Disclaimer: Well, I woke up Xmas morning and…I still don't own MTR. I know…I'm pretty disappointed…Santa, why! *shakes fist* I also don't own Cosmo Magazine...or anything else that's a franchise that I can't remember writing in there, but may indeed be there.
AN: This chapter might seem like a bit of a filler. But after all the angst, I felt some fluff was needed. And I also wanted to give Fran and Neil's relationship some depth—happily-ever-after isn't a permanent stasis after all, it has to be worked on-long after the dragon's been slain.
HAPPY NEW YEAR'S! : D
Chapter 6: You, Me, and Pookie
After hearing several concerning bumps and thuds coming from behind the closed door of the lab (they'd left their son to dress in privacy), Cornelius and Franny broke Rule #17 of Teen & Parent Relations (as written and taped to the fridge door by one Wilbur A. Robinson).
Do Not Enter the Room While Your Teen is Dressing.
Still, it was probably for the best, the kid's brain was kind of…hazy.
Despite Wil protesting that he was just fine on his own, he wasn't a little kindergartner you know! He could dress himself! Both parents refrained from pointing out that his t-shirt was on backwards.
After watching two failed attempts at getting his arms in the correct holes of his jacket, Franny came over to help.
There was a courtesy knock on the door, and Cornelius pushed the 'Open' button on the panel.
Lab Assistant Ken entered, silently offering him a clipboard of the recent events; Globetron's representatives had finally arrived, but they were still settling in.
Which was fine, Cornelius had no desire to hurry to the debate. In fact, he really just wanted to head home already.
He watched Wilbur zip up his coat and smile, clearly glad to be back in dry clothes.
Earlier, Cornelius had given him a strained "we'll talk more about this later" because Wilbur really had no attention span today. And still didn't seem to think he'd done anything wrong besides misinterpret facts.
Cornelius leaned against the wall, trying to alleviate his anxieties.
Again, his eyes sought out his child's form.
There Wilbur was. Safe and sound. Just as he'd been two minutes ago. His mother was currently trying to remove his baseball cap, otherwise his hair was "never going to dry."
The inventor should've been calming down. But his nerves remained on edge, as though he expected this happy scene to flicker like a cheap hologram.
"So…paternity confirmed?" the assistant asked a little too innocently.
Cornelius frowned a moment before his lips quirked. "Yup. I dashed his hopes of being a missing prince to a distant kingdom."
"Ah, that's too bad." The young man chuckled good-naturedly. "I remember the day I learned I was related to my family. For three years, I'd insisted I was an alien in disguise…trust me, in my case, it was the better alternative. Wil's a lucky kid and…and," the young man hesitated as though not quite sure he should go on, "…hopefully, now he knows it."
Cornelius smiled. "Thank you for your help today, Ken."
"Er, it's Keith actually," the assistant corrected.
"Oh." Dr. Robinson cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Thank you…Keith."
"Awww," Franny replied loudly (obviously having overheard the men), as she straightened her son's coat. "Sorry, Wil." She pulled her child in for a hug. "No hidden destiny for you, Pookie. I guess you're just the son of a world-famous inventor and an amphibian maestro."
"It's tougher than it looks," Wil mumbled.
"There's my nephew!" Gaston called, running towards his family as he spotted them coming down the hall.
The man grabbed Wil in a tight hug, lifting him up off the ground for a moment.
Wilbur hadn't even been set back down before Carl exploded in a tirade of 'never in all my years of service,' 'couldn't believe my audio-recorders when I heard,' 'imminent Deactivation, but do you care?'
Franny smiled at the scene; still looking a bit weary but very relieved.
Cornelius was sure he looked the same if not worse. His often overly-analytical brain often had him reviewing events countless times, imagining various alternate ends.
A lot of them were ones where Wilbur didn't arrive and they chilled him to the bone.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, by tomorrow he'd be sporting a few more grey strands. He just knew it!
Still, something else also bothered him greatly. He hated even acknowledging it to himself. Was he so insecure…that now…even years later…?
He leaned into his wife's side, mouth by her ear as he slipped her the photo. "Fran? Why do we have a picture of him?"
She looked down at the offending photo more than a little surprised to see it here. "Because he helped me so much. He practically jump-started my frogs' careers."
"Why is he in our family album?" And he couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"Would you prefer this to stay in my keepsake shoe box?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
"…I'd prefer it in the shredder, but if you must keep it, then…yes."
"We were just friends, Neil."
"Tch, yeah friendship, mmhmm. Well Franny, he wasn't content being your friend. I still can't believe the nerve of him at that Christmas Party, he-"
"Honey, that was almost 16 years ago. And I should've been on the lookout for mistletoe…I really didn't think he'd…do something like that."
He rolled his eyes "It's not like we were still dating or engaged and he made a pass at you. We were married, Fran. Married."
"I know," she replied seriously, "and it was very inappropriate and we dealt with it."
"I dealt with it," Cornelius muttered darkly, subconsciously cracking his knuckles.
Franny sighed. Her husband was usually such a pacifist—opposed to violence and fighting and never really understanding his wife and son's passion for karate.
He preferred diplomacy and discussion to squabbles; no one ever guessed that he packed a mean right hook.
"Darling," she crooned, trying to placate her grumbling husband. "Don't get all worked up before your speech."
She reached up straightening his collar and tie, letting her fingers linger against his skin longer than necessary…but he continued to scowl—ignoring her caress.
Fine. She'd turn it up a few more notches.
Splaying her hands on his chest, she stood on her toes and kissed the tip of his nose.
No deal; though his eyes had softened.
He was being difficult. She pouted. And he always said Wilbur got his obstinacy from her side.
"You see this?" She waved her left hand in front of his face slowly, diamond ring shining in the fluorescent lit corridor; the left side of his mouth quirked with amusement.
"You see me?" she continued, wrapping both arms around his neck and leaning into him. She smiled when he responded by holding her snugly.
"And you see Pookie over there?"
Both parents turned to see their child trying to take one flier from a corkboard. He tugged on it several times, where it should detach from the pad…only it wasn't cooperating. (R.I. had adapted their forms to a new sticky-note style…there were still kinks to work out.)
Giving one final, vicious pull, he tore it free only to have several neighboring papers crash to the floor.
Cornelius chuckled, a warm, good sound that Franny felt resonate through his chest.
"Yeah, I see Pookie."
She rested her head against his shoulder, glancing up at him through her eyelashes.
"We're Robinsons," she told him meaningfully.
He smiled—tracing her face with a calloused hand. "You're right. As always."
"Well, Mr. Robinson?"
"Yes, Mrs. Robinson?"
"Why don't you put that mistletoe scene to shame?"
"I always do," he announced cockily, dipping her and scandalizing more than a few interns passing by.
After a long serious conference that Wilbur would later summarize as "blah blah blah, Science…blah blah, Safety." Cornelius finished up with "…henceforth why Robinson Industries will not be endorsing the switch to Nuclear Power until further studies confirm its safety for the population at large. Here at R.I. we know that life is too precious to gamble in our desire for technological advancement. Thank you for your time today."
He gave a solemn nod to the audience who applauded him before he exited.
As the door shut behind him he heard, "there you have it folks, Dr. Robinson's statement on the current proposal. Clearly, R.I.'s stance remains unchanged. Now for Globetron's closing statements, Dr. Hallm-"
Newscasters and tabloid photographers had swarmed the whole building which prevented a quick getaway.
Security was currently pushing them back—but it'd be a while before Cornelius felt comfortable leading his family out into the parking lot.
And so now, they waited.
Gaston and Carl had gone in search of vending machines. Wilbur still had a fever, but it seemed his appetite had come back with a vengeance. And though he wasn't complaining, Cornelius could hear the boy's stomach sounding its displeasure.
Franny was off to the ladies' room—now that the crisis had ended, her…less than kempt appearance was bothering her. She might not have any make-up with her, but she could smooth her hair a bit.
Which left father and son seated on a hallway bench.
Wilbur sniffled, rubbing his nose with the edge of his sleeve (much to his dad's dismay). "You were awesobe, Dad."
Cornelius smiled (while discreetly fishing a package of tissues from his pocket and handing them over). "Thank you, kiddo."
The boy chuckled. "Didn't know WHO they were bessin' with, huh? They were all like 'ooooooh Dr. Robinson doesn't approve,' heh." He leaned into his father's side, eyelids drooping."Awesobe."
Neil wrapped an arm around his son as the boy nodded off.
Woweee, what a day…
He pushed an errant lock of hair out of his child's face, Wil hadn't gelled it back today—opting to squash his messy hair beneath his hat. The strands nearly fell to Wil's chin, meaning it was time to schedule him for another trim. He'd have Franny align it with their "Shopping Day" next Saturday. Wil needed some more well-fitting jeans and shirts; kid was growing like a weed.
Maybe it was due to Cornelius's childhood of second-hand clothing, kitchen hair-cuts, and donated possessions, but making sure Wilbur looked well-cared for was always a high priority.
He was about to remove the baseball cap (because honestly that thick Italian hair just wasn't going to dry otherwise) when—
"Cornelius," a deep voice intoned—like it was the name of a revolting disease.
The inventor snapped to attention, immediate recognition making his jaw tense in turn.
Dr. Calvin J. Isaacs, acting C.E.O. of SynTech Corporation decked in an expensive suit sporting his company's colors; black, red, and grey.
He cut a large and imposing figure (if he was shorter than Cornelius, it wasn't by an inch); he possessed one of those great, sturdy frames that was very slowly bending to time.
A rigid, serious man…not prone to smiling; there were few crow's feet around his eyes, while deep lines were etching themselves between his brows…someday he'd have a permanent frown.
His (Franny had labeled) "unfortunately large nose" and deep furrowed eyebrows gave him a snobbish, brooding countenance.
But while he wasn't quite handsome (at least not anymore…time had been kinder to the inventor and his wife) there was still something impressive about him.
A younger (unmarried) Franny had dreamily admired his regal air, much to Cornelius's dismay.
"Isaacs," he acknowledged curtly.
Without preamble or pretense, the man sneered, "I find it rather disheartening that a man who encourages the masses to 'keep moving forward' sees fit to shoot down each innovation that SynTech develops."
"I find your lack of concern towards the populace equally disturbing," Neil quipped.
The man's visage soured, his teeth bared—intent on another biting remark when his eyes locked on something…or rather someone.
There was nothing warm in the man's gaze, and Cornelius's hackles rose.
He tightened his hold on Wilbur and scowled. "Yes?"
The dark-haired man chuckled, hard eyes scrutinizing the child. "Ah, the Little Prince…it's been years. Grown quite a bit, hmm?"
Cornelius remained quiet even as he pulled Wil closer.
The man continued, eyes appraising the boy, "rumor has it the boy has a spark of talent in the Science Realm."
Despite the warning in his head that news traveled fast and he'd need to safeguard his son from too much publicity and steep expectations, his chest swelled with pride and he couldn't help confirming that, "yes, Wilbur's got a real knack for electronics."
For Superman, it was Kryptonite. For Cornelius, it was Wilbur.
As most parents could attest to, gushing about one's child was second-nature.
And since Wilbur's current interests weren't willful destruction or wanton disobedience, he had no hesitations on sharing his child's latest exploits.
"-Making those equations look like child's play. And at his age, too! Seems he takes after his ol' man, the way he can just dive into a schemat-"
"-Well, I suppose he DID have to inherit something of yours besides those awful ears." He snickered meanly.
Cornelius smiled tightly.
Really? Did he miss something? Were they really swapping playground insults now? Had they sunk so low?
Still…no one got away with snubbing his kid…
"Yep. My ears. My chin too. Franny's coloring. Why, when my wife and I look at our child and see each other's traits in him, well, it's so endearing. You know? Oh wait, you don't. Never did get around to the whole 'marrying' scene, hmm?"
That for all his wealth, wit, and charm, he couldn't keep a woman.
It was a petty blow, but…well…he dragged Wil into this…
Thankfully, before the tension could escalate any further, Franny returned—doe eyes wide at the scene.
All she could think was 'speak of the devil…'
"Francesca, as lovely as ever," the man greeted her smoothly.
"Eh heh, thank you, Cal." She smiled weakly, feeling her husband's glare.
The man kissed her hand, even as she gently tried to recoil from it.
The moment she was free, she sat down beside her son—thoughts whirling on how she was going to prevent World War III from erupting in this hallway.
She was spared the unpleasant (impossible) task of small talk by Isaac's chauffeur striding forth.
Dressed head to toe in black, he looked more like he was ready for a funeral procession than a car drive.
Dr. Isaacs trusted chauffeur paid no attention to the Robinson family as he informed his employer, "sir, if we're to make the next flight…"
He nodded to his driver. "Yes, I must be off, I wish you a good evening. Francesca. Cornelius. When he wakes…Wilhelm."
"Wilbur," Franny automatically corrected as she pet her son's hair.
"My apologies," he bit out as he turned and stalked away…as though he couldn't stand the sight—confirming Neil's theory that the man never quite forgave Wilbur for being born.
Franny sighed as she rested her head against her son's. Goodness…she felt so uncomfortable, her stomach twisted and the skin on her hand burned.
She'd had her share of admirers…of men eager to push boundaries…all you had to do was brush off their advances and they usually got the message pretty quick.
You'd think she'd be able to shrug off the unease as easily as her unwanted suitors.
Still, what really got her was how everyone assumed she wanted that attention. For goodness sake, some of her own friends had lamented her "fate" during a girl's night out.
As if her husband's ramblings about his inventions or the latest alchemic theories were some sort of torture one had to silently endure. (Like Clarisse's husband's snoring. Or Loretta's husband's less than ardent declarations of his love.)
How hard it must be for Franny, married to who was probably aptly titled the 'Biggest Nerd of the Century' by Cosmo Magazine.
But really now…hadn't anyone figured it out? She was a nerd too…
True, she loved music first and foremost, but science was a very close second. Her friends would probably be scandalized to learn how often she watched Discovery VidStream or ScienceTimes right alongside her husband. Let alone historical documentaries—real life soap operas, which were vastly more interesting than 'Tangled Together—A Network of Lives and Lies.'
So Neil was nerdy, so what?
So her hubby couldn't dance. And he wasn't dark and mysterious. And one glass of wine pretty much did him in (though him being cheerful and cuddly wasn't reeeally a negative quality).
She was happily married, thank you very much. So could everyone leave them alone already?!
Besides…he loved her through all of her quirks, and all of his seemed downright endearing in comparison.
She immediately reached over Wilbur, her hand searching for her husband's. He didn't disappoint; lifting her slender fingers to his lips.
And just like that, she felt so much better. Mr. Fix-It indeed.
A Lab Assistant down the hall called them and gave a thumbs-up sign; the mob of journalists had been pushed back.
"When Gaston and Carl return, we'll head home," Cornelius announced firmly, stretching his other arm around Wilbur to snake around his wife as well.
Franny nodded. "Sounds good. I think I've reached my limit for family drama."
She snuggled closer as Neil intertwined their fingers; they were definitely going to spend tomorrow relaxing.
Still, Neil had the distinct feeling they were forgetting something…
Yes. Tomorrow, Mikey thought as he sat crisscrossed on the couch in the darkened living room—the only light source being the 74 inch televid screen.
Thumbs flying over his video-game controller, he maneuvered his virtual counterpart through a barrage of artillery gunfire.
He'd just opened the game today—something to pass the time while he waited for tomorrow.
Only fifteen minutes away if the 11:45 P.M. displayed on the holo-clock was correct.
It was far past the kid's bedtime, though the rule was seldom enforced.
Mr. and Mrs. Yagoobian were at another Charity Banquet.
Mikey frowned. In short, his parents were off partying…again.
His big brat sister, Mackenzie, was using the night to her advantage having a super long date with her flavor-of-the-week boyfriend, Chad.
Probably French-kissing and stuff.
He pulled a face, as a very sensible twelve year old, the logic of older teens seemed dubious…he just couldn't understand them. Turning every spare moment with each other into a game of 'let's look for each other's tonsils…with our tongues.'
Ugh…gross…germs…
Lupe insists it's the hormones making the senorita "mui loco."
Whatever…good thing he wasn't going to let that happen to him...nope, when he got older he was just going to get bigger—end of story.
For some reason, whenever he announced that, Lupe and the other servants would smile and chuckle.
Meanwhile, his little brat sister, Molly, was sleeping over at a friend's house no doubt conking out after endless hours of babbling about Super Sparkle Rainbow Ninja Pals.
Lame.
Not that he was complaining; after all, he wouldn't be able to plan all of this if they'd been around irritating him.
And he certainly couldn't pull this off if Mom and Dad were here.
He ignored the little voice in the back of his head that whispered if they WERE here and DID pay attention, he wouldn't HAVE to be doing this.
Dramatic music blared from the screen; signaling the Ultimate Fight with the Big Bad.
He was already on the final level and if his current success with Blood-Battle-Gore-Fest was a sign, his plan for tomorrow would go without a hitch.
Aiming with L1 and firing repeatedly with the X button, Mikey watched the Top Boss sink to the ground, blood spurting grotesquely from his severed neck.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
GAME OVER. VICTORY flashed across the screen, before the red letters oozed.
Mikey chuckled darkly.
And it would be a victory...a triumph to surpass all others. A couple more hours and he'd head over to the Robinson Estate. Just a couple more hours and he'd fix everything.
The boy grinned with anticipation, before throwing his head back and cackling maniacally.
The door to the room opened a bit, Lupe glanced from the televid screen glowing in the darkness to the boy laughing.
She sighed and closed the door softly. He'd been playing that game for HOURS.
The maid shook her head and kept walking. That child…really needed to get out more.
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