𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 15
Karen's arms
wrap around
Plankton's slender
form, his head
lolling back
against her shoulder.
Her eyes are
filled with a mix
of love and
exhaustion. The
weight of her
husband seems to
double as she
carries him out
of the lobby,
his antennae brushing
against her cheek.
The world outside
the science fair
seems to fade
away as they
move to their
parked car. Chip
follows closely,
his small hand
clutching his
trophy, his
ribbon fluttering
in the breeze.
The car door
opens with
a metallic
creak, and Karen
gently lowers
Plankton into
his seat. His
body is limp,
his eye still
closed. She
buckles him in,
her movements
precise and
careful, as if
handling a fragile
piece of glass.
The engine roars
to life, and
they pull away
from the curb,
leaving the
science fair and
its chaos behind.
Chip sits in
the backseat,
his eyes never
leaving his
father's face as
they arrive at the
hotel's parking
lot.
Karen's breaths
are deep and
even as she
lifts Plankton
once again, his
body heavier
than it was before.
The cool night
air brushes against
his antennae,
but there's no
response. "Come
on, Plankton,"
she whispers,
as if her voice
could coax him
back to reality.
With each step
towards the hotel,
his weight seems
to increase,
but Karen's
strength doesn't
waver. She's
done this before,
carried his burden
when he couldn't
bare it himself.
The doors slide
open with a
whoosh, the lobby's
warmth enveloping
them. The bellhop
looks up from
his desk, his
smile faltering
at the sight of
their distress.
"Is everything
okay?" He asks,
his voice tentative.
Karen nods, a
single tear
escaping down
her cheek. "Just
tired," she lies,
her voice strained
from the weight
of her words.
They make their
way to their room.
In the quiet
of their hotel
chamber, Karen
gently lays
Plankton on the
bed, his antennae
flaccid against
the pillow. Chip
watches from the
doorway, his
trophy and ribbon
forgotten by the
sight of his
father's stillness.
"Dad?" He whimpers,
his voice
quivering.
Plankton doesn't
respond. "Dad," Chip
tries again. He sets
his trophy and
ribbon on the
nightstand,
his eyes never
leaving his
father's face.
The room is
silent, save for
the faint
humming of the
air conditioner
and the distant
sound of laughter
from the
hallway outside.
Plankton's antennae
tips twitch
slightly, a small
sign of life that
offers Chip a
tiny sliver of hope.
"Dad?" Chip says
again, his voice
barely above a
whisper.
Plankton's eye
slowly opens,
his pupil dilating
as he adjusts to
the soft light of
the hotel room.
He looks at Chip,
his gaze
uncertain, as if
seeing him for
the first time. "Chip?"
He whispers, his
voice hoarse.
Chip rushes to
his side, his
small hands
gripping the
covers. "You're
awake," he says,
his voice filled
with relief.
Plankton's antennae
lift slightly. "What
happened?" He
asks, his voice
weak. Karen
sighs, sitting
beside him on
the bed. "You had
a bit of an
overload, honey,"
she says, her
hand smoothing
his antennae. "But
you're okay now."
Chip watches
his dad, his
heart racing. "You
were saying sorry,"
he says softly.
"For not showing
you were proud
of me."
Plankton blinks,
his antennae
twitching as
his thoughts realign.
"Oh," he says,
his voice still
weak. "I'm sorry, Chip."
Chip shakes his
head. "You don't
have to be sorry,"
he says, his voice
trembling with
emotion. "I just
wanted you to
be happy, for me."
Plankton's antennae
rise, his eye
widening slightly.
He tries to sit
up, but his body
betrays him,
weak from the
overwhelming
stimulation. Karen
quickly supports
his back, her
expression a mix
of love and
concern. "I was
happy," Plankton
says, his voice
gaining strength.
"So proud." He
pats the bed.
"Come here," he
whispers, his voice
unusually gentle.
Chip crawls onto
the bed.
The two sit
silently for a
moment, their
bodies close, their
eyes locked. It's
a rare moment
of physical
intimacy for
Plankton, who's
usually so guarded
about his personal
space. But now,
his barriers are
down, and he's
opening himself up
to his son.
"I'm sorry,"
Plankton says
again, his voice
quivering with
the weight of
his words. "I
don't know how
to show it, Chip.
But I'm so proud
of you." His voice
is raw, emotions
laid bare.
Chip scoots
closer. "It's
ok, Dad," he
says, his
voice shaky. "I
know you're
proud. I can
see it."
Plankton's
body relaxes.
He looks at
Chip, really
looks at him, his
eye searching. "You
see it?" He asks,
his voice
hopeful.
Chip nods,
his eyes shining
with tears. "I
see it, every
day," he says. "When
you help me
with my homework,
when you're there
for me." He
swallows hard,
his voice thick
with emotion. "I
see it when
you try so hard
to be part of
things."
Plankton's antennae
quiver. "But not
today?" He asks,
his voice
vulnerable.
Chip shakes his
head, his voice
steady. "Today too,
Dad," he says. "You
were proud today.
You just had a hard
time showing it."
Karen's eyes
brim with tears
as she watches her
family. This is what
she's fought for,
this understanding.
This connection.
Plankton's expression
softens. "Thank
you, Chip," he
whispers. "Thank you
for seeing me. You
wanna share this
bed with me?"
Chip nods eagerly,
scooting closer
to his dad as Karen
tucks them in.
And for the first
time, Plankton
lets himself lean
on Chip's shoulder.
Chip feels the weight
of his father's head
on his shoulder, and
it's comfortable in a
way he has never felt
before.
His dad's antennae
brush against
his cheek, and he
doesn't flinch. Rather,
he leans in closer,
his arm wrapping
around Plankton's
tiny form, pulling
him closer.
The warmth of
his father's
body, the steady
beat of his heart,
it's all Chip needs
to feel the love
he's always known
was there. "It's okay,
Dad," he whispers,
his voice filled with
understanding beyond
his years.