Disclaimer: I don't own Meet the Robinsons

AN: Allo! I'm back already! I just keep having more ideas pop up for this fandom, so I'm frolicking with them. XD Again, Thank You! to everyone who reviewed "Focus" during AND after the bandwagon fun! You're Awesome! And another special shout out to MissingthePoint and Animefreak126 who've supported my MTR insanity! : D

SPECIAL NOTE: Alright, so to help with any confusion, this is in the same universe as my other MTR fics. It's set IMMEDIATELY after "Focus" which you may or may not want to read before embarking on this one. *shrug* I'll leave that ball in your court. Soooo Part 2 of the Spectacle Series Begins! ENJOY!

Chapter 1: Dastardliness…it Runs in the Family

The thunder rolled and lightning flashed through the windows of the Playtime Planet Ice Cream Parlor.

Mikey Yagoobian Jr., son of the renowned baseball player of the same name, sat eating his banana split in contemplative silence.

His short legs swung back and forth anxiously on the plush booth seat.

He'd been waiting for this day. Heck, he'd had to sit through eight practices of Chargeball—faking that he enjoyed the sport for this chance!

Yes…he'd taken all the appropriate measures to meet the boy sitting across from him...and now his plan was coming together.

Wilbur A. Robinson glanced around, his mouth slack and his eyes wide—he was caught somewhere between morbid fascination and horror—pink bombarded him from every angle.

Pegasus-es? Pegasi? he wondered blearily at all the fluffy winged equines and their large eyes; their cuddly long lashed stares rattled the depths of his macho soul.

"It's…amazing…I can literally FEEL my manliness lowering every couple seconds…but the ice cream is fantastic…so it's…almooooost worth it."

"It's one of my favorite spots," Mikey declared. "Dad worked for this company once, way back when he was a teen. You know, before the whole famous thing. That's how he knew it has the best ice cream."

"Mmmhmm," Wilbur answered distractedly. Dude, even his spoon was pink. And what wasn't pink was periwinkle Cinderella blue. He shuddered.

There was a rainbow arch over the door:

Welcome Today! Hip Hip Hooray! Let's Get Together and Play Play Play!

Wilbur's eye twitched.

The raven-haired teen tore his gaze away and focused on his window. Totally storming out there…just perfect…it'd probably short-circuit his equipment if he lugged it around outside. Lame.

This Mikey kid was one strange cookie, as Wil's mom would say.

From the limited information Wilbur had gleaned from their conversation over the hour, Mikey's dad was some famous baseball player and he obviously expected Wilbur to know who.

Unfortunately, Wil didn't follow a lot of traditional sports, preferring Chargeball and Hover-hockey (Whoa man! That was a brutal sport! As if it wasn't rough before, strapping hoverblades to their feet tripled accelerations and impacts).

He'd seen the kid around lately, watching their Chargeball practices. Wil heard through the grapevine that Mikey was hoping to join their team (much to their dismay).

Mikey would be dreadful. And that was the polite way to say it.

He was a pudgy, short boy who needed to use his inhaler after climbing to the top of even the mildest hills (like driveways).

Chargeball was for agile, coordinated bodies with quick-reflexes and long endurance.

He probably thought the sport looked cool—young athletes twisting, turning, sprinting, rolling, dodging, and blocking. Offensive and defensive maneuvers, volleying back and forth in furious flurries. Of course, they were impressive, they were ranked as a Silver Standard Junior League Chargeball Team. There were only two rankings higher in their division: Gold and Platinum.

And as things were going so far, they were totally gonna reach Gold this year—though if this kid's dad WAS as rich as he kept bragging, it was possible that he'd BUY his way into the team…and ruin their chances.

And that…was just sooo unfair. Every other kid had to try out for a spot. No exceptions. Why, it was one of the few occasions where nobody accused Wilbur of using his dad's fame to get in.

Only…it sounded like their coach KNEW Mikey's dad…he was really friendly with the boy, telling him to have his dad stop by sometime—show these youngsters a good ol' fashioned line drive.

Tch. Whatever that was…

With every minute that passed, Wilbur became more convinced that this was what the kid was after. He was a spoiled brat without any appreciation for the hard work it took to execute stellar moves.

After practice today, the mousy-haired chubster swaggered towards him…or well…tried to—the end effect made him look more like a penguin than a wannabe aristocrat.

The boy gushed over his last bout, how super his last maneuver was:

Duh. Wil had done a triple somersault into a side-wind, 180 block followed by a bull's eye strike for the final point.

Every kid and their grandma would be impressed by that. In fact, everyone burst into applause afterwards.

Even his teammate, who'd been opposing him, had congratulated him, dubbing it: "Epic Maneuver of the Day."

Oh yeah, he'd been totally on. Too bad that it wasn't an actual game day, but it was still pretty darn awesome, especially because he'd been feeling a little off today. Unusually tired and sluggish.

It was probably because he stayed up late last night playing video games…again…summer vacation rocked!

Wilbur took another bite. Mmmmm…sprinkles.

It was hard to keep his concentration here. Between the disturbing décor and the delicious confection before him, he kept losing his rationale for being here.

He'd decided to accept Mikey's invitation to ice cream (his treat). The kid blathered on about how he was looking forward to playing Chargeball and that he hoped to learn some tips and tricks from a pro.

Now, Wilbur always appreciated an ego boost, but he knew when he was being strung along.

No, he wouldn't be tricked. He would use the opportunity to carefully convince Mikey NOT to join up. For his own dignity if nothing else…or at least not until he had some real experience…cough…talent…cough…and could measure up.

Wilbur had called up his mom telling her about his change of plans. She'd seemed delighted that he was hanging out with a little friend. He just had to text her when he was ready to start walking home, so that she could know when to expect him.

Not five feet from the entrance of Playtime Planet, the beautiful blue-skied day abruptly darkened and an absolute downpour began.

Maybe if Wil had been more into symbolism, he'd have taken that for the bad omen that it was.

Mikey watched the raven-haired boy for any signs of suspicion. Nothing. Good.

Now, before he invested too much into this, he had to confirm a few more details.

"So, you're really Dr. Robinson of Robinson Industries' son?" It was kind of hard to believe. They looked NOTHING alike, though Mikey reasoned, if the kid was adopted that was hardly any of his business.

Wilbur adjusted his glasses, momentarily snapping out of his fog. "Yep, that's my dad."

"Must be pretty cool living with all the techno paraphernalia."

"Yeah, it's awesome," he admitted, grinning as he thought of the travel tubes. Most malls and buildings had those, not homes. But the Robinson Mansion pretty much doubled as a testing facility. "How 'bout you?"

"We're rich too, if that's what you mean." Mikey shrugged, filling his spoon with strawberry sauce.

"Oh, uh, um. I just…er…that's cool."

"So, your parents are always busy then, hmm?"

"Um, I do…share them with the world, but they always try to make time for me."

"Oh, they always try," Mikey scoffed rather venomously.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the boy's chubby face menacingly.

Wilbur felt apprehension settle in his stomach and suddenly his Strawberry Choco Blast tasted sour.

"Your parents are busy then?"

"Yeah, Mom's a CEO of Phototron—the company specializes in high-line cameras and Dad's out with his baseball team all the time, so I understand what you go through."

"Uh?"

"I mean, I see your parents on televid all the time, so they must be away a lot too. See, we've got TONS in common," Mikey insisted. "All the other kids are jealous of us. All of your parents' friends wonder when you're gonna finally do something amazing. And then there's just us, and what we CAN and CAN'T do. And that's how it is."

Mikey stabbed his spoon into a scoop of pistachio.

"Weeeeeeelllll, thanks for the ice cream, Mikey. But I gotta call my parents. You know, the weather? I really shouldn't skateboard in this so-"

"I could call the chauffeur to pick us up."

"Nah dude, I'm fine."

Wilbur quickly excused himself to a quiet corner and pulled out his earpiece. Forget his plans for talking to the kid like a rational human being—Wil's Creep-O Alarm was blaring. He needed to get the heck outta here!

Mikey crept closer.

Blast! His plans! Why wasn't Wilbur conforming to his schemes!?

Mikey scowled as he eavesdropped on one side of the young Robinson's conversation.

"Hey Dad!"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, all done."

"I know, there's a real downpour! It's like one of those murder mystery shows!"

He laughed.

"Uh-huh. Okay great!"

"Love you, too. G'bye."

Mikey leapt back into the booth as Wilbur swaggered back and took a seat.

"My dad's on his way. Do you…" Wilbur fidgeted. Darn his good upbringing! "-Need a ride?"

"No. I'll just have Lucinda come and drive me home. She's our maid. I could call Charles, but I wouldn't want our limo to get dirty in this nasty weather," he added a bit unnecessarily, as though certain that this was the sort of detail sure to impress Wilbur.

"Uh…cool then."

Cornelius entered the ice cream parlor, shaking the rain from his umbrella.

He'd never been in this one before—opting for Cherry on Top—one of Franny's favorite stops from their courting days. She loved the desserts there, and he loved having her arm wrapped in his.

If he took particular satisfaction in strutting through there with her, it was because he'd been told repeatedly by the owner himself, that Franny was far out of his league and that he should be ready for a hard fall.

Oh yeah, look whose left hands have wedding bands…

The only thing he enjoyed better than having one arm around Franny's waist while he ordered a vanilla double scoop, was doing so…with his other arm draped over his son's shoulders.

Yes, he shamelessly paraded his son in there since Wil's toddler days, not that the kid was any wiser of it.

Father and Son LOVED ice cream, and Cornelius savored that extra hint of victory in each bite.

Playtime Planet…hmmm…his first observation of the place was that it was very…pink.

So much so that his eye twitched.

He'd always considered himself very secure in his masculinity and yet…this place…

Some piece of his teenage-self, that he was so sure he'd outgrown decades ago, winced 'my manliness.'

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought.

Catching sight of his son's trademark cowlick, he walked over. "Hey there, kiddo."

"Dad!"

He smiled and offered Wil a rain poncho. He didn't want the boy getting drenched in the span between the door and the hovercar.

"Have fun?"

"Eeeeyeah….I guess…Dad, this is Mikey."

"Hello, sir," the shorter, plumper boy greeted.

"Mikey, this is my dad."

"Hello, Mikey." Cornelius shook his hand; the child looked familiar somehow, but he couldn't quite place why.

Even after reassuring Dr. Robinson that he'd be just fine, that his ride was on its way, the man sat down with them on Wilbur's side.

Mikey tried to keep a pleasant expression…it was hard.

Dr. Cornelius L. Robinson…

World famous inventor…

He looked just like his picture in the magazines…apparently the whole nerdy scientist look wasn't a gimmick…no, it was his usual fashion sense…eep.

The man was wearing a lab coat…here…odd…

He glanced back and forth between the supposed father-son duo.

No resemblance…yeah, the kid was definitely adopted…which would explain loads about him.

Every kid he'd talked to painted Wilbur as loud, obnoxious, athletic, and melodramatic.

Said description was followed by two main expressions: fondness or complete dislike.

Apparently, he was an academic flunky—spending his school hours reading comics, starting fights, and exploding stuff…some people muttered that he was a firefly in training.

In the sports realm, he reigned supreme: karate, track and field, cross-country, Chargeball, wrestling, and hurdles.

And Mikey, who had no inclination or impressive skill at any physical activities, felt a pang of envy.

He might be a junior state Chess Champion, but he knows he'll never run a 6 minute mile.

Mikey analyzed the boy again. Dark hair, dark eyes, different eyebrows…nope…no…there was no way this kid was Cornelius Robinson's flesh and blood.

Which totally explained Wilbur's lack of smarts…

Seriously, the only thing they had in common was height…though Wilbur, who towered over Mikey, looked short beside his over six foot tall father.

Not even their personalities matched.

The blond-haired man seemed nice, if a bit reserved. He was coldly polite—much better suited to laboratories and business meetings—which was why it seemed so weird for him to be sitting here with them in an ice cream shop.

Weren't they loaded?

Didn't he have better, more important things to do than taxi his son around town?

It just didn't make sense; I mean, he was supposed to be a super genius, right?

Mikey knew he was being extremely intolerant of the man…but it was understandable…he was partly to blame for all of Mikey's misery.

Waking his father up to make that winning catch…jump-starting his career…unforgivable…

Still, he may very well be the key to fixing it all as well…

That is…if he really did have a time machine…

Cornelius was surprised to find plenty of strawberry ice cream left in the bowl. He raised an eyebrow at his son.

Getting between Wil and his dessert was akin to reaching your hand into a horror movie garbage disposal.

Wilbur nudged the bowl at him. "It's delicious. I just got full."

His father picked up the spoon and took a bite. Good stuff…

They spoke about innocuous little things like weather, and school and, eventually, a severe looking woman dressed in black arrived for young Master Michael.

"Well, it was very nice meeting you, Dr. Robinson. I hope you don't mind that Wil and I were planning on hanging out this Saturday."

Wilbur blinked. They wha? When did they plan that?

"Really?" Cornelius grinned at his son. It'd be good to see Wilbur playing with a well-mannered little boy. Maybe some of it would rub off? One could always hope. "Well then, we'll see you on Saturday, Mikey."

With that, the pudgy boy bid them both farewells, before marching off—long nose in the air.

Cornelius polished off the dessert and an attendant in blaring pink whisked the empty dishes away.

"Well, Son? We ready to go?"

"It's all soooo pink," Wilbur murmured, once again mesmerized by the sheer girliness: the smiling suns, and the poofy clouds, and the soft tinkling music. The floor sparkled, there were vases at every table, and the other inhabitants of the spot all seemed to be coming from ballet class.

"The spoons are pink, the dishes are pink, almost all the seats are heart-shaped, Dad," he groaned—face clearly distressed; like some poor soldier traumatized by the horrors he'd seen.

And let's face it, they were literally IN no-man's land.

"I think I lost all my manly points for today," Wilbur whispered dejectedly.

"Come on, buddy, let's get you home."

"I…I kinda…liked the flowers though…"

Cornelius glanced at him in concern. Wide brown eyes stared back. Am I too far gone? Was the unspoken question.

"We're watching Rambo tonight," his father announced matter-of-fact as he opened the door. "We're going to earn those points back."

"It was good ice cream though," Wilbur offered as he slipped his poncho on and opened their umbrella.

"It was," his dad agreed. "And next time, we'll go through the drive-thru."

Read & Review please! : DDDD