A/N- This was my first ever full length MTR fanfic...ahh the memories. I this chapter, I borrowed from the video game, I also borrowed the name Marty from Back to the Future, and Future Father's of America is based on Future Farmers of America. A few original characters and concepts here, but that's about it. I own nothing else.
Of Dogs and Boys
"Dad, for the last time, it's no big deal. Mrs. Muginny just overreacted, that's all," Wilbur was trying to explain his way out of trouble, yet again.
"Wilbur, you set her cat on fire with one of your laser guns," Cornelius looked at his son.
"But I was aiming at the dog. I'm telling you, dad. That dog is up to no good. I think it's part of a secret society of dogs, and there all just waiting." Wilbur's voice became more dramatic. "Waiting for the day to overthrow us all! And you thought Queen Lizzy and her ants were trouble…" Wilbur quickly shut his mouth.
"Queen Lizzy and her ants?" Cornelius had been out of town when Wilbur had messed up the time stream, causing Queen Lizzy and Emperor Stanley to come to power and overthrow all of Todayland. "Wilbur, is there something you need to tell me?"
"Of course not. It was, uh, just a video game. Yeah, that's it. It was just a level on one of my video games."
"Wilbur, I think we need to have a talk about that imagination of yours," Wilbur knew he was in for one of his dad's pep talks. "You're a Robinson. You know I don't like to brag, but you're the offspring of two, well, geniuses. I take pride in being the greatest known inventor, and your mother," Cornelius paused admiringly, "the things she can do with music is in its own right, brilliant."
"Yeah, but dad," Wilbur let his eyes drop towards his feet a little, "I'm not a genius."
"You're smarter than you think. Every invention begins with imagination. And that's something you have lots of, son. You just need to put it to something more productive than charge..."
"No, dad! Don't even say it!" Wilbur didn't want to hear his favorite game spoken ill of.
"Alright, alright. That was just me over-reacting. I'm sorry." Cornelius heaved a deep sigh. "Listen, son. Using your imagination is good; very good. But using it to make up wild stories like Mrs. Mugginy's dog and a secret evil plot…that's bad."
"But, dad…"
"Wilbur…" he was now losing patience with his son.
"But what if I'm right!"
"Wilbur, that's not the point. Firing a laser gun at another person's property, especially a dog, is not the answer even if you are right," Cornelius realized he would get no where if he didn't play along with his son's crazy tale.
"You know what, dad. You're absolutely right," Wilbur's voice suddenly grew nonchalant. "I see my mistake. So, I'll just be going to my room now to think about my actions…"
"Not so fast." Wilbur's dad knew better by now. "Nice try, but you're not getting off that easy. First, you are going to go and apologize to Mrs. Mugginy and then when you get back we'll discuss the rest of your punishment."
"Aw, man."
"Carl will go with you, because I want you there and back within an hour, do you understand? No lollygagging along the way."
"Lollygagging? Dad, you really need to work on your vocab." His dad wasn't amused. "Fine, I'm going."
"I know I'm right, Carl," Wilbur complained the entire way to Mrs. Mugginy's house. "Why didn't he believe me?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you didn't bother to mention your theory before taking it on yourself to blast the dog to kingdom come." Carl began listing answers to Wilbur's mostly hypothetical question. "Or maybe because you're always disobeying everything your father says. Or maybe because of that one time when you used one of his inventions to switch your mother's brain with Uncle Art's. Or maybe the time you lied and said you were…"
"That's enough, Carl. It doesn't matter. I thought parents were supposed to believe their kids."
"You know, parenting isn't exactly my expertise, although you would think it would be as much as I baby-sit you all the time, but I think it's more like a parent's job to keep their kids from turning into disobedient liars who shoot laser guns at 'psychotic dogs'."
"What's your point?" Wilbur stared at him blankly.
"My point? Hmm…I don't know, maybe…my point is, your dad has every right not to believe you."
"You know, Carl. We can go around in circles on this forever so why don't we just give it a rest okay."
"A-ha! You know that I'm right. Admit it."
"Well, hello. Looks like Marty's cousin Sawyer is in town. I think I'll just give a quick…" Wilbur changed the subject at the site of a girl he sort of liked.
"Oh no you don't. Your father specifically said Mrs. Mugginy's and back home. NO WHERE ELSE!"
"Relax, Carl."
"Every time you say those words," Carl looked at the rebellious teenager, "something bad happens. You know, now I understand the ethical ramifications for a father micro chipping his son."
"What!" Wilbur's eyes grew wider. "I'm micro chipped?" He looked at his arms and legs closely studying them. "Where is it? Where?"
"What were your words, oh right, relax, Wilbur."
"So I'm not micro chipped?" he saw his robot friend trying to cover up a chuckle. "It's not funny, Carl. How would you like it if you thought you were micro chipped?"
"That is a rhetorical question right? My entire system is made up of micro chips."
"Fine, it was a rhetorical question. Let's just get to Mrs. Mugginy's and get back home."
"That's what I wanted to hear."
"Cornelius? Cornelius, are you up here?" Franny was in search of her husband. She hadn't seen him since he had learned of Wilbur's behavior, and that hadn't been since right after lunch. She decided to check his favorite spot, a balcony he had created right off their bedroom suite. He had created it to replicate his old rooftop at the orphanage he grew up in. Sure enough, there he was sitting on a rather grungy bench, leaning forward with his elbow rested on his knee and his chin rested on his fist. "What's wrong?"
His wife's voice caught him off guard. "Hmm? Nothing I guess."
"You know you can't fool me. You always come out here when something's bothering you. So are you going to tell me or not?" Franny knew that if Cornelius was sitting here, the problem must be a big one.
"Am I good father?" was Cornelius's response.
"What?" this time, Franny was the one taken off guard. "A good father, sweetheart, do you even have to ask?"
"Yes, I do. I had a talk with Wilbur, but I just don't think anything I said got through to him. Maybe part of his behavior is my fault," he ended his sentence with a sigh.
"Your fault? Wilbur's a thirteen year old boy. He's bound to get into trouble."
"I know, but maybe if I cut back some of my time in the business. Maybe if I spend more time with him, he'll…"
"He'll what? Behave? Maybe Wilbur's just trying to be cool. Being a genius isn't really popular now days."
"It wasn't really popular in my day," Cornelius made room for a bit of a laugh. "But he is a genius, whether or not he thinks so."
"He gets that from his father."
"And he's already a cool kid. He gets that from you."
"So maybe he's just trying to get some attention? Is that what you think?" Franny became more serious on the matter, her motherly instincts sinking in more deeply. "Maybe I've always been too busy too."
"Oh no. I don't want you blaming yourself, now. You're a wonderful mother. You're always here when he needs you. You're not the one who's always here one day and then out of town with the business the next."
"You know what, I have an idea. I remember seeing a bulletin about a father/son group. I think it's called Future Fathers of America. It's supposed to provide fun father/son time while also teaching the fathers and sons to communicate with one another better. Maybe you and Wilbur should give it a try," Franny suggested.
"Wilbur would never be up for it. I don't even know if I'm up for it," Cornelius answered honestly. "I think I remember taking that shrink class in middle school."
"You did take that shrink class in middle school. We both did, and if I remember correctly, we both nearly failed."
"Hmm, I don't remember that part."
"Well, I do. Now, listen," Franny said more forcefully, "you said you think that maybe you're part of the blame for how Wilbur acts. I think this group will give the two of you some time together. After awhile, you'll know if it's something you're doing wrong."
"But, Franny…"
"Cornelius…"
"Alright. You're always right."
"And don't think buttering me up will change my mind, Mr. Robinson. You're going."
"Me? Butter you up?" Cornelius stood to his feet and pulled Franny closer to him. "Why, whatever do you mean?" He finished his question with a loving kiss.