Disclaimer: I do not own Meet The Robinsons, it belongs to Disney.
AN: Thanks for reading! Shout out to Alison 350! I'm glad you're here! For you, solo reviewer, an update! XD
Chapter 12: You are the Future
For the next hour, Wilbur Robinson was sandwiched between his parental units—tangled in a fierce group hug and under a full-blast firehose of affection and affirmation.
He had two people emphatically assuring him at the same time about how beloved and important he was to them.
"You are smart and brave and talented-"
"Mommy and Daddy wanted you so much-"
"We're so proud of you-"
"Can't imagine our lives without you, baby-"
"Very lucky to have you-"
Which was kinda nice…
Apparently, if he ever needed a self-esteem boost, he could just ask for one.
Who knew?
There was probably even a way to use this to his advantage some day as a distraction tactic or to garner sympathy or something, except—
Drip.
His face sprang a leak and it wasn't his mouth or nose.
Their voices reached a fever pitch and they started synchronizing their efforts.
His dad pulled him closer.
"Son, you can't listen to people like that. There are people out there who want to tear you down. They see you and how many good things are going for you and they feel intimidated. And rather than working on themselves or asking for help or guidance, they lash out."
"Daddy's right." Franny snuggled closer to them. "You can't let other people's negativity warp your sense of self or your perspective. Please do not take anything that boy said to heart."
"I wish you'd have said something sooner, Wil. You should not have had to carry this around. But I'm glad you told us. So we can tell you he is completely wrong."
"Exactly."
"You're my best…my best…" His dad was getting choked up. "Of everything…my best-"
"Our best collaboration," Franny assured smoothly. "We see you and feel proud of-"
"Best thing…best thing to happen to…"
During the time fiasco, he'd seen Lewis cry which caught him off guard because his dad was usually pretty stoic.
So, there was a soft sort of shock in seeing his dad completely torn up over this.
"-Me. I never…never want you to doubt yourself or how wanted…I want you. You're wanted…my baby…never give you up. Could never disappoint me. You never disappoint me," Cornelius reassured him.
Wilbur blinked hard.
This was moving beyond the scope of disappointment to rejection and abandonment.
He suddenly felt very small when his adversities were set against his father's hardships.
Some of his mom's admonishments about being more sensitive to his father's past rang through his ears.
It was weird to think that even after everything his dad had accomplished…it still hurt him.
That his dad made a point to usually shield that from him…
And, even in the middle of experiencing a flare up of that pain, his dad was thinking about him.
Worried about him.
Determined to protect him from…feeling abandoned…
Wilbur swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.
"Honey?" Franny looked worried and reached over to set a hand on her husband's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She gave a quick glance back at Wilbur. "Yes, Wilbur. You never disappoint us. Your behavior we have to correct sometimes. But you? Not you. We're both very proud of you. We love you."
His father nodded and held him tightly.
"Baby? Baby, say something." Her tone was getting frazzled.
His father's shoulders shook.
Wilbur tried to pull himself together.
It was hard.
He was overwhelmed.
His own thought process was sorta shutting down.
Come on, brain.
You can do it!
Cognitive-Communication skills activate!
Be positive, dude!
Say something reassuring!
"…Okay."
Both parents drew back a little to look at him with concern.
Sorry folks, that's what I've got right now.
He sniffled.
Hold it together.
Hold it together.
You're thirteen.
You have an awesome life. You have a family that loves you.
How lucky is that?
Except it wasn't really luck.
He could see that now.
It was planning and determination and follow-through.
Everything Lewis had longed for, Wilbur had from the start.
His mom and dad made sure of it.
He didn't really know how to repay that.
The obvious answer was that he couldn't.
The secondary answer was that he could succeed…that he owed them that…only…
He didn't have a real direction.
Because…
I haven't figured my life out, let alone delved into whatever potential I might have, but…
It wasn't game over.
He still had time. Right?
It was tough looking back at a wealth of mistakes and bad choices.
His school experiences had been pretty rough.
He'd taken in a lot of really bad advice from his fri-
Former friends…
Ex-friends…Tony and Rex between Fourth and Fifth Grade.
He didn't even know where to begin with explaining that mess…
But…he had ultimately gotten himself out of a bad situation.
A bad dynamic…
And he liked to think he'd proven them wrong.
Tony scoffed and then sneered, "You really wanna do this, Wil? You wanna be a complete loser? Go through life with NO friends?"
It was somewhat terrifying at eleven to contemplate that. He'd only gotten "cooler" by the standards of their social scene through Tony and Rex's constant interventions.
Wear this, not that. Say this, not that. Do this, not that.
Without them, he'd probably go back to being "Weirdo Robinson," that kid who talked too much about robots and Shark Week. The classroom's resident space cadet who could tank any test despite being a fountain of trivia facts.
But Wilbur had managed to find enough strength deep down, that his voice didn't waver as he replied, "I'd rather have no friends than ones like you."
And he put his money where his mouth was—sixth grade was a year with no friends.
Until…summer break let out and—
"I never thought my Dad would be my best friend."
He wasn't a complete loser.
He'd made a friend. A best friend, even. Right?
Drip. Drip.
Drats.
Both eyes were leaking.
Franny released a deep breath. Well, that conversation had gone off the rails.
She was glad her son had answered truthfully.
If Mikey had been saying terrible things like that from the start…
That Wilbur's family wasn't really his family and said family was actually very disappointed with him…because he didn't live up to x, y, and z...
Her poor baby had put up with a lot.
He shouldn't have had to.
Mikey had been projecting his own feelings of insecurity and inadequacy.
She remembered how off Wilbur had been for the past few days.
Well, this explained that.
She was upset.
That Wilbur hadn't been able to immediately dismiss it as an absurdity.
That he waited and let it fester.
That he didn't just come to them at any point for comfort and reassurance.
That they'd had to drag it out of him…especially when it had hurt him enough to…
Her son was a tough cookie, but this had tripped him up.
Those weren't the crocodile tears that worked on Carl and Lazlo.
She and her husband would have to be more careful when using the word "disappointed" from now on—make it clear that it was behavior or choices that they wanted to correct. Not him. They were never disappointed with him as a person.
Franny was trying to find a little reprieve from the drama by giving Carl a quick check up—having him answer questions from the standard recovery diagnostics page they kept in an emergency binder in the kitchen.
They needed to make sure he was operating correctly before he started lunch.
Cooking helped settle Carl's nerves.
"Soooo? Time fiasco II was averted?" Carl asked nervously.
She gave a very condensed version of events.
"Thank goodness." Only the bot remained fidgety.
"What is it, Carl?"
"I…I didn't mean to eavesdrop…but I did."
Franny put a hand on her hip. "What did you hear?"
"That mean little brat told my poor little buddy, he was a disappointment? To the family?" His eyes spun in distress. "I mean, sure, he disobeys direct commands and doesn't like eating vegetables unless I stir-fry them and he risks life as we know it with devil may care sass. And we all worry about him CONSTANTLY every day from the moment of cellular creation to whatever possible future lay in store. And I am not looking forward to his midlife crisis, I can tell you that. But to say he's a disappointment-"
"What's that now?" Grandma Lucille asked with a platter of cookies in her hands that she'd baked to be served with lunch. "Who said that?"
Franny cringed. "Oh boy."
She tried explaining Mikey's situation to give some context but—
"My nephew? A disappointment? Never," Art declared as he came into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.
"What's this now?" Gaston asked, peeking his head in from the hallway. "Why would Wilbur think that?"
More voices joined in.
"Hey, Sis! What'd they say?"
"I'd know if you stopped talking, Laz!"
"Pipe down, pipsqueaks!"
"Now children, your mother is trying to eavesdrop-"
"Sorry, Ma."
"Sorry, Ma."
"You know what? Robinson meeting!" Franny decided. "We need to huddle. Gather everybody, except Neil and Wil. They're having father-son bonding time right now. But the rest of you need an update."
"You heard the lady!" Carl announced. "Dining room. Be there in ten, folks! I'll have chips and salsa waiting."
Franny decided to give Cornelius a heads-up about her impromptu family meeting.
She headed back to the living room and looked over at the couch, where her husband was holding Wilbur tightly.
She sighed; Neil was still somewhere between furious and heartbroken.
They probably needed a moment alone to talk it over, if she could pry him from Wilbur's side.
This had dredged up all of the worst experiences of his childhood like a faulty garbage disposal.
There'd been real horror in his face at the idea of Wilbur going toe-to-toe with anguish he'd known personally.
She moved closer and rested her elbows on the back of the couch.
"You are so important to me," Neil was telling their son quietly.
Wilbur nodded.
"I need you to know that with every fiber of your being. I know how special you are."
"Thanks, Dad."
"Oh, I'm not done. Now, I need you to know that."
"I don't think that's how that works, but okay."
"I could never be disappointed. What could I ever even be disappointed about? You're such a good person. A great son."
"…Right."
"Wilbur, do you trust me?"
"Of course."
"Then trust me on this. I know what you risked for me."
"…"
"You don't really believe just anybody could do what you do… did…what you do so easily?" Neil insisted.
"…"
"Carl told me you had him scan the prototype time machine's manual and convert it into an audio file. And you played it back at 1.9 speed. And then you successfully operated that machine. That's a 2,000 page manual. And you listened to it ONCE!"
Wilbur sighed. "I already knew how the other one worked-"
"They don't operate the same. The second time machine is much easier."
"…"
"There was a lot on the line. You wanted to fix it, personally. Not just because you were hoping to avoid blame but because you deeply care about me."
"W-well, yeah…I…you're my dad…I…I couldn't just…"
"Mm-hmm. You spent that whole adventure constantly upping the stakes…for yourself. Trying to take them on. Trying to help me. Then, when I resisted, taking me to the future. You'd listened to the manual. You helped gather all the right tools and schematics. You stayed hands-off but within reach. You had a good idea what was wrong with the machine and how it needed to be fixed. You kept quiet, didn't you? You knew it needed to be me that fixed it to get my confidence up. You let a lot of time go by, Wilbur—every minute you waited put you at exponentially greater risk. Carl told me he ran the numbers. You waved them off." He leveled a serious look at his son.
"I knew you could do it, Dad."
Neil ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Willie, that was such a risk."
"No, it wasn't," he argued. "You could do it. And you did."
"Away you went into the time stream!" Neil choked.
"…"
Neil let out a shaky breath and scrubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses.
"…Energy isn't lost, it's transformed," Wilbur muttered.
"Huh?"
Wilbur was matter-of-fact. "You dissolve and then you rematerialize in a time loop. I go back to the morning you left for the business trip."
"Wha?"
"Think video game style. It's the most important time travel expedition I go on. That's the 'autosave checkpoint' so that's where I respawn."
"What!?"
"The time stream doesn't want to destroy me so I get benched. I go into the closed loop for safekeeping. It's that morning again and I go through it all. The door isn't locked, time machine no. 2 gets stolen, I give chase. It all follows. I take Lew-you to the future. I get sucked into the time stream. And the morning starts again."
Neil's jaw slowly dropped.
Wilbur gestured with his hands. "It's a rinse cycle. Every time I go through the loop, I start remembering less until it becomes the first time I traveled again. It's prepping me for a new timeline, so I can merge."
"Did you…go there? This time?" Neil asked tightly.
Wilbur nodded. "Yeah, I was time traveling and something went wrong—for me. Poof. Holding space."
Cornelius's eyes widened. "You didn't…didn't go…back to the-"
"It's a wait-and-see. If you can fix what went wrong, I get sent back to you and I'm allowed to remember everything."
And if it wasn't fixed? He was doomed to cycle until total amnesia overcame his senses and he was merged with whatever new timeline version of himself there was?
That sounded terrifying!
"Temporal degrading?! Temporal erosion?!" Neil theorized, looking distraught.
"It's fine. You fixed it, again. I-ooommf!"
Neil gave him a crushing hug and growled, "Next time, you let Mom come."
"Fine."
"You better!" Franny warned.
Both looked up at her—suddenly realizing she was there.
It was the exact same expression of bewildered, slightly open-mouthed surprise.
How on Earth had Wilbur deluded himself into thinking he wasn't his father's son?!
Franny rested her hand on her husband's shoulder. "I'm holding a meeting with the family to get them up to speed with…everything."
Neil nodded. "Do you…do you need me to-?"
"No honey, stay with pookie." She petted Wilbur's hair.
Ooh, he needed a trim. As soon as he was feeling better, she'd get him an appointment.
She wrapped a ringlet around her finger and then released it. "Boing."
Wilbur gave her a flat look. "You live to embarrass me, huh?"
"Thirty hours of labor."
Wilbur smirked. "So, you don't need a DNA double-check? Or is it that you like having plausible deniability? Dad's locked in now. Sorry, Dad."
Neil's eyebrows scrunched together. "Wilbur, don't say things like th-"
"Baby, do you not want to be related to us?" Franny asked abruptly. She'd had moments growing up where it was very hard to be a Framagucci, where she'd been at odds with what her family wanted for her and what she wanted for herself.
Her husband visibly flinched.
Oops.
Cornelius looked very hurt at that possibility.
Wilbur considered it thoroughly before replying, "I love you and being a Robinson and everything, but there is a lot of pressure."
"Sweetie-"
"Son-"
Their child held a hand up. "I don't think it's from you. The more I think about it, it's…" He motioned at the window. "From them…out there."
Franny nodded in understanding. "Yes. There probably are people out there who have expectations of you. It's not your job to meet them see."
This was hard-earned advice from her own life. If she could spare her son from a lot of the pain and uncertainty she'd gone through, she'd do so.
Achieving her dreams and pleasing people had been untenable.
She eventually came to terms with what mattered most. In her opinion, it took too long.
She'd give her baby the cheat code:
"Baby, you need to be the person you want to be in order to live the life you want. Following all of their instructions for you won't get you there."
Wilbur nodded, taking that in.
She'd gone the more abstract, philosophical route, her husband was very literal and direct.
"Who are these people?" He demanded darkly.
Wilbur blinked and shrugged a shoulder and looked away. "Just…people."
Neil wasn't mollified. "I want names if you have them. Descriptions if you don't. We can use the memory scanner if you have dates."
Wilbur stared.
"Honey?" she murmured worriedly.
Her husband could be very intense when he applied himself a thousand percent.
"Hey…Dad, it's...it's okay. I think Mom's way will work best-"
"I need to know if these are people we regularly interact with. Are they peers? Your classmates? Teammates? Are they adults? Teachers? Are they people that your mom and I work with? Or that we see at conferences?"
Oh…those were very good points.
"…Those are… excellent questions," Wilbur muttered unenthusiastically.
Mikey clearly wasn't the first and only person to say things of that cruel nature.
Her husband looked very determined to sort it all out.
Their son was in good hands.
She pushed away from the couch. "Well, I have a meeting with the family. Keep me posted, honey. Good luck, baby."
"Will do."
"10-4."
Wilbur took a drink of water before he continued with, "Then, Mrs. Green asked what I wanted to be when I grew up and I…answered. She scoffed, 'Not with your grades, Robinson.' Granted, I was scraping C's then so she wasn't wrong-"
"She was wrong. Tests and assignments are subjective measurements of memorization and commitment to tasks. It's rare that they are thought out well enough to gauge actual problem-solving ability or improve critical thinking. Plus, you were nine. Who says that to a nine-year-old?"
Wilbur set his glass of water down and fiddled with his glasses. In some ways, it was kind of cathartic to share these stories.
Especially as it became clearer that his dad really was in his corner. Just like he'd promised a while back when Wilbur was struggling with his confidence to help out with Linen XR90.
Dad was never amused by what they said. He never tried to justify the why's involved. He never dismissed them as small things for Wilbur to get over.
He just listened, intently, as if all of this was data he really wanted to download and examine.
And any time Wilbur wavered, because some of the commentary seemed on point even if it was cutting, his dad didn't.
Dad had his back.
He rubbed at his nose with his sleeve.
It was weird. It made him feel better, safer somehow, even if it wouldn't actually change anything that had happened.
And maybe because he was on a roll, he ended up mentioning—
"This reminds me…this feels like…like when I was little and I could tell you anything."
Blue eyes flashed. "You can tell me anything." There was a beat and then, he asked, "Who said you couldn't?"
Dr. Anna Schultz.
"…And she said, 'When I think of all the time wasted by you. All the projects that are constantly paused every time you have a question or a sniffle. It's a wonder your father has managed as much as he has with you bothering him.'"
"You never bother me."
"Daaad, I used to interrupt you all the time!"
"You never bother me. Ever. I miss you asking me questions."
"C'mon, a lot of those answers didn't have to come from you. They could be found or researched-"
"Wilbur, those questions inform me on what you're exploring and how to support you. I want you to be curious about the world. I want to share in your discoveries."
Wil was skeptical. "But you already know this stuff. It's the same scholarship stuck on repeat."
"Oho! It is a different experience. Believe me."
Wilbur raised an eyebrow.
"Kiddo, you take a lot of different paths. I've gotten to have all kinds of new adventures and perspectives because of you. It's great."
"But your work-"
"My work is never more important to me than you are."
"Umm, it kinda is, or it should be, if it's making the world a better place-"
"NO. It's not and will never be."
Ooh, Dad shut that down hard.
Still…
Wilbur tried to reason with him. "If we go by numbers and want to maximize welfare and happiness-"
"Whoa, champ! Utilitarianism has its pitfalls!"
"It's basic tenets make sense." Wilbur acted like he was balancing the concepts in his hands. "I mean, if time is finite, we've got inventions that can save lives versus me sharing the details of middle school."
"Okay, this is why I REALLY need you to ask me about these things. And for us to discuss them. There are too many excessive sacrifices required of the individual for the greater good in this scenario."
Wilbur's eyes narrowed and he struck up a thinking pose with his hand on his chin. "Huh. Usually, justice, or lack thereof, is the main criticism of-"
"LOTS of morally gray things there, bud. Like how lying is okay if it's for the greater good. How subjective measurements of happiness can be misleading. How people become cogs in the machine to produce certain outcomes. I don't want that for me and I certainly don't want that for you."
Wilbur threw his hands in the air in a gesture of exasperation before setting them hard on his lap and blurting out, "Yeah, but, I don't understand how telling you that Larry Lexington's cat snuck into his backpack and escaped during our sixth grade geometry test to wreak havoc on us all helps you."
His dad's mouth twitched into a smile. "It helps."
"How?"
"I'm not an inventing-machine, Willie. I need breaks. I need human interaction, especially with the people I care most about. You are motivation for me. If I am striving to help make a better world, it's because I want it for us, buddy. If we don't get to enjoy it together…geez…"
"…"
"Plus, you're overlooking something very important, sport."
Wilbur raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "What?"
"You."
"Me? What about me?"
His father gave him that look. The slightly surprised, slightly amused look that said, 'I can't believe you missed this.'
Because Dad was smart, but Wilbur was clever (and clever people didn't often miss the obvious).
"You are an investment," his father explained.
"Huh?"
"If I raise you right and you go off and you do good things, I've done something great for the world. Because you are the future. That makes you incredibly important."
It was like rousing a computer out of sleep mode and giving it the anti-malware software updates it had been deprived of for three years.
There was a little bit of system performance strain and confusion but then…it started taking off.
Even in spite of still being ill, Wilbur became noticeably more cheerful.
It hadn't occurred to Cornelius that Wilbur's sassy tween attitude could develop partly as a defense mechanism from societal pressure.
To think it even included critics from Neil's own social circles which was unacceptable and there would be words. Because he remembered the conference where R.I. had been collaborating with Dr. Schultz from Liveline Optics.
Yes, Wilbur had been a little underfoot. He was ten years old and suddenly concerned over what was and wasn't "cool." And who did and didn't qualify and why. Which wasn't an area that Neil felt like an authority in and he'd been very stressed with a multitude of responsibilities he was trying to balance.
Wilbur had wanted his father's attention desperately during the world conference until he didn't.
And when Neil had finally found a second to check back in with him before the next round of interviews and demos—
Wilbur scuffed a sneaker against the ground. "No…it's okay, Dad. I can wait."
Looking back, he could hear it now in the soft tone:
'I'm in the way. I'm sorry.'
Soon after, "Dad" began replacing "Daddy" in his son's lexicon.
External social forces had been driving a wedge between father and son.
Cornelius would be going through his contacts lists with far more scrutiny.
No one got to sabotage his relationship with his child.
No one.
Getting to step back with more answers and perspective, he'd admit it was strangely relieving that the negativity hadn't been fully internalized.
A lot of it had manifested into displaced aggression against him.
He'd lashed out at Neil with labels: "lame," "boring," "different," etc.
Because he was getting labels: "troublemaker," "underperforming," "disruptive," etc.
He'd acted up and he'd acted out in frustration, directing a lot of the energy back outwards rather than letting it settle.
It was resistance against the toxicity seeping in.
Neil felt more frustrated with himself.
Those actions and behaviors had been distress calls.
Parental unit! Respond! Unable to verbalize what's transgressing. Over.
His son had been grappling with fears of rejection and instinctively balked at the probability of confirmation.
It wasn't exactly the same as Lewis's insecurities, but there were eerie parallels.
Cornelius remembered very well the hurtful inner mantra of his youth at his lowest moments.
"124."
"I'm no good."
"Nobody wants me."
And now there were Wilbur's struggles echoing a similar sense of loss and sadness and helplessness:
"I'm in the way" was shifting into "I'm a disappointment."
Nope. Not on his watch.
Not allowed to "bother" him with questions?
Preposterous.
How was he supposed to keep up with Wilbur's needs if he didn't know where he was intellectually?
The kid was already heading out into some very adult waters, philosophically speaking.
Getting into topics that weren't entirely age appropriate could be incredibly dangerous without having a trusted adult nearby to help navigate.
Utilitarianism, even at its most benevolent, could be cutthroat.
It was a relief when his wife returned and they were able to talk.
While Wilbur took a nap, Franny and her husband made a brief retreat to their room.
Franny subconsciously fell into a fighting stance as Neil relayed the talk he'd had. "That woman said what?"
Neil repeated himself and then said, "No stone unturned. We go through ALL of our contacts and we supervise the interactions. Tag team it. We can recruit the whole family."
"You want to catch them in the act," she noted.
"I want Wilbur to see us shut them down. He needs us. He needs to see us do that for him."
"Ooh, honey, I like it. A little bit of a dramatic flair and public spectacle."
"We are proving that we don't just talk about having his back. We've got it."
She smiled. "Yes, we do."
"We're Robinsons. We have a huge support network here. Wilbur needs to know that."
There was one tentative knock to their bedroom door.
Neil rushed back over to answer it, practically sprinting and then threw the door open.
Their child stared back, looking a bit conflicted. Possibly like he'd intended to do one quiet knock and then scurry away.
"What's wrong, Wil?" Neil asked seriously.
"Um…uh…are we gonna finish…talking about glitching? Kinda went off tangent with…"
A request to resume the fiasco debriefing?
Wow. Talk about a breakthrough!
Her husband was a miracle worker.
They ushered Wilbur in and went back to the retreat space so they could all sit comfortably.
They were inviting germs into their space but…this…their son taking immediate initiative and accountability!? Well worth it.
"Mental glitching," Neil prompted.
Wilbur rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, being sick was weird this time. It's hard to explain but…"
"Try, buddy."
Wilbur fidgeted with his hands and then started gesturing nervously as he began, "Okay, so, I was fevering. Bad. Rain felt good. Dizzy. Yet. There were these weird moments of pure optimism. Randomly? Mouth tasted funny. Um, light-headed and super confused but okay with that? Um. Lots of energy? Could not sleep. Loss of some coordination. Restlessness…impulsivity. Paranoia…" Wilbur slowly shook his head, at a loss. "I dunno. I've never felt that weird before."
"Willie, that's textbook delirium. It can come on with fevers or medication or both as well as other—I'm amazed you didn't say anything. If you EVER feel anything like that again, please tell me or your mother or your uncles and aunts-somebody! You tell somebody here. Promise me!"
"Okay, I will. So…I really was off for a while there? My reasoning was totally odd and I know that created a lot of unnecessarily stressful situations. I'm sorry you had to straighten them all out for me."
"I will accept the conversation before and this now as half of the apology," Cornelius decided.
"Neil!"
"Delirium can trigger hyperactive responses." He looked at Wilbur. "Understand that you are very lucky you didn't accidentally hurt yourself. Some cases of delirium require hospitalization depending on the cause. Toxins could be building in the brain because of a life threatening condition and cognitive disturbance is a symptom."
Wilbur nodded gravely.
"That doesn't cover the Time Fiasco!" Franny snapped.
"I agree. But Fran, he's still not all here. He's seventy-five to eighty percent back. His science brain is on right now. You could ask him the stats for the state's college Chargeball dream teams and he could list you the odds."
Wilbur's jaw dropped. "How…do you know I can do that?"
Franny was confused. "Do what?"
Wilbur fidgeted. "That I…"
There was something incredibly pleased in her hubby's expression as he waited.
"That I…think…" Wilbur dropped his voice to a whisper, "…In math."
Franny rolled her eyes.
Oh no. It was an admission. A concession. A surrender to nerdom!
The horror…
Cornelius beamed. "I saw Mr. Willerstein quiz you."
"You spied on me?!"
"I went into 'Dad-mode.' I got worried about you. You had a rough time maneuvering through the past, sport."
Wilbur flushed. "You saw me-the door? You saw me talking with the teachers!? You saw…"
Neil nodded a little guiltily. "I saw. Do you want to talk-"
"Nope."
"Okay, okay."
"I'm waiting for the other half of this apology," Franny declared.
Her son stared at her blankly.
Her husband ran a hand down her arm. "Fran, go easy. He needs more time. He's almost there. He's…buffering."
She crossed her arms.
But before she could make a rebuttal, Carl announced across the intercom that it was lunchtime.
"Saved by the bot. Thank you, Carl!" Wilbur praised and bolted from the room.
Franny huffed. "That boy."
Neil laughed softly. "Yeah, that's our boy."
He proffered his arm to her and they made for the dining room at a far calmer pace.
She gave his arm a squeeze. "Well done, Mr. Fix-it. I can see you did some heavy lifting. I can't believe he came up to finish the talk out. Unprompted."
He carefully guided them down the staircase. "What's not to believe? Wilbur's a problem-solver, too. He's very smart and he learned ways to bypass issues. It's just that 'patching' isn't the same as 'fixing.' And there's nothing wrong with asking for help when your system is under duress."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying our son had a software bug?"
He turned to her eagerly. "Actually, it's more like acknowledging that his operating system really was being odd and not dismissing it as hormones. And he's trying so hard to stay running and then, with just a little investigative troubleshooting, ta da! It's obvious! He's been a victim of external threats which were compromising his mainframe!"
"Our son had malware?"
"Yes! We've already quarantined and deleted the worst of it, but we'll all need to stay vigilant."
"That's great, honey."
"Yeah." He beamed brightly at her.
She loved this man.
Read & Review Please :DDD
One chap left! ^_^