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Sherman had been quiet on his way to school, staring down at his backpack. His father would look occasionally over to him whenever they were stopped at a red light or sign.

"Sherman," Peabody called out boy as he was on his way towards the front stairs of his school. "I've been thinking on it. We'll renew that membership when you get home this evening."

The smile from Sherman was there… But smaller than Peabody had hoped, "…Thanks, Mr. Peabody…"

The drive back home alone was a long one, Peabody's mind wracking as to what was possibly the matter with the boy.

This finally led to a visit with a familiar friend later in the morning.

"Where do I even begin…?" Peabody sat back on against the couch, staring up at the ornate ceiling and taking in the smell of smoke from a cigar.

"Perhaps tell me about your mother," came a thick Austrian accent from the leather wingback chair in the book-lined office.

"Well, I don't really remember that much. Perhaps an attempt to talk with her about chess that ended with her attempting to eat one of my rooks, but beyond that…"

"You realize this is unorthodox to have you seated on my couch when you were just helping me with a dissertation last week, Mr. Peabody."

"I understand that, Sigmund," the white dog sat up from his spot and furrowed his brow. "But even this brain needs some clearing and reorganizing again."

"Perhaps we could try hypnosis?"

"Unfortunately my mind's a bit too advanced to be placed under it."

"Well, I have someone coming in at three, but if you want to continue this later…."

"Sigmund," Peabody drew a sly smile. "You and I both know that you're off to undoubtedly get Mr. Jung back for something he's done."

"He left a flaming bag on my doorstep, that criminal!" Freud scowled and slammed his notebook to the ground. "A flaming bag! Do you have any idea what happened when I tried to put it out?!"

"…Unfortunately I do," Peabody sighed. "What were you planning on doing?"

"A bucket of water over his door. Hehe, he'll never see it coming, the nitwit!"

"Best of luck to you then, Sigmund," Peabody chuckled, and made his way out of the office, still hearing Freud's cackling in the distance.

The disappointment with time travel was that sometimes not as much time passed as he would have liked. In fact, an afternoon in Austria had only resulted in a few minutes in his own time.

"Maybe I should visit Skinner… No. Anyone but Skinner and the boxes," Peabody said to himself with a shudder as he wandered down the hall of his house, stopping at the wall of photos—There were new additions, including articles about their exploits from last year.

"…I just can't risk coming that close to losing you again…" Peabody said to himself.

Gathering his drafting supplies, he walked down to his art studio, finding a cat down there, up to her arms in paint. She flicked several drops of paint as she waved to him wordlessly and then resumed work on her painting. It was a large piece, enough to fill an entire wall, Peabody noted as he laid out the supplies on a table before him. The little specks that filled the painting seemingly had neither rhyme nor reason as she paced back and forth, while the dog, seated on his own side, carefully mapped out the dimensions he needed on a large white sheet of paper.

"What're you doing?" she was the one who stopped first, wandering over with her paint-stained arms.

"Helping redesign your building for you… I figured it was the least I could do. Perhaps… Make a few improvements."

"What's that?" she pointed out another sheet of paper, and the dog dutifully brought it to the front, showing off the beginnings of a bicycle.

"Oh! This is for Sherman's birthday coming up. I figured there's store bought, but why not take it a step further?"

"There's an air conditioner built into it?"

"For the warm months. It converts to heating for the wintertime."

"Anddd a Panini maker."

"Is it too much?"

"No. Just perfect," she wiped some paint off on her sweater and then dabbed her forehead. "How long is that going to take, though?"

"Well, a time machine took an afternoon, so… Maybe two hours if I'm a bit tired," he then swiveled in his chair, and his smile fell for the first time as he noticed how caked in paint his companion was.

"…What?"

"We have a policy of honesty in this home, so… I'm afraid I have to tell you I'm quite tempted to bring out my weather machine and summon a downpour in this very room."

"All right, all right, you win," she held up her arms in defeat, wiping across her face with a sweater sleeve and leaving a trail of yellow and blue paint that gave her the look of some sort of ancient warrior gone to battle. "Show me the way."

The door to the bathroom shut after Peabody left her, the tub still filling with water and the cat staring at it, not quite knowing whether to trust it or not. He was in the process of putting away a stack of plates in the kitchen when he heard a yowl come from the same room. He reached out, expertly retrieving each of these and preventing them from smashing to the ground—One a mere inch off of the hard floor that he gripped while bent nearly completely backwards. He then hopped down from the stool he'd been standing on and rushed to see what had happened to his temporary housemate.

He burst open the door, and was greeted with a scream. He yelled in return, and ducked out of the way of several shampoo bottles. It was the rubber duck that finally hit him in-between the eyes, "It was just hot! Close the door, close the door!"

"Closing, closing!" he shouted in return, clutching his chest after slamming the door shut and leaning against it.

"…Why are your glasses dented, Mr. Peabody?"

"A minor catastrophe, Sherman. Nothing I wasn't able to effectively handle, though," Mr. Peabody answered as his boy climbed into the sidecar of the scooter. "How was school?"

"Okay, I guess…"

"Sherman, I have the feeling as though there's something you're not telling me. Now come on, out with it. We promised to tell the truth no matter what, remember?" Peabody reminded him as they made the turn towards home.

"Well… It's always gonna be just us, right?"

"Haha, of course not. You're going to go off, twenty, thirty years from now, and get married…. And maybe ten or so more years down the road think about starting a family of your own. After you've settled down from whatever adventuring or athletics you desire to pursue. I do, however, recommend children before running for the presidency. If you don't by then, whenever would you have the time at all!"

"I guess… What're you gonna do?"

"Me? Well, same as I've always done. Help make the world better for everyone, refine my skills... Maybe pick up a new language or four!"

"You're not gonna get married or anything weird like that, are you?"

Peabody gave a laugh, "With the number of hearts that would break? It'd be a national tragedy!"

"Okay, good," Sherman slid back in his seat and breathed a sigh of relief. "Hey, they're having parent day coming up, Mr. Peabody!"

"Wonderful! Now you're sure you don't mind me coming?"

"No, but… Mr. Peabody?"

"Yes, Sherman?"

"Um… Maybe try not to tell as many jokes?"

"Now where would the pun be in that?"

Sherman got that one… And groaned.

The sound of a fire extinguisher guzzling and sputtering was the first they the dog and his boy noticed when they returned to their penthouse.

"Stay back and get the phone in case we need to call the fire department!" Peabody ordered Sherman, rushing into the kitchen to see his stove still smoking, and a lone cat in a bathrobe standing with a fire extinguisher almost as tall as her.

"I… I wanted toast…" said Rigby weakly.

"Sherman! Grab your coat! We're going out for dinner!" Peabody called out.

"Is there still a fire?"

"Not anymore!"

"Cool! Can Penny come?"

"Certainly!"

"Definitely one of my favorite spots," Peabody couldn't help by hop a bit as he, Sherman, Penny, and Rigby walked down the black and white wavy sidewalks, Peabody and Sherman bother dressed in tuxedoes, Penny in a blue knee-length dress and Rigby in a more fitted red gown. "And such a lovely time, too… The Copacabana promenade… And not too far, the famous Casino da Urca. Perhaps it's a little early for you to start gambling, Sherman and Penny, but it doesn't mean we can't take in the fruits of some culture… Perhaps in the form of a young singer named Carmen Miranda?"

"The fruit hat lady, Mr. Peabody?" asked Sherman.

"The very same, Sherman!" Mr. Peabody replied as they approached the brightly lit front steps of the casino.

"Your dad seems in a good mood. Like, when he photographed an atom good," Penny noted, the concern evident in her voice.

"Yeah, we had a talk," Sherman raised his hands over his head and stretched. Penny only rolled her eyes and shook her head, keeping her smile as they walked in to be seated at a table.

"Ah, this is also the home of the famous Urca process… A process that helps in the cooling of neutron stars into white dwarves. Even a place such as this can prove some scientific relevancy," Peabody pulled out a chair for Rigby, while Sherman did the same for Penny after a reminder from Peabody in the form of a nod.

"Looks like they're just dancing, now," Rigby noticed the flocks of people on the floor, all taking part in spirited movement across the floor.

"Reminds me of when I learned the tango back in Argentina," Peabody wistfully sipped the glass of water that was brought to him at the table and watched the dancers. "The poor woman was two feet taller than me. We still managed a first in that competition with some… Fancy footwork."

"Yeah, I don't really see anyone here, either," Rigby said through a mouthful of one of the free breadsticks she'd noticed at the table. "Guess you're out of luck tonight."

Peabody glanced to her, the floor, the lights, and then noted the tempo of the music, the dimensions of the floor, the movements of the lights, and finally the height of the little glutton to the right of him.

"Would you care to join me, Miss Rigby?"

"What?!" the yells were universal from her, as well as Sherman. She pounded her chest to digest the rest of the bread, and then laughed.

"Y-You're joking, right? I couldn't…"

"It's simple enough. I'll lead, naturally. And you have natural reflexes, so just follow my lead," he held out a hand to her, and cautiously she accepted it.

"Ughhh… I miss being forced to walk the plank," Sherman groaned as he watched his father take the floor with the unsure partner.

"I'll whisper the steps to you, and you'll be quick enough to pull them off," Peabody whispered as he led her out to a spot on the floor. Looking to the conductor, he waved one of his hands about, as if to signal the band, and the conductor nodded dutifully, gradually changing the pace to something a bit more dramatic.

"I don't know if I—" Rigby gasped in surprise at the first spin to the right, but, to her stunned silence, managed to follow along.

"Left foot extend, dip. Backwards, kick, backwards, kick, turn, spin," he whispered in a succession to her, leading as she carried out these steps, not noticing the spotlight on them.

"…I've never seen your dad do that, either," Penny admitted, her eyebrows raised. "No wonder he gets all of those cards and stuff for Valentine's."

"This is so gross…" Sherman gagged, and found his taste for breadsticks having suddenly diminished. Penny playfully nudged him and stuck her tongue out, watching the performance in the middle of the ballroom floor.

"You're doing a fine job of looking the part as well, I should add," Peabody said as he led Rigby back a few paces. "Now you're going to lean in to me for this bit."

"What? Really? I'd fall of my face!"

"Just lean. I promise no harm will come of it. Trust me."

After a moment's hesitation she did so, before a few more pointed spins and finally resting against him after the dance had finished. It was then she noticed the crowds, and the applause. She shrunk a bit, her shoulders falling and her head bowing down, but one of her hands were taken, and Peabody bowed briefly, kissing the paw and then smiling.

"You were a formidable partner," he said before they made their way back to the table.

"You… You were really good, too," she immediately returned to eating her breadsticks, cringing every time she caught someone's eyes upon them.

"I finally feel as though those dance lessons paid off!" he toasted his water glass and then sipped from it as they watched the aforementioned "fruit hat lady" waltz out onto stage, her hips shaking back and forth as she did so against the clapping and cheers of the audience.

"This is bad…" Sherman said to himself.