suddenly scowled and dug out the blasted photo which had started all of this.
The man in the picture had smiled right at the camera—radiating an almost arrogant sort of confidence while Franny beamed at something beside her.
"You!" he scolded the picture. "Giving be reasonable doubt!"
"Wil?"
The boy sighed and brandished the picture. "See…this all sorta spiraled out of…control when I…ya know…noticed that I…well, I kinda…look like this dude."
Cornelius looked lazily over at the photo before doing a double-take and whipping it out of his son's grip.
"Where did you-You do NOT look like him," his father bit out tersely.
"Yeah, I do. He's tall and dark-haired. I'b tall and-"
"And so is a majority of other people throughout the world, kiddo. Sheesh, Wil, where did you get a crazy idea like that?"
The boy was quiet for a moment. "We…we don't look…anything alike."
"Punnett Square, champ. You favor your mother's phenotype."
"Even you have to adbit it. To strangers no one would…no one would ever guess we-"
"My chin, my shoulders, my elbows," Neil announced, gently tapping each corresponding spot. "My ears." He tugged them eliciting a short laugh.
He tweaked his son's nose and Wilbur couldn't help smiling. "My boy." Blue eyes crinkled fondly. "My son."
Wilbur hugged him tightly. "I…I'b glad you're by dad."
"I'm glad to BE your dad, kiddo," Cornelius replied, holding him close.
Though the touching moment waivered…
"Wil?"
"Yeah, Dad?"
"Why are you all wet?"
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Now don't get too comfortable! One hurdle's been jumped but things are just getting warmed up! XDDD