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“What is that.”
“This?” Wilson gestures to his newest invention, situated at the top of the Mast of the Boat he is standing on. “Why, it’s a Deck Illuminator! Isn’t it grand?” He plants his fists on his hips, and his chest swells with pride. “I’m full of bright ideas.”
Willow, meanwhile, folds her arms, head tilted thoughtfully. “What’s it do?”
“It, as the name suggests, illuminates the deck. Now we can sail at night with no problems!” A beat. “Well, fewer problems.”
“Hm. Alternatively, I could just set the Mast on fire.”
Wilson’s arms drop to his sides, and his shoulders slump. “No.”
“What was wrong with just building a Firepit on the Boat? I liked that a lot better.”
“This is much more practical, and uses less space.”
“I still like the fire better.”
Wilson sighs. “. . .Of course you do.”
“What about this thing right here?”
“Oh, that?” Wilson perks back up, his enthusiasm returning. “It’s a Fire Pump! You see, it—"
But Willow has already excitedly activated the contraption—and is visibly disappointed when seawater shoots up from the Fire Pump in a small geyser. “What the hell? This thing’s broken, it spouts water instead of fire!”
“That’s what it’s meant to do—it puts out fires. Very a-fish-iently, I might add.” Wilson chuckles at his own inane pun. “See, I took a Spittlefish, and—”
“Why would anyone want to put out fires!?”
Again, Wilson deflates. “Because not everyone is you.”
“Lame. Why call it a Fire Pump, then? That’s so misleading. Your naming needs work.”
“. . .Duly noted.”
“Man, the egghead looks depressed.”
Willow stops chewing. “You think so, ‘Nona?”
Winona nods, digging into her own Spicy Chili. “Yeah. Wonder what’s got him so down in the dumps?”
“Hell if I know. He seemed happy when he was showing off his dumb inventions.”
Winona pauses. “Uh-oh.”
“. . .What?”
“You didn’t call his inventions dumb, didja?”
“I mean. . .I didn’t, like, say it out loud.”
Winona sets down her bowl to rub her temples. “You can’t just insult somebody’s inventions! They’re like our babies, y'know?”
“What? It’s just a bunch of weird junk. What are you on about?”
Winona snorts, folding her arms. “You just say the first thing that pops into that little head of yers, don’tcha.”
“Uh, yeah? Doesn’t everyone?”
Winona just shakes her head. “You should probably apologize to the egghead.”
“For what? I didn’t even do anything!”
“. . .Hey, Wilson.”
Wilson doesn’t even bother looking up, dejectedly letting the Spicy Chili drop from his spoon back into his bowl.
“Are you upset with me or something?”
“. . .No.”
“Okay, good. Because Winona thinks I insulted your dumb inventions or whatever.”
“. . .Ah.”
“I mean, who cares about a bunch of junk, right? It’s just stuff.”
“. . .Right.”
“. . .Are you going to finish that?”
Wilson wordlessly shoves his bowl of Spicy Chili into Willow’s hands.
“Wait, really!? I can have it!?
. . .Aren’t you hungry, though?”
“. . .No.”
“Well, if you’re sure. Thanks, Wilson! You’re the best.”
Wilson manages a weak smile before rising to his feet and trudging into the direction of the Tents.
Willow turns back towards Winona, giving her a thumbs-up from across the camp. Winona slaps a hand to her forehead.
“Morning, Wilson,” Willow yawns with an exaggerated stretch, scratching beneath her sweater. “Back on the Boat again, huh?”
Wilson responds with a noncommittal hum, rummaging through a nearby Chest. His back remains to her.
“Whatcha up to? More inventing?”
“Mm.”
Willow folds her arms behind her back, rocking on her heels.
“Warly says it’s time for breakfast.”
“Busy.”
“Aren’tcha hungry? You barely ate any dinner last night.”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, if you say so. Warly’s made your favorite, though—Bacon and Eggs.”
“Tell him to leave it in the Ice Box. I'll eat later."
Willow shrugs. “If you say so.”
“Willllllsoooooon, Wickerbottom says—what is that.”
“This,” Wilson starts, positively beaming as he stands aside to reveal the implement he has spent the better part of the morning tinkering with, “is the Nautopilot.”
Willow squints. “The what? It looks like a big rod with a giant magnet attached.”
“Because it is,” he states proudly. “One of my more genius ideas, if I do say so myself.”
“. . .Right. So, what’s it do?”
“Am I ever glad you asked!” Wilson excitedly clasps his hands together. “The Nautopilot is attracted to the Nautopilot Beacon, which is—” he gestures to the Nautopilot Beacon in question, a smaller rod with a much smaller magnet attached, blue to the Nautopilot's red, “—that object on shore, there.”
“. . .Okay?”
“Once activated, the bulb at the top of either magnet will glow, signifying that each magnet has power, and the two magnets will be drawn together via electromagnetic force!”
Willow blinks. “So, you invented a magnet. With extra steps.”
“Not just any magnet with extra steps, my dear Willow—I invented one powerful enough to pull an entire Boat ashore. See?”
The active Nautopilot's magnet faces the Nautopilot Beacon's magnet, and sure enough, the Boat is slowly pulled to the grassy area where Willow stands.
“Nautopilots and their corresponding Beacons can also be used to pull Boats along in a chain. No longer getting separated on long group sailing outings! Isn’t that just marvelous?”
Wilson hops ashore, eyes sparkling, hands still tightly clasped together, expectantly awaiting Willow’s input.
“Okay, fiiiiine, I guess it works alright.”
Just like that, the light in Wilson’s eyes fades, and his body seems to sag under its own weight.
“. . .You don’t like it.”
“It’s a big dumb magnet and a little dumb magnet, I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“The big deal is—!” Wilson suddenly seizes her by the shoulders as if to shake her emphatically, his gaze wild and manic. . .but he releases her just as quickly with a defeated sigh. “Nevermind.”
“What?”
“I’m not going to waste my time trying to explain the finer points of physics and electromagnetism to you.”
“Good, because that shit sounds boring as hell.”
Wilson, stung, quickly turns away, scrubbing at his eyes with his knuckles.
“. . .Holy crap, Wilson, are you crying!?”
“No! No. Just. . .” He shoos her with an irritated flick of his hand. “Go away.”
“Aww, Wilson—”
“Go away!”
“Okay, fine, jeez!”
“There you are, egghead! ‘Bout time you showed up!”
Wilson sighs. He had been hoping to slink to the Ice Box and fetch his breakfast unnoticed, but no such luck—Winona is there.
Blind to Wilson’s obvious discomfort, she keeps talking, looping a muscular arm around his neck.
“I was gettin' worried! Aren’t you the one always crowin' about how ‘breakfast is the most scientific meal of the day!’ or—”
Winona cuts herself off when she gets a better look at Wilson’s face—his eyes are rimmed with red.
“You got Autumn allergies or somethin'? Wait, no, don’t tell me—criminy, Wilson! Don’t tell me you’ve been cryin'! Who was it!? I'll kick their sorry—"
“Will you keep your voice down!?” Wilson hisses, clutching his plate to his chest. “It’s nothing, alright?”
“Doesn’t look like nuthin' to me! Listen, egghead, if somethin'—or someone—is botherin' ya, don’t hesitate to tell yer ol' pal Winona, yeah?”
Wilson glowers. “Don’t say ‘pal.’
. . .But thanks.”
Wilson sits down on one of the unoccupied log benches. . .and is slightly dismayed and more than a little miffed when Winona insists on joining him.
“. . .Yes?”
“Come on, buddy. You can tell me.” Winona snaps her fingers as something seems to click. “Is this about Willow?”
Wilson, abashed, averts his eyes.
“Hoo, boy. What did she say this time?”
Wilson, fork poised over his plate, sighs deeply.
“Well, you see. . .”
“Maaaaaaax!”
“What,” comes the disinterested response; the magician is standing at his Shadow Manipulator, seemingly inspecting the Purple Gem that comprises its core.
“Max, you know Wilson pretty well, right?”
“We spent a season living together in close quarters during the construction of the Jury-Rigged Portal, if that’s what you mean.”
“But you also talked to him a lot over the radio, right? When you had him build the Maxwell Door or whatever.”
“I suppose.”
“What do you know about his inventions?”
“. . .His inventions?” Maxwell turns slightly, an eyebrow quirked. “He created nothing of note prior to my intervention. I daresay most—if not all—of his inventions failed.”
“Really? Nothing worked?”
“No. Most tended to explode or catch fire in some capacity.”
“Really!?”
Maxwell gives her a deadpan look.
“. . .Anyway. What changed, d'ya think? ‘Cause his stuff seems to work fine now.”
“Why, the Knowledge I bestowed upon him, of course.” Maxwell taps his chin, considering. “And I posit the magic that flows through The Constant certainly helps.”
“Ha! Wilson would never acknowledge the existence of magic. And if you told him that magic was helping him invent stuff all along, he’d probably cry!
. . .Oh.”
“Hm? What’s the matter?”
Willow shoves her hands in her skirt pockets. “I think I made Wilson cry earlier.”
Maxwell laughs. “What? How'd you manage that, pal?”
“I dunno. . .he was so proud of that stupid magnet thing he invented. And I kinda just shit all over it."
“Mm. I think I understand the problem. Beyond you disparaging his inventions, of course.”
“Yeah?”
“He couldn’t invent a thing prior to the building of the Portal. Now that he can, well. . .he's actually succeeded at something for the first time in his life. He takes great pride in his work. So for someone he cares about to dismiss him, even insult him outright. . .I imagine that’s got to hurt.”
“Yeah. . .”
A beat.
“Wait. . .he cares about me?”
“Yes? Isn’t it obvious? He’s very clearly trying to impress you.”
“. . .You think so?”
“Absolutely.”
“. . .Huh.
. . .Maybe I should go apologize.”
“I think that would be prudent.”
Willow suddenly tackles Maxwell in a hug. “Thanks, Max. I’m glad I came to you.”
“Don’t touch me, you filthy little guttersnipe.”
“Hey, Wil. . .son?”
Willow finds Wilson back on the Boat, much to her surprise; she had expected him to have given up at this point.
“Really? Back at it again?”
“You know it.” Wilson turns; he’s got a suspicious gleam in his eye, and he looks downright smug. “I’ve built something I think you’ll like.”
“Yeah? Another invention of yours?”
“I actually can’t take credit for this one—remember when we found that island with all the monkeys? Moon Quay? And we got some Blueprints in exchange for Bananas? Well, I was looking through them—and found one for this.”
Wilson steps aside, gesturing to something that looks like a fat, round, deep red powder keg, positioned on its side and complete with a fuse at the end—as of now unlit. There is a blasted-out hole in it already, as if something had burst through.
“Is that—”
“A Cannon? Absolutely.”
Willow steps on to the Boat to inspect it. “Oh, hey! It moves! Awesome!
. . .Wait, it isn’t loaded? Booooring.”
Wilson chuckles. “Not yet, it isn’t. But that can be remedied shortly.”
Willow waits expectantly.
“I didn't forget the Cannonballs, I'm just letting the anticipation build.”
“. . .Wilson, go get the Cannonballs.”
“Heh, alright, alright.”
Wilson struggles to lift the rudimentary Cannonballs, roughly hewn from Rocks, and lugs them, one by one, on to the Boat. Once arranged into a neat enough pile, he loads one into the Cannon.
“You've gotten pretty strong for a nerd.”
“Why, thank you.” Wilson beams, flexing one arm. “Would you like to feel my muscles?”
Willow laughs, resting a hand over Wilson’s bicep and squeezing. “Still not as impressive as Wolfgang’s. Sorry, buddy.”
Wilson blushes. “Yes, well, we can’t all be Wolfgang.”
“Still, I can feel some muscle there! You used to have noodles for arms—remember when Wigfrid made fun of you for not being able to do a single push-up? That was hilarious.”
Wilson’s flush deepens. “I can do them now.”
“Yeah, the ‘girl önes' where you use your knees. Wigfrid doesn’t do the ‘girl önes'—what’s your excuse?”
“My brain is the strongest muscle in my body, thank you.”
Willow laughs, ruffling Wilson’s hair. “Yeah, sure.
Okay, Cannon's loaded. Now the fun part, right?”
Wilson indignantly fixes his hair. “Yes. Would you like to do the honors?”
“Would I? Hell yeah!” Willow crouches down, Lighter ignited, and lights the fuse.
In an explosion of Gunpowder, the Cannon fires out over the water. The Cannonball, predictably, sinks—and a school of dead Ocean Fish rise to the surface.
Wilson grins. “Looks like you caught us some dinner. That’s certainly an a-fish-ient way to do it.”
“Booooo.” Willow laughs again, poking Wilson in the stomach. “You already made that pun.”
“It was a good one! Come on, let’s grab those fish before something eats them.”
Wilson rows the Boat out to where the Ocean Fish lie, and gets to work collecting them from the water. Then into the Tin Fishin' Bin they go.
“I have to admit, the Cannon is really nifty! And. . .” Willow looks down, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “I guess your other inventions were pretty cool, too.”
“. . .Really? You really think so?”
“Yeah. They’re really helpful. We wouldn’t be able to sail at all without you. Even though water's, like, really gross and stuff.”
“Oh. . .well, thank you.”
“. . .You’re a really great guy, Wilson.”
Wilson blushes yet again. “Aw, shucks. I didn’t do anything.”
“You did, though! You invented a bunch of the gardening stuff, too. You made the Telltale Heart, the Booster Shot—you’re always making stuff that helps people. Where would we be without you?”
Wilson rubs the back of his neck, clearly flustered—but the man is glowing.
“You should be proud,” Willow continues, placing a hand on his shoulder.
But before Wilson can formulate another half-hearted protest, Willow is kissing him.
Wilson stiffens, eyes wide. His hands hesitate over her shoulders, unsure, before finally resting on them.
“Willow,” he murmurs against her lips, “what brought this on?”
“Heh, I dunno.” Her brow furrows. “Do you not like it?”
“No, I do!” he answers quickly. “I just. . .wasn’t expecting it.
I've. . .I've always been drawn to you. Like I've always been drawn to physics. Like a. . .” He pauses to look at the Nautopilot. “. . .Ah, can’t think of the word.”
“A magnet, dummy."
“. . .Oh, right.”
Willow laughs as she, again, tousles his hair. “You’re the dumbest smart person I know.”
“. . .Willow?”
“. . .Yeah?”
“. . .W-Will you. . .k-kiss me again?”
Willow grins, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into a passionate kiss.