Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Now, now. We all have heard of the infamous butterfly effect: the batting of a butterfly's wings playing a part in changing the direction in which the whole planet turns. It's about the never-ending dilemma of ‘and what if’? Back at the beginning of every story, what if the hero had turned right and not left? Would they still have saved the day?
What if Julius Mathison Turing had died in service and had never fathered Alan Turing, father of theoretical computer science? What would our technology look like now?
What if Hitler had been accepted into the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts? What would German culture look like now? How would Jewish history be viewed now?
One small change of direction, one random nudge, and the course of whole generations could look completely different. Another version, another possibility, another universe.

But even if it is a daunting perspective to consider how everything could be so darn different, it does pose another important, quite interesting question!

How much would still be the same?

Maybe Turing's mother would have married another military man, because it simply was her type after all. Maybe her different children would also have scientific inclinations because it was in her genes somehow, and despite not shortening the Second World War by the same amount of years, they could also have contributed to ending it later on.
And maybe odd old Adolf would have spent his days only painting tall blonde men, walking his dog and complaining about jews in some local artsy cafe.

Because really, how much of us is wrought by environment and how much is a tendency rooted in whatever constitutes our essences? If your circumstances were entirely different, how much would you do in a way too similar to what you already do now? How would you echo throughout every version? What could be recognized, even if in different shades, in different fonts?

Now. Let's say, once upon a time, in the late 70's, the United States of America under Carter’s presidency.

In an overcrowded foster home, there lived a young genius with a taste for tinkering and too much creativity— originally, in the story we know, he'd manage to find trouble on his own, isolated, with only his little inventions built from disposed radios and broken Walkmans. But then, something inconsequential distracts him in his walk from school one afternoon, slows him down. And that little change of crossing the street just half an hour later leads to ending up meeting a couple of kids going the opposite way. A set of troublemakers that actually thought such a sharp tongue belonging to a scrawny white boy was amusing, that his last name was cool because it reminded them of a cartoon they'd seen... Then they'd take that scrawny kid for some spins around town to find trouble more stimulating than what he'd seen at the foster home. Teach him some pickpocketing, how to headlock someone, how to take a punch— and most importantly, how to give a damn good one back.
So a few weeks later, when a bully punched him at the school's cafeteria, the little boy would have staggered back but wouldn’t have been knocked out. He'd know how to retaliate.
Sure, he'd sport a few nasty bruises to show his friends, but as they say, ‘you should have seen the other guy’. And really. You should’ve. What advantage the scrawny kid lacked in size, he had in unfiltered rage and know-how to make up for it.

Well. And what if this boy's interest in tinkering turned to fixing an old Mini-14 one of the kids found, to impress the gang leader he might have had a budding crush on, and ended up turning the rifle into something far more dangerous than it should have ever been? Then some revolvers were brought into his hands as well. Then came the invention of new knives and brass knuckles of remarkable quality despite being made from worthless materials. Then he was being asked to rig telephones, nascent surveillance technology, electricity, anything to make the group's job easier when robbing stores and selling drugs. Then outsiders would begin to buy his tools, and that would lead to being consulted for his clever inputs in criminal strategy, he'd be asked for explosives, then, well— one thing easily leading to another until the precocious genius would be too tangled up in local rising criminality.

Then we take into account that friendships forged out of material interests tend to crumble dramatically when the leeching comes to light, and you may imagine that a seventeen-year-old Ivo Robotnik would not react well to being taken advantage of for the last seven years when he'd been in it in a heartfelt attempt to belong.

It all came down with a bang. It was only fitting. A nice picture had been taken of all the debris and fire. Printed over every newspaper around the country, the trials of any remaining gang members had been the hottest topic for the following year, much to young Ivo's delight. He'd read about their miserable incarcerations during his training and cackled at the ridiculous illustrations depicting familiar hateful faces facing their verdict. Because, of course, Secret Services had caught a whiff of the culprit's brilliance and pulled him aside to serve. It had been either that or court. So. Easy choice there. At least he had something to occupy his mind with. And damn him if, in a matter of little time, he hadn't become the most sought-after spy and weapons specialist of his time. A hundred percent success in every mission! 10s across the board and beyond! Infiltrations, covert surveillance, influencing groups, strategizing assassinations, stealing intel and weapons, blowing things up! Sometimes he'd end up razing more area than planned, true, but nothing he couldn’t chalk up to collateral damage or lie about in reports. It never compromised the overall success of a mission anyway.

"All in all, a sparkling career!" Robotnik exclaimed, abruptly throwing his arms to the air to emphasize his point.

The tired sigh escaping Walters' lips could be heard clearly from across the long meeting table. He leaned over it, spreading both palms over the wooden surface and glaring at Robotnik.
They were alone for once; the Commander probably anticipated a heated argument that other officials really didn't need to hear and scheduled the meeting room only for two.

"Goddamn far from sparkling, Ivo." He raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, "You may have an impressive record, but even that's not enough to pull your ass out of this mess."

Robotnik sneered, then inspected his nails only to further express his contempt for the conversation. How utterly beneath him this whole thing was.
"A mess you buffoons could've easily avoided had you elegantly accepted my request for retirement!"

"Ivo, you're 53! Your retirement only comes at 57 as per the Federal Employees Retirement System's laws!"

"I have been spoon-feeding this organization since I was 17!"

"The usual rules do not apply to unusual officers."

"What you actually mean is," an all teeth and no mirth smile bloomed under the mustache, his voice pitching in an shrill mocking tone akin to a child's, "маленький робот-nik here is your fucking slave until he drops dead because having rights is so last century and the whole constitution this country waves around like a flag of moral superiority is actually just for funsies!"

The older man's Adam’s apple bobbed, but his face remained unchanged.
"I mean that your work has been invaluable to us, and we can't afford to let you go just yet."

Robotnik scoffed. Right.

"And look, Ivo, this could be a retirement of sorts if you think about it." Walters stood upright to raise his palms in an assuaging fashion towards the Agent's direction, "Mostly predictable routine in a controlled environment, with minimal physical demands. There will be the occasional travel, but overall, it's a marked departure from the intensity of your previous missions. You'll also have weekends off.” He had the gall to raise his eyebrows at him, as if weekends were the ultimate golden ticket, “Consider it a nice, relaxing break from the relentless pace of field operations. And a chance for dust to settle."

The groaning of his own clenching teeth grated on his eardrums. Robotnik gripped the edge of his seat in a white-knuckle grip.

Is that what Walters called diplomacy?

Condescension neatly tucked into a shiny wrapper. Here’s your delicious-looking poisonous candy, as if he were a crybaby in need of shutting up while expending the least effort possible. Don’t be dramatic, that’s such a good opportunity!

Even if Robotnik was cornered, he’d be having none of that. If Walters wanted to leash him, he’d have to endure the biting first. He pulled his feet from over the table where they had been crossed— some dirt was left in their wake, which pleased him to see Walters glaring at—and firmly planted the soles of his shoes over polished floors. He stood up.

Walters eyed him warily, clearly prepared for an outburst.

That would be the actual ‘nice and relaxing’ option. To just insult him in every language he knew until his lungs gave out. Cause a real scene to justify the empty meeting room. But alas, it would have to be done another time. Let’s stick the hot poke somewhere it actually hurts.

"I want a raise," Robotnik stated as if speaking about the weather. He held back a smirk at Walters’ spluttering. "An exponential one. Make it double.", which worsened the Commander’s offense. He allowed the older man to regain his composure by staring uninterestedly at the glass walls at his right. The city gleamed beneath them, a harsh midday sun making silver buildings shimmer and the horizon warp. People roaming the streets looking like sad little ants…

“You're already the best paid agent in our ranks.” His tone was grave, scolding.

“Well, call it a fee. For all the illegality involved in forced labor, blah blah blah.”

“As if you care for illegality!” Walters blistered, “Maybe I should be creating a tax out of it too to retract costs from the damage you caused!" Then he pinched his nose, clearly trying very hard not to raise his voice any higher and start a shouting match that Robotnik would undoubtedly outfreak and win. He rubbed it a few times. Was it the beginning of a headache? Robotnik dearly wished it was. But then he continued, muttering mostly to himself, "And would cause."

Now, that indeed succeeded in sharpening the silhouette of the Agent’s black suit.

His shoulders tensed. But only a single eyebrow was raised.

“Then it's compensation,” he started in a low tone, eyeing the Commander from head to toe, “for never finding out, hm?”

Their eyes met in a freezing stare.

Robotnik inwardly dared the man to speak up.

Go on, tell me exactly what you mean.

Walters' jaw moved from side to side, as if chewing down something that really wanted to come out.

Break the facade. Admit this is a ridiculous, desperate attempt at keeping me in check. You’re afraid I’ll go rogue. Afraid of treason. Inevitable.

The Commander opened his mouth. A tongue made its way around his upper teeth. Seething.

Make the accusation. I’ll make a really fun one back, and you know how that’ll go.

The puckered mouth closed, then opened again, “A raise then,” Walters spoke through his teeth, “And this matter is settled.”

Robotnik bit the inside of his cheek. Wasted bait.

He brushed invisible lint from his shoulder to cover up the disappointment. If he wanted something to use against Walters, it seemed it wouldn’t be given so easily.

Refresh…

Nothing.

Refresh…

Nope.

Spam… Would he dare?

He should have. Better than nothing at all.

Inbox. Refresh…

No, niente.

Fucking imbeciles. If Walters is too damn old to send an e-mail by himself, he should’ve had the new secretary do it. What good is it to be blonde and skinny if she can’t even send a couple of files in time?

“Sir, the living room is all set. Should we take care of the bedroom or the office first?”

Robotnik turned around to stare at the young man speaking to him. One of the moving crew’s members.

“Bedroom.” He answered flatly, briefly glancing at the other men carrying out his expensive couch all wrapped up in film, “Don’t bother with the office, I already told you I’ll be taking care of that later.”

“Right. Ok.” The boy answered a little testily, looking at him up and down, but went back to help his colleagues without another word. Robotnik raised an eyebrow. What about him set this idiot off this time? He’d barely spoken.

Dealing with stupidity would not make his hatred of moving any easier. If that shit kept up, a nasty fire was heading his way. He wasn’t spending a ridiculous amount of money on a moving company to endure some moody monkey. He turned back to the tablet.

Refresh…

For fuck’s sake.

He made to spitefully throw the tablet at the couch, but refrained at the last second.  The couch wasn’t there anymore. Ugh.

Might as well make himself useful before the unresolved impulse to throw something became too much. Sauntering down the empty corridor, he passed by the busy bedroom.

“I’ll be at the office, don’t interrupt me!” he announced without stopping, his voice echoing strangely from the lack of furniture, “Get everything in the truck, then just go, no need to call daddy for that!” He snickered at himself, then walked into the office and locked the heavy door.

Where to begin, then? This one room was full of interesting stuff that no regular civilian should have their hands on. Stolen confidential documents, codes and passwords to both physical and virtual places he shouldn’t be able to access, compromising surveillance logs, a collection of defense grid layouts from a couple of countries, fake passports and IDs, his very own unregistered encryption software… The list does go on and on and on. And it was all very engaging reading material indeed, but the real fun was in the hidden store just beneath the floorboards! With a sigh, the heel of his shoe tapped in a set of knockings to the rhythm of the first ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’ notes. Then he squatted with an air of boredom, too used to the process. From an unassuming small hole between his feet that otherwise could be considered just another wood imperfection, a column of light rose, to which he promptly aligned with his right eye. A low beep sounded as his retina was read.

Soon, the floorboards ahead receded, and a bulky metal storage rose from below until its top reached the ceiling. That was where Robotnik kept his extensive collection of untraceable, unsanctioned, underground weaponry.

His favorite usages of the letter ‘U’. Every time he saw some corny Valentine’s gift in storefronts with the classic ‘I ❤️ U’, that’s what he thought of, honestly.

There had been no plans of moving out anytime soon, but the new job was in the neighboring state, some isolated nowhere near a small town that made it too inconvenient for driving in and out five days of the week. So, it came to being assigned a ridiculous new house with far too much garden behind it. Military housing. Military housing he couldn’t tamper with to make secret storages for hobbies the brass wouldn’t approve of. That meant some urgent acquisition of nearby property to hide everything and hastily contracting a more specific moving crew he trusted not to say a word to take his babies there during nighttime. But of course, that would require another sleepless night because he’d be damned if he wouldn’t tail the truck anyway. Trusting people seldom got him satisfying results and he wasn’t about to risk his treasure even to someone who owed him.

Command had given him a week before the new assignment.

Robotnik sighed, already bored at the unavoidable menial task of having to sort everything out. How he envied movie villains surrounded by devoted henchmen who would do the managing, the paperwork, the heavy-lifting so they could have all the time in the world to focus on what really got neurons firing.

Like reading the file Walters was supposed to have sent him.

He looked down at his tablet, powered it on.

Refresh…

Oh! YES!

Wait. No, that’s not it. What the hell?

“…might as well come along and catch a glimpse of your new protectee…” Robotnik mumbled out loud. He frowned, then snarled. “The imbecile had time to invite me over for a field trip but not to send what I’m owed?!”

His patience was constantly mangled. Every single day. How he still did not have a psychotic breakdown resulting in a massive killing spree was still a mystery.

The rush of wind that briefly passed Robotnik was strong enough to sway the curves of his mustache.

Impressive, with the amount of wax he employed.

The moronic crowd behind him cantillated a chorus of pleased hums he refused to join. Make any noise and suddenly the horde of senior commanders would think it was allowed to come talk to him and, dear God, the last thing he wanted was to be social with bumbling-upper-echelon-club.

The testing field ahead was extensive, some wasteland covered in dry grass that had required him to endure a noisy helicopter trip then walk under a scorching Sun towards the grandstands, the only spot of shade available in that infernal facility. And though he did it all with much grumbling, Robotnik was… surprised to admit… he didn’t regret it.

Another bout of small radio-controlled aircrafts took off from the ground and diverged paths once high enough, only visible through the distance by their striking red coloring.

Is it a bird, is it a plane? Is it a bunch of military toys about to meet their end?

Robotnik’s back straightened. There was something strangely bubbly happening in his stomach that made him feel like a child again, like those rare moments when Star Trek would be playing on the orphanage’s old TV set. It didn’t take long before the round black drone was flying by in a fast arch upwards, once again kicking up a burst of wind around them. The rising was so smooth, controlled, and it sped rather masterfully towards the targets in strategic order, shooting them down one by one. The first seven aircrafts stood no chance, splintering into a thousand pieces with one shot each— No waste! Robotnik noted—, red rained down under blue skies. Then, with bated breath, he watched as the drone whipped around towards the remaining five. But instead of simply shooting them down like the others, the fascinating machine did the strangest thing instead. It kept flying towards an aircraft, which headed in its direction as well. What? Was it supposed to attest for endurance against a direct hit? As miles turned to inches, the Agent’s frown only grew. He quickly pulled off his sunglasses and grasped the binoculars on his lap to replace them.

In great detail, he watched as the drone’s form reconfigured into something almost liquid, gooey, then swallowed the aircraft whole.

Some parts of its surface acquired a strange warm glow, as if digesting it. Then proceeded to swallow another two while shooting down the ones remaining. Like it wasn’t just the weirdest thing he’d ever seen.

As the drone began its slow descent, Robotnik was vaguely aware that the bystanders behind him were now booming with conversation and praise, a few complaining about budget extravagances too, the usual. He muted it almost instantly, instead directing his attention and binoculars to the sight of a beast returning to its maker. The drone descended slowly, gliding across the field like a bird. Then halted to hover in front of a man. Olive-skinned, short dark hair, symmetrical face, neatly trimmed beard.

Robotnik wasn’t sure what he expected.

Maybe some gangly white nerd with ugly glasses and a hoodie. Never mind how hot it was, hoodies were all kids seemed to wear these days, and that was as sure a thing as the systemic racism in education. But exotic features, a tasteful all-black casual outfit consisting of slacks and a t-shirt certainly wasn’t close to anything he’d pictured.

“That one in black is Doctor Aban Stone. Doesn’t seem all that bad, huh? Even walks around in your colors.” Walters’ voice broke him out of his reverie. His uniformed figure was leaning in from the bench behind Robotnik, a sweaty temple hovering too close for his taste.

Robotnik raised an eyebrow.

“Are you trying to find me a pet?”

Walters snorted. “Whatever works, Agent. Isn’t that what retirees do?”

“Retirees retire.” He snarled, then pulled the binoculars back to his eyes, “You sure are taking your goddamn time in dispatching his file. Still figuring out where the ‘send’ button is?”

“Now, now… Don’t be impatient, Ivo. I’ve had a busy last two days, what with getting the brass to approve your astronomical raise.” Walters conversed in his forced good-natured demeanor.

Robotnik wished upon a star that he’d get to kill him someday.

“I want it in my inbox tonight, Walters. Or you can expect an extra week of vacation on my end. I’ll go fishing on that putrid little river around town for the fucks I do not currently have to give about your problems.”

The hot gust of furious air leaving Walters’ nostrils was more heard than felt.

“How distasteful, Ivo.” He lowered his tone to a dangerous warning, “How about you reformulate that?”

So touchy when in public. Robotnik had a nagging feeling Walters might complicate something for him in the near future for that one. But backing down? Hah! He wished. Taking the following silence as the hint it was, the older man finally leaned away to chat with someone else.

Well. Back to Aban Stone. Christ. Is that even his real name?

The Doctor was now placing the drone in a big case, then proceeded to pat it a few times as if it were a cat. Officers rushed to and fro around him, tidying up the mess. He pulled a tablet from somewhere and had his attention sucked to it for a while.

Lo and behold, that was the prick Robotnik was bound to protect for the foreseeable future.

In a way, he could see the appeal of putting some juvenile know-it-all in his place. That’s what he was best at anyway, and picking apart idiots that thought they were smarter than everyone else just because an engineering degree hung upon their fireplaces had become an art form at this point. Well. That, and… The chance to take a closer look at how that drone worked. The mid-air metamorphosing ability was admittedly interesting, though it did lag a little between swallowing objects and shooting, too much recoil. It could certainly improve from some recalibrating. It wasn’t yet at its optimal performance, Robotnik could tell.

He kept watching a distracted Doctor Stone. He seemed calm, collected. Or maybe just boring. A soldier approached him, her mouth moved as she spoke, a frown etched on her face. The Doctor briefly conversed with her, a pleasant smile blooming on his lips. Some Mister Nice Guy, then?

She laughed a little, assuaged. Then turned away and left to continue whatever it was she’d been doing before. How interesting it was to see the perfect teeth smile drop completely as soon as the officer turned her back. Robotnik raised an eyebrow. No more Mister Nice Guy… No more Mister Cle-e-e-ean!

Doctor Aban Stone, huh? Calm, collected, fake.

Probably thought he was so much better than all of them. Would probably think he was better than Robotnik too! That he could do as he liked, make a doormat out of him either by force or fake charm. Robotnik would bet his favorite vintage pistol that the narcissistic idiot would preen at his own importance as soon as he read his file and found out that the best agent in town had been assigned to him. A snarl escaped at that line of thought. It didn’t take much to hate a man; they all made it quite easy.

Well, but none of that would be going according to plan. The Doctor might still sport the sweet illusion of being a big fish in a small pond, but… He never had an agent like Ivo Robotnik. He eyed the profile of his slightly downturned nose, the way he impatiently tapped at his tablet. Everything under control, every whim put to action under fast-moving digits... He waved an assistant away as if she were an annoying fly without even sparing a glance.

Robotnik smirked as he put the binoculars down. Oh boy, wasn’t that one in for a big fat surprise.

On the way out of town, Robotnik drove past utility trucks clustered under power poles, workers in high-vis gear pointing at shattered lines and scorched transformers. He squinted, then tsked at the deplorable mending job.

One man looked up as he passed, shielding his eyes. He didn’t slow.

It took him actual twenty minutes on the open road to reach the coordinates Walters sent him. It better be the most scandalously high-end tech lab ever, to be so far away from the nearest coffee shop. How the hell was he supposed to get his fix during working hours?! He took a turn into a smaller, shady byway surrounded by trees that ended in crash-rated swing gates. Not much could be seen beyond them or the thick expanse of foliage cramming from both sides of the path. The GPS announced his arrival.

He punched the horn. Once, twice, then a third one that kept going on until the gates shook and began to slide sideways to allow him entrance.

Parking was easy when you had a sole coworker around. And a biker one, it seemed. As Robotnik exited the driver’s seat, his eyes traveled up the two-wheeled vehicle nearby with mild distaste. A BMW. How predictable.

A gloved hand automatically rose to fasten the first button of his suit jacket. He looked around. Flat fields upon flat fields, trees peppered the faraway horizon. The military facility that was supposedly near actually looked like a pitiful milk carton from where he stood, distant as it was. Not that he was complaining over the reduced amount of idiocy he’d have to endure on the daily, but it certainly didn’t help with the caffeine conundrum. And Walters had failed to mention that the lab was underground.

He sauntered over to the entrance, a square opening on the ground surrounded by well-kept rails. A short descending stairway leading to heavy doors that screamed ‘stay away’. But nicely. Because even the goddamn doors were polished to an inch of their lives. Who could possibly have the time to do that? As he stepped down to it, a satisfying hiss echoed as access was immediately granted, he didn’t even have to interrupt his course. Honking exaggeratedly always did have the effect of making people rush to avoid leaving him waiting again, and it seemed his golden technique still worked wonders. When the elevator doors opened to reveal the lab, Robotnik cursed under his breath. Stepping into the place was akin to entering a black polished cave. Sleek dark walls, dark floors, dark ceiling, dark everything. Led blue lights framed every corner and huge holographic screens showcased formulas and blueprints of ongoing work.

“Hello!” A pleasant voice chimed from his left, “You’re just on time. Welcome.”

Robotnik eyed the man up and down.

He wore the customary lab coat over a dark purple light sweater. Maybe cashmere. His beard was even more perfectly trimmed than he’d gathered from the binoculars. It framed that perfect teeth smile also observed, but up close like this, it clearly didn’t meet the big dark eyes above.

And an extended hand hovered between them.

Robotnik’s nose wrinkled.

“Keep that to yourself, yes?”

The smile twitched, uncertain. The elevator-eyes move was mirrored by the Doctor, watching back.

“I’ve seen you before. You were at the test field last week.”

“How observant.”

Robotnik watched the hand fall back to his side and began to look around again. Something was off about the place. Maybe it was the obsessive alignment of a set of torque wrenches over the closest counter. Or the fact that his reflection greeted him from every perfectly polished surface.

“I’m Doctor Aban Sto—”

“I’ve read your file, I know who you are.” Robotnik interrupted as he approached one of the screens showcasing blueprints, “And don't expect me to go around calling you 'Doctor'. I'm not here to brush up on a teenager's ego."

Some prototype for a tricopter, but the core looked like… A DVD CD?

"That’s generous of you, but I'm 33." Doctor Stone countered, still going for the warm tone he’d decided to start with.

Robotnik barely heeded his answer. He just whipped around, sporting a nasty scowl and pointed at the screen. "Is this some sort of fucking joke?"

Stone’s eyes widened a little, “Excuse me?”

Robotnik scoffed.

“Let’s make a few things clear to begin with. First things first, you’re not in charge.” He brought a hand to his chest to match the blooming condescending grin, “I’m in charge.”

A few large steps back towards the younger man was enough to crowd his personal space. Robotnik stared down. To Stone’s credit, he didn’t step away. Only glared back as the perfect teeth smile fell away and a stiffness crept into his frame.

Ah, finally getting somewhere.

 “This may come as a surprise to you, used as you are to being buried in this sterile hellhole all on your own, but make no mistake! I’m the babysitter, you’re the toddler. I say ‘TV time’, you get to have your fun. I say ‘nap time’, and you goddamn better make your way straight to the sixth realm of sleep.”

If looks could kill, Doctor Stone was sure having a nice try.

“Second, you’ll be sending me an updated schematic plan of this place since Walters clearly can’t be trusted to check up on that. Then a list of every ongoing project and spare me this—” Robotnik motioned dramatically at the blueprint behind him, “—absolute bullshit. If I were to steal your work, I can guarantee you wouldn’t be able to stop me. So cut the crap with the DIY robotics for children over here, plus whatever else you wasted time coming up with just to distract me and show what you really got.”

The silence that followed was a bit too loud. Only breathing could be heard alongside the soft chirping of computers constantly running statistics.

Then a low-frequency beep chimed from a few feet away.

Robotnik tore his eyes away to stare over the Doctor’s head at the familiar black drone now hovering closer. It bore a discoid shape this time, but very recognizable nonetheless in its smooth and ominous aura.

He grinned again, but a genuine one. “That’s more like it!”

Easily shoving Stone aside, he leaned down to observe the machine. Where is the front, he wondered, if it even has a front? Or where did it open, since no crevices could be seen over the surface. Robotnik squatted, unashamedly inspected it from every angle, then carefully brought up a knuckle and risked a knock. The sound it produced was undoubtedly metallic. Curious. How did he manage to make such a malleable thing? He knocked again.

“Why is it shaped like a shingle, then?” He looked back at the Doctor, only to find him looking strangely disappointed.

He raised an eyebrow, stood up. Plastered his full palm around the drone’s side and slid it up to the flattened top. It was capable of supporting a significant weight, as he discovered upon briefly leaning some of his own onto it as if it were a desk. Warmth seeped through the fabric of his gloves. He straightened up.

The Doctor’s sharp eyes accompanied every move, the only sign of life in an otherwise expressionless face.

Robotnik squinted.

“Cat ate your tongue, Doctor?”

“I thought you wouldn’t be using my title.”

“Only when it’s derogatory.”

Stone squinted back.

Ha! This one will be fun to break.

Robotnik decided to wave the annoyingly silent man away since he obviously wasn’t going to be forthcoming with any interesting answers and headed off to explore the compound for a bit.

Amidst so much black, the Agent was surprised to find that the kitchen contained a vaulted ceiling with an unusual oval-shaped glass aperture. Thick, pressure-sealed, and rimmed with a heavy metallic frame bolted into place. He could see switchgrass and a little milkweed outside, surrounding the open space, swaying softly to the breeze. How odd. Was it initially built like that, or was Stone the culprit? How would he even have convinced the brass to install such a thing?

The second thing he noticed was the considerable number of plants spread over the central aisle just below. A small jungle. He didn’t recognize most of them, but the few he did were enough to make a mental note not to ever accept drinks from the Doctor. Belladonna? Really? If Stone didn't look so much like a jock shooting for a Steve Jobs flair, Robotnik would bet the goth lifestyle had been his puberty's theme instead.

There were actual cupboards, storing mugs by order of color. Nothing with snarky phrases or inspirational quotes, just plain matted tones. The ones to the side harbored protein shakes, dried fruits, some toast. Boring. He closed it and headed to the fridge, throwing the door wide open with a quick pull.

All he could do was stare. It was filled with all kinds of healthy nonsense. Oat milk, goat milk? Sure, what the hell. Sugar-free yogurts, carrot sticks, a wide variety of fruit and kombucha bottles— also sorted by color too, what the fuck— and a few bowls covered in film for storing apparently homemade recipes he couldn’t even begin to guess the contents of. He picked one up, pulled the film back while trying to avoid touching whatever was inside it at all costs. Brought it close to his face, sniffed.

Guacamole.

Jesus Christ.

He hastily put it back down without bothering to cover it up again. 

Oh.

How hadn’t he seen it before?

The plants had hidden it from his field of vision upon entering, but now it was plain to see: a gorgeous, impossibly expensive-looking coffee machine. It gleamed silver against the rising sunlight, Robotnik could almost hear a choir of angels singing sweet tunes to his ears.

The only problem was. It wasn't automatic.

It had handles, a steam wand, filters and a coffee bean grinder beside it. Robotnik didn’t have much of a clue how to use that, and even if he could easily find out, the complete lack of motivation to do so was a goliath-sized 'but'. He cursed inwardly upon reaching the conclusion that he'd need to buy a thermos.

Having had his fill of the kitchen, he wandered off and found what looked like an archive room.

The lack of dust wasn't enough to decrease the vibes of general disuse permeating the space. An old wooden table occupied the center of it, supporting a contrasting high-tech computer, similar to the ones in the lab and a single note resting right beside it. Robotnik made his way to it. Pulled it up between two fingers.

'Username: agent.i.g.robotnik
Password: 46yT2opGhm7
The password can be changed in Settings.'

It was crunched under a vicious grip.

Robotnik stormed out of the room and headed straight to the lab. An entrance loud enough that it had the Doctor half-swivel his chair to witness. Robotnik stopped abruptly in the middle of the lab, making a show of looking around in exaggerated rolls of his neck. Inspecting every table and counter, making faces at each one until his chin rose in the direction of a sleek workstation covered in motherboards.

"That one."

Stone frowned.

"What?"

"That one is my desk." 

"You have a desk."

"Indeed I do! And it's that one."

Stone's jaw tensed. His chair rotated until he fully faced the Agent.

"There's a desk and an office for your free use in the first door to the left, right after the kitchen. I placed a computer there for you."

"How slow can you possibly be?" Robotnik sneered, "You won’t stuff me away in the backroom. This is your only warning."

That said, he pivoted sharply and strode toward the archive room. He had a computer to retrieve to his actual desk.

The first days were coming along nicely enough.

Within calculated expectations, Robotnik thought while idly spinning in the office chair he’d dragged from the archive room. One leg dangled to keep pushing, the other folded to tuck a foot underneath a thigh, which held his glowing tablet. Rules set, bullshit cut, parameters assessed first-hand… And Stone had sent the files he demanded on the first day before lunch break. At least this one’s prefrontal cortex knew the right tasks to prioritize! Unlike Walters. But that wasn’t challenging competition anyway.

Studying and memorizing every detail was a matter that took mere minutes. And he was already drafting his own… Let’s say, optimization plans. It would take a while, but would be worth it nonetheless.

He yawned, closed the tab, opened another one.

The Darknet auction had ended. The latest firearm he altered had gathered quite a follower base in a trusted weapon smuggling forum, the highest bidder offering an amount of money so ridiculous Robotnik had to triple check his legitimacy before sealing the deal. Seemed only sociopathic billionaire heirs knew how to appreciate his handiwork these days… He sighed heavily, closed the tab, opened another one.

A bark of “Fuck’s sake!” slipped out immediately. He'd forgotten the hacked chat between the Governor and his mistress was open. Suffice to say, the man was feeling flirty and had pictures to prove. Robotnik half-turned his face away in disgust and tried to avoid further visual contamination while tapping to change tabs again.

Tap tap tap— phew. There.

Oh. This chat.

M: non ti fai sentire da un po’…..

Robotnik rolled his eyes. Tapped his response.

R: impegnato.

M: e l’offerta?

And they were answering as fast as an obsessive teenage boyfriend. Hell, what time was it in Napoli? Around 7pm? The man should focus more on his dinner than this needy nonsense.

R: forse più tardi...

R: ...se ne ho ancora voglia

M: ce servi mo’

R: come tutti, no?

M: basta giocare.

R: adattati o sparisci.

The tablet was thrown over the table. Robotnik stood up. His arms stretched above his head, a few joints cracked pleasantly. He picked up the empty takeaway carton and dropped it into the nearest trash can. A quick flick of the wrist pushed the sleeve cuff aside, exposing the time.

Stone was twenty minutes late. Again.

Was he doing it on purpose? Ever since Robotnik came along, every lunchbreak seemed to stretch, the Doctor only gracing his own goddamn doorstep almost a whole hour later than he was supposed to. And normally Robotnik wouldn’t give a shit about how much time people wasted doing what-the-fuck-ever they wanted on the government’s dime as long as they didn’t bother him… Though the thing is. Stone might not be bothering. But Walters certainly fucking was. It's been what? One week and a half? And he already had an unread e-mail ridiculously titled “Doctor’s performance drop”. He didn’t need to open it to know that if Stone didn’t lock the fuck in, the Commander would be resorting to calls or physically showing up to check what was going on. And one thing the Agent couldn’t afford right now was having Walters pick up the scent of his plans. No, this party was about to crash. Vacation’s over, kids. Robotnik flung himself back onto his chair, pulled up the live feed from the base’s chow hall.

Still peppered with people.

A table with a few soldiers in deep conversation, some lab-coat clad staff sitting in pairs, a suit or two by the bar… In a corner table, the familiar dark purple sweater was hunched over a book.

Hacking into certain building functions had never been difficult. The PA System? Robotnik could do it in his sleep.

“HOUSTON—” the speakers crackled, “—WE HAVE A PROBLEM.”

The camera was so good it was easy to watch the confused frowns and head turns. Stone stared straight at the camera. Straight at him. Pinched eyebrows, wide eyes.

“Yeah, you. Numbskull.” Robotnik muttered under his breath before leaning back to the microphone and activating it again.

“TURNS OUT DOCTOR SLOWPOKE IN THE CORNER CAN’T BOTHER TO CHECK A GODDAMN CLOCK. HOW ABOUT HE HAULS HIS ASS BACK TO THE LAB BEFORE I HAVE TO GO GET HIM MYSELF?”

Worked like a charm. Stone was on his feet in a second, scrambling to gather his things. All eyes were on him. He dropped the book, rushed to pick it up. Almost tripped on his own feet. Then bolted out of the double doors. How pathetic. Almost amusing enough to ease his nerves.

There, done. Now it was a matter of… Robotnik checked his watch again. Ten minutes before Stone stormed into the lab with the usual disapproving but controlled scowl.

He’d been taking Robotnik’s abuse like a champ so far. Not that he really pulled out any of his big moves yet. But that’s the secret to really setting someone off: it’s got to be done gradually. Build tension, nip at their patience bit by bit so as not to let them realize how much is being taken away until spiraling down into a breakdown they barely saw coming.

Robotnik wondered how long until the man would fall prey to the obvious simmering fury he tried to keep under wraps. Heh.

Said ten minutes passed, and almost as if perfectly timed, Stone walked into the lab with said murderous scowl.

“What the hell, Agent?!” Was barked as he approached Robotnik’s desk, who returned it with a raised eyebrow.

Okay, the scowl was angrier than he’d calculated. Progress?

“Complaining about needing to be called back to work? I don’t think HR would side with you on that one.”

Stone’s fists clenched.

“They might, after I tell them you’ve infiltrated the sound system to do it. No one authorized you that access.”

“What would you know about my authorizations, hm?”

“Do you ever listen to yourse—”

Robotnik threw his head back and interrupted with a drawn-out “EEEEURGHHH.”

Stone stopped and stared as if he’d grown a second head.

“As the kids say, chill bro. Touch grass. Whatever.” Robotnik waved it off with a flourish, then got up. “Remember our earlier pep talk? Babysitter now says ‘go stack your blocks’. Don’t pout or I’ll tell mommy you’re misbehaving.”

The Doctor continued to stare strangely at him.

He was clearly taken aback, dark eyes jumping all over his figure in a desperate attempt to figure out what kind of absurdity stood before him. Robotnik was quite used to that look. Reveled in it. He raised his chin to look down at the man. Ever heard of ‘if you can’t beat them, confuse them’? Well, he’d mastered ‘beat them and confuse them all the same’.

But then something shifted in Stone’s eyes. Subtle, hard to name. Like a thin thread of calculation came and went without leaving trace of its conclusion. His scowl softened, shoulders eased.

“Look, I…” The younger man began, “We’ve clearly started off with the wrong foot.” As an apologetic smile grew, a hand rose to cart through his own hair a little awkwardly.

“I’m used to being on my own around here, you know? My own space, my own time… Walters sending in agents is a new thing, you must’ve read that the other two before you messed around in the lab with things they shouldn’t have and it ended badly. I suppose it made me a little defensive when he sent another one, but” He motioned reverently towards Robotnik, “your expertise clearly surpasses theirs. You’re… Different. You know what you’re doing.” 

If it wasn’t the most appreciative thing anyone had said to him in years.

A gloved finger tapped a few times against the table. Robotnik eyed the sheepish man from head to toe, unimpressed. He circled around, stopping short of bumping into his chest. Then leaned down close enough to count lashes.

“I said…” Eye to eye, he could smell coffee in his breath, “Go. Stack. Your blocks.”

Stone’s expression had gone slack. His eyes briefly flickered across his face before falling to the ground. Not so charming now, huh? When someone is unaffected by the cheap fireworks of natural charisma. When someone sees right through the facade and knows. Knows that you know what they want to hear.

Robotnik sneered and pulled away, snapping his fingers a few times as he returned to his post.

“Chop-chop! There’s still much to do, and I will not be staying in for extra hours.”

The Doctor… cleared his throat. Took a moment to recompose himself, even seemed like he might say something. But then changed his mind before it was voiced. He kept his silence as he headed off to put on the lab coat. Returned to the workstation with calculated slowness, dove back into endless coding and statistics like nothing had happened.

That silence remained throughout the rest of the day.

Weekends were always useful for wrapping up whatever the stress of moving out to a neighboring state left unfinished. No, not anything to do with furniture or documentation, all that had been solved the week before. Nothing to do with friends either, it wasn’t Robotnik’s style.

It was good for, in the dead of night, threading unnoticed through the big city and into dingy bars he’d never go to if there wasn’t a specific drunk he needed to get talking.

“Oh no, no, no!” A blonde man laughed a little too loudly. No one paid them any mind; the music was blaring anyway. Robotnik grinned, leaning closer. He pulled his bourbon from the coaster and across the bartop’s long stretch of polished wood to rest the glass closer to his companion’s cocktail. His eyes traced the mean scar across the man’s left eye. It stretched from temple down to his grinning upper lip, red and angry in a way that spoke of a relatively recent injury.

“Gruesome warfare, then? A white tiger?”

The man laughed and sipped from his drink. He shook his head in disbelief, free hand coming to rest on the back of Robotnik’s barstool. The Agent’s eyes briefly followed it. He smirked.

“I don’t think anyone ever had the guts to speak to me about it like that.” The man smirked back.

“Not much of a bullshit man myself. I see something interesting, I go for it.”

“You find this—” he motioned a little clumsily towards his own face, “—freakshow interesting?”

Robotnik slowly leaned closer. Exhaled hotly against the man’s ear. His smirk widened at noticing the shiver it caused. An uncommon stroke of luck that a target turned out to be attracted to him right off the bat.

“I could lick it.”

A full-on shudder now? Still got it. It had been a while.

“Shit, man…” His face half-turned, lips parted. Robotnik almost rolled his eyes.

“Unless, of course, you did it to yourself. Then I’d have to take a step back and wonder what kind of man I’m getting tangled with, you see…” He pouted, averting an oncoming kiss by playing dumb and pulling the glass to his lips for a long sip. The other man was gone enough not to notice it. He huffed in frustration but stayed close and hypnotized, waiting for the next chance.

“No, no! Of course, I didn’t do it to myself.” He argued weakly, “Just a work thing.”

Well, now or never. Robotnik inhaled, gathered all of his acting points— which honestly weren’t many— and put on the most shocked expression he could manage. Raised eyebrows, mouth half-open, pulling back a little to look into the only seeing blue eye.

“My God, suing them must have been a piece of cake!”

The man shook his head, then took another sip, clearly amused. “I see I’ve got a vengeful one on my hands…”

Dammit.

Robotnik went for a shrug, then looked down at his glass as if badly pretending the comment had not caused embarrassment.

The hand on his barstool moved to stroke his lower back.

“Hey, I was joking… I didn’t sue because it was an accident, and my boss was a genuinely good guy. No need to complicate his life like that.”

The corner of his mustache twitched. Got him.

“Oh… How awfully nice of you, then.” Robotnik conceded in a more subdued tone.

He looked back at the man, who was too close again. This time, a kiss was inevitable if he didn’t want to raise suspicion. He steeled himself and let it happen, turning his mind to other things while it lasted. At least the man smelled decently. He could appreciate cleanliness when he found it, even if the perfume was far too sweet for a summer scent, cloying under the heat. Had the man never heard of fragrances with citrus undertones? No taste. Anyway. Only a matter of time now before he grasped at something random to act offended over and break away from the silly interaction, then leave this place to never set foot on it again. There were still two more idiots across the city to sneak secrets out of before the night was over, an heiress and a CEO, there were information buyers waiting for updates and he was in the mood to be paid before the next weekend.

The man was now kissing his neck. Sticky, greedy.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. This was in need of moving along.

He had more important things to do.

Chapter Text

If there is one thing Robotniks from across every universe have in common, is their profound distaste for wasting time.

Especially when there’s something far more interesting to be doing. Like diving back into the criminal underground and methodically taking control of the national gangs. Then, using that leverage to sink his claws into the international ones. From there, naturally, comes influence over governments worldwide! Birthing his own empire, a new era of global control!

But picture it with style, would you? Not like all that Illuminati bullshit. That’s corny.

In any case, playing babysitter to a maniac roboticist? Waiting around to see what new creative way Walters would come up with to cage him? Allowing dust to settle after his little faux-pas in Azerbaijanistan, to just then see if the brass would become more amenable to letting him go? Please.

All dilly-dallying. Unproductive, pointless, unacceptable paths to conformism he didn’t intend in the least to indulge in.

He’d been confined to this new ridiculous routine for two weeks now. Grabbing coffee to-go far too early in the morning, driving horribly slow in order not to spill it, which took an extra ten minutes to arrive at the lab, to then endure a very mid lukewarm latte… Then sweeping premises under a sweltering heat, watching live feed from around the base, memorizing Stone’s schedule, delivery dates, future inspections, upcoming demonstrations and meetings, cajoling him into speeding things up and knowing that eyes were rolled at him whenever he thought Robotnik couldn’t see…

It couldn’t be without purpose. Without some actual gains!

Because he also had to watch 'Doctor Stone'—be sure to pronounce that with your tongue drawn back, to capture the full weight of revulsion it deserves— whip up deliciously smelling cups of coffee after lunch and drink them down with a raised pinky.

How dare he.

Did he offer to make for Robotnik as well?

Yes.

But did the Agent refuse every time and throw in an insult or two along the way?

Well of course! What other option did he have?!

Summing it up, Robotnik had a vision board to tackle at home. That meant taking advantage of the situation to then sabotage everything in his way out was just a matter of time. So, he made sure to always arrive first.

Park in Stone’s spot. Snoop around his stuff. Misalign a torque-wrench or pick up some useless note to pin somewhere else. Hide small knives in strategic places. Take a few plant stems as samples to gather what that freak was up to.

What intrigued him most, though?

The round and round and round and round… Every morning.

Robotnik took a slow sip from the latte. His nose wrinkled. Better than nothing.

His free hand raised the water gun in a steady arch. Aimed. Waited. 7… 8… 9… 10 o’clock. He pulled the trigger. Bull’s eye. The drone halted its course, emitting a beep that sounded strangely like a question. Droplets slid down its oval shape as if weeping, then dripped to the floor.

He took another sip.

Another beep, and it descended upon the puddle, changing its shape to a dome and somehow absorbing the mess.

“Hm… So you are the cleaning lady. I’ve been wondering how he ever finds the time…”

Useful. Time-saving. Something unpleasant gave a sharp tug within his solar plexus. He scowled. The drone rose up, then morphed into an egg shape again.

A hiss was heard from the elevator as its doors slid open. Doctor Stone walked in already frowning, all clad in biker gear. Perhaps his best look, Robotnik thought, gave him the air of someone competent for once. The man did look a little ridiculous in a lab coat. But really, who doesn’t?

Dark eyes scanned the room and quickly zeroed in on the older man.

“You’re early again.”

“He keeps stating the obvious!”

Stone huffed in frustration, but other than that, remained as unreadable as, well, as a stone. He made his way to the main workstation, putting the helmet down.

“Well, why are you early?”

Robotnik sipped, still staring somberly at the drone. Something about it made his skin itch, and its master’s arrival only seemed to make it worse.

“Getting acquainted with Shingles here. Or Eggbert, now. Who knows.”

More silence was expected, but surprisingly enough, the Doctor offered an:

“It’s Onyx.”

That managed to pull the Agent from his stupor, thick eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

“WHAT. kind of ridiculous name is THAT.”

The drone beeped happily.

Stone began to shed the heavy riding jacket, “This model’s ref number is zero-n-y-x, so. Easy jump from one point to the other.” He answered still a little tightly.

Robotnik’s head tilted side to side, mulling it over.

“That’s how I’d name a Pokémon, not a deadly government asset.”

“It’s not the government’s.” He snapped.

Oh. A nasty grin grew under the handlebar mustache, predatory, malicious.

“Oh but it is, Doctor Stone. I’m sure you’ve read your contract.”

Stone paused the rolling up of sleeves to cast a side-eyed glance at him. Briefly, but still undeniably interrupted. He pulled the lab coat from the back of his chair and slipped it on. He wore a linen mauve shirt today, Robotnik noted.

“Why do you arrive so early? Really.” That was all he offered back.

“Mind your business.” Robotnik countered, becoming bored again when his jab didn’t land a more irritable reaction.

Stone shot a last glare before sitting down on his ridiculously big chair. The screens automatically powered up, cascading bright lines of code casting an uncanny gleam over his face and eyes. The pupils looked white from where Robotnik stood. Crushing the now empty disposable white cup in his hand, the Agent threw it straight at Onyx. Or 0NYX. Blergh. Solely out of spite. It’d be funny to watch the cheap carton stupidly knock out of it.

But the drone emitted a chilling metal-grating-on-metal shrill.

Instead of a silly little UFO toy, a mushy eldritch-like shape expanded to wrap itself around the cup and swallow it whole in the blink of an eye. Robotnik gawked.

Then it returned to the previous egg-shape as quickly as it had mutated. Now with a warm glow spreading along its surface, like dying ambers.

Just like in the test field!

“HAH! Gorgeous thing!” He blurted out before being able to stop himself. Onyx beeped happily, albeit the effort of glowing somehow seemed to distort the tone.

Robotnik’s back stiffened, realizing his misstep.

A lightning-fast peek at the younger man was enough to register wide eyes staring up at him.

He missed the nineties. Those were the days! When he’d walk around with a spare grenade in his pocket. Very practical for ending mortification.

“You have an AI update deadline for tomorrow, three useless weapons schematics for Thursday and a meeting that should be an e-mail the following day that’ll eat away a ridiculous number of hours from next week’s deliveries.” Robotnik bit, then made a stiff beeline for his desk, “So quit slacking.” He slumped down onto his chair, groaning when the abruptness of it caused the darn thing to roll away from the desk. He had to scoot himself forward inch by inch with a series of awkward, stubborn kicks and, if the situation wasn’t ridiculous enough, the weird drone had followed him there and resumed the mysterious orbiting.

He only began to relax when the computer’s screen was in perfect position to hide entirely the other man, and he could pretend to be blissfully alone. Almost.

“Uh…” Stone hesitantly started from his station. Robotnik closed his eyes in exasperation. Couldn’t the man take a hint? “Useless?”

Robotnik frowned. Opened his eyes.

“What.”

“You said ‘useless weapons schematics’.”

Robotnik rolled his eyes. Then rose only enough to peek over the screen. The Doctor was looking at him with a furrowed brow, his hand lingering over the keyboard.

“Do you want a pink band-aid for the bruise on your ego, princess?”

Stone didn’t even budge.

“Seriously, why useless? You could have used any other adjective.”

“Christ in heaven. Don’t waste my time.”

The younger man took a moment to stare at him in thought. Something very specific was going on in there. Robotnik didn’t want to know, but he could see it would be coming anyway.

Stone leaned to rest elbows over knees.

“You’ve used my firearms before.”

Robotnik scoffed.

“Some of them. And intel gathering equipment— made me wish I never had.” He slid down the chair to hide behind the screen again. “Now go back to work.”

“Made you— what? There’s nothing like it anywhere else in the world!”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.”

The sound of a chair rolling. Then steps. Then the too symmetrical face popped up above the screen, leaving no chance of escape.

“Then name one you used.”

Robotnik glared.

Stone continued, “I think you’re bluffing. You just get off on insulting me when you have no clue what I do—”

Ok, that’s it.

“Five years ago, electric short-barrel rifle. ESBR-12. The voltage was anemic. If you'd had the guts to juice it properly, I might’ve taken down a plane that shouldn’t have left the tarmac. Took me two extra days to finish the job.”

Stone reeled back, eyes wide as if Robotnik had just said the Earth was flat.

“That was the maximum voltage it could handle while staying automatic! Any deadlier, and you'd need to calibrate it by hand before every shot, plus gear to keep the user from frying themselves over a misfire!”

“Then you should’ve cranked the power anyway and just slapped a label on it: ‘hazardous to idiots.’”

Stone let out an exasperated laugh, he was running a hand through his hair again. What a ridiculous habit. Robotnik thought as his eyes followed the movement.

“Field gadgets are meant to be simple! You’re implying I should’ve gone around the mountain of protocol to whip up some flashy nonsense. It’s just not possible.”

“’Possible’? Possible is boring, Doctor.”

“Oh, boring, is it?” Stone sneered at him.

“Why, yes. You make shiny things because you’re told. You have no pzazz, no ambition. You know the only groundbreaking thing in here?” Robotnik motioned to the drone now spinning over his head. “This bad boy. So why haven’t I seen it in the field yet?”

The Doctor scowled. Seemed that was touchy subject, always juicing something somber out of him.

“They’re not ready.”

“Obviously. What I mean is, what’s taking you so goddamn long?”

Stone’s face slowly returned to the usual expressionless front. It was like watching the light go out from a distant window. A retreat to darkness.

It grated on Robotnik’s nerves. Fight me, he thought. Instead of fleeing like a coward.

But this was a full backdown. Stone stepped back, flattened the lapels of the lab coat.

“Still needs adjustments, that’s all.” He answered airily. Automatic response, giving the slip. Avoiding Robotnik’s eyes. “Almost forgot to get coffee. Would you like some?”

Robotnik stared.

“No, you imbecile.”

Stone hummed in acknowledgement, then disappeared into the kitchen. It was almost tempting to follow and keep pressing the subject.

Onyx beeped above him. Robotnik wondered if he’d be swallowed whole too, should he ever slip and fall into it by mistake.

“Lock that stance— great. Don’t forget to rotate the elbows. That’s right. Now align the range like we talked about and go for it, man!”

Robotnik fought hard not to growl in annoyance. Focus.

It was far too dark for shooting lessons, even with the worklight tripod bathing everything in white. But it would have to do. He closed his left eye, perfectly aligned the green dot with the aiming notch, then misaligned it just a little to the right. Pulled the trigger. A screeching reverberated from the metal target as the bullet briefly scraped its limit, to then disappear in the sand berm behind it with a grainy thud.

“Close call!” The instructor encouraged, “It’s just a matter of practice, you’ll get it right in no time.”

Robotnik was glad for the safety goggles, or else his expression might be correctly read as disgust at the other man instead of the disappointed-at-himself facade he was going for.

“Damn, I thought this would be easier.” He spoke in a mellow tone.

The instructor chuckled, leaning against the wooden full of ammunition.

“It’s like any other skill, really. May come easier to some, but it all comes down to repetition. Then at some point it just becomes second nature!”

Robotnik aimed perfectly again, then misaligned the dot to the left this time. Pulled the trigger. Screech and thud.

“Dammit!”

“No worries, man. You did a little too much compensation to the left, find middle ground now. Go again.”

Aimed again. No misaligning this time. He pulled the trigger. A crisp clang. The instructor jumped up, hand flying to his forehead in surprise, “Straight to the nose! Hell yeah!!”

Robotnik wanted to point the barrel at the man’s too-tanned face. He forced a wide grin instead.

“I did it!”

“Perfect shot! See? I told you you’d get it right! I had a feeling— you look like a quick study.”

If only he knew. Robotnik finished the magazine, varying between getting another few bad hits, but ending the last three in the round with almost perfect headshots to fabricate the feeling of a resounding success earned only after hard work. Couldn’t give too much away, after all.

When he lowered the empty gun, the instructor was already at his side to take care of it.

“How do you feel, man? Recoil give you any trouble?”

Robotnik wiped his forehead with the back of the ridiculous plaid shirt he wore, “It felt a little odd at first, but it got easier. And I… It feels good.” He added a sprinkle of a haunted look to the scrunch of his nose, “Like a stubborn flicker of light by the end of a long dark tunnel calls to me in sweet, sweet tunes…”

The instructor was looking at him funny. Oh. Right. Uh…

“Like there’s hope for me yet!” He corrected, making even sadder eyes, “You know?”

The instructor’s face briefly brightened with understanding before crumpling in empathy; a hand was on Robotnik’s shoulder, squeezing.

“That’s the goal. It gets better, I’m tellin’ you. And next time, you won’t take crap from anybody. You’ll put 'em in their place."

Robotnik nodded sheepishly, making sure to look the man in the eye when he squared his shoulders as if strengthening his resolve. I hear you, you’re right.

Suffice to say, a bigoted sob story about getting PTSD after a beating from ‘a gang of immigrant thieves’ was all it took to convince this former FBI agent— now teaching his friends how to shoot at some gun club in Delaware— to give him private lessons off the clock.

“They’re everywhere now…” Robotnik grumbled.

“Hell, tell me about it. Can’t go down the beach without crossing paths with too many brown-skinned punks anymore. This is our country, not their goddamn playground.” He huffed, then turned to the table to refill the magazine, the veins in his muscled arms popping with every move, “Had to deal with this crap even back when I was servin’, if you can believe.”

It was morbidly fascinating, in a way. To witness the inner workings of such a lowly man while under the belief he was around a kindred spirit… How impressive it was that a shriveled excuse of a brain could still function enough to live a regular life. Tell right from left. Like watching a monkey in a zoo going about their monkey day. A monkey that could work a gun.

“What, really?!” He gawked, “But I thought the FBI was for Americans only!” He had to be careful not to let his mockery slip. It was alarming how close he’d just come to pitching his voice to sound like a damsel in distress.

The instructor scoffed, oblivious. “So did I!”

“But, like, other agents?”

“Worse,” The instructor passed him the gun, then turned to the targets ahead with his arms crossed, “In my last assignment, I had to play bodyguard to one of their top scientists. An. Arab.”

“No!” He uttered instead of ‘for fuck’s sake’.

“Yes. And that sneaky little shit got me discharged. He was all smiles and nice talkin’ so no one there believed me. But I know it was his goddamn fault; he didn’t fool me.”

If you were fired, he obviously did fool you. Unlikely that it proved to be any kind of challenge.

Robotnik raised the gun and got into stance. A soft breeze was rushing past, it caressed the back of his neck and helped cool the heat a little bit. “But I believe you.” He answered, closed his left eye, aimed. “I know first-hand what they’re capable of.”

Sharp clang. Bull’s eye.

Robotnik had just plugged a small black USB in the computer over his desk, when a shrill buzzer sounded around the lab. That meant someone was knocking at the gates. Can’t a man have five minutes on his own to install a data exfiltration malware in peace?

He released a long sigh and opened the camera feed.

A man in baby blue Hawaiian-style shirt, cross bag. Hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight. A… mailman? Here?

Robotnik pushed the button to speak.

“What.” He grunted through the static.

On the screen, he saw the man jump and look around.

“Good afternoon! Delivery for this address.”

Robotnik frowned.

“How is that fucking possible.”

The man paused, clearly not expecting that answer. He scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, is this Aban Stone? That’s the recipient’s name.”

With a dramatic roll of eyes, he leaned in again, already done with the interaction.

“Sure, the man comes around. Just leave it there and he’ll get it later.”

“Sorry, but someone has to sign for this. I can’t just leave it.”

Lunchbreak wasn’t even over yet, and he already had to deal with Stone’s bullshit again.

“By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once!”

“What?”

“I don’t care. Come back later.”

“Uh… I can’t do that either; this is the only time I have available to deliver in this zone. And I’m reading here that this package must be delivered today, or it will be returned to the sender.”

Once again… He missed the nineties. Grenades were useful for sending people away too. What weren’t grenades useful for? He glanced at the download progress bar under the camera feed. 73%. It would take about five minutes to get the package and return. Quick. Inconsequential. He could snoop at what Stone had the gall to order to his workplace’s address… But five minutes away from an illicit tool in someone else’s domain was still not something paranoia was willing to risk.

“Then send it back.”

The man on the screen was clearly baffled.

“Are you sure? It looks important—”

“BAP BAP BAP BAP!”

The man paused.

“I already said I don’t care. Fuck off.”

“Sorry, but—”

And whatever else the mailman had to say was cut off by Robotnik’s logging out of the feed. What a persistent birdie. He turned back to the progress bar.

Hah, all done.

He pulled the USB out and slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Now, next stop: the lab’s storage. He had finally managed to pick-pocket Stone’s access card before he headed out for lunch and was eager to use it as soon as possible before its absence was noticed.

There was a spring in Robotnik’s step as he strode to the huge doors at the turn in the far end of the lab, to the left of the kitchen’s entrance.

The storage was a strange place, basically maintaining the tone of high-tech gloominess the rest of the lab had fallen prey to. Extensive, more so than he’d originally expected, with dozens of storage units aligned through the walls. The metal grated floor sang under his shoes as he stepped inside, there was a strange blue glow coming from underneath the bars, painting everything in the same hue. He could see wires and latches under the bars, probably access to the lab’s power grids. In the back, a medical bed had been left forgotten, looking barely used and blaringly old-fashioned compared to the state-of-the-art design around it. Though beside it, there was a clothing rack, filled with coats.

Robotnik approached it, pinched the sleeve of a random one, and pulled it from between the others. A brown and beige tweed blazer, like something a stereotypical university professor would wear. A note was stuck to the breast pocket, he plucked it.

‘High-twist wool with altered ultra-high-molecular-weight polyethylene. Tested. Exterior fully resistant against rocket-launcher but lining tore and the wearer wouldn’t survive impact anyway. Discontinued.”

Robotnik snorted. A blazer that could outlive its wearer? Hah, who would’ve thought someone still made durable clothing these days? He let it go and pulled another one. A black tuxedo with a note stuck to the shiny lapel.

‘Superfine wool encrusted with controlled micro-diamonds. Bullet-proof, adaptive camouflage, laser-reflective. Tested. If the fine wiring within the buttons is damaged, the jacket’s camouflage refuses to turn off. We can’t find the first two prototypes. Discontinued.’

Robotnik eyed the piece with a raised eyebrow. Clean cut, hand-sewn buttonholes, double vents at the sides, silk lining. Someone knew their tailoring. And a clothing related hobby to add to the list.

Poisonous plants, homemade food, high-tech fashion design, weaponry engineering, robotics… Seemed Doctor Stone couldn’t stay put, huh? Well, his file did say six PHDs.

Pompous show-off.

Robotnik shivered. Too cold in this damned room. He dropped the piece of clothing, uncaring of tucking it back as neatly as it had been, whirled around then scanned the many storages. Most had tags in them, indicating a broad collection of available raw alloys, spare parts, extra tools, weirdly named weapons prototypes. Metamorphic prototypes.
Robotnik's gloved hand was swiping the card over that loadout slot's scanner faster than you could say 'classified'. It chimed pleasantly. With a hiss of decompression, a puff of artificial mist oozed out and pooled at his feet. A long shelf deployed itself from within, extending out like a metal arm bearing gifts. A line of five more 0NYX drones, connected to what looked like charging docking stations. Perfectly spherical, perfectly polished. Silent, as if asleep. Except for one.

The first drone to the left rose with a soft whirr. Spun in its place, calibrating.

Robotnik took a wary step back. Was it configured to remove intruders? Did it know he wasn't supposed to be there? His hand flew to the weapon holstered under his jacket. Shit. Should he just shoot or wait to see what it did? Make a run for the exit?
"Easy, Onyx.. Down boy." he spoke slowly, hoping the name would make him seem more trustworthy. So far, the silly thing had behaved peacefully around him, but this was different than being orbited around the lab. If Robotnik hadn't entered emergency mode, he'd be pulling at his own hair from the utter idiocy of opening up that unit. Why did he have to be so excitable when robots were involved?! Looped camera feeds couldn’t save his ass from murderous surveillance!

Onyx beeped happily. Then shaped itself into an egg. Robotnik frowned.

"So I'm eggman now, is it?"

Onyx slowly approached him, then nudged at his shoulder. The hand on the gun tightened. He took a measured breath and stepped back again.
"Are you going to play nice? I can’t have your mommy finding out I’m misbehaving. Not yet, at least."

Another round of beeping.

Onyx nudged him again, then floated to the storage exit. It stopped right outside. Beeped again. Robotnik gave the shelf a little push, and it closed itself. Careful steps followed the drone, considering this might be the only polite warning the machine was going to give him.

The doors shut behind him.

As if perfectly timed, the elevator dinged to announce an arrival.

Robotnik eyed Onyx. Did it just help him not get caught? No, that didn’t make any sense.

“Agent? Are you there?” Stone’s voice echoed after a few steps.

He was still out of sight, but not for long. Should he risk testing a hypothesis? Might as well. He’d be caught lying either way.

He dipped to the floor without taking his eyes from Onyx right in front of him. The key card was left on the floor as quietly as possible, then he rose. Puffed out his chest. Sauntered out of the hidden corner.

“And the first stupid question of the afternoon has been issued! Where else would I be, hm?”

Stone raised an eyebrow, looking at him with suspicion. Then, at the drone on his tail.

“At your desk?” He answered dryly.

“Can’t a man take a shit on company time anymore?”

How lucky the bathroom was in that same direction.

“Do you really need to curse every time you speak?”

Robotnik rolled his eyes and slumped down onto his chair.

“Can’t take a little scurf, is it?”

“A little? If I hadn’t seen the credentials, I’d think you were a sailor.” Stone grumbled as he made his way to the kitchen.

“Well, thinking is not your strongest suit!” Robotnik raised his voice to be heard from a distance.

Onyx was orbiting again. It didn’t snitch. Not yet, at least, but what sense did it make in not instantly reporting a security breach? Shouldn’t it be loyal to its maker? What kind of AI had Stone installed in this thing?

A few minutes later, Stone returned to the lab, cradling two steaming coffee mugs.

To which Robotnik’s face crumpled into a dramatic frown, thick eyebrows scrunching together over squinting eyes. Stone approached his desk, then placed one of the mugs over it.

“You like coffee. I see you drink it every morning, then get antsy after lunch. You tried a thermos. Made a face. Thermos never came back. So.” He pushed the mug towards Robotnik, “Just… try it? Please?”

What the… Oh. What if Onyx didn’t report him because, somehow, Stone already knew? Oh.

Robotnik stared at the mug. Then at Stone’s tired but expectant face.

What if he knew, and was finally making a move to poison him? Silent revenge, brutal correction.

“I prefer lattes.”

Stone blinked. Frowned. Looked away for a millisecond? Then looked back again.

“Sure, I can… There might be some milk in the fridge. I’ll go get it.”

“Why, no need.”

“No big deal, just a minute.” He began to turn.

Robotnik squinted, “Drink it first.”

Stone stopped in his tracks; eyebrows almost met hairline.

“What…” He started, eyes widening, as he faced the older man again, “What are you accusing me of, Agent? You think I go around poisoning people?!”

“You do have quite the collection in the kitchen!”

“What the fuck!”

“Look who’s foul-mouthed now!”

“It’s just a hobby!”

“Succulents are hobbies! Belladonna and Oleander are for goddamn schemes, you creep!”

Stone gawked at him.

“Unbelievable! Fine! Don’t drink it then.” He muttered and snatched the offered mug, turning sharply towards the kitchen and storming out of sight. Robotnik heard liquid pouring down the drain. The offended little tantrum was almost enough to make him question himself, whether he’d wasted a nice and very much needed cup of coffee… But as the Doctor marched back to his station with a scowl, he decided that no, better safe than sorry with this one.

“Onyx!” Stone called, casting a nasty glance towards the drone, it beeped back, “You shouldn’t be out yet. Back to your dock.”

Robotnik watched the black egg-shape transform into a sphere again, then float back towards the storage.

Something about it. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Something about the smooth glide away, the way the red LEDs lit the otherwise dark corridor, their glow reflecting off the drone’s polished surface. It looked almost like a single, bright red eye watching them, before slipping silently into the small entrance above the doors, the one designed just for it. Something about the last side glare the Doctor cast his way before hunching over his work. Something felt… Out of place.

Another day, another imbecilic schedule alteration that was bound to end in an HR headache.

Robotnik could feel it coming. So much work into decades of sending him as little as possible into field operations that required big teams to now throw him at some know-it-all project group. For a whole three weeks.

He bit the inside of his cheek, glanced sideways under sunglasses at the Doctor sitting beside him in the moving UTV. Maroon shirt today. The lab coat’s lapel flapped in the wind, calm eyes staring forward at the approaching building, perfect posture. A sea of tall grass billowing in the background.

He hadn’t issued any complaints to the brass. Hadn’t mentioned anything remotely related to Robotnik’s trespassing… Could it be that the drone was… Independent? Did it make its own decisions somehow? Why would Stone create a highly advanced weapon that couldn’t even guard its base? Curiouser and curiouser.

Robotnik tore his eyes away to stare at the back of the driver’s patrol cap-clad head. Then at the heavy case on the passenger’s seat.

The sigh he issued was dramatic enough to feel Stone’s gaze turn to him. Robotnik didn’t look back.

“That makes no sense.”

The young blonde woman stopped her motions mid-operation and slowly craned her head upwards to stare at the Agent across the table. Blue eyes peeked from over the oversized goggles with considerable confusion. It made her look like an overimaginative child playing mad scientist. 

Robotnik raised an eyebrow back.

“Uh… Excuse me?” She asked hesitantly, hands still paused.

The hands crossed behind his back flexed in annoyance.

“Well, why the hell would you implement overcurrent protection in this?”

She blinked. He arched both eyebrows expectantly.

“…to prevent shorts and battery explosions?”

“In a disposable weapon? When it could go KABOOM—” yes, he did bring his hands forward to flare them apart in a pantomimed blast, “— to kill two birds with one stone by self-destructing AND being useful as last resort defense or distraction?”

The woman continued to stare at him. She opened her mouth once but then closed it. Twice. Closed it again. Pinched her eyebrows.

“That’s too risky.”

Robotnik rolled his eyes.

“Risky is having a weapon found by the enemy.”

“And what if there’s no need for an explosion?”

“Having no need doesn’t mean there is no use.”

“Uh… I’m not sure—”

“Of course you aren’t.”

“Agent, what are you doing?” Stone’s strained voice piped up from behind him. Robotnik only half-turned, uninterested in making the other man feel too validated.

“Polly Pocket here needs help.”

“Polly what—” She began.

“Oh, shush.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“This is Miranda Myers, our Head Weapons Technician and Systems Integrator. I’m sure she has it covered.” Stone spoke dryly, crossing his arms in clear annoyance.

Robotnik scoffed, now eyeing her up and down.

"So you’re the inbox for a decade of complaints on weapon failures? Noted."

To Polly’s credit, those blue eyes could glare.

"You're assigned to guard duty, not to offer feedback." Stone stepped closer to mutter.

How sweet. Was he trying to avoid a scene? Did he think Robotnik would simply take his command just because they were in public? Did he even read his file?

The Agent could feel half a dozen pairs of eyes glued to them the moment he stepped into Stone’s personal space with a silent promise of trouble. Head cocking to the side, he took in the way the Doctor’s jaw tensed.

“You already know how we roll, princess.” He snarled with barely restrained disgust, “Or do we need a recap? Go do your boorish nagging at your little lab friends, if you want…” He leaned down just enough to emphasize the towering. Just to be able to hear the dry swallow from the man in front of him as he punctuated a final “Not. Me.”

And dry swallow he did.

The entire shared lab was sucked to the single point of movement from a bobbing Adam’s apple. No sound besides the muffled, fleshy rumble.

But Stone didn’t back down. In fact, he seemed ready to launch.

A shiver run up Robotnik’s spine. Was Stone about to throw a punch? Give him the perfect excuse? A thousand delightful scenarios played out in his head in a matter of seconds, all of them ending with the man wheezing pathetically on the floor.

Go on! Be the hero!

“Hey! What’s going on here?!” A new voice boomed from the lab entrance.

The spell was broken.

Stone stepped back with a flustered huff. Robotnik straightened up to glare at the newcomer who ruined his oncoming moment of glory. A ginger man, of all clowns. About Stone’s age and wearing tortoise horn-rimmed glasses like some kind of hipster. He strode into the room as if he owned it, a bunch of files under his arm.

“Doctor Stone.” He greeted his colleague while scanning Robotnik with open distrust.

The Doctor crossed his arms. Was he more rigid than usual?

“Doctor Fraser.” He answered tersely.

Ohohoho….. Was that a glimpse of animosity? His eyes jumped between the two men. A palpable strain.

Finally, someone here who was not fooled by the big dark eyes? Could it be?

“Who are you?” Fraser asked.

“Me? Who are you?”

The man puffed out his chest, “Doctor Ronald Fraser, Chief Scientist of this facility. What do you think you’re doing by picking fights in my lab?”

Robotnik’s frown knitted so dramatically, it pulled his whole head back.

“Chief Scientist?” He blurted in genuine confusion, motioning to Stone carelessly, “But he’s in base. So how come?”

In all fairness, he was honestly confused about how that was possible. Sure Stone was a pain in the ass and an insufferable self-entitled cretin, but that didn’t take away the fact that his lab was a thousand times more advanced and interesting than anything he’d seen in this one so far.

And now said cretin was staring up at him with surprised wide eyes.

There was a gasp from someone around them. Robotnik glanced about. Everyone was still watching from their stations, tools in hand. Jesus, how did anything get done in here? Did they not have access to telenovelas at home?

Fraser’s throat clearing pulled his attention back. The tips of the man’s ears were red. Unfortunate thing to be so lacking in melanin.

“You’re disrupting very important work here. Will you be stepping out on your own or will I have to call security?”

Robotnik snorted. “Really not your lucky day, huh?”

“He’s my new bodyguard, Fraser. He can’t…” Stone sighed, though clearly with considerably less venom than a few minutes ago, “He can’t step out.”

Orange eyebrows shot up.

“Oh.”

“You got caught with a flat, well— How about that.” Robotnik sing-songed with a shit eating grin, making the man’s shade of red deepen, “well babies, don’t you… Panic.”

With that, he straightened up, wiggled his fingers in their direction, to then turn and make his way to Stone’s temporary station. All eyes kept following him.

The stool pulled from someone else’s station scratched loudly against the floor tiles until it stood close enough to grant a decent view of the work, and Robotnik sat cross-legged over it. Being under a little berating was the perfect excuse to go grab some coffee, but leaving now did feel far too close to what Chief Fraser wanted, and like hell he’d do anything to appease him.

He pulled his phone out and went straight to Twitter. Everyone’s gradual return to work was more heard than seen.

From the corner of his eye, Robotnik saw Stone settle across from him and resume the boring motherboard tweaking he’d been doing before.

A relative peace and quiet followed, with only minimal exchanges between the scientists, most of them still deep in calibration work. Well, aside from the occasional cackle from the Agent whenever his doomscrolling passed by a particularly funny tweet. But by the third hour mark, Robotnik was becoming restless again. And seeing as Stone was finally done with the motherboards and moving about to carry something else to his station, it seemed the perfect moment to take a look.

A carcass of sorts, strangely malleable and glittering in a thousand small white metal pieces like an ivory chainmail.

Stone carefully spread it all over the space, then began aligning the motherboards in a mysterious order. Robotnik frowned, a muted reel still open but completely forgotten as his eyes followed the Doctor’s agile hands.

Was this one of his metamorphic drones in assembly? If the circuitry was soldered to that pliable chassis, it would explain how Onyx seemed to lack a solid core that would limit how thin it could spread. But then how did he compensate for friction? How did he protect the boards from bumping and breaking against each other? How—

He was being watched.

Robotnik’s eyes snapped up to find Stone staring.

He abruptly looked back at his phone. The traitorous screen had gone to sleep. He scowled, unlocked the device with a little too much force.

“Agent, could you help me out with a little something here? If it’s not too much trouble.” Stone’s voice unexpectedly called.

Robotnik side-eyed him again, only to find the Doctor looking at him with surprising earnestness, a few too many wires in hand.

He should refuse. Who did he think he was? The assistant?

Even so, the old tech-enthusiast in him seemed to beam at the opportunity to take a closer look— he clamped down the eagerness, feigning little interest on the outside.

He should refuse.

“Help with what?”

At least it came out dry as a desert.

It went right over Stone’s head.

“I need to attach all this to the casing, but I’m short a pair of hands. You’re good with delicate work, right?” He spoke evenly, no hint of mockery, “Bomb deactivation and the like?”

So he did read his file.

He should refuse.

“You’re in luck. I’ve just become available.” Robotnik rose with an impassive face, circling the table to stand beside the man.

Stone didn’t offer any electrically insulated gloves— it seemed the man had caught on that the ones he wore every day already were— before unleashing wave after wave of information on what he needed Robotnik to do, plus describing every step of the process and their importance. The angles the chainmail should be held while he used the precision soldering iron, the order in which every wire should be connected and why, the technique he’d employed to attach every piece of metal together, why the motherboards were so small and the role they played in composing a collective matrix that could transfer its AI software to any part of the machine at any time, making it virtually impossible to disable the drone by physical attacks.

Robotnik was mesmerized.

His eyes followed every movement, and for once, he found himself obeying instructions to a T, taking everything in and getting all steps right in the very first try. Stone was increasingly impressed, expressing his delight with brief smiles and bonus facts about the drone's composition that Robotnik lapped up every crumb of. And when the strangeness of actual communication happening subsided, Robotnik began to shoot questions. Stone took it in stride and promptly answered each one in detail, then explained how previous prototypes had failed and the changes he'd made to get it right. And when Stone had to take a break to fetch a bottle of water because he hadn't shut up in too long, Robotnik began to recount other drone technology he'd seen around field missions from competitors, the useful features, the utterly stupid ones. The ones he blew up, shot down, smashed, hacked into.

Stone laughed at his creative destruction style.

Robotnik couldn’t recall the last person he'd made laugh like that: eyes crinkling, many unguarded ‘you didn’t!’s of disbelief, actual leaning in to hear the story to the end. And when that line of conversation had run out of juice too, they'd done the wiring in record time and were still blabbering on about Stone’s new simmering ideas for improving the design.

Until someone’s phone alarm started blaring in full volume to announce lunchtime. It was followed by a flurry of lab coats being hung by the exit, bags being collected, the sound of clicking heels coming and going...

"Are you not coming?" Stone asked as he divested his lab gear.

Robotnik blinked, suddenly feeling out of sorts.

How did time pass so quickly? He looked around with a slight frown. The Doctor was still waiting for… An answer. Right. He'd never eaten in the chow hall; public spaces filled with idiocy were not his preference. Ordering food online had done the trick for the whole of this assignment so far, but in the heat of their conversation, it had been completely forgotten.

His frown deepened. Too late for anything to arrive on time now.

Oh, fuck it. Like he cared. Better a slap on the wrist than the insufferable noise of a hundred people chewing and talking around him.

"No. I'll order." He leaned against the table and picked up his phone.

"Uh, not easy to do so from here. Delivery guys can't come across the gates."

"I’ll go get it as usual. The entrance back at the lab isn't the only one."

Stone smiled apologetically. 

"Well, no, but the other entrance is a 10-minute drive from here too."

What. For fuck's sake.

"Oh." He began, annoyed at himself for the distraction. "Then I'll eat when I get home."

"Is that... Wise? The food here is nice. Not Marine Corps level, but good enough." Stone chuckled, cocking his hip against the table beside Robotnik. Relaxed. Welcoming. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such an abhorrent experience to eat together, they could continue the fascinating conversation and… Welcoming? Robotnik scowled. The nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach of having lost his footing was reinforced with a sharp pang.

All muscle tissue in his body shifted from automatic to manual, leaving him hyper-aware of himself. Aware of his posture, of the scratching from the tag in his shirt he’d forgotten to cut off, the steady buzz from the air-conditioner above. Of the relaxed line of Stone’s shoulders as he expectantly looked up, hoping he’d tag along.

Calm. Collected. Fake, remember? It was as if waking up from a dream.

"Wise?" Robotnik hissed through his teeth.

Stone’s expression twitched.

"Wise would be for you to get out of my sight."

Stone adjusted his stance, catching the shift.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" 

"Mind your own fucking business!" Robotnik raised his voice, making Stone jump a little and step away.

The Doctor swallowed, a strange intensity making his eyes sparkle in a way Robotnik couldn’t decipher. Then he raised his palms in a placating gesture, turned around and made his way out of the lab without another word.

The older man ran a hand through his face, profoundly peeved.

Who the fuck does he think he is.

Chapter Text

Would you believe music taste is likely the hardest topic to breach across the multiverse?

Think about it. Ever ask yourself why you groove to the tunes you do? Were you influenced by what the masses of your culture put on repeat in birthday parties, restaurants, stores, bars? By what your school buddies blared in breaks between classes? By what your first crush jammed to?

Why build a whole playlist consisting of post-punk and black metal, for example? Maybe once you were one of those alternative youths who somehow ended up in a Nirvana cover concert, and the vibes simply hit the right spots inside? Maybe you joined extracurricular theater classes and were bombarded by Les Misérables, Cabaret, Phantom of the Opera… So many to name! And maybe a dash of Rocky Horror Picture Show, Chicago and Sweeney Todd if you tend more to the freakish side of things.

Maybe your grandma played Bossa Nova in spring afternoons, or your mom had an Enya CD permanently stuck on the car radio. Maybe the family gatherings were moved by Los Panchos, Los Bukis? Or your dad was more into stuff like ABBA, Morrissey, Beethoven and, strangely enough, that one song from Katy Perry about kissing girls… Then maybe a more eclectic collection would be your style.

But I’m getting distracted here.

Because, in Robotnik’s case, there certainly weren’t any of the usual means of familial influence to guide him. No friends from relatively stable homes in school to reunite after classes. What he did have were hot afternoons, eavesdropping on the foster home’s cook turning up the radio to clean up the kitchen. Then a gang of brash street kids that were too fond of takedowns, too fond of leading the Bad Ass lifestyle. Then whatever the other secret service trainees would play during hard-earned free days to smoke and crack a few cold ones. Then the bars and events one usually infiltrates in his line of work. Then later on, gloriously, the internet. Then the internet. Then the internet. Then the internet.

Quite the ride. And certainly, a more diverse one than being locked up in university dorm rooms to study the Science of Robotics Engineering from the tender age of twelve, then a pristine government lab where no one dared bother him until a certain Agent came along. Know what I mean?

This Ivo Robotnik, against his wishes and with no clue there were alternatives, had seen far more of real life than his counterpart. It exhausted him a hundred times more, but it also filled his inner world with things the other would never carry. And of course, songs he’d never, ever, ever, might have crossed paths with.

Ever listen to ‘Boys Wanna Be Her’ by Peaches? A 2000s classic, gals and pals.

To you, they crawl, body sprawl
Smokin' Pall Malls, close call, stand tall
Doll, you make them feel so small— and they love it!

A carton of Thai meat salad balanced over the right thigh, a glowing tablet on the left one.

Robotnik’s foot tapped absentmindedly against the rubber pad to the rhythm of the music blaring around him. A slice of chicken balanced over the plastic fork for a second before disappearing into his mouth. It was risky eating lunch in the pristine interior of his car, but as long as the group project went on, no good option was available. And better to risk a stain than risk having his break ruined by a bunch of overeager jibber-jabbers. Not to mention the AC could be kept at his preferred temperature.

The boys wanna be her
The girls wanna be her
The boys wanna be her
The girls wanna be her

As he chewed, a brief glance was cast ahead at the empty field. Blue skies, a couple of wispy cirrus clouds gathering southward above the constant billowing of tall grass around the base. The sight was, admittedly, disgustingly growing on him.

Not that he intended to stay. But spending most of his life knee-deep in metropolitan landscapes, whether for work or in rare moments of free time, had taken its toll. To be surrounded by silence, for once, was… refreshing.

Well.

The girls wanna be her
The boys wanna be her
I wanna be her…
Yes I do.

Silence besides his meticulously curated playlists.

Anyway.

His right hand tapped over the screen, zoomed in. He squinted.

The malware had been a success. Good money had been paid for it, after all. But for the information to be transferred undetected, that meant data was exfiltrated in small, fragmented pieces over days. Maybe months. So, while the classified blueprints were destined to end on his eager palms, it would take a while.

And then he’d have to launch himself into a robotics engineering degree at the fine age of fifty-three, if he wanted to decipher a third of what he found without outside help. Ugh. He didn’t have an answer for that particular conundrum yet, but if anyone could master a whole new area in record time, that someone was definitely Ivo Robotnik. After all, how difficult could it be for a genius like him?

You look so hot
Are you conceived, kids receive
Crawling up her sleeve
Parents bleed, can't conceive
That indeed we'll never leave— and we love it!

Two familiar faces popped in his rearview mirror. Small, far away.

His free hand shot up to adjust it to a better angle, placing the reflected pair of lab coats at its center.

Stone and Fraser, leaving the backdoor in what appeared to be a heated argument. Well, heated to Fraser, who was flushing pink and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket with a clumsiness typically born out of frustration. Stone, on the other hand, while clearly far from amused by the condescending rise of his eyebrows, remained as collected as ever.

Finally, some drama! Robotnik brought more chicken to his mouth.

Fraser pulled a cigarette between his lips, flicked his thumb against the lighter’s spark wheel a few times before managing to ignite a flame. Stone leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. His mouth moved, but Robotnik couldn’t read lips.

The Agent’s eyes quickly flickered around the view, looking for… Ha! Too easy.

Pausing another forkful of chicken mid-air, focus was rerouted to the gloved fingers flying over the tablet’s screen with impressive speed, to pulling up the security camera feed responsible for watching that specific back door. It took but a minute.

Though the view was better, there was no audio. Dammit. Not so easy after all.

Stone wasn’t talking anymore, but Fraser was having quite the go at it. His hands gestured wildly around him, an orange lock falling to his face, the cigarette turned upwards in a peculiar clutch between thumb and ring finger. Robotnik snorted at the ridiculousness of the grip. Someone fancies themselves to be a rock star.

Listen up, listen up, listen up
Voices scatter
Listen up, listen up, listen up
Voices scatter

Stone pulled away from the wall, clearly done with the conversation. What did Fraser say to piss him off? How dearly he wished there was audio! Unfair, unfair, unfair!

But before the show was over, the strangest thing happened.

A pale hand shot up to the Doctor’s forearm, wrapping it in a firm grip and making him turn back. Their eyes locked. Then Fraser’s hand slid down, and his thumb began to caress the fragile skin that covered Stone’s metacarpal bones.

Oh.

Robotnik’s eyebrows rose. He wasn’t gawking.

It didn’t last. Stone yanked his arm away with a sneer. Then disappeared into the building, leaving the other man humiliated and staring.

That explained the tension.

But it was worse than he imagined: instead of being a skeptical enemy of his enemy, Fraser was, in fact, a head over heels idiot who couldn’t take a hint. Talk about falling for that man’s crap, huh?

The girls— scatter!
The boys
The girls— scatter!
The boys

He took his time with the nicotine after that, believing himself to be all alone in the parking lot to freely scowl and fume.

By the time Fraser threw the leftover stub to the ground and angrily squashed it under his shoe, Robotnik had finished lunch.

“Look, I can do this, alright?” Polly insisted.

“Can you?” Robotnik scoffed, raising an eyebrow, “You look too vanilla for that.”

The woman rolled her eyes, pulling down the protective goggles and aiming the weapon she had been working on towards the makeshift target ahead.

“Will you quit the misogynistic quips already?”

The Agent cackled, throwing his head back abruptly enough to almost drop his sunglasses.

“Misogynistic? Don’t flatter yourself. Incompetence transcends gender. If I insult you, it’s because you’re the problem, not whatever configuration you’ve been born in.” 

“Look at that, inclusive bullying.” She muttered under her breath before pulling the trigger.

The bullet sliced past in a cutting flash, striking the edge of the hanging disposable plate and sending it whipping upward, narrowly missing the shot.

“See? Hit it.”

“But didn’t stick.”

She glared, “Hard one to please, huh?”

“Impossible.”

“Agent, I need your help with this!” Stone’s voice cut through. Robotnik turned to the clearly annoyed man a few feet away from them, crouched beside a large grey suitcase filled with multiple kinds of grenades.

He sauntered over, leaving Polly to test the firearm on her own.

“Are you going to give me some of those to set off?”

Stone sighed, “Will you stop bothering Myers if I do?”

The grin that grew on Robotnik’s face could have belonged to a shark.

“Gladly.”

After Stone gathered the models that needed testing, Robotnik and a young intern followed him with arms full of gear to the trench of grey concrete slabs that protected whoever was supposed to throw the explosives. Beyond it lay the testing field, sterile and painted in scorch marks.

They hopped down the stairs and set everything down in the neat order Stone insisted on, then passed earplugs around.

“Before we cut most of the sound off, I’ll introduce you to the material.” Stone spoke in a professional tone that fully captured everyone’s attention. Even as Robotnik shrugged off his jacket, folding it neatly before thrusting it into the intern’s face, his eyes never left the Doctor.

Stone crouched and pointed at the first grenade in the row.

"Model M22, offensive. Flash-grenade armed with smoke, capable of reflecting and distorting the environment around it for 10 seconds. Ever watched Inception?"

"No."

"Well, looks similar. Google it later."

"Ugh, always with the googling."

Stone pointed at the next one.

"Model F3, defensive. Blast radius increased by 50%, the shrapnel flies off and explodes on its own after five seconds."

“Cool.” The intern piped up distractedly, pushing his glasses up his nose. Robotnik rolled his eyes but didn’t comment.

“Model MS9. This one’s defensive, too. Same mechanics as skipping a flat pebble across a lake. It’s rigged for three detonations, with a bonus fourth if you’ve got a good arm.”

A challenge.

Robotnik grinned, "You can count on four then." 

Stone briefly glanced at him with the corner of his mouth perking up.

“Feeling confident, Agent?”

“Confidence? I call it knowing the natural order of things.”

Stone’s lips curved further into a smirk. He turned to the intern.

“You, take notes. Someone here has to write the report, and I doubt Agent Robotnik will be the one doing it.”

Robotnik raised an eyebrow as he put on the earplugs.

Someone’s finally catching up.

“WAAAHOOOOO!!!”

If you like to gamble
I tell you, I'm your man
You win some, lose some
It's all the same to me

Offensive grenades could be fun, yes, but not for testing in an empty field. They were for nasty surprise attacks, like pranking the enemy! Open the door, throw in the good stuff, slam it shut again, hide behind the wall and be sure to cover your ears, because the racket is sure to burst not only their eardrums, but yours too. Then walk into the room to watch a bunch of bumbling motherfuckers fighting to stay upright for dear life. Hilarious stuff.

Robotnik could concede that, even from a distance, the vision warping characteristic of that first grenade was bizarre enough to be interesting. The ground shimmering above and below, as if somehow someone had lifted a huge mirror beside the point of detonation, dust flying simultaneously inwards and outwards, would probably be a freakshow of a vision to witness if he were near the blast. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could top the delicious bout of adrenaline when he’d deal with defensive grenades.

The pleasure is to play
Makes no difference what you say
I don't share your greed
The only card I need
Is the Ace of Spades!

Watch it all go BOOM!

The Ace of Spades!

“Holy moly! You said 50%, sir, but that’s got to be 70% at the least!” The intern shouted over the music blasting through the outdoor loudspeakers Robotnik had once again hacked into.

“74.3% to be exact!” Stone shouted back, peeking wide-eyed over the wall.

“¡74.3% de puta alegría!” Robotnik cackled, throwing up his fists in unabashed triumph as he watched the still rising dust from the F3 defensive grenade. It spread like a dirty mist, caking the neighboring tall grass in orange.

His skin was buzzing with energy!

Playing for the high one,
Dancing with the devil;
Going with the flow
It's all a game to me!

“¡Modera el vocabulario!” Stone cut in exasperation, motioning to their third companion.

Robotnik’s eyebrows rose in surprise, not expecting to receive an answer in the same language. He pointedly looked at the man up and down, smirking at his obvious fluster.

“¡Uy, pero mira a este señor!”

“Christ, just throw the other two already!” The Doctor cut back, looking away.

My, was he blushing?

Seven or eleven
Snake eyes watching you
Double up or quit
Double stake or split
The Ace of Spades!

Robotnik didn’t need to be told twice.

He picked up another F3, stuffed it in the mouth of the launcher and got into a sideways stance. Pulled the pin. He made quick work of the shot, then glued his body to the wall, insisting on keeping his eyes on the show despite the potential danger.

The blast was just as spectacular as the first one. A slight gust of air flew against his half-hidden face, and he couldn’t contain the manic grin, making his cheeks hurt.

The third one was propelled soon after, equally entertaining, and Robotnik felt so giddy he wished there were ten, twenty, thirty more to test! His entire body was close to shaking, he constantly shifted from foot to foot, heart beating fast— God, he was in love!

Throwing down the grenade launcher, he extended his palm towards an amused Stone, fingers signaling him to hand over the next model.

"Time to dazzle you with my legendary throw! Hand it over to papa!”

“If you make it to four in the first try, I owe you a bottle!” Stone laughed, placing it over the gloved hand.

“Oh, are we gambling now?” He teased condescendingly, “Better make it worth my time, I don’t drink cheap!”

The dark eyes sparkled in challenge, a bearded chin lifting higher.

“I work too much and spend next to nothing! Do your worst!”

You know I'm born to lose,
And gambling's for fools;
But that's the way I like it, baby
I don't want to live forever!!

Robotnik winked at the company, then braced an arm over the wall and, in a smooth combination of jumping and pulling, rose to stand tall and proud on top of it.

“Sir, is that a good idea—”

“Agent, what the hell are you doing—”

“Oh SHUSH!” He barked, then placed one foot forward on the ground to improve his stance, slightly bent his knees, pulled the pin.

“—get down here this instant—”

A lick on cold steel for good luck, and the grenade was being pulled back low, then hurled ahead with a mean, calculated spin!

In the following second, he was jumping back down into the trench, barely registering the hand that clamped his shoulder, yanking him lower into a squat just as the ground shuddered with the first detonation. A damn shame he couldn’t watch this one work. Throwing it without a launcher meant the blast was too close to risk sticking his head out.

His eyes shot to Stone’s furious face, his mouth moving in an ‘are you fucking insane’ that couldn’t be heard over the second blast.

Robotnik wasn’t in the mood. His hand shot up to grasp Stone’s jaw, squeezing it enough to make the man pathetically pucker his lips like a fish and widen his eyes in shock. Shut it!

The third blast rang. The Doctor’s hand grabbed his wrist in alarm, eyes boring into his.

Then finally, the glorious, amazing, sublime fourth BANG!

Not that Robotnik was remotely surprised. He knew his skipping.

I see it in your eyes
Take one look and die
The only thing you see
You know it's gonna be
The Ace of Spades
The Ace of Spades!

And the music fizzled out with a distant pop.

“FUCK!” the intern blurted out with both hands over his head, bug-eyed and white as a sheet.

So much for watching his tongue.

Stone’s face was too close. Breath ghosted against his mouth. Quick, shallow, and far too intimate. The man looked hypnotized, eyelids half-lowered.

“You owe me expensive wine,” Robotnik drawled, his hand tightening.

“Gwew shuted,” Stone wheezed through the squeeze.

Robotnik huffed and let go of his face. “What.”

The Doctor had the nerve to lick his lips and shoot back:
“You cheated.”

“Nuh-uh.” The hovering hand slid down to wrap in warning around his neck. “You’re the one who didn’t set any rules. No takesies-backsies.”

The skin under his palm bobbed. Hazel eyes snapped hungrily to the motion.

The intern cleared his throat.

“Uh… Sorry Sir, but should I write down the altered angle of propulsion?”

Robotnik sprang up, leaving Stone to lose his balance and fall back on his ass.

Dodging the intern, he made his way out of the trench, yanking the earplugs off as he went. The tranquil bubble of controlled noise popped; he winced at the normal level of life sounds barreling back into his skull. Just then, it hit him that no music was playing around them anymore. It became obvious why when he glanced back at the tall loudspeakers to realize that the last blast had knocked it straight to the ground.

Ugh. They had it coming.

Besides the click of a barrel snapping into place within the slide of a disassembled gun, all that could be heard within the hut was the soft pattering of rain against the windowpanes.

Robotnik’s thumb shuffled the piece a bit, making sure it was a snug fit. Then picked up the recoil rod and spring and snapped them into place as well. He sighed. No music in the isolated makeshift gunsmith atelier. He couldn’t risk drawing attention from a passerby, as unlikely as it was to have any nearby. Much less risk being caught off guard by the even smaller chance of a passerby turning into an invader.

Another click as he joined the gun’s handle to the slide.

He felt strangely out of sorts. Strangely tired. The rain pattering kept an uneven rhythm.

The first stolen project notes had finished downloading on his tablet, and he had spent the better part of three hours trying to make heads or tails of it before becoming too furious to continue. Hence the cleaning of one of the oldest gun tinkering projects he’d managed to keep from his teenage years. It was like taking a stroll through simpler times when all he had to worry about was not getting caught by the police.

Some people have shaggy childhood teddy bears, right? Well, he had this.

Stone’s notes were old, too old, a bunch of calculus and scribbling about some space-station nonsense. With a death-ray of all things! It was almost like reading the script for a far-fetched Star Wars spinoff, and it seriously made Robotnik wonder if the man hadn’t written all that as a drunken musing in his university years. Maybe an exercise from an eccentric professor. Maybe a bet. Maybe a daydream about giving it all up to become a comic book writer or a videogame developer.

It looked plain ridiculous… and fascinating. But he didn’t have all the engineering knowledge to grasp how much of it was real or fairy-tale. He didn’t have… He didn’t have.

The still unpinned slide slid to the worktable with a soft thud. It was a short fall.

He detested not knowing because he should know.

That’s what he’d been exceptional at as a child, when his peers could barely do division. That’s what he thought day and night about, stole electronics from unsuspecting teenagers around the block for… And then threw it all away to stay among his… friends. Those were not his friends, as he had come to find far too late for his tastes.

Not that now he couldn’t see the value of his life’s work! He knew full well he was one of a kind, a man of unparalleled genius that burned down any obstacles that dared come his way and, frankly, had too many spoils to show. Humanity in general couldn’t even begin to grasp the depth of his brilliance, and it pained him to no end having to endure the all-encompassing stupidity this predictable little world offered. Were he in charge, far too much would be different, you can bet on it.

But just a matter of time, really.

Even so, every once in a while, the nagging nostalgia of those last lonely years before joining a gang would grace his doorstep. The nostalgia of building a precarious, small robot from parts out of a junked radio and an old VCR. The unbridled joy he felt as the pathetic thing was first turned on, a single red eye alight as it ran around him in circles!

He had built an impressive life for himself, yes. But in the rare moments he revisited the memory, a bitter taste lingered, as if there had been something waiting for him that he simply never got. Something he missed out on but couldn’t name.

Robotnik picked up the slide, locked it with the pin this time.

His phone buzzed above the table. He frowned. Put down the gun, straightened his spine with a collection of dry pops.

A message from an unregistered number.

‘Red or white?’, it read

The corner of his mouth twitched.

‘Red. Portuguese. Preferably from a region called Alentejo.’ He paused for a moment, staring at his own answer. Then added, ‘Don’t you dare spend any less than 200$.’

‘Yessir. Why not Douro region? Has good reviews’

‘Too acidic. I don’t like it.’

‘Who would’ve thought..…’

Robotnik snorted, then answered without thinking too hard about it.

‘Smooth and slow does the trick, Stone.’

It took a minute before he got a response. Robotnik wondered if the man was gagging in his own prudishness.

But on he answered:

‘I would know”

At least the man could take some teasing.

‘So many demands… Might as well send me the label your highness desires.’ Stone added.

‘Boringgggggg’

‘Just giving you a heads up that is in your best interest! Can’t tell most of these wines apart, I’m more of a whiskey guy’

‘Of course you are. To match the beard and the ridiculous BMW bike. Didn’t you know midlife crisis is only scheduled for your forties?’

‘Says the guy with a handlebar mustache that drives a Vantage Aston Martin.’

Robotnik bit his lip hard to contain the too-entertained grin gaining territory on his face.

‘And you’ll concede it’s the most magnificent mustache you’ve ever laid eyes upon if you know what’s good for you.’

He watched as the infamous three dots of activity danced on his screen. Then disappeared for a few seconds. Reappeared. Disappeared. How will it be, then?

Reappeared.

‘I can admit it’s impressive”

Robotnik took advantage of the solitude to preen unseen. He crossed his legs, then leaned forward over the table to stare at the message for a while. Still grinning.

‘Good boy. Cartuxa Pêra-Manca Tinto, 2015.’

The following week could be called uneventful… If you didn’t take into account the peculiar development of texting.

It seemed the business with the bet had opened a door Robotnik couldn’t decide if he preferred shut or not.

It began innocently enough, just two days after grenade testing, with Stone texting him during his final minutes of lone lunch break to let him know someone had left documents around that required his signature. Probably a bunch of useless bureaucracy someone took too many copies of again.

‘Fraser is complaining that security personnel shouldn’t be dragging their paperwork to his busy lab and taking over much-needed space.’

‘Carrots should get a LIFE’

Then came the ones after work, when Stone would inform him of what they’d be doing the next day, or that the AC had failed and maybe Robotnik should wear something lighter to avoid dying of heatstroke inside the stuffed lab, or that an expensive handheld Raman had been misplaced by the intern and Robotnik was supposed to say something should he see it… And by the following Friday, it had made an entertaining turn… to gossip.

“The minx…” Robotnik muttered over a mouthful of edamame and too much crispy caramelized onion.

The message read:

‘If you pass through archive room 4 right now, you’ll get a flash of the chief biohazard safety officer with his tongue down the head of HR's throat.’

He snorted, but couldn’t help wondering if Stone had texted him by mistake. Until another text popped up to follow.

‘Oh damn, no use outing your hacking to HR anymore, now you have leverage’

‘Rookie mistake, Stone. I expected more from you.’

‘You’re right. Forgive me, maestro’

Robotnik tapped his index finger against the side of his phone a few times. He shouldn’t fuel these exchanges any further. Morbid sense of humor won over, though.

‘Well spill it out now, do any of them have unsuspecting spouses at home?’

‘Oh hell yes. Both.’

It turned out, calm and collected Doctor Stone was, underneath it all, a cheeky little shit.

“Can’t you make it stick? I’ve worked with this one. Sticking would make it a lot more fun.” Robotnik yapped unprompted, elbows propped over Stone’s workstation as he stared down at the spread blueprint for a common military grenade in need of updating.

Stone frowned. “Stick?”

“You know what the word means, don’t you?”

He sighed, putting weight on the hands resting on the surface and looking up at the Agent.

“Stick how?”

“What’s there not to get? Stick!”

Stone stared for a beat of silence.

“Uh… Explosives that stick? Didn’t they already try that back in the 40s?”

"No, not that British ‘sticky bomb’ crap! Think about burdock seeds. You toss it at someone and watch them flail like a monkey trying to peel it off. Pointless, of course: they still blow up. The mental image I’ve got? Slapstick gold, you should see it.”

“That’s…” Stone slowly shook his head but then paused, eyebrows rising, “That’s interesting.” His eyes flicked around, as if multiple calculations passed lightning fast right before his eyes, “It’s all in the spikes… Then, say, throw in metamorphic tech, and it could mold itself to fit whatever launcher you’ve got lying around. Could stick to any surface or slip unnoticed through crevices until it was ready to blow."

It was Robotnik’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

“Oh, I’d definitely have a blast with something like that.”

Stone’s eyes met his again.

“Literally.” He whispered.

Two wicked grins bloomed, mirroring each other.

“A blast of taxpayers’ dollars, you mean.” Fraser’s annoying voice came from behind.

Robotnik’s eyes were at risk of rolling entirely out of his skull. His jaw distended from side to side as if chewing at his own nerves.

“Alô, alô—” Robotnik slowly spun in his seat to glare at the man, “—did anyone ask you anything?”

Another development in these last days’ routine? Fraser’s increasing ability to rub Robotnik’s already limited patience the wrong fucking way… Especially where the Doctor was concerned. They would be arguing over the logics behind past field missions’ tactics, and suddenly the man would spawn out of nowhere to interrupt with complaints about how loud they were talking, or how Robotnik couldn’t go around throwing screws to the staff’s heads whenever he wanted their attention, or that Stone should oversee what the intern was doing, yadda-yadda-yadda! And he’d always pointedly place himself right between them, step in with a scowl and deliberately ignore Robotnik’s jabs at his ridiculous behavior.

Was it jealousy?

Bzzzt, bzzzt. Rhetorical question. Of course, it was jealousy. Humans and their pesky feelings.

But honestly, did Fraser really think he and Stone were somewhere near to joining the ongoing trend of workplace affairs? Please. As if. Didn’t the man have eyes? He and Stone could barely stand each other, besides talking tech! You want him? Go on, take it, you can goddamn have him ten times over for all I care! Fucking Christ. Just get out of my hair.

“I’m in charge, which means yes, everything asks for my input. That contraption you two are mooning over is needlessly complicated, which means preeeetty expensive. And we already have more grenades than we need.”

“No.” Robotnik snarled.

Fraser clenched his jaw, clearly holding the confusion back from showing plainly in his face.

“’No’ what?”

“No, no one asked you shit, Carrots. Go drool in a test tube, the adults are talking.”

“Agent Robotnik, I’ve already warned you not to talk to me like that.”

“Yeah I got the memo, but in a sequentially ranked hierarchy based on level of critical importance, the disparity between your warnings and whatever I feel like doing is too vast to quantify!”

Fraser’s confusion won his features over.

“What the hell is that supposed to even mean?!”

“Uh…” Stone cut in, scratching his beard, “He basically said he doesn’t care.”

The other two men turned to stare.

He hesitantly stared back. “Right?”

The corner of Robotnik’s mouth twitched.

And then the lights went out.

A chorus of gasps filled the room.

Brief, low chiming came from lab equipment, announcing an error, before automatically switching to auxiliary power. Then a series of loud clunks ran around as windows shuttered close and locked, the heavy entrance door following suit.

For a second, a pitch-black darkness ruled. Then the emergency lights flickered on. Every wide-eyed face was bathed in monochrome red.

“What on earth…” Fraser muttered, looking around.

“Maybe it was the rain? It was looking kinda intense a few minutes ago…” The intern piped up, holding a tablet to his chest.

“I thought this place could deal with a little summer storm…” Someone else added.

Robotnik carefully rose from the stool, glanced at Stone, who looked just as confused as everyone else. The comm by the door crackled with static, and a tinny voice spoke:

“Attention all personnel: Power outage detected, cause unknown. Investigation is underway. Lockdown protocols are now in effect, and backup systems have been activated. All units, report your status immediately.”

Fraser rushed to it, the lab coat swishing behind him dramatically.

“Chief Scientist Fraser here, Prototyping Lab. Our feathers are a little ruffled, but we’re all fine. Over.”

“Hello Doctor Fraser, good to hear. Stand by for new orders. Over.”

Fraser exhaled tiredly, then turned to the expectant public behind him with open palms.

“Seems we’re sitting ducks for now, folks.”

Stone circled around the table, looking a touch more alarmed than Robotnik thought was necessary. Was the man claustrophobic or something?

“I— I…” He stuttered, casting a quick glance around as if searching for a way out, “I can’t stay. I have to go check on my lab. A blackout could compromise sensitive material and—”

“Your lab is also equipped with auxiliary power, Doctor. No need to fret.” Fraser answered with a hint of exasperation.

It didn’t seem to assuage the man in the least. Stone grabbed his tablet and headed to the door, “Look, there’s no guarantee the transition went smoothly for every single thing, and I can’t afford to just sit idly while my equipment is at risk.”

“Your equipment is not at risk!”

“There’s no way to know that—”

“Just check the cameras then, for fuck’s sake!” Robotnik barked, already losing patience. He detested panicking. Helped absolutely no one and spread like lung cancer.

Stone whipped around to stare at him, the grip on his tablet tightened. “I…” he shook his head, “It’s not a matter of visuals. There’s equipment that could build up energy and damage itself— Uh, like an hour later, if it’s not calibrated.”

Robotnik squinted. What the hell was wrong with the man? Had he run out of ‘calm and collected’?

Fraser sighed and stepped closer to the Doctor, a hand gently resting on his arm.

“Aban, c’mon. I know you can get a little anxious where your lab is concerned, but everything’s fine…”

Robotnik wanted to retch at the intimate little exchange. First name basis? Commenting on Stone’s emotional predispositions? Hah. Fraser, Fraser… Not the spite of an unrequited crush, after all. A lovelorn ex.

What followed, the Agent could admit he didn’t expect in the least.

Stone stared intensely at Fraser for a moment.

Then planted a palm flat to his chest and firmly shoved the man with force enough to knock him to the ground. Fraser yelped pathetically, more gasps erupted from the staff, and Stone whipped around, lighting fast to manually open the door by dialing the override password.

And guess what? The door swished open.

Robotnik didn’t recall the last time he barked out a laugh so ugly and uncontrollable.

Stone disappeared in the blink of an eye, without looking back.

Fraser’s glasses were askew, at least three people were clumsily helping him up, and he was angrily mumbling to himself something about how Stone shouldn’t know the override password. If they weren’t all artificially colored red already, the Agent would bet the man’s face would be tomato shaded on its own.

Robotnik couldn’t pass up the chance to see what came next.

He bolted out of the lab to follow Stone’s fading footsteps.

The facility had fallen under an ominous vibe of contained chaos. Poor lighting, locked doors, the echoes of hard boots running to and fro, near and far. Tight voices rushing through commands and diagnostics, clicking radios. By the time Robotnik caught up with the runaway bunny in the chow hall, the Doctor was rounding up the most no-bullshit looking uniformed man in the precinct. Fully camo from head to toe, embroidered silver eagles on the chest, overseeing the dozens of soldiers in action around them.

The two men Robotnik came to a halt nearby were like the still eye of the storm.

“Colonel, it’s imperative I check on my lab, there’s sensitive equipment that could—”

“Doctor, you’re out of line! You have no clearance to be here, did Chief Fraser authorize this?” Colonel Lorne’s deep voice interrupted.

Stone stuttered, but barreled on, “I need to get out there! Please—"

“Sir!” A soldier rushed to them, glowing tablet in hand, “They figured it out: It was the storm. Buchanan’s dam couldn’t hold and now the County’s underwater, power grid went with it. Half the state’s dark and we’ve been ordered to help.”

“What a fucking mess... Inform all personnel that we’re holding at ALPHA. Get the officers prepped, they might have to swim for it.”

“Yessir!” The soldier scrammed.

Stone’s wide eyes snapped to the Colonel. “So! No threat! Can I go now?!”

Robotnik would laugh at the ridiculousness of the man’s state if he weren’t so intrigued.

“Only after soldiers are deployed and science staff given the all-clear for evac.”

Stone had the gall to scoff at his superior officer. Lorne noticed, and the look in his eyes contained a threat equal to a strict parent’s oncoming scorn.

“Colonel, with all due respect— this could take hours! I need to see my lab now!”

Lorne stepped into Stone’s space, fuming, “Doctor, you will stand down at once! I won’t squander much-needed soldiers on such a childish endeavor!”

“Bleeeurghhhh!” Robotnik cut in, pinching the back of the lab coat’s collar and yanking Stone away before he got a punch to the jaw. Both men stared at him in disbelief, “I’ll take him, I’m qualified enough! Besides, I left my stuff there, I’d have to go get it anyway before returning to town.”

And with all the running around and having far more important things to focus on, Colonel Lorne decided to just let them have their go at it. With a warning to return as soon as they were done and to never dare defy his orders again. By the way their superior spoke, and willingness to look the other way this one time, it became clear to Robotnik that Stone’s misbehaving was new to him too.

Passing too many agitated soldiers and constant protocol-related chatter, Robotnik and Stone rushed to the rear parking lot without further trouble.

The weather was still shit outside.

The Agent pulled the car keys from his inner pocket and unlocked his car, making a run from the facility to avoid becoming too wet. Stone, with the tablet shoved under the lab coat, followed on his heel.

“Get in and behave!” Robotnik shouted.

“Your car’s here? Then what did you leave at the lab?” Stone asked as he hurriedly opened the passenger door. Robotnik rolled his eyes, smoothly climbed behind the wheel, combed a hand through his hair to keep it in place.

“One plus one equals two, Stone. Catch up already, will you?”

Stone stared at him. The engines sang into life.

“Did you just lie to the Colonel?”

“Duh!”

“For me?”

Robotnik paused, side-eyed him, and selected the gear.

“Pull that thick head out of your goddamn ass! I was sick of your blabbering, and the whole mood in there was giving me the ick.” He scoffed, “Two birds one stone and the like, bla bla bla!”

The car pulled back from the parking spot, then sped up along the straight concrete path.

In normal conditions, the ride that took the base's UTVs 10 minutes to make, Robotnik could have cut down to a single one. Under that shitstorm, though? Five minutes would have to do. No amount of anxious glances thrown his way between incessant tapping on that tablet was going to sway the weight of his foot over the accelerator. And neither would his own curiosity, however unbearable, over what the hell could possibly be turning Stone into the reckless one here.

A thousand question marks swam in the back of his head, but he kept his eyes on the road, watching as the windshields fought for their lives as the lab's parking lot grew closer. The car came to a halt right beside the descending entry stairs, and Stone was bolting out before it even had stopped. Robotnik groaned, realizing he'd have to sit in the car another full minute to avoid getting drenched, while the Doctor didn’t even think to wait, letting the elevator doors slide shut behind him.

When he finally entered the lab, Stone was nowhere to be seen.

The place was darker than usual, ceiling LEDs offline. Only half the screens were operational, constantly running diagnostics. The main one over Stone's station included. He could hear the muffled pattering of rain meeting the kitchen's glass ceiling.

"Stone?!" Robotnik barked.

Silence.

He groaned, then approached Stone's station, looking for a clue. All that greeted him were endless lines of white lettered code over neon blue. They kept flickering and fading, only to give space for new ones to appear and run upwards, then disappear again. A cycle of commands, structures, variables, one second there, gone in the next. Keep on processing, keep on going and going and going. It had a certain appeal, Robotnik thought. A certain beauty to it.

An error message popped up.

He frowned. Never once since he started working here had he seen an error message on Stone's screen. As if there was nothing the machine couldn't find a way of digesting. He leaned closer. It warned about a minimal monitoring program suspiciously using too much RAM memory to function.
Oh. Right. The blackout must have shut down the hundreds of heavy programs his data malware usually piggybacked on to stay hidden. Now it was stuck clinging to menial activity. Like a big stupid dog trying to hide behind a skinny pole, obvious to anyone looking.

His middle finger hovered over the keyboard, then smoothly pressed the right pointing arrow. The selection on the screen jumped from 'Details' to 'Ignore'. Enter. The funny little window vanished.

He raised an eyebrow, whipped around.

"Stone!" He shouted again, looking around. "Doctor Aban Stone!! You better give me a fucking sign or ELSE—"

The storage door swished halfway open, and Stone's head popped out, looking a little breathless and in an overall bad mood.

"I'm right here, sorry. Almost finished."

"What the hell are you doing in there?!"

He sighed heavily, glancing at something behind him.

"The blackout fried the drones' docking stations, I'm trying to make a quick fix so it'll stop draining them."

Robotnik crossed his arms.

"That easy to take out your pets?"

The Doctor glared. "It shouldn't have happened. I don't know why it did. Maybe lightning struck or something, just let me work okay, I only need to—" ....aaand Robotnik couldn’t make out the rest, because the man slid back into the storage mid-grumbling.

The Agent exhaled dramatically. So much drama only for a few fried docking stations? How... disappointing. Just when he thought Stone was becoming interesting, turned out it was his goddamn OCD throwing a fit all along. He couldn’t believe Fraser had been right. How embarrassing for Stone.

He paced towards the darkened kitchen, glanced upwards.

Raindrops drummed softly, hitting the glass like seeds that bloomed into skittering little waves soon after. The flora outside was a blur framing dark grey skies.

An eerie sight.

Like looking up at a hole ready to swallow him up into quiet oblivion. Like nothing else existed beyond the warped horizon where milkweed met cloud. No Doctor Stone, no military base, no Walters, no great United States of Whatever... Like even Robotnik himself was a mere figment of freak imagination. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there.

Ridiculous musings. Sentimental. He huffed out a half-hearted breath. Odd detail, though: there was a scratch on the glass. A white line about a palm's width, visible under the soothing pattern of rainwater.

Robotnik frowned. Drummed gloved fingers against the fabric of his sleeve.

"Stone?" He called without taking his eyes away from it.

"Yeah?" The distant voice shouted back.

Why would a scratch be in that particular corner... Had it always been there? Hm.

"Did you ever reschedule that delivery you missed?!"

...Maybe some animal had lost its footing and dug in its filthy little claws on the way down the slight dome.

"What delivery?!" Stone shouted back, sounding distracted.

His mind filtered through a variety of local medium-sized mammals that could have possibly found an opening in the barbed-wire fences and invaded military ground... Bobcats, coyotes, foxes, raccoons, maybe a rare case of an armadillo...

"I don't know! Whatever you had the audacity to order to your goddamn workplace!"

And yet, none of those options were heavy enough to leave a mark like that.

"What are you on about?! I never order anything to this address!"

Robotnik shifted in his place, taking the new information in. Well, well, well.

Seems like the big bad anguille’s definitely sous la roche.

He calmly uncrossed his arms.

Men meddling with a power tower in his first day. Fake mailman peeking through the gates, persistent in making contact. Reconnaissance.

Blackout. False alarm, it's a natural disaster. But enough to pull troops away. Enough to cause an unlikely neutralization of Stone's drones. Diversion, sabotage and weakened defenses.

A scratch on the glass that hadn’t been there. He was sure of it now. As if someone as heavy as a human adult had slipped and stumbled with something hard as, say, metallic gear or weaponry, while peeking down at the exposed kitchen.

Robotnik would bet his current firearm that the lab's comms had mysteriously fallen offline. He didn’t bother testing the theory. Objective? No need to spell it out. Robotnik clenched his jaw.

The only advantage was in being a black suit against the black shadows of the scullery... His hand slid to his middle, calculating. It is a faux pas to unfasten both buttons of a blazer while still standing, however, current circumstances called for it. Best be unbuttoned rather than end up buttonless.

Now... Through which magical chimney would dear old Santa Claus be dropping in today? Not the elevator, impossible to hijack either physically or through hacking. No other way in except for the emergency ladders built... right, in the archive room.

How much time did he have?

No air current. If someone had opened it already, he’d be feeling a soft gust of wind from where he stood. Or they were already inside. No. He would've noticed. How? Don't dare question how good Robotnik is. He noticed a new scratch on the ceiling, for fuck's sake.

What time was it in Napoli right now, he wondered... About 11pm? The Agent pulled out his phone, opened the encrypted messages. He tapped furiously:

R: Vuoi un accordo? Chiamami tra esattamente 5 min. Esattamente. O cerca un'altra opzione.

His thumb hovered over the send button. His breathing slowed, to focus on any new sounds.

And he waited.

One minute. Two minutes.

An almost imperceptible, distant clang. Robotnik hit send.

He made quick work of squatting and sending his phone, screen up, skidding over the lab's smooth floor to halt under his desk, before rushing with silent steps to stand behind the kitchen's central aisle, the one completely covered in the Doctor's weird botanical hobby. Right across the doorless passage to the archive room. His gaze cut through the leaves, trained ahead unblinkingly, past the brush of leaves and poisonous flowers.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He reached for his gun.

Chapter Text

Ladies and gentlemen, in this rendition of the critically acclaimed nursery rhyme 'This Little Piggy Went to Market', we'll number them out with 'ABC's due to lack of exposed toes.

This little piggy, A, wore a bad brand of combat helmet and crossed the kitchen without fully clearing it. Amateur. But idiots did make this part of the job easier. This little piggy, B, followed suit, wearing a whole different type of helmet— the inconsistency screamed 'militia' all over it— while this little piggy, C, finally remembered they were supposed to be 'big boy' invaders and started making his way towards the central isle where Robotnik was hidden. Shake your head side to side and pout for the children as I say this: Not a single piggy caught the predatory gaze peeking through the leaves.

6:27pm.

And a certain mafioso, Napoletano little piggy, was late for his call! That should be ringing out right about now. Little piggy C was getting too damn close.

6:28pm.

It finally came.

INTERGALACTIC PLANETARY
PLANETARY INTERGALACTIC

Piggy A's suppressed submachine gun roared to life. CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK— spent shells clinking to the ground, the other two piggies whipping around to stare at the desk where the noise came from, only for three very not suppressed shots to ring out consecutively. Three bouts of hot blood spattered along the walls. Three thuds to the floor. Three piggies down.

"HE’S IN THE KITCHEN!"

Another dimension, another dimension
Another dimension, another dimension


Robotnik ducked just in time to miss becoming Swiss cheese.
Pots exploded above him as shots rained down. Talk about eardrum abuse. Dirt everywhere, foliage falling as if it were an autumn fever dream. Talk about deforestation.

CLANK CLANK CLANK CLINK CLINK CLINK

SHIT how many more were there?! But a breach in the drumming soon came as one of them shouted "Mag out!" from the right, and Robotnik did not waste time. He knew his angles around these metal walls. One quick peek was enough. He aimed, fired, and the shot ricocheted off a metal frame, zipping straight into the neck of our new character, Piggy D.

Ha! D also for dead. Get it? Phew.


Well, now, don't you tell me to SMILE!
You stick around, I'll make it worth your WHILE!
Got numbers beyond what you can dial—
Maybe it's because I'm so versaTILE!

His back slammed into the aisle again. He hissed as pain flared through his shoulder. Quick check: just a graze. Not fatal. Could wait. He twisted, returned fire. Bullets sliced the air past his head, too close. None hit. Neither did his. He ducked back to reload. Release. Magazine dropped. A new one slid in— a crouching shadow spawned beside him.

“GAH!!” A sharp spear hand struck straight to Piggy E’s trachea.

The man keeled over, coughing hard.

The Agent stuck a hand under the counter, yanked out a hidden knife and made the exact same route. A choked gasp. Gurgling. More bullets zipped past as the body toppled to the side.

FUCK! Another graze! His forearm burned, fuck fuck FUCK—

“RICKY!!” Piggy F bellowed from the archive room, “MOTHERFUCKER I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

“YOU’VE BEEN TRYING AND FAILING, CONNARD!!”

STYLE, PROFILE!
I said it always brings me back when I hear OOH-CHILD!
From the Hudson River out to the Nile,
I run the marathon 'til the very last mile!

Piggy F for… Hm… Final? Meh.

Heavy steps pounded in from the far side of the aisle. Robotnik spun as he rose, a single, precise shot slammed into the attacker’s foregrip hand. The man screamed, staggered, but driven by raw rage, he flailed the weapon wildly, firing without aim, desperate to hit the enemy at any cost. Piggy F for Feral!

That move alone painted every cabinet with dents, the coffee machine screamed with multiple metallic clangs. Robotnik successfully dodged the wave, then picked up the single vase still in one piece and flat out hurled it at Piggy F’s face. More out of spite than anything else, really. The crash was delicious.

Well, if you battle me, I will REVILE!
People always saying my style is WILD!
You've got gall, you've got guile
To step to me, I'm a rapoPHILE!

Quick, now. Or gain new Unfun holes.

The Agent braced his good arm over the counter and threw himself across the mounds of dirt. He slid straight ahead. Each foot locked around the submachine gun, giving it a mean twist and pull. The sling mercifully broke free. He grabbed the weapon and pointed it forward.

But Piggy F was having none of it.

Dirt still clinging to his beard, the man furiously swatted it aside, sending it skidding to some place unseen. Robotnik quickly recovered by pointing his own pistol, pulled the trigger, but the man had been counting on it too. He grabbed at his injured forearm, Robotnik snarled, and the muzzle was forced to the side. The bullet didn’t catch him.

His finger kept squeezing the trigger, struggling to drag the aim back toward the man's face against the brute force of the massive arm. Rounds whipped past, missing Piggy’s ear by millimeters, close enough to burst the eardrum—

BANG BANG BANG BANG— The man roared like an animal, teeth bared, grip squeezing tighter and tighter— BANG BANG— Robotnik roared back, in frustration, in pain. Just another inch, c’mon! Die! Die! Die!— BANG BANG BANG—

CLICK

Oh nonononono—

“Give me a BIG. FAT. BREAK!” He shouted, then planted both feet to the man’s chest and pushed, sending him staggering backwards into the lab.

Piggy F for FUCKING DIE ALREADY!

Robotnik shoved off the counter and tossed the empty gun aside. Was this really about to end in a fistfight? God, he hated fistfights. But the brute drew a gleaming knife from his belt, and a jolt of alarm shot up the Agent’s spine.

Worse. Shouldn’t have jinxed it.

“You know what’s gonna happen next, don’t you, asshole?” Piggy F grinned predatorily, “you’ll be painting this floor red in the next five minutes, then I’ll blow this whole place to hell while my boys back at base put a bullet in that doctor’s head. No more of those freak toys repressing the people!”

Robotnik scoffed, getting into a fighting stance, “What, gonna monologue me to death like a cartoon villain?! Get on with it!”

Thing is, knife fights are riskier than one might think from all the badass fight scenes we get in movies. The average blink of an eye takes 0.2 seconds to happen, and that is still 0.5 seconds more than how fast a knife thrust can happen; and sure, skin is biologically tougher than it looks, requiring about half a kilogram on the pressure to slice, but taking into account the size of Piggy F, one could easily gather that half a kilogram would be no issue at all. Robotnik was fast, but he had no illusions that a single mistake would be enough.

Dead. Done. Deceased.

Or worse: permanently incapacitated.

All his life, if he could help it, he’d always, always resort to any other option before getting to the point of allowing enemies to draw shivs. Though headshots usually happened a lot sooner, too. He was getting old, wasn’t he? Fucking hell.

As Piggy F lunged towards him, the Agent cursed Walters inwardly in every language simultaneously. ‘A retirement of sorts’ my ASS.

But the face-off never came.

The air crackled with static.

A blinding flash swallowed the room. Robotnik winced, throwing an arm over his eyes. Piggy F cried out. Then came the solid thud of a body hitting the floor.

Through the afterimage, a man-sized silhouette emerged in the glare, light coiled around it. A sharp kick sent the knife skidding from Piggy’s hand, who shouted in panic. Red lightning ripped across the room, arcing like high-voltage arms, crawling over walls, floor, metal.

Then the light collapsed in on itself. And in its place stood none other than motherfucking Doctor Stone.

His irises flashed crimson, then dimmed to their usual dark brown. He was panting, chest heaving, but still had the strength to surge forward, drop a knee into Piggy’s lower back, wrench his arm up, and twist it until the man groaned and thrashed beneath him.

It was the most absurd thing Robotnik had ever seen. All he could do was stare dumbly at the struggling pair on the floor. 

Where had he come from. What was that whole shebang of lightning. What the fuck. 

“I can’t hold him for long!” Stone cried, slamming the man down again.

Robotnik pulled himself together. Whatever the fuck that was would have to wait. He ripped Piggy A’s submachine gun from his lifeless arms and strode into the lab.

Still staring at Stone, the muzzle was raised to the back of Piggy F's head.

“What’s your little group of miscreants called?!”

He didn't really care, it was procedure. What he really wanted to know was, who the hell was Doctor Stone after all? 

“FUCK YOU!!” He kept struggling, albeit with a lot less vigor now.

“You’re not my type,” the Agent quipped, then slammed him down with a heavy foot to his shoulder blade, “Name?! And how many more of you are there?!!”

“I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO THE FLAG—”

“What?!” Stone hissed, frowning in confusion.

“—OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA AND TO THE REPUBLIC FOR WHICH IT STANDS—”

“Oh my GOD what a LOSER!”

“—ONE NATION UNDER GOD, INDIVISIBLE, WITH LIBERTY—”

CLANK

CLINK

Stone turned his face away from the spurt of blood, pulled away as if burned. Robotnik groaned, ran a hand through his face. There was dirt clinging to his mustache. He could feel a headache coming on, but at least there was a minute to breathe.

These little piggies cried 'wee wee wee' all the way to oblivion.

Robotnik glowered. He gripped the gun tighter. The Doctor didn’t pay him any mind. He rushed to the main computer, diving into the endless coding as if a clear path was presenting itself through it.

“We need to head back to base, they’re there too,” the lab’s lights flickered on, “I’ll leave a few drones in here for protection just in case, but we need to take the others there.”

Just as he spoke, a swarm of 0NYX models slipped out of the storage room and flew into formation. They cleared the lab faster than any human could, some disappearing into the archive room, others into the corridor towards the hangar.

Stone turned only halfway towards Robotnik, as if hesitant to look him in the eye. “Are you… Okay to drive?”

The Agent didn’t answer right away, glaring at the man while seeing drones moving in his peripheral vision. No way to point the gun at his head and demand answers yet. Not when mommy was surrounded by his now fully operational, deadly babies.

The grin he forced was too close to a snarl.

“Just peachy.”

You’ve heard the idiom “out of the frying pan into the fire”, haven’t you?

Did you know its earliest recorded use was by Sir Thomas Moore back in 1532 whilst in a funky pamphlet war against his scholarly rival William Tyndale? 'by his false caste of juggling, featly conuayed himself out of the frying panne fayre into the fyre’, he wrote. However, if we venture further backwards, the ninth book of the Anthologia Palatina contains, in its last two epigrams, written by Germanicus Julius Caesar, a similar sentiment:

‘Once a hare from the mountain height leapt into the sea in her effort to escape from a dog's cruel fangs. But not even thus did she escape her fate; for at once a sea-dog seized her and bereft her of life. Out of the fire, as the saying is, into the flame didst thou fall. Of a truth Fate reared thee to be a meal for a dog either on the land or in the sea.’

Fascinating, isn’t it? How timeless is the need to put into words the specific dismay of solving one problem only to stumble into another right after. Our Robotnik does it too.

Both Agent and Doctor sat inside the car, staring incredulously at the road beyond the gates, the one near the lab’s entrance.

A heavy-duty truck was speeding through it in their direction. Fast, too fast. Growing closer by the second. A sharp crack. The windshield was now decorated in a spiderweb of craquelure, a bullet lodged at its center.

Stone stared wide-eyed at it.

“Out of the bum into the fucking toilet, it seems!” Robotnik snarled, hitting reverse hard.

The car lurched backwards right when the gate violently crashed down. Stone was sent careening to the dashboard with a gasp— but blessedly managed to avoid hitting his head. He scrambled to sit back, pulled his tablet, and soon his black army rose from the lab.

Menacing, coordinated, watchful. The blackhole-like spheres rose in tandem under the drizzle, against the looming grey sky. Robotnik knew what it meant. Calibrating.

The truck still sped after them on the long road towards the facility, more bullets met windshield. It was getting harder and harder to see. And bulletproof is not synonymous with invincible, so it was just a matter of time before their persistence got through.

Dying shot down like a hooligan in a car robbery? In a military base? Goddamn tasteless.

It wouldn’t do.

“SHOOT THEM DOWN ALREADY!”

“I’m reading explosives inside! I have to find the right angle to take them out without setting it all off!” Stone shouted back, fingers flying in a panicked rush over the tablet.

“I DON’T CARE SHOOT THEM DOWN!”

“AT THIS SPEED WE’LL BLOW UP WITH THEM!”

For fuck’s sake— Robotnik’s hand shot out, grabbing the back of Stone’s head. The poor man yelped just before his face was slammed down onto the tablet in his lap.

“FUCKING SHOOT, YOU IDIOT! OR THEY'LL HIT THE ENGINES AND WE'LL BE VAPORIZED BEFORE YOU CAN EVEN BOTCH PRONOUNCING PNEUMONOULTRAMICROSCOPICSILICOVOLCANOCONIOSIS!”

Somehow, Stone's eyes managed to widen even further, staring up at Robotnik with more shock than he had shown standing over dead bodies back in the lab.

Who says violence doesn’t solve anything?

With a single, comically dainty tap beneath his nose, he set hell loose.

Robotnik’s left hand slid to the top of the stirring wheel, clamped down, then yanked counterclockwise for dear life.

The tires screeched, Stone yelped again, grabbing anything he could find for support. Prairies sped past like a blur in the view as the front of the car swung around. Bullets could still be heard bruising the flank, but Robotnik’s eyes fixed forward. At a near-perfect 180°, he punched the gear into ‘Drive’, and they were finally barreling forward with his foot pushing the accelerator the whole way down. The feeling of being crushed against the seat was overwhelming.

A thunderous blast roared behind them.

Everything was orange for a second.

His ears popped, the car swiveled under the shockwave. Didn’t give. Debris flew past the windows.

Stone was panting beside him. Robotnik risked a quick glance. And staring too.

“You’ll find, Doctor,” he said with a slow drawl, clutching the wheel tighter to fight the adrenaline shaking his hands, “doing as I say is always your best bet.”

He could feel eyes traveling across his silhouette. As if a long and complex equation was being reconsidered. Something long thought to already have an answer, only to reveal that it was far from being solved.

Stone swallowed.

“I’m… Figuring that out, yeah…”

Blinding light. The taste of ozone under his tongue. A man made light, the avenging angel coming down to slay dragons at his feet. Crimson sparks over olive skin, dancing around his lashes, his cheekbones, his mouth. Crimson eyes. Dark eyes. No trick of light. Crimson sparks clinging to the walls, the screens, the floor. Crimson eyes. Dark eyes. He had come out of nowhere. Crimson eyes. Dark eyes.

Robotnik jolted awake.

Third time he'd dreamt of it. The brain could be an obsessive thing...

He’d tried hacking classified files already. The Department of Defense had nothing to say on a project like that. No clue on their end, it seemed. In a frantic need to explain it and a lack of material to do so, now even sleep had been compromised.

It was pitch black in his room. He blindly reached for his phone over the nightstand. 4:22am.

New message, unregistered number. His jaw clenched.

‘We should talk.’

Yeah, he’d bet Stone wanted to talk.

Four days had passed since that shitshow of an invasion, and they had not seen each other since. The Colonel had sent most of the science staff home for half a month, for post-traumatic stress relief and for the necessary repairs to be done.

To Robotnik, everything after the explosion was a blur.

An amalgamation of protocols, multiple sweepings to confirm all militiamen had been neutralized, body bags, people running and shouting orders, triages, medical response, panicked damage assessments… He barely recalled what he did for most of the five following hours he was forced to stay there until all details of their confrontations were put into a tiresome, long report.

What he did remember was Stone.

Sitting quietly beside him in the med bay as a nurse cleansed the bullet grazes in his right arm. Helping him back into his ruined suit jacket. Smiling weakly at faceless colleagues as they frantically interrogated him on his well-being. Turning his face away at Fraser when the man tried to make sheepish contact. Bringing him a plastic cup of water without being asked. Leaning against the wall while they waited to be called in. His dark eyes met Robotnik’s just before they walked into Colonel Lorne’s office to relay the events.

They hadn’t spoken a word. And yet, somehow, both had agreed to lie.

His phone buzzed. Another text.

‘You didn’t tell on me.’

Robotnik’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. Why was he hesitating?

‘Isn’t that what you expected after all that bedside manner, Doctor?’

‘I wasn’t trying to manipulate you’

‘Oh no? Could have fooled me.’

Better question yet: why was he answering?

‘I swear.’

‘Like your word means anything to me. If I had snitched, next thing I know, you’d be showing up on my doorstep ‘plasma ball’ mode.’

That’s why he was answering, after all. He wanted to know how.

‘I really wouldn’t. Can we please talk?’

‘Sound off.’

‘Face to face’

‘You must think I’m an idiot.’

That seemed to give Stone pause; by the way the message instantly marked read, and no retort came. In truth, Robotnik was too tempted to meet, but he had to be smart about this. Whatever trick the Doctor had pulled was completely unknown. Unpredictable, dangerous even to someone as skilled as him. Eagerness to learn, to acquire that power for himself, had to be reigned in, or Robotnik would end up making mistakes.

‘Quite the opposite. I think you’re brilliant.’

He stared blankly at the message, caught off guard.

Stone added:

‘Pick a public space to your liking, whatever would make you comfortable. You’ll have full control of the situation.’

Robotnik kept staring.

Yet another message popped up.

‘Please.’

Well. The man was practically begging.

Robotnik crossed his legs, leaned back.

He could see Stone at the far end of the restaurant, walking through the glass doors and awkwardly speaking to the hostess.
It was almost infuriating how the man could don a pair of black slacks and a simple, similarly dark crewneck sweater and look as put together as if he were some Hollywood actor ready for a magazine interview. It just made Robotnik dislike him more.

As he was guided to the half-hidden, darkened corner where Robotnik sat waiting, his polite smile grew stiffer. Robotnik waved a hand towards the seat opposite him and dispassionately watched as the leather jacket was hung over the backrest and he sat down.

His hanging foot nudged a smaller table closer to Stone’s side. Above it, a rectangular device, connected to a multitude of multicolored wires.

“Polygraph. The yellow wires have plenty of fun ways of sticking to you, do go on.”

Stone’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly. You said full control, is your money where your mouth is?"

Stone glared, but relented, carefully pulling the yellow ones up for inspection.

"Won't the staff find it weird that a guy has wires around him during dinner?"

"No, they owe me."

Stone squinted.

"And how exactly do they owe you?"

Robotnik sipped at his sparkling water.

"I'm asking the questions here. Put that on your wrist, those two around your chest and stomach, respectively. Yes, like that. That one on your temple. Good boy."

His tablet beeped with the new stream of information as Stone’s vitals were now closely watched. After some tuning, he began initial testing.

"Is today Monday?”

Stone sighed, sitting back and relaxing. "Yes."

True.

"Are you dressed in black?"

"Yes."

True.

"Am I dressed in black?"

Stone raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk touching his lips.

"Yes." True. "And well."

Robotnik’s eyes snapped up, glaring. True, the Polygraph read. He flicked a pen to Stone’s side of the table, almost sending it over the edge and to the ground, but it was caught by an agile hand.

"Write a number between 1 and 7 on the back of your hand, then keep it hidden under the table." Robotnik snapped, watchful.

Stone frowned, "What for?"

"Just goddamn do it."

He sighed yet again and complied.

"Is 1 the number you've written?”

"No."

"2?"

"No."

"3?"

"No."

"Already lying to me, Stone?"

A childlike grin greeted him, "It actually works. Cool."

"Cool." Robotnik mimicked with disdain.

"You know, we could simply have an organic conversation about it." Stone tried, resting his hands over his thighs and crossing his ankles under the table. Once again, as if in a magazine interview. Christ.

"Of course you'd like that. What better setup to warp the story and play mind games with the old man, right-o?”

"I don't think you're old."

The Polygraph pointed true. Robotnik rolled his eyes.

"You don't think, period. Shut your trap hole and answer my questions with simple yes and no answers, if you’re even capable of that much."

"Yes, sir."

Time to start digging. He had to make good use of the unexpected upper hand here.

"Five days ago, in your lab, during the militia invasion, the flashy stunt you pulled to tackle the last man down. Was it a holographic distraction?"

"No."

"Were you anywhere near the attacker before that flash of light?"

"No."

Robotnik’s spine straightened a bit.

"Teleportation, then?"

Stone bit the inside of his cheek.

"Yes."

"How?" Robotnik quickly countered, eager.

Stone stared for a moment. "That's not a 'yes' or 'no' question."

"Adapt."

"It's… Another type of technology." It pointed true.

"What a misleading way to put it. What kind of technology?"

Stone chuckled, tapping his thighs awkwardly.

"Don’t I get to ask a few questions too before you have me lay out all of my evil plans?"

Robotnik raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Tapped a button. Stone’s whole body jolted as an electrical current zapped him to alertness.

“Holy shit!”

“Keep running your mouth out of turn, and you’ll get frito.”

“Eh-ehrm.” A throat cleared nearby.

Both turned to stare in unison. The waiter smiled, “Shall I present to you tonight’s menu?”

It didn’t take long for the orders to be placed, the man hummed in approval at their choices and glided off to attend other tables. They were alone again.

“One question.”

“That was only level one, do you want to test it up to five?”

“I’m sure it’s delightful, but my question could be of interest to you.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Please.”

Robotnik’s teeth snapped shut.

That was the second time Stone’s persistence gave him pause. The big puppy-like eyes bore into him in supplication. No one ever asked Robotnik anything this nicely.

“I’ll be upping this to level three. If your question’s a drag, I’ll press the button.”

The corner of Stone’s eyes crinkled, he gave a nod. Then leaned in to rest his elbows over the table. The Agent suppressed the urge to mirror him.

“I…” He began a little nervously, a hand fiddling with his fork, “I’m not interested in staying under the Department of Defense’s thumb. I’ve been looking for a way out for years now, gathering any resources I could, biding my time for the right opportunity… And you might just be it. Uh, if you want that, of course? But you haven’t seemed too invested in doing what they tell you to either.”

Robotnik frowned, not expecting that at all. His finger hovered forgotten over the shock button.

Stone continued, “You’re, well— You’re a force to be reckoned with. I don’t know what’s keeping you around when you clearly want to go, but how about we work together to pave our way out of this imbecilic organization that thinks they can control us? My tech, your expertise.”

Wasn’t the man full of surprises.

Robotnik twirled the end of his mustache. Lowered the shock setting to 1 again.

“Looking for a little partner in crime, is it?” He mocked.

“Not ‘A’. ‘The’ partner in crime.” Was Stone’s smooth answer in the very next beat.

Robotnik’s eyes involuntarily broke the connection to flicker downwards. The polygraph pointed true. At least for that last sentence.

When he looked up, a little smugness gleamed in the Doctor’s eyes. And something else. Something else he couldn’t name. It made him feel pinned down in an unfamiliar way he deeply disliked. His eyebrows raised in disdain.

“Have you, or have you not, spent the past month trying to frame me for money laundering?”

Stone’s eyes widened.

Hah. Take that.

“Go on. Lie to me now.”

“How did you— Look, I just…” Stone looked away, scratched his beard. Sighed heavily. “Yes, I have.”

Bing bing bing! True!

Robotnik’s smirk grew until it occupied his whole face.

“Thought I wouldn’t catch on, did you? Too many versions of the same contract floating around with slightly different numbers. Someone always pushing for my signature. My inbox stuffed with spam like a Thanksgiving turkey as if I accidentally got cc’d on some other poor idiot’s utility bills. And let’s not forget the utterly absurd amount of money that ‘just happened’ to land in my account the other day. But hey, how could you have known I already own plenty of offshore mattresses to stuff it under, right? Or that my AML Analyst wouldn’t dare report a single cent out of line because I just know too many of his fun little secrets?”

“Wow." Stone breathed, "You're... Quite something, aren't you?"

And what the hell was Robotnik supposed to answer to that? He squinted.

The Doctor cleared his throat, looked away.

"Look, I regret it, okay? I already took care of it, scrubbed every trace from the inside. That’s why no inspections came knocking and none will.”

Robotnik looked down. True.

“Hm. Seems your silver tongue is still capable of saying anything sincere after all.”

The waiter came back with their food. That granted them a few moments of respite to gather their own thoughts.

Robotnik could admit he was intrigued. Stone turning on their employers was unexpected, being in a similar situation of wanting to break free. And even more so was his desire to partner up and venture into very dangerous ground with someone he barely knew.

Not that there wasn’t an obvious appeal in siding with the Agent. He personally thought that was the smartest thing anyone could do, it was just that most people were extremely stupid and never knew better to do so. Had he crossed paths with someone possessing a modicum of actual above-average intelligence? Or was Stone getting better at figuring out what he wanted to hear so he could stab him in the back when the time came? So far, the polygraph had pointed true. While this was no 100% guarantee, it was damn close to it. That little device had yet to fail him.

“My proposal is genuine.” Stone spoke calmly before bringing a piece of steak to his mouth.

True.

“Then answer my questions and I’ll consider it.”

The dark eyes sparkled with hope. He swallowed before even chewing properly, quickly tapping the napkin to his lips.

“Go on, then.”

“What kind of technology?"

“Half human, half… Something else. The machinery’s mine, but the power source is… alien.”

Robotnik stilled. Frowned.

“Alien as in…?”

“As in from outer space. Beyond our current feeble reach of the galaxy.” Stone was holding back a smile. He was clearly excited to talk about it, to pull the curtains open and present the absurd like a freakshow ringmaster.

Robotnik stared.

The polygraph kept pointing true. How could any of this be possible?

“And how the hell did you get your hands on something like that?”

“It was... left behind.”

“Left behind?”

“I don’t know what kind of alien it comes from, just got lucky. Then I found a way to build machines that could harness its power. A natural, inexhaustible, independent power. There’s a lot it can do when combined with the Onyx models, and one of those things is teleporting people or objects within a ten-meter radius.”

“Inexhaustible?” Robotnik breathed, starry-eyed.

Again, how could any of this be possible?!

“Are you human?”

Stone smirked. "Yes, very." It pointed true.

“Does the brass know of it?”

“No.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“No.”

“Then why is my pretty polygraph venturing into ‘inconclusive’ territory?”

Stone shifted. “No one else knows… now.”

“Who else did then?”

“A… Mentor. I had. Years ago. But he’s gone now.” His eyes didn’t meet Robotnik’s. “So there’s nothing to worry about on that front.”

True. Robotnik slowly chewed his food as he considered all that had been said.

A deal. Stone’s tech, revolutionary alien tech. Unsanctioned tech. And wasn’t that one of his favorite uses of the letter ‘U’? That might be the type of opportunity he’d been vying for. The Doctor’s data was already steadily flowing into his hands, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it just yet. If he had the man’s cooperation, who says he couldn’t manage to learn a thing or two? Get a closer look at the work in action, observe his methods, understand. All of that with the neat bonus of kicking down the Department of Defense’s exit door and watching it disappear in his rearview mirror.

And yet. His mind fished memories to the surface: muscled arms crossed one over the other, a stubbled jaw clenching after cursing his former employer to hell and back. Then a white viscous film of blindness over a blue eye. Marred skin, pink, pinched, recent. The admission of trying to bring him down with an incriminating paper trail.

He was under no illusions that a polygraph would be enough to expose the depths of Doctor Stone’s motives. Robotnik was not the best interpreter of human emotion or their intentions beyond the basic principles of what drove them, but a career in spying did teach him to become familiar with deceit in all of its forms. He knew full well that the parcels of truth he’d been given tonight were but the tip of the iceberg. What would collaborating with the man even be like?

Stone had begun to sprinkle the faraway concept of surprise in his routine. And a man that could surprise him was also a man that could trick him.

“How about a peace offering?” Stone once again cut into his line of thought. Probably noticing the increasingly grim look in his eyes.

“A peace offering?” Robotnik drawled with disgust.

“Yeah, uh…” Stone twisted his torso around to pluck a silver box from his leather jacket’s pocket. Then placed it over the table, thumbed at the latch, and the lid rose in a slow arch.

A small black egg lay inside. Sleek, apparently of the same material as his drones. Robotnik knew it was a grenade by the small fuse and safety pin at its top.

The Agent frowned, not daring to lean close.

“I didn’t test this one.”

Stone smiled easily, resting his chin over a hand.

“No. You suggested it.”

Oh.

The sticky grenade they had brainstormed.

How…

“Is this some kind of trick?”

Stone frowned slightly, “No!”

The polygraph pointed true.

Robotnik let out an appeased ‘hmpf’ and plucked the grenade from its casing, bringing it close to his eyes for inspection.

“Is this a working prototype?”

“Yes. And it’s yours, blow up whatever you like with it, then leave a review.” Stone watched him with rapt attention.

Robotnik’s gloved thumb brushed across the polished surface, seeing his reflection staring back at him.

“And I might also have, well,” The Doctor pulled something else from his pocket, sliding it across the table with a barely contained smirk, “taken up another one of your suggestions.”

Robotnik looked down at the new offering. A snort burst unbidden.

A shiny sticker of a warning sign, it read:

“Hazardous to idiots!” He couldn’t contain his smirk, “Ha! I’ll need a full box of those!” He threw it back at Stone’s face, “Pull it out.”

Stone picked it up with a laugh, easily pulled the backing paper off and slapped the warning over the grenade Robotnik was extending towards him with far more mirth than he’d be comfortable showing— if only he realized that it was actually showing— As Stone smoothed the corners around the surface, his fingers briefly brushed Robotnik’s.

The Agent admired the result. Stone sat back, clearly quite pleased with himself. He eyed Robotnik a minute longer before piping something else again:

“How’s the arm?”

The Agent raised his eyebrows, carefully placing the grenade back in the box.

“What, are you my lost mommy? Don’t waste everyone’s time by fussing over knee-scrapes.”

“Or bullet grazes.”

“Potato, potahto.”

The Doctor chuckled, thoughtful.

“You did… save my life back there.”

That earned him a scoff.

“I saved myself; you were a collateral that turned out wasn’t completely useless.”

Stone’s grin grew again, watching Robotnik as if he were the funniest dinner companion. Who would’ve thought that shooting some men dead then helping blow up the rest would be what it took for the damned idiot to stop being offended by every single thing he said.

“Was that a compliment, Agent?”

Cheeky little shit. Shock button.

“AGH—"

“Please.”

He did like seeing the man squirm, even if it attracted a few side-eyes from the nearest table. Stone took a minute to calm his breathing, then to glare with a mix of annoyance and amusement as if Robotnik was an infuriating five-year-old that just bit him, but eventually barreled on, “I’m serious, though.” He tried again in a steady tone, “Had you not been there, I likely wouldn’t have heard them get in. And even if I did, there wouldn’t have been time to connect the power source and reactivate the lab and the drones. Those guys would have… taken everything. So. Thank you.”

And he did seem grateful. Another surprise coming through. People were seldom grateful for anything Robotnik did, even when his explosive methods did get the job done, got people what they asked for.

“I absolutely destroyed your plants, the kitchen, blew up the road.”

“Well, yeah, I’m pissed about the plants. But honestly, better them than me. Shoot more anytime if that’s the case.”

The polygraph pointed true. Robotnik allowed a slight smirk.

“I do make the best choices.”

“For distractions too… That was Beastie Boys, right? Got a whole playlist of their stuff with some Chemical Brothers thrown in.”

Robotnik was too busy glaring to see the Doctor’s heart rate spike in his statistics.

Stone continued too casually, “…Ever heard of them?”

“Are you seriously trying to chat me up about music?”

“Hey, if we’re gonna share a lab and cook up schemes together, we should at least agree on what to blast during our late-night sessions.”

“Who says I agree to that deal of yours?”

“You… Don’t?”

Bzzt, bzzt. Correct tone.

Had Stone attempted to pull a car salesman speech about how he’d already convinced his buyer, Robotnik would have shocked him and given an instant ‘no’. There was no leniency for a sidekick who failed to speak properly to his betters, temporary arrangement or not. And it didn’t even have anything to do with rank or hierarchy, mind you, he might have seen Stone bark vituperation to the goddamn president for all he cared; but when it came to his overall superiority, the Doctor better behave.

“You’re in luck, I see the appeal. But there’s no agreeing beyond that, I’ll be the only one picking the soundtrack. End of story, loser.”

Stone laughed, shoulders hunching as he leaned closer. He waved a hand as if passing the stage to the man in front of him.

“So. The Chemical Brothers, yay or nay?”

“Ugh. Who the hell with half a brain doesn’t like The Chemical Brothers?”

“A fan, then.”

“I’d never stoop to being a ‘fan.’ I don’t go around slobbering over anything or anyone.”

“But do you like their stuff?”

“I can… Recognize the genius in it.”

“Knew it.” He playfully pointed a fork towards Robotnik, who was waving at the waiter to hurry with dessert, “‘Galvanize’ sounds like just your thing.”

Later that night, when Robotnik stepped out of the taxi and walked up to his front door, the familiar sight of a black egg-shape hovered beside the keypad door lock. Just licking at the limits of the yellow focal light above. A lesser man would have pathetically screamed in fear at the unnatural blotch of shadow. Robotnik raised an eyebrow and approached.

“Who goes there, hmmm?”

Onyx beeped low. Then shivered, and the egg-shape transitioned into a bowl, exposing a wooden box inside.

“Making home deliveries, now? Hm, it was about time anyway.” He muttered as he picked it up, satisfied with the engraving that read ‘Pêra-Manca’ on its front. Under it, though, someone had inscribed his surname with a pen.

Familiar calligraphy, from the stolen blueprints he’d leafed through. Stone’s. But here it was precise and steady… as if it merited care upon being written.

He brushed a thumb over it, then raised eyes to the waiting drone.

“Job done. Shoooo!”

Onyx beeped again, then flew close to nudge at his shoulder.

“What now.”

The sound of static. A little scratching. Then a melodic voice started singing, albeit a little distorted, as if being played on an old radio.

I put a seed in my garden
It didn't grow
I gave a man all my heart and
I watched him go…
Nothing seems to be for me
Everything is down, you see
I'm so low

Thick eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.

“What the ever-loving hell…”

I sat alone on a hillside
What could it be?
And as I turned toward the dark sky
It came to me
Down was just my state of mind
All the ups are mine to find
For the sun shines for those who look
Beyond the clouds…

Onyx was swaying softly from side to side to the soothing rhythm.

To say Robotnik was perplexed would be putting it mildly. Frozen in place, completely thrown out of his axis. What the fuck was this. Like some sort of fever dream serenade. Serenade?

Suddenly, scratching again, static.

“Uh— Sorry, Agent,” Stone’s voice cackled from the drone, “Onyx sometimes gets a little carried away. They were only supposed to deliver.”

Robotnik bit the inside of his cheek, then walked past it in a rush to mask his sudden bout of awkwardness. He punched the code, the door unlocked with a soft chime.

“Makes one wonder what kind of ridiculous work you do with your AI.” He bit, pushing the door open, “At least it has decent taste. Now leave me be, you goddamn creep. I have wine and grenades to enjoy.”

“Isn’t it a little late for biting down on explosives?”

“Call it a goodnight snack.”

Stone’s voice chuckled.

“I see what you did there, Agent…” And then, as if it was something completely normal, the Doctor simply breathed a gentle “And… thank you for dinner. It was lovely. Good night.”

Robotnik tensed under the doorframe, half-turning to watch the drone fly off and disappear into the dark sky.

He stood for a full minute there, uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t quite understand. Was it that Stone knew his address? No… That was on his contract. He knew his, too. Was it the whole sending in a deadly drone instead of having the wine delivered to his doorstep by a mailman like a freakin’ normal person? No, he actually found the unique method charming. Charming? Ugh. Obviously, the time had come for a good shuteye. Charming. You wish.

Call it getting far overfamiliar for someone who barely knew him.

All this sudden politeness, smiles, playing along to Robotnik's whims, special treatment. All chummy and... forward. Revolting. Confusing.

Robotnik was momentarily very aware of the grenade box’s weight in his coat pocket, the weight of the wine crate under his arm. The dull ache in his bicep and forearm from the grazes. The memory of glowing crimson eyes turning dark. Of dark eyes watching him under the soft restaurant light. 

"Am I dressed in black?"

"Yes." True. "And well."

He scoffed. Dismissed the line of thought.

Then walked inside, shutting the door behind him.

‘Out of the fire, as the saying is, into the flame didst thou fall. Of a truth Fate reared thee to be a meal for a dog either on the land or in the sea.’

‘One dog captured me after another. What is strange in that? Beasts of the water and beasts of the land have like rage against me. Henceforth, ye hares, may the sky be open to your course. But I fear thee, Heaven; thou too hast a dog among thy stars.’

Chapter Text

“Did you bring the thing?”

“Yes. Now what the hell is it for?”

Stone sat down on the ground beside Robotnik, a glass in each hand, “This.”

The Agent raised an eyebrow as one was passed over to him, coolness slipping through the glove as he eyed the ice cubes swishing within the latte.

“You are one persistent kiss-ass, Stone.”

The Doctor chuckled, crossing his legs Indian style as he brought his own glass close to his face.

Today they were dealing with the overdue task of installing a more advanced protection mechanism in the emergency exit’s door. They’d returned to work before everyone else, naturally, since Stone had vehemently refused help from any other staff member to fix the damages done to his lab from the invasion; and so it was only them outside in the heat, down to their undershirts, surrounded by a mess of tools and wires and a single sun umbrella pinned on the dirt to provide a sliver of shade. Summer had been coming to an end, but it seemed that torridness was not yet done with them.

“Go on, test it.”

Robotnik twisted his torso to reach behind him into his bag.

A spectrometer was pulled out and brought to hover above the glass. He clicked a few buttons, selecting the appropriate mode. A laser beam shot out from it and spread light over the drink’s surface.

Both men intently watched in silence for the full minute it took to beep and present the results: no toxins, narcotics or any chemical threats. Just a very drinkable iced latte.

Robotnik hummed, unimpressed. 

“Fine.” He scoffed, double-checking the results and then bringing the brim to his lips.

The subtle smell of roasted coffee filled his nostrils, along with something else. He sipped just a little. The taste spread along his tongue.

He frowned, sipped more.

Then again.

He looked down at the latte, filled with confusion.

He’d never tasted anything like it. Just a touch of sweetness mixed with a delightful contrasting tanginess, balanced with the bitterness of the coffee.

“What the…”

“Do you like it?” Stoned asked eagerly. His body leaned a little too close, too tense, as if awaiting holy judgement. Which didn’t help Robotnik in his ongoing side-task of resolutely not ogling the Doctor’s exposed arms and shoulders— which were surprisingly toned for someone who spent so much time indoors.

He avoided his eyes, leaned away. A matter of propriety, that’s all. He wasn’t used to seeing the man so undressed.

“Fuck off, Stone. Does your goddamn life depend on people approving your weird hobbies? Go fix your daddy issues or something.”

He sipped again. Briefly closed his eyes in brief appreciation for the best iced latte ever tasted.

“You do like it.” He was grinning like an idiot, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And no daddy issues if there was no dad to begin with.”

Robotnik raised an eyebrow, watching the Doctor lean back propped on his free arm and sip. Smugness was written all over his posture, despite the unusual remark.

“My God, is your poor mother taking all the blame for this sorry behavior then?”

Stone chuckled and shook his head once.

“Not even that, I’m afraid. Is there a name for foster-home-issues?”

Oh. What a strange coincidence.

“Depends on what your roommates bullied you for.” He sneered, looking ahead towards the peaceful flatlands, “I would know.”

A slight breeze was passing them, helping to cool the thin sheen of sweat gathering over skin. Robotnik sighed heavily, taking the view in… No people in sight, no buildings, no sign of life beyond flora and just a hint of fauna from the occasional insect buzzing by. Christ, he really was getting old.

“For being queer, then.” Stone hummed in amusement.

Robotnik’s nose scrunched as he dramatically waved a hand towards his general direction. “You? As jock looking as you are?”

Stone laughed, “One does tend to stop passing when they catch you making out with another closeted guy behind the school.”

Robotnik smirked behind his glass, “Oh, for fuck’s sake… Behind the school? Full of rookie mistakes, that’s what you are. I thought you were going to say xenophobia or something like that.”

Stone shrugged, then leaned back until he half lay on his back, supported by his elbows. “That did come up sometimes, too, but luckily it wasn’t a big issue. Not in my case, at least.”

“Hmpf. They called me ‘Sputnik’ back in my days. Accused me of being in cahoots with the Soviet Union to nuke our shining and glorious country. Imbeciles.”

“Hey, ‘Sputnik’ is actually kinda cool.”

“Right. Until it turned into ‘Spunknik’ and they started hurling rocks when I crossed the street, to ‘defend their nation’.”

“Jesus.” He breathed, “Kids, I swear.”

“Well. No hard feelings when they got just what was coming to them anyway.” Robotnik muttered darkly.

Stone’s stare was palpable.

Robotnik didn’t look back. Instead, he focused on finishing the beverage, becoming secretly disappointed when it was over. He stared at the bottom of the glass, shaking what was left of the ice so the rocks clinked against one another.

“I can make some more later, if you like.”

Hazel eyes traveled warily along the expanse of thin cotton from his undershirt, stretched over a broad chest. Along the column of his neck, his beard, his watchful eyes. Robotnik felt a shiver run up his spine, despite the weather. There was this nagging impression that Stone had been observing him more closely since the invasion. Whatever scrutiny he was under, he didn’t care for it.

“That would be acceptable.” He huffed, handing over the empty glass.

Stone beamed again, picking it up then smoothly diving down the open hatch of the emergency exit to dispose of the glasses. And probably already wash them, dry and polish, then perfectly align them with the other ones in the still bullet-dented cabinets. Like the maniac he was.

“What did you even put in that?!” Robotnik barked down the hole.

“Austrian goat milk!” Stone shouted back.

That’s weirdly specific, Robotnik thought.

The rest of the day went by without much issue. Wires were pulled, new reinforced hinges drilled into the hull, a complex software installed… Robotnik found himself many times observing the Doctor work. Quick, careful hands that could handle delicate conduits with precision. But he discovered that all that collected demeanor, all that delicacy with circuitry, by no means meant Stone couldn’t handle the dirty work too. Climbing up and down the ladders to carry material and tools, pulling out panels without any help, surviving the harsh sunlight lapping at his back when he had to unscrew things beyond the umbrella’s shadow… And with absolutely zero complaints.

Good.

Few things irked him more than flimsy, impractical people, blown over by the first gritty obstacle that crossed their path. Then here was Stone, all efficiency. Actually competent. The bare minimum, really, but most people were drastically below average, the bar had been set low.

For all the insults the Agent hurled at him, the man was proving them less and less true. And wasn’t that something.

Not that Robotnik was going to stop, though. And they weren’t wrong all the time: the Doctor was still pretty annoying when he wasn’t elbows deep in his work.

When the final screw was tightened, the Sun sat low northwest, just above the horizon. Pink and lilac painted what previously had been clear blue.

“All done here. Do you need to head home already?” Stone asked over his shoulder as he finished picking up the tools.

Robotnik pulled the umbrella from the ground with ease, kicking a little dirt over the hole.

“Have you seen the goddamn time? Are you trying to start a sweatshop here?” He brought a forearm to wipe at his forehead, sighed tiredly.

Upon closing the umbrella and glancing over, he realized that the Doctor was looking at him weird again. Eyes a bit jaded, as if not quite present.

Robotnik squinted suspiciously.

Stone looked away lightning fast. Cleared his throat.

“Uh—” Again with the hand running through his hair thing. Herrgott nochmal, Robotnik was going to end up punching him one day for that, “—I was thinking about, uh, showing you the thing.”

The Agent raised an eyebrow, observing the flustered man almost trip and drop the toolbox. What on earth.

“The thing?” He drawled judgmentally.

“Yes, the—” His free hand motioned around in a confusing manner, “the thing. The source. Power source. Yes, power source.”

Robotnik did perk up at that, the Doctor’s odd behavior falling to the back of his thoughts immediately.

“Oh! Then get to it, sycophant!”

Stone chuckled as he began to climb down the ladder, still not looking at Robotnik.

“What’s with the ‘sycophant’ thing?”

The Agent followed behind, holding the umbrella close to his side.

“Do you even need to ask. Ugh. Don’t waste my time.”

Back inside the lab, tools and gadgets back into their proper places, Robotnik and Stone finally gathered inside the extensive storage, their steps making the metal grated floor sing.

The Doctor headed straight to the coat racks Robotnik had seen back when he’d infiltrated the room. He grabbed it and pulled it aside, away from the wall. It was intriguing to watch a plain looking metal wall open a previously invisible hatch after the Doctor’s hand was placed flat over it and scanned. Robotnik loomed behind Stone, watching over his shoulder, eyes glued to the glowing glass display separating them from an unidentified object.

It looked like… A long spike? Or talon? Black in the sharper end but glowing orange and red along its sinuous body. It was perched over a delicate, likely non-conductive metal claw, burning like an amber.

It was… Underwhelming.

“How is that… stick…. supposed to hold inexhaustible power?”

Stone turned his head to gape at him.

“Excuse me, stick?!”

“What else would it be?!”

“It’s a quill!”

“A what?”

“A quill! Like a hedgehog’s!”

“That’s fucking absurd.”

Stone shook his head in mock exasperation, which earned him a smack to the back of the head. He yelped, then chuckled. A drone was summoned from its docking station; it flew towards a sealed aperture beside the display and connected to it. The machinery instantly went into work, smoothly transferring the so-called ‘quill’ into a newly formed opening in the drone’s surface. With a quiet whirr, it closed around the source as if swallowing it.

“The brass looks at the Onyx models as an oncoming breakthrough in warfare drones. They see flying, bullets, a metal soldier that can take a beating. A promising project, but still blooming, still in need of much testing, not ready yet.” Stone turned around to face him, extending a palm upwards. The drone obediently approached to hover over it. A sorcerer and his crystal orb.

He continued, eyes sparkling with wicked excitement, “That’s just what I tell them. What they don’t know is that I made them specifically to operate with the power source. You won’t guess half of the amazing things they can do with it.”

Robotnik was trying very hard not to widen his eyes too much. God forbid he looked too excited. Not an easy task, with the other man still standing so close and gauging his reaction.

“Trying to impress me with a TED talk, is it?” He drawled, fixing his gaze on the drone beside them.

“Why, is it working?”

The Agent drew a slow smirk, "Nah-ah. I do love a good scheming speech as much as the next ethically questionable guy, but come on. Doing’s far more fun than talking."

Stone inhaled sharply. A resolute look took over his eyes as he stared up at Robotnik.

“Of course, Agent. I can be a man of action too.”

Then his hand snapped up to touch Onyx.

In a flash of light, Stone had disappeared from his spot before static could finish crawling up Robotnik’s back. He whipped around to face the heavy thud of feet landing over the metal grates at the other end of the storage, feeling a shiver consume his whole body at the familiar sight of the Doctor surrounded by red lightning. This time, though, the man was grinning like a madman.

“Holy...” Robotnik couldn’t help his eyes widening this time.

Curiously, he noted, Onyx remained in the same spot beside him.

Stone raised his hands, palms up.

“Impressed now?”

Robotnik might be gawking, but he wasn’t one to easily give in.

“This old trick? Please, nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Stone laughed, seeing right through him. He motioned a come-hither with two fingers, and Onyx quickly flew to him.

“It has the ability to blow things up with bolts of chaos energy, but I’d just be doing that militia’s job if I made a show of it indoors. There’s something cool I can demonstrate, though. Come here.”

Robotnik hesitated. Not exactly sure why. Perhaps pride.

“Why doesn’t it teleport with you?” He perused to distract himself as he crossed the storage.

“I’m not sure why, yet. Sometimes it does, but a few aspects of its connection to the source are still a little unpredictable and slow to react. I need to find a quicker way to control and stabilize it.”

“That tablet was shit in an emergency scenario.” Robotnik agreed, coming to a stop.

“And definitely not a place for my face to be.”

The Agent smirked. “Oh, I disagree.”

“Clearly.” Stone joked back, then squared his shoulders, “Right. Now punch me in the face.”

Robotnik raised an eyebrow.

“This offer sounds too good to be true, Stone.”

“Smart. But c’mon, I promise I won’t take advantage of you.”

“What a gentleman.” He answered disdainfully.

“C’moooonn!”

Robotnik rolled his eyes, then went for a hard stomp to his right foot, which Stone didn’t see coming at all.

“OW! I said ‘face’! How come you go for—”

Robotnik went for a swat to the side of his head.

But this time it didn’t land.

It was a great shock that, instead of feeling his palm collide to an ear in a route and speed that guaranteed success— were the circumstances normal—, it flew right past the blur Stone had become. Like a smear of a tree passing by too fast on a train’s window, impossible for human eyesight to perceive in detail, dodging his jab, circling him and wrapping an arm around his neck in a headlock. All in the blink of an eye.

Robotnik gasped, almost losing his footing as his body bent backwards due to Stone’s lower height and, once again, surprising strength.

“What the FUCK”

“Time bending, Agent.” He could practically hear the grin in his tone.

“You’re the one getting BENT!” He barked, mortified at feeling heat rise to his face. He jabbed an elbow straight to the Doctor’s gut and heard the satisfying ‘oof’ of someone getting the air knocked out of their lungs.

Robotnik took advantage of Stone’s looser grip to flip their positions. His bicep pressed tightly to his neck, earning himself a nice gasp.

“‘Won’t take advantage’ my ass! Wrapping me in a sweaty headlock with fast-forwarding superpowers!”

He could feel Stone’s warmth through his undershirt, his heartbeat against his arm. It only unnerved him further to feel the Adam’s apple bob, so he pulled away with a shove to his back.

Fucking idiot. Entitled know-it-all little shit thinking he’s so funny, trying to show off how much more powerful he thinks he is. Hey Agent, watch out! I got moves too, old man! No one loved me when I was a tinny-tiny child and now I get to make other people feel inferior to me all the time! It’s so fun I’m at the top of the world I have such a big dick—

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

“Don’t toy with me, Doctor. It’ll only end badly for you.” He spat back. Then turned away to head out as quickly as possible and not let the man see just how pink he could feel his face had become.

“Hey, I wasn’t toying with you!” Stone pleaded from behind him as he stepped into the lab.

“It’s already too goddamn late! We can continue your little circus show another day!”

“Wait up a sec, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about!”

“Fuck off! Tell me Monday!”

He grabbed his things from his desk, called the elevator and scowled when it didn’t immediately open. Right. They had come down through the ladder.

He almost jumped out of his skin when a familiar burst of light flashed to his right, eyes crossing as an arch of red lightning briefly clung to his mustache.

“Jesusfuckingchristonafuckingtrycicle—”

“It’s important, alright?” A crimson-eyed Stone insisted, now less than a foot away from him, then “Wait. Monday? You’re not attending the event tomorrow?”

Robotnik had to lean against the elevator’s frame to calm down his heart rate. He should have delivered the man to that militia himself. On a silver plate. Go on, off with him!

“Do you think I’d ever stoop so low as to subject myself to an Air Force Birthday Ball? High school ended long ago, Stone, I’m not in the least interested in their little prom plans.”

Stone frowned, “But it’s mandatory.”

The elevator door opened. Robotnik rolled his eyes and stepped into it.

The Doctor placed himself between the doors.

“Walters is going to pin a medal on you, how come you won’t be showing up?”

“What for?! That’s utter nonsense!”

“Nonsense?! You single-handedly saved the nation’s top robotics and weapons lab and their most valuable specialist! Not to mention helping me retake the base!”

“Pfft, I bet you just loved explaining that.”

“The point is that it was damn impressive! I’d give you a medal too if I could!”

Robotnik’s jaw clenched. He could see in Stone’s exasperated and slightly aghast expression that he… meant it. And not only did he think what he’d done had been impressive enough to merit praise, he was doing it despite Robotnik’s constant dismissal of his opinions. It was baffling. And pathetic! Who with even a shred of dignity would let themselves be walked over like that?

“Oh, Stonesy. I forget you’re not acquainted with The Lore” He rolled his tongue at the ‘L’ for emphasis, “That was nothing compared to the stuff I got up to during my career. Medals don’t mean shit to me. Never have! Walters and I came to an understanding a loooong time ago: if he ever feels like pinning shiny trinkets to my chest, he better give me a raise instead. Worked out for everyone. I hate parties, and they hate me back. Win-win.
So, why’s he trying to ruin that now? Because the brass won’t let him throw another cent my way, and he’s desperate to pacify my well-known sparkly-with-a-cherry-on-top wish to vanish from their greasy little grasp.”

Stone, strangely, seemed to deflate a little.

“Oh. I see.”

Robotnik narrowed his eyes, not sure what to think of the entire interaction. He used two fingers to poke at the Doctor’s sternum and push him away from the elevator.

“So. ‘Till Monday, loser. Spill a drink on someone for me, will ya?”

The last thing he saw before the doors closed was Stone’s surprisingly dismayed expression.

Fuck off, Robotnik thought, baring teeth in his own head. Why the hell does he care anyway?

The tuxedo… felt just a smidge too tight.

Not that it showed, of course, or Robotnik wouldn’t have taken it for a spin. But the limited range of movement around his middle was something he couldn’t quite mute. No space for his usual hunch. Ramrod straight back for tonight, it seemed. Fucking nightmare.

There’d been no time to seek a tailor’s hand for adjustments, since there hadn’t been any intention of coming in the first place. But alas, Walters developed a spine out of the blue and forced his hand. And here he stood, in an ensemble that had been gathering dust at the back of his closet for almost two years.

This Azerbaijanistan loose end was once again proving to be a problem.

Robotnik leaned against one of the ballroom's corner pillars, arms crossed, hoping to disappear into the background.

The stupidest part of it all? Stone kept glancing at him from the other side of the room.

The smug idiot was clearly amused at Robotnik’s unexpected attendance, by the slight smirk touching his lips whenever their eyes met. While the Colonel and the Commander made their after-dinner speeches, while cake was brought in and cut with a slightly curved ceremonial saber, while people started mingling with cocktails and champagne flutes in hand. There always was a little moment when Stone would sneak a furtive glance his way.

The Agent wanted to make a sharp pivot and leave the Hotel every time.

After a while of eyes pointedly avoiding the Doctor’s direction, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

‘Hey doll come here often?’

Oh my God. The man was ridiculous.

‘Definitely never coming back again.’

‘Didn’t even think you’d show up’

‘Walters woke up this morning and chose to be a pain in my ASS’

‘Mandatory indeed after all huh’

‘Consider it equally mandatory when I tell you to go shove it.’

From the corner of his eye, he could see Stone at a round table, looking down at his lap with a wicked grin. Next to him sat Polly, her husband, two other familiar but nameless science staff and, unsurprisingly, Fraser. Glaring daggers at Stone. With… an arm around a suited-up stranger’s shoulder at his side.

‘Did Carrots bring a date? I’m shocked anyone has the courage to endure so much orange.’

‘You gotta give it to him, he’s not afraid of showing off a male date even under the Commander’s obvious side-eye.’

Robotnik raised an eyebrow.

‘Are you cheerleading, Stone? Does it have anything to do with the fact that the date is basically a taller version of you?’

That earned him a pair of dark, wide eyes looking up to gawk. Briefly. The Doctor quickly masked the shock.

‘Ok…. I can see it.’

‘How you scored six PHDs remains a mystery.’

‘You know it’s hard to recognize your own face outside reflections. You can’t tell me you’re above that’

‘Hard for idiots. And I have a very particular face, there’s nothing like it out there.’

‘C’mon. What about that actor from Truman Show? The main character, I mean’

‘You’re delusional.’

‘What?! It’s basically you without a mustache!’

‘That man has a ridiculous face.’

‘And the eyes!!’

‘Deluluuuuuu’

“How nice to see you, Agent. And looking good!”

Robotnik jumped, clutching the phone to his chest.

Beside him stood Walters in dress blues. A pleasant smile on his face, hands clasped behind his back.

“What do you want?” Robotnik answered flatly, brushing invisible lint from his lapel. His phone buzzed in his hand. He ignored it.

“I see you’re still pouting about having to come. But isn’t it nice to party a little once in a while? Unwind, get to know your new colleagues, eat some cake…”

“The time of my life, Wallers. Can’t wait to cap it off by swan-diving off a bridge.”

“Now, now, Ivo… If you did that, you’d miss out entirely on the incredible opportunity the brass has come up for you.”

That piqued Robotnik’s interest. He wasn’t expecting to hear from the brass anytime soon, expecting them to leave him to rot within the confines of the Doctor’s lab indefinitely.

“What kind of opportunity?”

Walters’ smile widened and he scanned the crowd. He faced Stone’s direction— who, of course, was watching them with a frown, but quickly looked away upon being watched back.

“What has it been like, working alongside Doctor Stone?”

Robotnik scoffed.

“Get to the point, Commander. I’m not interested in chit-chat.”

Walters ignored him.

“No, but really. Doctor Stone has always been exemplary. On paper. Yet somehow, we can’t get him to stick with a single partner. We’ve tried shared labs, bodyguards, interns, secretaries… The only time he engages with anyone nowadays is in mandatory weapons testing or to send long e-mails about how he neither needs nor wants anyone in his lab. Dozens of them, I might add. Then, when something goes wrong, I get to read a dozen more e-mails explaining how he’d been right all along about not wanting anyone there. A truly rare specimen: a charismatic man who’s utterly allergic to people.”

The Commander chuckled, still observing the man in question, as if appraising a nice war tank. An interesting toy.

Robotnik’s jaw clenched. Look at this motherfucker. Only volunteering this kind of information after shit had hit the fan. The Agent wasn’t in the least surprised to find himself in one of his little games.

Because that’s what it was, right? Take the two most antisocial assets, infamous for being shit at group work, throw them together in a locked room and wait to see who survives.

A retirement of sorts, my ass.

“You’re a shit comedian.”

“My wife finds me very funny, actually.”

“I bet she does.”

“And I think Doctor Stone finds you funny too.”

Robotnik’s disgusted frown scrunched up his face so thoroughly his cheeks hurt.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Walters briefly glanced in his direction. Another good-natured smile. As if speaking to an old friend. It was unnerving.

“He’s been giggling at your texts for the last half-hour, after all… I know it’s you sending them; doesn’t take a lot of observational skills to notice. And you know what’s even more interesting to observe?” He raised his eyebrows, as if perplexed by a mild change in the weather, “He stopped sending e-mails about reassigning you and, miracle of miracles, sent one saying your work deserved recognition! I was so stunned by the positive tone, I nearly pinned another medal on you! Imagine that.”

Robotnik’s breath stuttered, respiratory circulation going through a brief pause. Now it was his turn to be stunned.

Stone had what?

But… Why? Why the hell does he care?

“Do you think your antisocial cancels out his antisocial?” Walters joked, elbowing Robotnik a little. The urge to twist his arm was almost all-consuming.

Robotnik couldn’t help looking at Stone again. He tried not to, but ultimately failed.

The Doctor was conversing with the other guests at the table, smiling, gesturing calmly as he explained something to his public. All of them were engaged, clearly interested in what was being said.

Is that why Stone had seemed dismayed upon being told medals were meaningless to him?

But what had changed? The man had clearly been trying to get rid of Robotnik from day one, detested having him around! And when exactly had it begun to change? Robotnik wasn’t sure if the invasion was enough to explain the shift, something in his gut told him that it had merely been a trigger. Something bigger was afoot.

“You’re wearing my patience very fucking thin, Commander. What’s the goddamn opportunity you were talking about?”

“Oh, we’ll need to ask the Doctor to join us for that.”

Walters was unbothered by Robotnik’s furious spluttering. He simply tsked and waved in Stone’s direction, waiting for one of his colleagues to notice and point it out. It didn’t take long. Soon Stone was excusing himself from his table and making his way towards them as per the Commander’s come-hither motions.

“Commander. Agent.” He spoke calmly, despite the stiff shoulders.

“Doctor Stone, thank you for joining us. We were just talking about how surprisingly well Robotnik has been adjusting to his new role beside you.”

Stone’s eyes ventured towards Robotnik, uncertain.

“I’m… Glad to hear it, Commander.”

Walters clapped his hands together, pinning both down with a forced, eager look that could only mean trouble.

“I’ll get straight to the point before I spook our Agent here! Command was thoroughly impressed by the way you two neutralized the base invasion: you were efficient, precise, and fast. You combined top-tier equipment, strategy, and an uncanny knack for improvising under extreme pressure. Not a single life was lost in that mess, and that’s in no small part thanks to you both.”

“I don’t know what you think ‘getting straight to the point’ means but that definitely isn’t—”

“We want you to take on a couple of short field ops!” He blurted over Robotnik, the first sign of annoyance slipping from under his crafted tranquil demeanor, “Think of it as the power duo package. Classified retrieval, reconnaissance, sabotage, the occasional infiltration when necessary. The sort of missions that give our regular teams migraines, but I’d wager you could handle in your sleep. And, as a bonus, it’s the perfect chance to put the Doctor’s handiwork through its paces in the real world.”

“Oh.” Stone breathed eloquently.

“What. Like good cop bad cop, is it?” Robotnik sneered, “What’s next, free donuts during working hours?!”

“No donuts, but I can get you Olive Garden gift cards!”

“Your wife has shit taste in both humor and men, Commander—”

“We’ll think about it!” Stone cut in. Much to the others’ surprise.

They stared at him for a moment.

"Great!" Walters finally spoke, giving Stone’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
"I’ll leave you to it, then. And do try the cake, it’s fantastic. Got the number from that bakery the Marines swear by!"

And with that, the Commander was off.

Robotnik exhaled a fuming sigh, trying to keep his wits about himself over the burning frustration threatening to spill over and have him start throwing things around. The edges of his phone dug into his palm, his jaw hurt from clenching it so tightly. Turning around, he made a straight beeline to the exit.

“Agent, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to speak over you, but it was necessary.” Stone spoke, following him.

At least the idiot knew he stepped over a line.

“I don’t need you filtering me.” He spat, unfastening his jacket’s button, he desperately needed space to hunch again.

“I wasn’t trying to do that. This is what I tried to talk to you about yesterday, this new assignment, I suspected it was coming. Just wasn’t sure about how much involvement it entailed.” He continued with harsh whispering, struggling to speak while keeping up with Robotnik’s long strides, “It’s crucial for our plans that we take them up on this! I’ve reviewed some of the reports. There’s plenty of room for double-crossing where it really matters. If we play this right, I bet we could have the brass checkmated within a year.”

There was no one around the golden illuminated corridors but them. Robotnik took advantage of it. He whipped around, wrapped a hand around the Doctor’s neck and shoved him against the nearest wall.

Stone gasped, hitting the wall a little too roughly.

But to Robotnik’s utter confusion, he continued speaking, as if nothing much had happened.

“Think of it this way, we’ll have firsthand access to classified intel and the people working against the government. It’ll be like networking!” Stone raised his eyebrows, confident in how compelling his points were.

The Agent could only stare. His grip tightened, but all the reaction he got in return was a shaky breath from lack of oxygen intake. No increased heartbeat, no wide eyes, no dry swallowing. It was difficult to read pupil dilation due to the dark shading of his irises, but nothing visible indicated a single ounce of fear or displeasure.

When did the Doctor start being fine with the manhandling?!

Robotnik growled and pulled away harshly.

“There’s more to it, Stone! Can’t you see? You might come off like the kind of stickler they want around, but Walters knows I’m not clean. He’ll be watching like a bloated Big Brother, making it damn near impossible to pull anything without getting caught!”

Stone frowned. Then dark eyes flitted around as if calculating a thousand hypothesis per second.

“Then we make them believe I’m keeping you on a leash.”

His hand itched to grab that neck again.

“Wanna rephrase that, Doctor?”

“Uh… We make them believe you won’t do anything because I’m watching too?”

“Better.”

Stone grinned, clearly still making calculations behind his eyes.

“Okay, I have a few options in mind, but we should go over them when we’re back at the lab.”

“Fine. Then see you on Monday.” Robotnik turned to walk away again.

“Oh. Do you really need to leave already?”

“Walters has had his fill. There’s nothing keeping me here anymore.”

Stone took a hesitant step in his way, chuckled awkwardly, “I’m not a fan of these events either, maybe we could… You know. Despise them together. Or something.”

Robotnik’s eyes narrowed, watching the man shift in his place under the silence that followed. He was becoming harder and harder to read. Harder and harder to crack. It was imperative to discover what was fueling these mysterious new machinations.

“And how would that be worth my precious time? Gossiping is hardly entertainment for a whole night.” He drawled.

The small leeway for being convinced seemed to light up the Doctor’s whole face.

“Why, there’s plenty of fun to be had as a hater! Sabotaging, for instance. Lying, stealing, provoking— oh!” His eyes widened, eureka!, “I know just the thing! Did they send you that ridiculous Youtube video on ball etiquette?”

Robotnik, whose eyebrows had been steadily rising at each inappropriate suggestion coming out of Stone’s mouth, now scoffed dramatically at the mention of that infernal piece of media. They never failed to re-send it to him every year, no matter how many invitations were declined.

“Don't dress like you're headed to play golf!” Robotnik intoned in an annoying little voice.

Stone laughed, then picked up the cue, “Don't let your spouse or date wear something too revealing!” He pointed a playfully scolding finger, “Now they look the part, let's make sure they ACT it!”

Robotnik snorted, delighted that someone else hated it as much as he did.

“That video alone is enough to condemn this country to total obliteration.”

Stone agreed, grinning from ear to ear. A dark gleam passed through his eyes.

“Then how about we play Ball Etiquette Bingo?”

Hazel eyes regarded him intensely, admittedly intrigued by the daring proposal. It wasn’t often he’d found someone who wasn’t offended by the prospect of breaking military tradition. But talking was one thing. Could he back it up?

“Elaborate.”

“We run through that helpful list from the video… then do the exact opposite. There’s a line to toe, though: no chickening out, but no getting kicked out either. Whoever pulls off the most points before either happens or the night ends, wins.”

Robotnik crossed his arms, but he was openly smirking. Now, now, Doctor Stone…

“Ohohoh, you have noooo idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

Don't hold drinks or food in your hands.

“How is that even remotely possible.”

“The barista thing isn’t just a hobby, alright? I worked in an old Italian café in my teens, learned a few nice tricks.”

And by ‘nice tricks’, Stone was referring to the impressive amount of four espresso demitasses perched just on his right hand and the three different dessert plates firmly held between the fingers of his left one.

“Did Italians teach you how to develop a sixth invisible finger to hold dishes?!” Robotnik complained, displeased that walking around the room with two cocktails holding an exaggerated number of straws in them was not ridiculous enough compared to the juggling act Stone was rocking.

The Doctor grinned, raising the hand covered in espressos towards him.

Robotnik grunted. Pulled a red straw from his Moscow mule and dipped it into the coffee. Slurped.

“And how does that taste?”

“Di merda.”

Don’t be intimidated by all the utensils and glasses. Do learn what utensils to use and when, if in doubt, look at what others are doing. Just don’t stare!

Dinner had ended an hour ago, but they still managed to check that one off the list.

Robotnik was now pouring champagne from a flute into an unused soup plate he managed to steal from a table. Stone was sipping the last espresso from his collection through a spoon.

“Does everyone usually avoid you like the plague in these things?”

Stone smirked, glancing up through lashes, leaning close to his cup as another spoonful of coffee was raised.

“No. I think it’s the company.”

“I do tend to have that effect…”

Stone gaped mockingly, “I’m shocked.”

Robotnik snorted, then side-eyed someone behind Stone.

“Lorne’s wife is staring.”

Stone didn’t hesitate. His head turned around, a charming smile plastered on his face as he looked back in her direction. The spoon raised in greeting.

The woman’s glare intensified.

“She thinks we’re drunk.”

“Everyone here thinks we’re drunk.”

“Thinking of quitting so you can crawl back to your crowd of bores and that cushy socialite routine?”

Stone calmly flipped the spoon and began mixing what was left of the coffee with its handle.

“Not a chance.”

Don't be disrespectful by chatting or checking your cell phone while the guest of honor is speaking.

“Hm…” Robotnik hummed, leaning sideways, closer to Stone’s ear, “Polly, Intern Zabriskie, Walters.”

Stone snickered under his own hand, trying not to look so obviously uninterested in the little toast currently going on.

“I get killing Walters, but why the hell would you fuck Myers and marry Zabriskie?”

“Between the other two, Polly’s the least disgusting option. And Zabriskie would be easy to control. If I had to suffer through a marriage, might as well pick someone I can manipulate without much effort.”

Stone grinned, “Of course you would.”

Before Robotnik could counter with another round for Stone, the Doctor jumped a little and shifted, facing Fraser, who had just elbowed him at his other side.

“Aban, this. is not. the time.” Robotnik heard him whisper through his teeth.

“Not the time for what?” Stone whispered back, the face of innocence.

“Childish games while the Colonel is speaking!”

Stone just shrugged, as if he had no idea what Fraser was getting at. The man was becoming red again.

“You know very well what I’m talking about, don’t play—"

“Mr. Fraser, is something wrong? The Colonel is speaking, you might want to save that for later, don’t you think?” Walters’ voice boomed from a few feet ahead.

All eyes were on Fraser. On a tomato red Fraser.

Robotnik almost choked in the gigantic effort to not let out a loud guffaw.

“Sorry, Commander. Of course.”

The Colonel resumed speaking, everyone’s focus back to him.

The Agent leaned even closer this time, putting more effort into not being caught.

“I’ll concede this point is yours.” He whispered with care.

A full shiver ran up the Doctor’s body. Instead of smirking back, he swallowed.

Oops. Sensitive spot, it seems. Robotnik thought with a hint of amusement. Feeling watched, he glanced to the left.

Fraser’s eyes were boring holes into his skull. Furious, jealous.

A sick satisfaction curled in Robotnik’s stomach. Smirk deepening, he calmly pulled away, then turned his eyes back to the Colonel.

Don't bust a move on the dance floor.

“You are soooo basic. Fuck off normie.” Robotnik was actually grinning as Stone pulled the oldest move in the history of dancefloor moves: the Egyptian. Somehow, he seemed just as graceful doing that. Unbelievable.

“It’s a classic! And you’re talking some shit for someone who’s just standing there and doing nothing. Chickening out on the dancefloor? How boomer of you, Agent.”

Robotnik raised his eyebrows at the challenge, cracked his knuckles.

Ladies and gentlemen, let the hardest Running Man move hit the dancefloor!

The mirror ball’s thousand spots of reflected light painted his flailing limbs in stars as he moved with purpose. Stone’s wide eyes were priceless; he’d simply paused everything to watch as Robotnik then proceeded to go down in a cross-ankle crouch and began a surreal series of kachalochkas in perfect sync with the song’s beats.

“My knees hurt just watching this!” Stone was cackling, “How is that even possible?! This is insane!!”

And his thighs were feeling it, but the shock on the man’s face was worth it, along with the other guests’.

He stood up with an elegant spin, breathing a little harder but ready to take over the world.

“What the hell! How old are you?! I knew you were nimble, but this is a whole other level!” Stone was over the moon, eyes sparkling at Robotnik as if he were the most amazing thing to walk the earth. The Agent couldn’t help laughing, preening at the open appreciation.

“Old enough to be your uncle or something. Take notes!”

Stone shook his head in amazement, the movement catching a few laser lights on his brow, “God, I hope not an uncle.” He countered in a tone that Robotnik couldn’t begin to decipher. Dark eyes traveled up and down over his silhouette.

“Well! If you have any intention of trying to win back that point, you'd better start moving!” Robotnik barked, dismissing the uncomfortable warmth under his collar as overexertion from all the dancing.

Stone laughed, “No way! I couldn’t ever top that!”

“At least you have some good sense left, sycophant! But you know what I could consider settling for a draw?”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows, both hands motioning for Robotnik to give it to him.

He grinned wickedly, profoundly curious whether Stone had it in him to take the bait, “The lady in that stupid video was doing a very specific move!”

By the widening of his eyes, Stone clearly remembered the animation in question.

And, to Robotnik’s utter delight, the younger man did not hesitate to place his hands over his thighs… and start a half-assed, stiff twerking in the middle of the dancefloor.

Robotnik couldn’t hold the fit of laughter that ensued.

Don't just leave without saying goodbye when it's all over.

“What the hell is this. You told me you were going to take a piss, not steal from the government.” Robotnik’s eyes were wide, brow furrowed, as he stared at Stone turning the corner… with the ceremonial saber in hand. Two neat slices of cake balanced over the blade.

“How could we make our French exit before cake?” Stone countered, coming closer and motioning for Robotnik to take one.

They were at the entrance lobby, blessedly alone as the music still blared far away in the background. It had been fun, but it wouldn’t be long before everyone started saying their goodbyes. Both Robotnik and Stone intended to be long gone when that happened.

The Agent raised an eyebrow as he carefully pulled out one of his gloves, sticking it in a pocket. He lifted a slice of cake with that hand, cradling the dessert over his gloved one, satisfied that Stone had remembered to place napkins under it.

“Hm. This is… Delicious?” He muttered, confused at Walters being right about anything, even if just about cake.

Stone was watching for his reaction. Or looking at his hands, for some reason. Did he get cake on them already? 

“It is!” Stone agreed, clearing his throat, then focused back on his slice, “Nice filling.”

They stood in silence for a while in that calm corner of the hotel, simply munching at the spongy texture and lemon ganache... The ceremonial saber gleaming yellow under the warm lighting.

Truth was, Robotnik couldn’t recall a single party he ever enjoyed. Especially one thrown by the army. You see, they didn’t send him on any field ops that required more than 24 hours undercover for a reason. Not that faking it was beyond his capabilities, it’s just that it was the one with the shortest lifespan. And if rubbed the wrong way, Robotnik’s will to keep smiling when he felt like punching someone could easily drop from a hundred to zero in a matter of seconds.

Parties were a lot like undercover work. Except he didn’t gain anything from them.

Chatting about things he couldn’t care less, smiling through his teeth, holding his tongue, trying to decipher what people wanted to hear… Always to end up offending some imbecile without even getting why, then having a shouting match with Walters the following week. A social landmine he didn’t have a natural flair for threading through. He didn’t get people and people didn’t get him. A waste of time.

Not at all like Stone, though! Stone was good at that, despite having ditched the usual rituals tonight.

Robotnik was no fool, he could see the way the man was capable of attracting interest. And maintaining it. Saying the right thing, smiling at the right moments, the perfect amount of eye contact, taking what he was given and working with it. The kind of person people wanted to include and hear from… And yet, he’d chosen to stick to a walking human repellent for the whole night. Even stranger: seemed to enjoy it.

Robotnik frowned at that line of thought, licking ganache from his index. It really was delicious… His whole body felt unusually relaxed.

They hadn’t said goodbye to a single soul, just slipped out when the slow dancing started. He suspected someone had cut the DJ’s playlist short to drive them off the dance floor once and for all.

Don't overindulge on adult beverages.

Stone finished his cake and threw the ball of napkin in the nearest trash can.

“I say this with the utmost respect a man is capable of…” He started with a contained smile, making Robotnik arch an eyebrow, “your tuxedo needs a little adjusting. Just like, half an inch more in these darts here…” His fingers rose to skim over the cut connecting front to the underarm section. Robotnik could almost feel the slight give of fabric under the movement.

“You’ve noticed.” Strangely, the usual distaste for criticism didn’t rise, “Didn’t have the time to get it fixed. Last time I wore this was two years ago.”

Stone hummed, now tracing the breast pocket.

“Hand-sewn, right? I don’t see any stitching here. Or…”
His hand slid down in one smooth motion, carefully easing one side of the jacket open. Half-lidded eyes traced the lining, a thumb brushing the seam where it met the facing. “Here… yes, a very skilled hand did this. It’s a beautiful piece.”

Robotnik couldn’t take his eyes from the thumb that now tenderly stroked the inside of his jacket. He felt warm all over. Pleasantly warm.

“You know your tailoring…” Was all he could think to say. Stone looked funny this close. With this lighting. His face looked even softer, if that was possible. Eyes even bigger, liquid. 

“Bring it around the lab sometime, I could fix it for you.”

His thumb now traced the inner pocket, as if marveling at the choice of button there. Very close to his chest.

“Hm… PHD in tinker-tailor, is it?” He teased absentmindedly.

Stone grinned warmly, looking up through his lashes, “Something like that.”

The warmth seemed to trickle from under his collar, slowly spreading down to his whole torso, coiled around his belly just like it had earlier when he realized Fraser had been staring. But this time it wasn’t… Cruel. It was a little different now. He didn’t know what kind of different. Just… Nicer.

Stone had a little cake icing in the corner of his lips.

“This is just goddamn ridiculous.” Someone else barked.

Both men jumped, pulling away from each other as if electrocuted.

“Is that what this is, then?!” Fraser sneered, walking up to them with clenched fists, “Throw in another man in his fifties and you’re head over heels again? Do you ever learn?”

Speak of the Devil! Or think. Whatever.

Stone was staring at the man like a deer caught in the headlights.

“What are you even—”

“Jesus Christ, Aban! You’re smarter than that! Going around in circles won’t make you feel whole!”

Robotnik’s confusion was taking a little more time than usual to wear off. His heart was beating too fast, the contrast between that comfortable quietness of a minute ago to the current shouting match was throwing him off. He frowned and shook his head, trying to make sense of the situation.

But Stone’s confusion had already been replaced by the darkest look he’d ever seen in him.

“How dare you lecture me about my personal life!” He raised his voice, clutching the saber tighter, “It’s none of your damn business anymore! Go meddle in your date’s affairs, Ronald!”

“I’m your boss and, whether you want to admit it or not, your friend! And I’m sick and tired of watching you run around chasing the ghost of someone who isn’t coming back. You need to move on!”

All this bitching was starting to grate on his nerves.

“Both of you—”

“I don’t give a single fuck what you think I should be doing—”

“Can you not see yourself right now—

“—will SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW!”

Well.

At least roaring in pure hatred still worked for achieving a little silence.

Both men stared at him, hesitating.

“Carrots, Carrots, Carrots…” Robotnik started, voice low and slow as he stepped closer, “Has all that orange, somehow… Impressively managed to bleed through such a thick skull… And incapacitated any meager braincells still working…” He was almost chest-to-chest now, speaking through clenched teeth, “…to the point of rendering you INCAPABLE. OF TAKING. A HINT?! The guy doesn’t give a FLYING FUCK about YOU! Go flirt with a celery or whatever other root and FUCK OFF!”

Some spit had flown to the lenses of his glasses. Oops. How rude.

Silence.

The man’s red cheeks would be funny if Robotnik weren’t so fed up with them.

It was really a blessing when Fraser finally moved, only to shove him off and lunge for a punch.

Too easy.

Breaking someone’s nose? It’s all in the hips. Twist them to get the right amount of impulse, bring your big knuckles to the action and aim them straight to the bridge of the nose. BAM! Blood everywhere, they will be cradling their nose while wailing with pathetic noises and curses, blood on their dress shirt like watercolor, blood on the ugly carpet, Jesus Christ, the man’s become a crimson fountain, so many blood vessels just in one spot, right? Who designed that, honestly—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Stone grabbed Robotnik’s arm and pulled, almost making him stumble, but successfully managing to drag the taller man along as they sped towards the nearest corridor.

“Are you insane?!” Stone groaned as he pulled him into an elevator, jamming the button to force the doors shut.

“What’s he going to say?” Robotnik drawled, suddenly feeling quite good about himself again, now that the annoying factor had been removed. God, he was… A smidge tipsy, wasn’t he? “That I punched him because he decided to flaunt the policy breach he once committed by sleeping with you and threw a punch at me because he still wants to have another go?”

Oh! Stone was red too! Ha, ha… Maybe that’s why tomato man took a liking to him. Tomato man is a simple man, he sees another tomato, he leaves a like!

Robotnik cackled at his own stupid joke, watching as the numbers on the elevator’s screen changed. Going uuuuuuuup!

“How do you— Who told you that?!”

“I told me that!”

“What?”

“I have eyes, Stone! And ears!” He slapped a hand against the metal wall behind Stone, a shit-eating grin in place, “Or do you let all of your colleagues call you Aban?”

Stone swallowed, looking up at him with his ridiculous puppy eyes.

“N-no, I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought.” Robotnik scanned him briefly, then brought a hand to his collar, popping open the first button.

“What are you doing.” Stone breathed, barely a whisper.

The second button. Then the third. Robotnik smirked, pressing the fabric to perfection.

“Now you finally look the part.”

The Doctor was breathing far too quickly... What was his problem?

“The… part?”

“Looking like you’re headed to golf!”

He pulled away, leaving Stone to stare dazedly at him as he sauntered out of the now open elevator doors.

Don't be nervous. Do remember that the more you engage with others, the more fun you'll have! So, do relax, and enjoy the experience!

Chapter Text

We’ve all done it, right?

You know, stared at the reflection in the mirror as the strangest thought occurred: who is that person looking back? On the other side, moving as I move… Or am I moving as they move?

Would I know?

Maybe that mirror is more than an innocent object.

Maybe it houses passage to another reality, a peek into what the closest parallel alternative reality of yourself is doing. Do not be fooled: they might be brushing their teeth at the same time as you, but potentially, all it takes is crossing the threshold of that bathroom door, and you would find a whole different house outside. A different husband and/or wife, three new children, maybe an evil stepmother or a lousy one-night stand that just won’t take a hint and leave… Maybe even a devoted dog! Hey, I hope it’s a dog. Or a cat.

And if you haven’t done that little exercise in existential crisis, I highly recommend it!

Especially while hungover.

Because, ah… mornings after, right?

That other you might have made better choices. Or had better reasons to subject themselves to waking up with the bitter aftertaste of alcohol and consequences lingering in their mouth— especially the consequence of not touching a toothbrush before slinging their miserable, intoxicated body to bed—, the burgeoning headache beating brains around their skull before even opening their eyes... Robotnik frowned. Opened his eyes.

Too damn dark.

This wasn’t his bedroom.

He sat up abruptly. And groaned, his head shouldn't be moving so quickly right now.

A single thread of light cut through, coming from the badly drawn curtains and revealing what was clearly a hotel room. He sat alone in a large bed, shoes still on, stupidly half-wrapped in the thick duvet like a child who had pulled all the blankets in his sleep.

His eyes followed the light, and he nearly jumped out of his own skin when the path led to none other than Stone, asleep in what had to be a very uncomfortable sprawl on an armchair beside the bed. Breathing softly, head propped awkwardly over a closed fist, squishing his left cheek. Peaceful… Vulnerable.

Robotnik brought two fingers up to massage his own temple.

What on God's green Earth was this ridiculous situation?

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes.

Right. Military Birthday Ball. Walters' smug face. Bingo. Laser lights painting Stone's face red and purple on the dance floor. Cake. Stone liked his tuxedo. Punching Fraser on that beak he called a nose... Robotnik snorted. Then winced. Goddamn headache.

Well, and the hotel room? Ah, yes.

Stone had said at some point that he would usually book one during galas to avoid driving after drinking.

They had fled the scene of the crime and hid here. That meant then.... Ah, there it was. The ceremonial saber lay steadfastly by Stone's feet.

Robotnik took another deep breath, gathering strength. He rose from the bed as quietly as possible, uninterested in lingering a second longer and risking being here when Stone woke up. It would only result in an episode of mortification. Not to mention how fucking weird the whole thing was! The Agent hadn't woken up with someone else in the same room in at least a decade, and what a lovely routine that was! Yep, time to fuck off.

Tip-toeing to the bathroom, he made sure to carefully click the door shut.

The reflection he met was almost enough to make him jump again.

Hair pointing in all directions, mustache mussed, shirt... half-unbuttoned. The sparse hair on his chest greeted him in the mirror as if peeking from over a fence and timidly waving. He groaned.

“What are you looking at.” Robotnik grumbled at himself, glaring. What ludicrous idea had that been, then? Overindulging. And what for? Shits and giggles? God forbid someone dangles the novelty of siding with you against the brass once! Suddenly you’re all good pals? Jesus.

Well! Nothing to be done now.

He made quick work of rinsing his mouth, washing his face and making himself overall more presentable to go out. There were a couple of hygiene products over the sink, neatly organized as if ready to be inspected. It screamed 'Stone bullshit'. Robotnik rummaged through it and found a tin container reading 'Finest Pomade'. That should do it. A little for the hair, a little for the stache, and there you go, good as new.

He sniffed. Ugh. Stone’s smell was everywhere now.

Whatever. Desperate times, ridiculous measures.

Leaving the products scrambled, he made out of the bathroom, then out of the room and unto the world.

Robotnik stood in the middle of his home’s office, looking down at the dozens of paper sheets spread in a circle around his feet, as if he were the pupil of an eye contemplating its own all-encompassing iris.

New blueprints and notes from Stone’s archives, a few sketches too. And so much damn paperwork… Licenses, approvals, denials, revisions, reports, e-mails, bills, even old plane tickets. Jesus Christ. This was why the world needed a firm hand. One mind at the top, one voice with the last word, and all this pointless meandering could be cut away. Tyranny was efficient; the crux of the problem was that the world had never had a tyrant who actually knew what he was doing.

It was interesting to observe the evolution of Stone’s works throughout the years.

The first drone models 0P4L, 4G4T3— he thought himself so smart with the silly semi-precious stones’ names, huh?—, then the beginnings of planning Onyx, its first prototypes.

There was one specific abandoned project that caught his eye, no blueprints to show, but with enough attention to detail: an egg-shaped drone, black lines etched around the hull to simulate different panels and vents, with a single red lens at one end. No ominous aesthetics, oddly enough, and so looked odd amidst Stone’s usual style. No calculations or scribblings describing its inner workings either. Just that. Nameless, rough sketches.

Robotnik sighed, nudging it away with a socked foot. Raised an eyebrow.

Here comes fashion designing again.

He bent down to pluck the sheet from the chaos and bring it closer to his face. It read ‘Radio(in)active suit’. Underneath the title, a small scribbling in barely readable letters: ‘See what I did there?’. Then, in far better calligraphy, ‘Lightweight, protection against ionizing and non-ionizing radiation. Tested. No issue with gamma rays, X-rays, or beta particles. Radiation neutralized at molecular level.’

A black full-body suit, tight as a second skin and admittedly kind of sleek with its many striated segments. Like some futuristic knight armor!

“Hm… PHD in tinker-tailor, is it?”

Stone grinned warmly, looking up through his lashes, “Something like that.”

He frowned, shaking his head a little.

Where had that come from?

Gee. Hangovers, right-o? Brain matter scatter. Whatever. In any case, Stone should have gone for film costume design instead of strolling into the Department of Defense’s hiring line. Wouldn’t his life be a lot simpler now? Hollywood white-picket fence, a cocaine-addled boyfriend, two jittering chihuahuas yapping at every passerby as he argued with his agent over the phone, furiously pacing around too-green lawn because his biggest crisis would be that the twentieth seamstress he’d fired couldn’t sew a line straight enough for his OCD.

But noooo! Had to aim for escaping the very system that ran the country and cast its shadow across the rest of the world.

Moron. Always vying for things way over his head, that one. Clearly had it coming.

But, his ridiculous entanglement with the government was proving useful for Robotnik, so.

They didn’t bring up the whole Military Birthday Ball thing.

Robotnik couldn’t even clearly remember every detail of how the evening ended, but the essentials were enough to let any flicker of interest in remembrance die.

The Doctor had seemed a little awkward come Monday, sneaking looks when he thought Robotnik wouldn’t notice. As the day wore on and the scheming picked up, he seemed to steady himself a little more. And yet… not enough. Tuesday came, and he was still jittery. Then Wednesday. Then Thursday.

For fuck’s sake.

Perhaps he’d thought Robotnik gave a fuck about whatever little lovers spat he and Fraser had going on? Please. He really didn’t.

The Agent detested awkwardness. So loaded with expectation, unnerving, insincere. Definitely not his style. And he wasn’t about to let it become Stone’s style either, not when he had to tolerate that idiot every single day.

Fear not, folks! There’s a remedy for that.

Grinning wickedly, Robotnik glued his chest to the closed elevator doors. The darn ski mask itched, but it would be over soon enough.

The humming of a working hydraulic piston traveled from metal to his ribcage, and it felt like the elevator’s movements were buzzing under his skin.

Three, two, one… The doors slid open— he lunged.

“HAAHAAAH!”

“AAAAAAH!!” Stone screamed in shock, falling back against the metal wall with a clank and dropping his phone.

Robotnik keeled over. Hands on knees, cackling like a maniac.

“What the HELL!” The Doctor shouted, a hand flying to his panting chest.

“Your face!”

“What the— Agent! Shit— you scared me to death!”

Robotnik braced himself against the nearest wall, almost out of air.

“I didn’t know—” He wheezed, wiping at the corners of his eyes, “—you could scream like that! Fucking hilarious!”

Stone bent down to recover his phone without breaking the death glare.

“Where did you even get a ski mask?!”

Robotnik stumbled back into the lab, catching his breath. He pulled off the mask, carefully.

“Like every other bank robber: at Amazon!”

“Did you buy that just for this?”

“Please. I’ve got unsanctioned, military-grade hardware even in my bathroom. You think I wouldn’t have a meager ski mask lying around?”

Stone sighed heavily, but there was a slight smirk on his lips. He trailed Robotnik inside and made for his station. The Agent tossed the mask onto his desk and went to cock a hip against a table nearest to the main computer. The extremely polished walls at least had the usefulness of serving as a mirror. He had fingers remolding the curls of his beautiful mustache when he spoke again:

“So…” He heard Stone sit down, “How’s dear old Walters doing? Any closer to having a stroke?”

The chair half-spun towards the Agent, amusement written all over the pretty face.

“Preparatory speech. About what to expect in field ops… with you.”

“Ohohohoh!”

“Right?”

“Go on, give us the list!”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“That’s no argument!”

Stone’s smirk widened as he spun to face the main computer, shaking his head.

“What?” Robotnik drawled as he crossed his arms and leaned closer to the Doctor’s ear, “Afraid I’ll take it out on you, is it?”

The younger man swallowed.

Yes, bothering him as much as possible was a very reasonable method for purging awkwardness, and one thing to be noted: while rough manhandling seemed to have lost its panache, a direct invasion of the Doctor’s personal space remained reliably unsettling.

He laughed awkwardly, eyes jumping around without landing once on the Agent, “Well, yes! And it’s nothing of importance. What matters is, he took the bait.”

“Ha! Good! We’ll have to stage a few more fake camera feeds to keep him distracted. Maybe next time it could be of me hiding something in the toilet. Then we’ll clog it! The agent they send investigating will be forced to shove his hand in. Let him feel the consequences.”

“Oh! Good one!”

Robotnik straightened up, “I know!”

“As delightful as the plan is, I have… something else to discuss with you.”

Robotnik was still coming down from his daydream, but the tone caught his attention. Oh, was he about to address the elephant in the room—

“Our first mission will be taking us to Pennsylvania.”

Hm. Not that, then.

“Hhm… Whatever for?!”

“Not sure yet, but. That’s not the point. Thing is, I need to…” Stone sighed, knuckles hitting the desk a few times in some nervous tic, “I’ve got to get to Ohio. Don’t know if it’s quieter to go before Pennsylvania or on the way back, but I have to do it. And Walters can’t find out.”

Oooh, someone was about to misbehave!

Stone finally looked up at him with big, troubled eyes, nervously accessing his lack of answer. Christ. Would there be need to punch the jumpiness out of him?

“Well! Spit it out! What for?!” Robotnik barked.

“I— Uh, I traced them. The militia’s base. I need to see what’s left.”

That did make the Agent frown. They had been blown to smithereens, why was he so damn keen on checking out leftovers? He hadn’t exhibited any signs of lingering trauma from the incident.

“There’s more to it.”

“Elaborate.”

Stone swiveled the chair back to him, eyes still big, but a determination had crept in.

“How did they manage to sabotage the biggest dam in the state? Militias aren’t usually this well-connected. Or organized.”

“Hm… I did catch a whiff of amateurism. One stupid choice after another, until they were nothing but peanut-butter and jelly on the floor…”

A fond smile ghosted over Stone's lips as he eyed the company, “If only they knew that The Great Agent Robotnik lurked in the kitchen...”

Ah, that’s more like it.

“Hah! Exactly, sycophant!”

This new chapter in Robotnik’s life, marked by being assigned as Doctor Stone’s bodyguard, certainly had a dramatic start.

And everything happened so quickly!

Moving out of the city rush he’d become so used to, stepping down from a work routine that revolved solely around spy ops to become a bodyguard of all things, almost getting killed while at it… though that last part wasn’t new, so.

But learning that aliens existed?

That had knocked his socks off. More than Robotnik would ever care to admit.

Ever since Stone had shown him that quill, and what it could do, a strange sense of smallness crept in at the most unexpected moments: driving home along a quiet road, standing under the hot spray of a shower, or walking beneath a starlit sky down the dark trail from his illicit work bungalow to the forgotten road beyond.

He itched to see the strange object every time he stepped into the lab, like an annoying, uninvited obsession. An urge to unravel its secrets, test it by himself, with his weapons. An urge to touch, squeeze, lick. But it was tightly sealed within the confines of the storage, only coming out of it when wrapped in a drone.

It was a relief that Stone had decided to start teaching him how to use them.

“This is ridiculous. I told you: you need a more intuitive system to control them. They should be your orchestra, playing to your groove. Not a bunch of goddamn ducklings bumbling after their confused mother.” Robotnik had told him once, while trying to make sense of the thousands of tabs open in the Doctor’s tablet.

“I like ducklings. They’re adorable.”

“Well, these ducklings are set to kill, so have them quack faster! Why don’t you stick all of these controls on a glove or something? Have them follow hand motions?”

Stone had stared at him, dumbfounded as if that was the most absurd suggestion he’d ever heard. Robotnik had rolled his eyes, expecting the subject to die there. But, without fail, the next day, the man had begun drafting blueprints to make that idea come true.

Wasn’t it nice to be heard for once?

And what about long-term work alongside someone else?

A damn rare occurrence. And in this case, not completely awful. But he wouldn’t admit to that if they put a gun to his head.

In the following few weeks before the first mission, they were steadily falling into step, to a rhythm of their own, benefiting from the isolation of the lab to do things their way without being bothered. Much.

They ate lunch together now. Stone had stopped heading to the chow hall for his meals, claiming his time was better spent discussing work with the Agent and had also officially become responsible for their caffeinated beverages, expertly transitioning from iced lattes to fuming mugs as the weather cooled. The spectrometer lay forgotten in a desk drawer.

They trained together, too.

Robotnik believed it was ridiculous for someone like Stone to be a bad shot and so took it upon himself to train the man whenever they had the time. Along with doing a decent headlock and developing better reflexes.

“If your drones go down, you’re an easy target! Do us both a favor and learn to fend for yourself! Now, get me on the floor in the next five seconds or I’ll— GAH!!”

The Doctor was better at tackling men down than Robotnik would ever credit him for.

And some of Stone’s suggestions… were acceptable as well.

Stone heaved a deep sigh, massaging his own temples.

“I swear, I won’t be accessing either the camera or mic, alright? I’m not giving you this to spy on you, Agent.”

Robotnik threw the offending wristwatch at the Doctor’s chest.

“Like you’d ever admit to it!”

“Look, working together in both field ops and plans of treason would benefit from me at least being able to locate you if necessary.”

“Like I give a fuck what would make your life easier! Do it the old-fashioned way and sniff my goddamn footprints!”

“It has a laser function in it.”

Robotnik paused. Eyes narrowing.

“And a signal disruptor. And can summon Onyx.” Stone added, offering the device in his open palm once again.

“…What kind of laser.”

The corner of the Doctor’s mouth twitched.

“Fiber laser. A tight controlled beam that cuts through plastic, metal—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what a fiber laser is.” Robotnik muttered, eyeing the wristwatch. He stepped closer, snatching the damn thing back. “One condition.”

Stone’s eyebrows arched expectantly.

“You let me chip you with something of my own too.”

“Chip?”

“Yes. Subdermal.”

The man blinked.

“Not sure I heard that right.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Uh. That can’t be taken off like a wristwatch.”

Robotnik raised an eyebrow, looming over him.

“Astutely noticed.”

A beat of silence.

“I…” Dark eyes flitted along his face, deeply uncertain. But a few seconds later, a strange film of determination fell over his features.

“Alright. Deal.”

Talking about field ops, when their first mission finally came, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that it wasn’t the same as being locked up together in the controlled environment of the lab.

But alas, it was taking some… work… to end well. Their methods weren’t exactly similar, and it was nothing short of a miracle that they’d come so close to the finish line without casualties.

“I said turn right!” Stone’s voice cracked in the earpiece.

“And yet I turned left! That means I have a better idea, do catch up!”

“You only have five minutes before she returns!”

“Do you ever shut up?! Blow something up, cause a distraction, improvise!”

“Blow something up?! If you had turned right, you could’ve made it out of there without anyone noticing!”

That was the first issue. Robotnik thrived on stirring up trouble and fireworks for distraction, while Stone favored… subtler tactics.

He reached the big wooden door at the end of the corridor, turned the golden latch and slipped inside the office.

“She’s heading to the stairs, shit—” And the mic went dead.

Robotnik rolled his eyes.

He crossed the large room in long strides, his shadow spreading tall behind him as moonlight crept in through the large, mullioned windows ahead. He tapped a few commands into the wristwatch, scanned the main desk. It took but a couple of seconds to spot what he was looking for. Bottom left drawer, secret compartment.

The drawer was flung open, a stack of papers pushed aside, and the compartment easily yielded. Not even a key! Overconfident bunch.

He eyed the silver USB drive. It gleamed eerily pinched between thumb and index.

They’d been sent by Command to retrieve sensitive documents held by a local billionaire, one Mr. Thomas Calhoun. Old money, terrible taste, wannabe tennis star, and with far too many mob buddies for a man who liked to pose as a philanthropist in the local papers. But hey! Everyone’s entitled to their hobbies!

But that was done! All compromising paperwork rested safely within Robotnik’s inner coat pocket.

Actually, the interesting part in all this was his high-end dominatrix wife.

HA! Robotnik wondered how that worked.

And if there’s one thing every high-end dominatrix has, is some spicy, compromising footage tucked away about very important people. He’d suspected Miss Calhoun was no exception. Et voilà! Right again! How could he possibly have left without pocketing this little piece of treasure?

Speak of the Devil, footsteps were approaching.

Damn you, Stone! One job!

He rushed to hide behind the curtains, held his breath—

No one came.

The steps halted before reaching the office.

He heard another door in the corridor open, then click closed again. One of the guest bedrooms. He frowned. Stone had said Calhoun was heading up. Did the idiot blow something up after all? But there’d been no noise.

Robotnik left the office in silence, making his way back to the party downstairs.

The ballroom wasn’t too large, but the ostentatious décor managed to miniaturize anyone who stepped into it. High walls decorated in golden accents of flowers and leaves, tall mirrors and crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, intricately woven carpets… It was dizzying. Yadda-yadda, behold the splendor of Italian Renaissance architecture. Pennsylvania’s trust fund babies were ridiculous… To think people lived within these walls on normal weekdays.

The stairs he fled through led to the balcony surrounding the room, darkened enough for him to slip back without being noticed. He was once again surrounded by the sound of polite conversation and violins. A waiter crossed his path with a tray perched on a gloved hand. Robotnik plucked a champagne flute and slowly approached the marble rails.

Leaning against it, he risked a glance down, eyes scanning for Calhoun.

It didn’t take long to spot her, tall as she was, with glowing skin and a tasteful black dress that hugged all the right curves without being too tight. Made to measure.

The woman was elegant, commanded attention in a manner that could never be fabricated. Natural charm. Like a marble statue, fit to decorate the halls of her own home… Not that he was remotely interested, of course, but perhaps it made sense why men fell to her feet. Bound, gagged, testicles crushed under a Louboutin.

Although what he found even less fucking interesting was that the hand on her waist belonged to none other than Stone.

Robotnik’s jaw clenched.

The goddamn gall of that man!

Is that what he called a ‘distraction’? Flirting with the host of the party they were infiltrating?! Leading her in a slow waltz, smiling, trading hushed words as they swayed and spun. She laughed at something he said, they shared knowing glances.

What the hell did they even have to talk about? And since when did that idiot know how to dance?!

Robotnik downed the champagne in one go and went down the last set of stairs. He thumbed the USB in his pocket as he went, feeling an urge to throw it at the Doctor’s head and see if any sense got knocked into it.

The waltz was coming to an end when he finally leaned against one of the pillars framing the dance floor. Other couples danced around them, enough that they did not attract a spotlight.

To Robotnik, though, it was as if only they existed.

The pale, manicured hand resting in Stone’s calloused grip, the height difference only adding to the picture’s charm. And those half-lidded dark eyes looking up to meet blue ones with an intensity bordering on scandalous.

The sound of glass breaking made the Agent jump.

With wide eyes, he realized the culprit was his own hand, now cradling remains of the flute. Its base lay miserably by his feet. Some people nearby were staring. A new waiter spawned beside him, crouching to take care of the mess with a poker face.

Robotnik swallowed, feeling stupid, for whatever reason. On the dance floor, no one had noticed the small incident at all.

Stone closed the dance with an elegant dip. Calhoun smiled down at him when they drew back to stand. He smiled back.

It stung.

Like bits of acid behind Robotnik’s sternum. Made it hard to breathe right.

The Agent’s dark scowl watched as the couple left the dance floor to continue talking near the fireplace.

Which was worse? If those stars in Stone’s eyes were real or fake?

It was no secret that the man could act. If real, it was disappointing. Proof that Stone could be so easily swayed by conventional beauty. Someone easy to want. Easy to kneel for. No depth. Just another bumbling, horny man taking any opportunity to feel a rush of power over gaining access to pretty things.

But if fake, every compliment he’d paid Robotnik, every shared laugh, was once again cast in a suspicious light. A man who could surprise him was a man who could trick him.

You don’t care about that, Ivo. You’ll end up ditching the idiot anyway. It’s work. Means to an end. Good lattes come and go.

Picking up his phone, a quick message was typed.

‘I see you’re busy. Heading back to the motel.’

And made his way out alone.

But. We can’t lose track of the narrative here… The point was, they were adapting, becoming used to the other’s quirks despite the challenges.

Stone didn’t even yap on and on anymore about how Robotnik would leave tools out of place, or about how he should stop throwing stuff at Onyx to watch it swallow and screech. They had been working together for months now, which was a record for both!

Suffice to say, the whole base was baffled.

And when weapons testing time came, it had become something of a local ritual to clear the way for the double-trouble pair. Stone swept past, his lab coat flaring behind him; Robotnik following close, a dark silhouette hunched in motion, hands always busy and brimming with restless energy.

Though now that I think further about it, maybe scratch that. Let’s lose track of the narrative just a little longer:

Because on that same night, Stone didn’t return early from that party.

The old motel clock marked 4am when the latch to their shared room was pulled down.

Robotnik cracked a single eye open.

And watched as Stone stepped in, tuxedo hanging around an arm. His free hand was unbuttoning the dress shirt as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. It was dark, despite the soft light coming through the thin curtains, but the Agent's eyes had grown accustomed to it hours ago.

Stone draped the jacket over a chair, proceeded to unbutton the shirt down to the waistband of his pants, but before opening it, paused. Looked up directly at Robotnik's supposedly sleeping form. Then at his face.

"You're awake."

Dammit.

"No. I just sleep with my eyes open. Like a snake."

Stone huffed half a laugh, raising a hand to his chest to clutch the shirt closed. Robotnik frowned. What was the man embarrassed about? And he thought he was the private one.

"A talking snake."

"Don't be absurd. Snakes don't talk."

"Right... What do you usually say? 'Right-o'?" Stone muttered. Then looked around. His eyes fixed on the bathroom door.

Robotnik squinted. Sat up.

"You're drunk."

The Doctor forced a laugh, "Whaaaat? No!"

"Unbelievable."

"I'm not!"

"Drunk, tajado, 꽐라, pra lááá de bagdá!"

The godforsaken idiot had the gall to laugh.

"Woooow, amazing! How many languages do you know?!"

"You're a disgrace."

"I'm good! Really!"

"Then walk in a straight line. No, better yet, jazz hands and a spin!"

Stone arched his eyebrows in exasperation, but proceeded to do as he was told, shaking his hands and pivoting gracefully. Which proved two things: he wasn’t as far gone as Robotnik implied, coordination still clean, but not sober either, from just how gullible he'd become upon provocation. Naturally, the need to close his shirt was forgotten.

Robotnik's eyes widened.

"Is that lingerie?!"

Stone's eyes widened too. He looked down at his now wide-open shirt, chest exposed. A sheer bralette of black lace delicately covering his chest. The shirt was yanked closed again, his face the picture of mortification.

"NO!"

"LIAR!"

"It's nothing!"

"Oh my God, have you been wearing this the whole time?! How often do you do that, you perv?!"

Of course that was none of his business. Somehow, that wasn't reason enough for his mouth to stay shut.

"No! It’s not even mine!"

Robotnik scoffed loudly, "It's not yours, you're just carrying it around for a friend!"

"Well, yes! And I wasn't wearing it before; Lydia gave it to me!"

"Who the FUCK is Lydia?!"

"Shit, Calhoun! Lydia Calhoun!"

Oh.

It stung again.

And it was spreading fast throughout the Agent's chest like a growing stain, making him clutch the sheets with white knuckles. An unwelcome image came to mind, of Stone on his knees, panting, looking up adoringly at a slender woman as she stuck fingers inside his mouth—

“YOU SCREWED THE DOMINATRIX?!”

It shouldn’t be possible for Stone’s eyes to widen even more, but the accusation proved the opposite.

“Nononono—”

“AND HAVE THE GALL TO— TO COME BACK HERE WEARING HER— FFFFFUCKING—LINGERIE— THING!”

“—No! I’d never! Hear me out! We just clicked and—”

“Oh, is THAT what kids call it these days?!” Robotnik’s arms were waving wildly, some hair falling to his face.

“She’s fun, that’s all!” Stone raised his voice a little desperately, “We got along! Talked about her work, she showed me some of her stuff— you wouldn’t believe the craaazy variety of toys they make, by the way—”

Robotnik spluttered, springing up ready to choke the life out of the man!

“—one thing led to another, it was just a dare! Just having a laugh! And I scored us a new useful contact for our plans!”

Had this been a cartoon, there would be smoke fuming out of Robotnik’s nose and ears.

He growled, closing the distance between them with long strides until he could grab Stone’s arm and yank him to the bathroom. The gasp emitted was of little comfort to the Agent, who almost threw the man backwards against the sink.

“Everything’s a joke to you—” He spat through his teeth, reaching for Stone’s shirt to wrench it further open, then grabbed the offending piece and ripped it off. The snap of fabric splitting was lost amidst his fury, “—exposing our secret presence to the target! Sticking your— parts— into her parts! Like a goddamn hormonal teenager that can’t—”

He looked down and— oh.

Oh my.

More lace. Poking from underneath the waist of his slacks.

Just as delicate, hugging the defined dip of hip as if specially made for it, contrasting so nicely with the olive skin.

A strange silence fell over them, Stone equally frozen.

One strange thing about that bathroom, was that two mirrors had been hung perpendicularly.

In that moment, Robotnik could see himself from the outside, multiplied by four. A whole damn crowd of witnesses to what felt like a less and less justifiable position to be in by the nanosecond: a hand grasping Stone’s side to keep him in place, the other wrapped around lace in a tight fist, face undoubtedly flushed even in the dim light.

Stone shivered, eyes wide as saucers.

Robotnik looked down to avoid them.

A damn mistake, as he caught sight of lace again.

He couldn’t feel his face. Couldn’t breathe. All he could feel, really, was a… sudden heat. Coiling low in his abdomen, forming a hook. It pulled.

What does it look like further down? The fingers on Stone’s side twitched.

Robotnik panicked.

Jerked away too quickly.

The back of his knees hit the toilet, causing him to yelp and scramble to brace against the cistern, accidentally triggering the flush. Stone cursed and raised his arms in an attempt to help, but Robotnik was having absolutely none of it, flailing clumsily to keep the distance and kicking his shin.

“AGH!” The Doctor gasped in pain, almost falling over.

Robotnik scrambled to his feet and bolted out of the bathroom.

“Don’t you even THINK about going to sleep without showering! I will not put up with the disgusting stench of your kinky escapades!” He barked without looking back, even though nothing smelled out of place.

He practically threw himself on the bed, pulling the duvet all the way up to cover his head. Too hot. His body had been overheating on its own already, and hiding in a cocoon was making it worse. But fuck it! His body deserved it! What the hell had been that?! Purge it with fucking fire if need be!

A horrible silence followed.

Robotnik half expected Stone to follow him back into the room, for whatever reason, maybe to keep shooting ridiculous excuses. Or to mock.

His stomach lurched.

Mock what. Nothing to mock here. He’s the one out of line!

What if he did come back?

Feeling his face contort against his will, the Agent mentally prepared himself to grab a coat and run outside into the cold night just to avoid further interaction.

But the bathroom door clicked shut. Then came the sound of running water.

Good. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Nope. Nooot at all.

Deal with what, Ivo?

With utter idiocy! He bristled, mentally baring teeth at the voice in his own head. It readily countered:

His or yours?

Knocking at the door.

Robotnik just kept on with the doomscrolling, didn’t even blink.

Knocking again.

“Busy!”

Whoever was outside the bathroom door sighed heavily.

“Man, you’ve been there for an hour now.”

“Go look for another one then!” He barked back, sat over the toilet’s lid with legs crossed, not really using the bathroom for anything else besides, well, hiding.

“Are you serious?”

Rolling his eyes, “Fuck me! Can’t a man suffer through constipation in peace?!”

The guy seemed to stutter, then finally left.

Honestly. People these days…

But truth be told, he was getting a little sick of the cramped Amtrak bathroom.

Maybe he could hide in the bar next? Or go to the Sightseeing Lounge and hunt for an empty spot, watch the Pennsylvanian countryside pass by, eavesdrop on other passengers and judge their idiotic conversation topics… Anything but returning to his respective seat in business class. The seat beside Stone.

He’d been there what, five minutes? Just long enough to toss his bag onto the luggage rack, shrug off the heavy coat. Then off he scrammed with an excuse of needing to visit the toilet. Two carriages down.

How was he supposed to solve awkwardness when it was coming from him too?

He leaned back against the wall, head tipped back, lips pulled down in a sour frown.

Stone’s fingers skimming the shirt’s front placket, popping buttons open, the white fabric a stark contrast against the dark room.

He hadn’t said anything to let Stone know he was awake.

Then later on… Nice skin, taut stomach, a small trail of dark hair disappearing into lace. What does it look like further down?

Why would such an idea occur?

No, Robotnik wasn’t an idiot, alright? Attraction is the oldest cheap trick in human biology’s book to keep up the rate of reproduction. It simply… didn’t often happen to him. And so, he was caught by surprise.

Because really. Stone? Out of all the billions of people in this big bad world, his body’s chemistry had to pick Doctor Stone.

A hand skimmed against his belly, as if summoning the phantom feeling from last night… A shiver ran up his spine. He bit the inside of his cheek.

Prolonged exposure was to blame, surely.

The last time he felt that was a decade ago and nothing came out of it, so no issue there. Could happen at any time with just about anyone. The body was a traitorous tool, brimming with needs that reared their ugly heads in unexpected moments, grasping at anything to soothe itself. And right now, Stone was all that was available: always there, aesthetically easy on the eyes, not the most annoying person he knew.

That’s it. Puzzle solved. Singularity contained! Not a problem.

He’d still avoid him until the train reached Pittsburgh anyway, for good measure. Just six hours to go.

Pulling himself up, Robotnik made for the bar.

It was nearly empty when he got there, with a few foreign-looking passengers at a table near the entrance eating sandwiches and talking animatedly. The Agent bought a Cola, sat down at the farthest spot to avoid any and all possible contact.

The view could be better. So many miles of shrivelling cornfields…

After a few minutes, drizzling began, decorating the landscape with multiple crystalline droplets that were making a run for it across the glass. The view began to fade into the background, as if passing the stage forward to his own reflection.

He brought a hand to his jaw. Hm. The stubble needed some grooming. Tomorrow, if there is time. And while on the subject, he’d been thinking, maybe he could make some grand change once he was free of the brass. Like a bigger mustache.

Someone was watching him.

He whipped around.

Big blue eyes stared up.

A little boy, peeking from under his table.

They blinked at the same time.

Robotnik bristled.

“And what the hell are you doing there.”

“Hey! Mommy says I can’t say ‘hell’.”

“Well, you just said it.”

The boy frowned.

“You made me.”

“Scapegoater.”

“Ssscape… what? What’s that?”

“A little rat that does something wrong, then points at someone else and says they did it.”

The boy seemed thoughtful. Then hid further under the table.

“Please don’t tell mommy that I’m a little rat…” He mumbled tearfully.

Robotnik’s jaw clenched. Christ, please don’t cry.

“Don’t panic. I’m sure your mother’s a little rat too.”

“But she’s big…”

He sighed, “Sure, a big rat then. Nothing to worry about.”

“Okay…”

The Agent looked up, wondering who the hell set their spawn loose in a train filled with strangers— only to meet the exact dark eyes he’d been avoiding all along, staring at him from the entrance.

Great. Absolutely fantastic.

Stone ignored the barista waiting for his order and made a straight line to Robotnik’s table.

“Agent. Can we please talk?”

The familiar heat of shame licked at Robotnik’s loins. The last thing he wanted was to revisit last night’s little fiasco.

“No. I’m busy. Shoooo.”

The Doctor sighed, “Please.”

“I’m not associating with a pathetic excuse of an operative who blew his first mission by doing the horizontal mambo with the target.”

“I already told you we didn’t do it. And the mission has been successful, so can we please resolve what clearly is a misunderstanding? I’d like for you to stop avoiding me.”

“Misunderstanding? What’s there to misunderstand? You made the single stupidest choice imaginable and now you won’t even own it! Coward! Liar!”

“I’m telling the truth! And I wouldn’t have been put in the position of distracting her if only you had done as I said and turned right!”

“That’s because he’s a little rat!”

Both men snapped to look down.

“Hm… no. Long rat.” The boy corrected himself.

Stone gaped like a fish.

“Who’s this?!”

Robotnik shrugged, “Beats me. He spawned under the table just before you came in.”

The Doctor slowly got on one knee, a warm smile growing on his lips.

“Hello, little man. What are you doing hiding down there?”

“Mommy’s a big rat.”

He frowned in confusion, looked inquisitively at Robotnik, who just shrugged as if he had no clue.

“Right… We still should find her. She must miss you very much, don’t you think so?”

“Yeah… I lost her when I was exploring.”

“Oh, an explorer? How about you show me around then? I’m a little lost too, you see.”

The little boy nodded, perking up. Leaving the table behind, he stood up and took the Doctor’s hand.

Robotnik rolled his eyes. Of course Stone would know how to talk to children. The man was a walking plushie.

“I’ll be right back, please don’t leave.”

He wore a mulberry shirt, tucked neatly into his slacks, the cut drawing attention to the line of his waist. Hm. How long had Robotnik been eyeing the man instead of just critiquing his wardrobe?

Robotnik’s eyes raked up to meet pleading ones with a raised eyebrow. Gave a curt nod. And so, onwards the Doctor went, allowing himself to be dragged out of the bar by the eager kid.

The Agent ditched the bar to hide somewhere else.

Chapter Text

‘I’m at the lab, installed the new stove... I may be testing it by cooking dinner.’

Robotnik scowled at the phone’s screen. What the hell did he want on a goddamned rainy Saturday night?

The three dots popped up again. Then:

‘Join me?’

His breath caught.

He looked away, back to the TV screen where some weird ass movie played. It had been a random Netflix selection, but he’d barely paid attention to it. Something about a vampire Pinochet seducing a nun.

Work hadn’t managed to maintain his interest either.

They’d returned from the whole Pennsylvania–Ohio–back-again ordeal just two days ago, and somehow it had left him more drained than normal. He was getting too used to the controlled routine of the bodyguard job. Huh, who would’ve thought staying put in one place could have any appeal? This wasn’t his usual.

Neither were spontaneous weekend dinners with coworkers who grated on his every nerve. Because that’s what Stone was. Grating.

There was no helping it; his eyes glanced at the still-open chat. The last message somehow shone brighter than the rest of the screen.

He pulled up the tracker app.

The red dot marking Stone’s location was indeed pinned to the lab.

Robotnik bit the inside of his cheek, glanced lazily towards the kitchen. Dark. A single bowl of cereal he didn’t even finish eating over the counter. He was hungry.

There are delivery apps for that, Ivo.

Hm, no. Nothing there looked good enough tonight.

He wondered what Stone was cooking… Was he good at cooking? Did he like cooking?

Let’s not go there.

He stared a while longer at the message. His thumb typed ‘No’, though before he could tap send, Stone beat him to it with a new one:

‘I’m sorry.’

The Agent blinked, not expecting that at all.

‘It was my first field mission, I didn’t know how to deal with the situation and acted impulsively. You’re far more experienced, I should have deferred to your judgment and just done what you told me to.”

Now it was his throat’s turn to act up, apparently. Closing uncomfortably around itself. Robotnik frowned at the uncommon feeling, stood up. His feet dragged against the carpet as he strayed towards the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room.

They were peppered with rain, the outside looked dark and unwelcoming.

Just the dark silhouette of trees and the wet concrete of a disappearing road… His living room was a warm cocoon of comfort and warm lights in comparison, but somehow the thick glass didn’t seem to keep the disconcerting darkness at bay. Like standing at the edge of an abyss.

Robotnik looked down at his phone.

‘What are you cooking?’

The reply came fast.

‘Burritos! And a fancy salad recipe I found on the internet, there are tangerines in it!’

Oh! Robotnik loved a good burrito!

It was strange to step into the lab’s parking lot during nighttime.

The place had always been peaceful, but blanketed by a starry sky and no horizon in sight, the silence became deafening.

A single beacon of light hovered above the stairs. It was Onyx. Dome-shaped, with one of the emergency lights perched over the flat surface. It beeped cheerfully. Robotnik winced when the drone approached and accidentally flashed him full in the eyes.

“Darn thing!”

It beeped again. Floated back to the stairs and into the now open doors of the elevator. Robotnik grunted and rushed to follow it. He hadn’t bothered bringing a coat, and it was too damn cold!

The brief trip down felt a little surreal, as if he wasn’t quite tethered to his own body.

He stepped into the lab with the hesitance of someone stepping into a dragon’s lair.

Lights were dim here too, the most welcoming the place had ever looked. Perfect temperature, soft blues played in the background. His entire body stiffened. Everything felt too different.

“Hey!” Stone popped out of the kitchen, drying his hands with a towel. He smiled as soon as his eyes were on the Agent, “You’re here.”

Robotnik raised an eyebrow, forcing his shoulders down.

“And he states the obvious.”

Stone’s eyes were still on him. Flickered down and up for just a second, but of course, the Agent noticed. Especially because the oddness of ditching the usual two-piece suit still itched, making him feel strangely undressed in his casual ensemble of loose clothing and Chelsea boots. Though the Doctor didn’t look much different, the dark Henley he wore still made him look uncommonly soft, sleeves folded and tucked above the elbows.

Stone breathed out an airy laugh.

“Right, yes. Bad habit, I suppose.”

He waved for Robotnik to follow him.

Seeing as the plant population was still growing back to its former glory, much of the central island was available for free use. And now a towel was spread over it, plates and cutlery set. Robotnik sat slowly on a stool.

Above them, the glass ceiling offered a view of the stars.

“So, uh. How’s the weekend going so far?” Stone piped up while he served them.

The Agent raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“No small talk. Noted. Changing tactics.”

“Implying you have ‘big talk’.”

Stone chuckled, sitting down across from him.

The smell was, simply put, delicious. Two perfectly toasted burritos that begged to be devoured, and Robotnik wasn’t one to shy away from a target. He bit into the pliable tortillas, his eyes closed. Scrambled eggs, fried beans, guacamole, cheddar and salad all put together with a mix of spicy and bitter sauces he couldn’t name but complimented each other and had every single taste bud in his mouth cheering in triumph!

“Fuuuuuuuck me siiiidewayssss.” He groaned long and dramatically, head tipping back.

The Doctor was chuckling again, and Robotnik finally opened his eyes.

“I’m glad you like it.” He spoke warmly, bringing a burrito to his mouth, too.

Rolling his eyes, the older man just continued to gobble every bit and piece.

It didn’t take long before both plates were clean, and, seeing as they had forgotten the salad, it had to be eaten last. And once again Stone proved a remarkable cook, with the Hawaiian-inspired salad containing dried berries, tangerines and an indescribable dressing. Gradually, Robotnik found himself relaxing, allowing the pleasant flavors and calm environment to soothe his stiff posture.

Not to mention that everything always feels better after a nice meal, right?

The Doctor seemed to be enjoying himself as well, gently swaying to the music, sometimes humming along to it. When they finished, a grin spread on his face.

“Oh, I’ve been practicing! Watch.”

Stone reached into his back pocket, then spun back and straightened, raising a hand to flaunt the dark glove it now sported. It had small buttons on its palm, a few fingers with metal caps, and a small screen around the wrist.

Robotnik’s eyes widened with unfiltered interest.

The Doctor snapped his fingers, and Onyx was hovering between them in the next second. He clicked a few buttons, and the drone flattened into a wide discoid, like the creepiest tray to ever grace existence. Beaming, Stone placed the used plates and cutlery over it and flicked his wrist, sending it away.

“I can’t believe you made the gloves only to turn them into table service.” The Agent’s insult sounded half-hearted to both of them. Maybe because of the gawking.

“And that’s only the beginning.” He stood up, heading for the fridge. “Want some wine? I think I have a bottle around here.”

“Fuck, no.”

Stone laughed as he bent down to pull something out of it, Onyx following at his tail like an overexcited puppy.

“Birthday Ball left its mark, huh?”

“Tell me about it. Hangovers are shit at my age.”

“At mine too, you know.”

“Oh, please. You popped out of your mother’s womb, like, last week. What do you know.”

It was becoming a little unnerving how often Stone laughed at his jabs. This had probably been the longest anyone had had a meal with him without developing a serious case of sour face. He returned with a casserole in his hands. Placed it over the table. Robotnik hummed in approval.

“Tiramisu? What a weird little mix you’ve made today. You’re in luck, these bold guesses have been spot on so far.”

A generous spoonful of dessert was carefully served to each of them, the drone darting around the kitchen at the wave of Stone’s hand, ferrying small bowls, small spoons, and extra napkins.

The little smile on the Doctor’s lips was mischievous as he looked up, “Oh, I have a good eye...”

Well. At least now Robotnik knew why it would get a little hot under his collar when Stone talked like that. Not that he liked it. In the least. He cleared his throat.

“Since you brought it up, I’d say I was the one who left a mark that night. Fraser’s nose can attest to it.”

“Oh, it definitely can. I don’t think it ever quite went back to what it was before.”

Robotnik snorted.

“I did him a favor. Free nose-job incoming! No clue what you ever saw in that idiot.”

Shit.

Nononononono, that last stupid part wasn’t supposed to come out!

Spoon poised mid-way through, Stone was now staring at him weird. Too weird. What did it mean? No! Best to leave it alone. Ignorance is bliss and all that bullshit. The Agent shoved too much tiramisu into his mouth.

“Uh…” The Doctor began awkwardly, then looked away. “It was a few years ago. I… wasn’t in a great place. He was kind, and it was more about distracting myself than anything else.”

Robotnik chewed reeeeal slow, hesitantly watching as the man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? All he could think of was ‘good riddance’.

“You reeeeeally let yourself stoop low with that one.”

The corner of Stone’s mouth twitched.

“Implying I’m above that level.”

“Not anymore. No way to save yourself from all that orange. It’s like microplastics, accumulating under your skin and slowly deteriorating your immune system and reproductive organs. Your future children will have three heads.”

He was laughing now, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. It pleased the Agent: the less moping the better.

“How lucky for them they won’t be gracing existence, then.”

“What, not craving the American Dream? White picket fence, yard crawling with brats, boring people grinning at you over barbecue?” He then puffed out his chest, plastered the fakest smile he was capable of. All teeth and no light in his eyes as he waved a hand in a stiff greeting, “Hello there, neighbor! Grass is greening today!”

Stone shook his head, grinning around the spoon in his mouth.

“You’re not even trying to sell it. That prospect is as obnoxious to me as it is to you.”

Robotnik waggled his eyebrows in mockery, then turned back to the last of his dessert. He was seriously considering a second serving; no tiramisu he ever tried had tasted like that.

“Hm, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised! You’re always holed up in here. I’m beginning to suspect you don’t have friends at all.”

Stone shrugged.

“Not so far from the truth. I’ve still got a few people from Uni, but most have married off or live far away. We hardly talk. I barely go out now, so it’s not like I’m making new ones either.” He gestured for Onyx to approach and collect the empty bowls. Dammit. There went his hopes and dreams of another serving… Adieu, veau, vache, cochon, couvée... He wasn’t about to lose face and let Stone know how much he liked it.

“…Not that I’d bother looking. People can be delightful, sure, but only up to a point.”

Robotnik briefly eyed Onyx.

“Delightful is a stretch. If I could count on drones, like you, I’d ditch the whole shebang of mingling, too. Machinery is much more reliable than humans. But alas, not all of us have that luck…”

Stone propped an elbow over the aisle and rested his chin on the open palm.

“You clearly got a knack for robotics.” He began, watching Robotnik thoughtfully. “The way you’ve been picking up how to run my machines, it’s impressive!”

“What. Like it’s hard?”

Stone grinned.

“Why didn’t you go for an engineering degree or something?”

Robotnik schooled his expression. It wouldn’t do to let the man see the bitterness this topic elicited.

“It was my intention as a child. Used to dismantle all kinds of gizmos.”

“Oh?”

“Even built a tin pet out of some junk, had a single red eye like a particularly evil cyclops! But alas, I fell in with the wrong crowd… Ran away from the foster home, got myself declared dead for a few years, then made a grand comeback by blowing a whole block to smithereens and sending fake friends to prison. That’s when Department of Defense picked me up for training. They just couldn’t resist a bad bitch like this.”

Stone was staring in that weird, unnerving way of his again, as if closely inspecting every detail on his face.

Christ. Robotnik tugged at the towel, causing the Doctor’s elbow to slip and almost send his face crashing against the hard surface. It successfully broke his trance, as the man gasped and caught himself just in time. Good for him. His nose was fine the way it was.

“Stop staring at me like an obsessive maniac. It’s goddamn annoying. Control yourself.”

Stone bit the inside of his cheek, back to a teasing smile.

“Hard to, sitting so close to the object of my obsession.”

The tips of the Agent’s ears grew warm.

What a weird sense of humor. Didn’t the infuriating man know how it sounded? Robotnik looked away, eager to find something to occupy his hands. He only found an empty glass.

“I’m parched. Don’t you have a simple soda anywhere in this damn hole?”

“Oh, sorry. Of course.”

Ridiculous, really. All the Agent could do was pretend he didn’t get the joke or risk embarrassing everyone involved. God forbid the Doctor got the wrong idea; he’d have to commit murder to escape that kind of mortification.

“So!” He blurted as Stone visited the fridge once again to grab drinks, “Why did you pick becoming a full-fledged Robocop nerd, then?”

Stone placed a Cola and a beer on the table, opened them.

“Oh, boring story, especially compared to yours. I was actually thinking about joining the army, mostly because I had no clue what else I’d be good at… Then one day, I served coffee to this, uh, tech-enthusiast, who spent the whole afternoon telling me about the incredible projects he’d worked on. I was so inspired, decided to give it a go myself.” He smiled, took a sip, “The rest is history.”

Robotnik hummed. Joining the army? It was weird trying to imagine a version of Stone in which he was the one suited up and standing to attention instead of wrapped up in a lab coat. Hah! Hilarious! And creepy.

The evening moved on easily, one hour bleeding into the next without any of them noticing it. Stone showed off a little the new ability to command Onyx around, changing its shape with smooth motions of fingers. At one point, he had the drone resemble a liquid blob as it followed his hand, flying in an arch over his head and, for a moment, the man eerily resembled some kind of dark sorcerer straight out of a fantasy movie… It was, admittedly, kind of unsettling.

This was the beginning of something much bigger, wasn’t it? Though the egg was still hatching, the power Stone was learning to wield was unlike anything Robotnik had ever seen.

Something nasty stirred within him, sticky, ugly.

He wanted it for himself.

After all, can you imagine the things he could do, the control he could exert over mankind, if only he managed to seize this tech for his own use?

No more running himself ragged over manipulations, shady deals, blackmail, going around naysayers, the law, entire governments… No one could dare go against him. Unstoppable triumph.

Though as soon as that thought came, a deeply unfamiliar feeling followed. It almost shocked him out of his seat.

Hesitance.

Hesitance, as he watched the uncanniness fade from Stone’s aura when the next song began, giving way to a goofy smile and a little dance number in the middle of the kitchen. Onyx moved in tandem with him in a way the Agent just knew that the routine had been done multiple times before.

Hesitance, as Onyx spun around him, then dipped to fly under a lifted knee, but was too fast and almost ruined Stone’s balance. He stumbled a bit, laughing, then knocked his hip against the machine as if teasing it. “Two left feet, this one has.”

Robotnik snickered, sipping from his Cola to hide a smile.

Onyx beeped cheerfully, knocking him back, then spinning on its axis to mimic the graceful spin the Doctor had proceeded to do.

Hesitance, as dark eyes met his, so unguarded and sparkling under the dim light, and Robotnik realized he’d been utterly charmed by the scene all along.

"I'm going back down to Kansas soon— bring back the second cousin, little John, the conqueroo!" Stone sang along to the lyrics. Onyx’s beeps imitated the notes. 

Hesitance.

Of all ridiculous things.

Despite the slight bump on the road, the next field mission wasn’t scheduled for another month, and so their usual routine returned to ‘normal’. If you can call it that.

Except, well… For one thing.

It first happened a few days later, at the hangar, while they worked on the finishing touches of a tactical vehicle.

Robotnik slouched in his chair, which he’d wheeled into a corner of the hangar. One control glove on, he’d been testing some of the drones’ new commands while mentally revising a calculus exercise on Euler’s Rotation Theorem the Doctor had taught him earlier.

That’s when a pointed buzz rang out. It echoed, as the hangar was practically an empty metal dome.

His frown came a little delayed, focused as he had been.

Hm… That hadn’t been his phone?

He spun around. Stone had pulled himself from under the truck, protection goggles still on, and was looking down at his phone.

Robotnik’s frown deepened, but he brushed it off.

Unusual for Stone’s phone to ring. But it was a phone. Phones, sadly, do that sometimes.

He motioned for Onyx to follow a path drawn by his index and delved back into the exercise as the silly dark egg followed it.

…Given a motion M1 of a sphere S about its center O, then a second motion M2 which places a circle C of S (great or non-great) identically to M1 is—

BZZT BZZT

Robotnik’s teeth clenched. He stared again.

The Doctor hadn’t crawled back to his previous task and was pulling out one glove. He began typing. Then smirking.

Onyx beeped too close to his face. Robotnik jumped.

The drone hovered right beside him, as if eagerly expecting orders. Christ, how can a machine be this needy?

BZZT BZZT

“Do you fucking mind?”

A pair of round purple lenses looked up.

“Oh. Right, sorry. Silencing it.”

Christ.

He motioned another path for Onyx to follow. A more complicated one this time.

…which places a circle C of S (great or non-great) identically to M1 is equal to M1. No other possible final position of S than that of M1 can have C placed completely 'correctly' because the sphere is…

Stone was still texting.

Who the hell could it possibly be?! He’d said he didn’t have friends!

“Hey! Halfwit! Pre-programmed paths are running dandy! Just slot the power source in so I can test the teleportation already.” He barked, increasingly annoyed at the childish behavior.

Stone finally let go of his phone, albeit not as immediately as the Agent would have liked, and pushed himself up.

“No lagging anymore in the loops?” He asked while pulling the goggles to his forehead and stopping right beside the chair.

Robotnik tore his gaze away to stare down at the screen on his wrist, unwilling to risk ogling Stone’s bare arms for the twentieth time.

“Do you think I would have said it was ‘running dandy’ if I hadn’t tested the goddammed loops?!”

The Doctor swallowed, “You’re right, of course not.”

Grumbling curses in at least three languages under his breath, Robotnik stood up and made for the storage. It was quick work to transfer the quill into the drone. The Doctor didn’t seem to notice or mind Robotnik’s rapt attention at the security procedures to unlock it.

When they returned to the hangar, a buzzing sense of excitement could be felt in the air. Robotnik rubbed his hands together, crackled knuckles, and shimmied his knees a little to warm them up. His time had finally come!

Absurdly, Onyx was caught up in the enthusiasm, floating up and down around him.

“Hah! Papa’s gonna show you around, sweet pea!”

He pretended not to notice Stone’s fond grin.

“Careful, please. If anything goes wrong, you could be seriously hurt.”

“Please. What’s the worst that could happen?!”

“Being teleported too high up and falling to a horrible death?”

Robotnik scoffed.

“Mother-henning doesn’t suit you. Worry about your sad little truck.”

Stone sighed, grabbing the extra glove from his pocket, “Agent, I insist—”

A flash of light. Robotnik was gone.

In the blink of an eye, he stood at the opposite end of the hangar.

He gasped, eyes wide with adrenaline as red lightning arced around his arms and torso.

“HAH!”

Stone had a hand to his chest, clearly in the aftermath of a fright. Onyx still hovered at the same spot.

“Jesus! At least tell me where you’re going to pop up next!”

A mischievous grin spread on the Agent’s face. He motioned for the drone to come hither.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

“C’mon, please, or I’ll just assume the worst!” He sighed, eyes pleading, “The power source must be handled carefully; I spent years testing it to reach the current results, it can’t just be rushed like that.”

Always full of ‘buts'. Didn’t he know that power like this required a firmer hand, a decisive mind?!

“Power resides in embracing chaos, Stone! You’re far too obsessed with order, and it shackles you! Keep crawling through life all careful and scared, and you’ll die polishing Command’s boots!”

And his hand shot down to grab Onyx again.

He intended to teleport back, a little too close, and scare him out of his wits.

Intended.

Because Stone had fucking jinxed it!

Instead of hearing the ‘clank’ of shoes meeting metal, his balance faltered. Know that feeling of climbing a flight of stairs and going full steam for the last step, only to discover the hard way there is none? Yeah, that. But make it the whole floor.

Robotnik gasped, fingers clamping down on Onyx’s solid weight.

To his luck, the gloves had a magnetizing safeguard. Otherwise, Stone’s prediction would have come true. His arm hurt, stretched and holding his full weight as he dangled at least thirty feet above ground.

“AGENT!”

The panicked beating of his heart was insufferable, throwing him off more than anything else, thoughts halting momentarily. Lock in, for fuck’s sake!

“Shit, don’t move! I’ll try to—”

“SHUT IT! STAY PUT!”

He could practically feel Stone ignoring him completely. Act quickly, or this will get messy!

Briefly curling up his body, Robotnik managed to push, gaining impulse and recalibrating Onyx with a sharp twist of his wrist. It immediately dove down, too fast, Robotnik yelped as his body jolted, his stomach was in places it shouldn’t be, Stone was shouting something, the ground closing in fast— he twisted his wrist again.

A flash of light. He was stumbling directly into Stone. Messily.

He tripped on his feet, crashed against the younger man’s chest, and yet somehow the Doctor managed to remain steadfast on his feet and balance them both.

“ShitAgentareyoualrightohmygod—” and other meaningless expletives spilled out as Stone’s hands flew up to cradle Robotnik’s face.

His mind blanked.

Warm hand on one cheek, a cold one on the other. Stone’s mouth moved, pouring out panicked gibberish, wide eyes darting across his face. A bare thumb traced his cheekbone, leaving warmth in its wake. Then Stone drew back, the hands lifted away, and Robotnik was being scanned.

The whole interaction could fit into a single minute. He would swear it had lasted an hour.

“—you’re damn lucky it teleported with you! Are you trying to kill me?!”

He looked so worried. As if the prospect of Robotnik becoming injured or possibly getting killed would be a terrible thing.

Sure, if Robotnik died, Stone would have to try escaping the Department of Defense on his own after all, but… the small touch. The pinch between his eyebrows. The eyes. ‘Are you trying to kill me?!’

It made no sense.

Robotnik took a little longer than usual to summon a comeback.

“Hardly.” He scoffed, “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t try, I’d just do it.”

Stone’s eyes were not on him anymore. Still wide, still frantic, but now pointed somewhere above his head as if frozen in his skull. The Agent frowned. Turned around to look.

Onyx still floated too high. Exactly where Robotnik had been hanging a minute ago. It hadn’t teleported with him.

He swallowed. Right. Maybe he should be just a tinsy tiny bit more careful with these tests.

BZZT BZZT

The murderous scowl made a slow turn back to the Doctor.

“Uh— I thought I— Sorry—”

The Agent shoved past him, purposefully bashing against his shoulder.

“Fucking spare me!”

Frankly, how much of a child could Stone be?

And though the phone was indeed silenced for the rest of the day, Robotnik could see when the screen would light up over his desk, indicating a new message. Or over the counter while he made them coffee. Or when they called it a night and crossed the parking lot to their respective vehicles, Stone lingered a moment longer before starting his bike, smirking down at the offending device once again.

Robotnik watched him fade in the rearview mirror, growing increasingly irritated as the horizon swallowed him and he turned onto the road heading home.

The little pet peeve returned the next day.

It had been calmer, filled with AI reconfigurations in the lab. And by lunch, Robotnik had been able to count at least eleven moments in which the Doctor paused whatever he’d be doing to unlock his phone and type something.

Too many levels of infuriating, that’s what it was. First of all, Stone had multiple deadlines to deliver. Not to mention another field-testing next week and sabotage plans in need of perfecting for their next mission. Secondly, he didn’t have anyone to be exchanging texts like a giggling teenage girl, had never fallen prey to the disgusting little habit of being glued to his phone 24/7, it became a problem too suddenly for him to have developed it naturally. And last but not least, if he had somehow made new pals overnight, it was a threat to their plans of escape!

Stone wouldn’t want to doom a nice little life filled with friends and cocktail Friday nights for one on the run from the law, right? Wouldn’t want to be a bad guy. He’d chicken out. Leave Robotnik to deal with the consequences as soon as someone from Command caught a whiff and made threats. Or offered a deal.

And so, it was only natural that the Agent would take it upon himself to guarantee that wouldn’t happen.

“Have you seen my phone?”

The Agent watched, slouched on his chair and with his arms crossed, as the Doctor popped from the storage in a rush.

“You better not expect an answer to that.”

Stone sighed exasperatedly, tapping the pockets in his lab coat and pants for the third time.

“Can you call me?”

Robotnik raised an eyebrow.

“You have it on silent.”

“Right. Damn... I’ll have to look for it later then, can’t leave Lorne waiting. I doubt the UTV guy would drive any faster.”

“Hm, no. Not that idiot.”

But when the Doctor set foot in the elevator, he paused. His head turned to look at Robotnik. Squinting.

“You didn’t insult me.”

“What.”

“That’s the kind of thing you’d call me an ‘imbecile’ for. Or aim something at my head.”

The Agent had to hold himself back from swallowing.

“Well do you fucking want me to, you imbecile?!” He barked, reaching for the mug sitting nearby, “Scram before I lose my fucking patience!”

It was convincing enough. Scram the Doctor did.

Robotnik waited a few minutes just to be on the safe side. Then fished Stone’s phone from the inner pocket in his jacket.

He appraised the sleek device for a moment.

Not store-bought, that was certain. All-black, not too big, minimalist design, like everything else.

The problem was, how was he supposed to unlock something he didn’t have time to learn how to hack?

He clicked the button on its side, and the screen lit up. A few notifications showed, especially one that said ‘5 messages: Lena Cooper’

 And who the fuck is Lena Cooper?

Robotnik swiped a finger across the screen to discover what kind of locking system was in place. Only to find out the answer was: none.

The Home screen greeted him as if smiling.

That made no sense at all. Was that bumbling idiot walking around with encrypted, compromising messages and data in a self-made phone, to then not lock it behind any password?!

He rolled his eyes and tapped on the messaging app.

And THAT asked for a password.

Robotnik groaned loudly. Stone had a punch to his face coming soon! Or to his gut, to not ruin the face. It’d be wasteful.

He’d have to go for the big guns, then.

Tapping for the contact list, he selected the contact. Then the call button. He pressed the phone to his ear and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Static. A click.

“I must say I’m surprised, honey. You never called before.” The most velvet-like tone of voice came from the other side, dripping with amusement.

Robotnik gritted his teeth. He couldn’t help but drawl a bitter “Haven’t I?”

A beat of silence.

“Oh, my. This is too good. Are you the office pal?”

Office pal?!

“And who the fuck is Lena Cooper supposed to be?!”

“That’s what he put under my number? Good lord, how provincial.”

“I’m about to send a bomb to your fucking address—"

“Honey, this is Lyds! Our good Doctor said you knew about me!”

Lyds. Lydia.

Robotnik’s breath stuttered.

A million thoughts crossed his mind at once, disorganized, barking at him to do too many different things. End the call. Make threats. Yell. Why do you care. How fucking dare he lie to me, hide this from me? Do send the bomb to her doorstep, you know where it is after all. Break off the treason partnership. Break his computer. Break the whole lab. Break HIM.

"Rest assured! I know about you alright! You're a goddamn parasite worming your way into that airhead's good graces just because of the abyssal boredom that every rich little rotter like yourself is prey to. Hey! Look at me! I have so much money falling out of my ass and nothing better to do with my life! Let's fuck around with that idiot for a while, he takes it oh so well!"

A snicker.

"Oh, he does, honey..."

The chair rolled away from how abruptly Robotnik sprang up from his seat, ready to take a man down. The grip around the phone was so tight you can bet the knuckles under those gloves were white and angry.

And yet, Lydia wasn’t done:

“I didn’t realize this was a Thelma and Louise situation. Which one are you?”

Why was he breathing so quickly?

“How about you take a loooong fucking walk down the shortest pier on Earth and delete this number from your bedazzled little iPhone?!”

“Louise, then.”

He ended the call.

The phone flew across the lab.

Crashed against the opposite wall, fell to the ground still insufferably whole.

Robotnik was seeing red.

Stone had been texting none other than Lydia Calhoun this whole time! This wasn’t a simple case of adding useful contacts to their list, no! This was personal. This meant involvement. The memory of little smiles and smirks the man had been sporting as he texted back was fresh and persistent.

He’d dared say that they didn’t sleep together. Insisted upon it.

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.

Men were deceivers ever,

And like the motherfucking idiot he was, Robotnik had, at the end of the day, allowed himself to believe it. Just because the lie had come wrapped in a nice, gentle ‘sorry’. With a home-cooked dinner and smiles.

You haven’t fallen for shit like this since you were seventeen, Ivo. How sad. And we thought you’d learned.

Ugly little voice. Slimy, reverberating from his head towards every nerve-ending in the rest of his body, sticking to each rib like oil and clogging his throat.

Look at how affected you are. Pathetic.

There still was a whole afternoon of work ahead, but he grabbed his keys and stormed out of the lab anyway.

Unlike what many might think, there isn’t a lot of mystery to attraction.

Sure, it can baffle the best of us from time to time, make a nasty little surprise appearance when least welcome, but if you take a day to sit with it and face it head on… You’ll quickly find where the trail leads.

And we’re not out here talking about the mere appeal of appearances; that’s a flame that burns out fast if you’re an adult with at least two working brain cells. What we’re yapping about is that raw pull from deep down that makes you want to crush something. Gnaw. Claw out of your skin to consume in ways beyond description. Not just looks, but behavior, body language, what it would mean to sink your teeth into that specific set of characteristics gathered into a single person. The chemicals the traitorous brain releases that you simply can’t shut off.

But such a singular feeling, empirically speaking, becomes rather underwhelming when you realize how many times the answer to it is ‘because mommy/daddy didn’t treat me right’.

Hey! No shame in that! We’ve all been there. Though after trial and error, diving into all kinds of spontaneous entanglements only to come out of them exhausted, annoyed and still deeply dissatisfied, it does become uninteresting to keep trying. No matter how parched you might find yourself, why would that be your cup of tea anymore when you know you’ll still be thirsty afterwards?

That’s Robotnik’s take, you see.

He’d had his share of sexual adventures— a man has needs, after all—, and after a decade it all led to the conclusion that ‘doing the deed’ was a lot like charity dinners: performed out of necessity but ultimately distasteful. Best forgotten afterwards.

And so, it was with Great Contempt… That he stepped into an actual nightclub. Intent on finding someone to help him release a bit of tension.

The bass shook his every bone, rattling the windowpanes at the entrance. It was annoying, but tolerable. He made a beeline for the bar, not really in the mood to linger more than necessary. Ordered some random cocktail and leaned against the counter, scanning the public.

A mirror ball spun over the moderately crowded dance floor, painting darkened faces in spinning starlight as a drag queen whirled round and round… He barely paid any attention to it. Because earlier, after he’d reached home and ignored Stone’s calls for the rest of the day, his temper finally cooled. And he was able to infer that the sad business of being attracted to the man had left him pent up, quick to react.

The drag queen dipped to the ground dramatically in a classic death drop. Everyone cheered.

Robotnik sighed heavily. Sipped.

Yes, he’d been lied to. Yes, he’d have to double his guard against the inevitable trickery from that one… But since when was that news? Why had it managed to surprise him, frustrate him, even? Clearly, his physical needs were starting to jumble his priorities. Better to let them out somewhere harmless than have them fester and blow up in his face.

He raised an eyebrow at the sorry sight of a young man stumbling in his direction.

“Hello there, handsome!”

Christ in heaven.

“No.”

The man blinked. One eyelid at a time.

“What, don’t like what you see?” He motioned towards his own body inquisitively. Theoretically, it was a fine specimen, with all the blond hair and chiseled abdomen under a cropped top.

“Not when you can’t see two feet ahead of you. It’s midnight, how are you already this damn wasted?”

“Aw, it’s not that bad, I promise!”

“You disgust me. Get lost.”

“Alright, alright… Asshole.”

Robotnik rolled his eyes, almost giving up on the attempt in schmoozing from that interaction alone.

He turned around to rest his elbows over the counter, shoulders hunched. Maybe he should’ve installed one of those ridiculous dating apps instead, even if it meant he’d have to decide on who to exchange fluids with based solely on a shitty picture and dry texting.

“Ouch, that was brutal…”

Robotnik looked up.

One of the bartenders was smirking at him.

“Could have been worse.” He countered, raising an eyebrow.

The man chuckled. He finished uncorking a bottle and began mixing a drink.

“I believe you. You don’t look like someone to be messed with.”

“Why. Is the sheer majesty of my mustache confounding your senses?”

He smiled. It made the corners of his eyes wrinkle, “Must be. You got a whole Ming the Merciless vibe going on…” His eyes travelled up and down, “But hotter.”

Hm.

It was Robotnik’s turn to check the man out.

Probably younger than him, though not by much. Olive skin, dark hair, nice beard. The green eyes were throwing him off a little… But it might be just enough to scratch the itch.

The bartender’s break didn’t come for another half hour. But no matter. Because as soon as the wait was over, Robotnik was shoving the man against the brick wall behind the club. A tongue down his throat, greedy hands pulling him closer, grabbing his ass. He mouthed along the bearded jaw, closing his eyes and relishing the scratch against his lips, slid his now ungloved hands under his shirt.

Bartender guy had opinions:

“Fuck, you’re hot.”

Good. Shut up, now.

He gave it another shove, making the man moan deliciously as he aligned their hips. The warmth in his belly was simmering into a nice heat the more they pushed against each other. Yes, that’s what he needed.

“Ah!” The bartender gasped when Robotnik bit his lip a little too hard, then laughed nervously, “Bitey, huh?”

His tongue traced the path of his teeth, “Problem?”

“Shit, not at all.”

He hummed, trying to focus on the friction between them, on the hand unbuckling his belt…

“Let's fuck around with that idiot for a while, he takes it oh so well!"

"Oh, he does, honey..."

With a deep groan, the Agent realized he needed more.

His hand travelled up the man’s torso to wrap around his neck, the contrast of pale skin against the soft brown like a punch of arousal to his gut. Yes! He squeezed, eager to suck a mark just where his hand was.

“Uh—” A hand grasped his wrist, “Hey, sorry— not my thing, man.”

Robotnik paused.

Looked up at hesitant green eyes.

Wrong color, was the first thing his mind supplied.

Green was too cold. Too… watery. And yet, not liquid enough. Not big enough. Not the type of shade to leave someone speechless and hypnotized, trying to figure out what the hell is going on behind them.

In these green ones, he could see exactly what the man thought of him: too much.

Robotnik pulled away with a snarl.

Before the bartender could try to change his mind, he bolted out of the alley.

The last message he ignored:

‘It was a joke, she just wanted to get a rise out of you, and it was completely out of line. I cut everything off with her. Please answer.”

Command had tasked Stone to add new specific features to his drones, much to the man’s exasperation and obvious annoyance. Something about large-scale holographic diversions, involving advanced projectors that should be installed in the Onyx models.

And that’s how project DOLUS began.

Stone had named the project so, and Robotnik was confident the reasoning behind it was more closely related to delivering a barb than out of a sense of poetry.

In one of the Aesopic fables (number 535 in the Perry Index), Dolus appears as one of the main characters. It was written by the Roman poet and fabulist Gaius Julius Phaedrus.

In this fable, Prometheus is a sculptor who had the power to give life to his work, transforming his clay figures into living creatures. One day, he made Veritas, a sculpture of Truth personified. Just as he finished it, the God Jupiter summoned him, and so he left the workshop in the hands of his apprentice, Dolus. The apprentice, though, was a jealous one. He decided to take advantage of his master's absence to create an exact replica of Veritas, just to show off, you see. But alas, there wasn’t enough clay to finish it, and so his sculpture was much the same except… for a lack of feet.

When Prometheus returned, he was deeply impressed by the replica and decided to take credit for it as well, sending both works to his magical kiln.

The figures, naturally, came to life. But the problem was that only Veritas could manage to walk upright, gracefully, balanced. Dolus’ figure, unequipped with feet, could only remain fixed to one spot. It was named Mendacium, meaning Falsehood.

The takeaway from the story, as one might have gathered at this point, is that no matter how well fabricated, deceit can only go so far, while truth is bound to prevail.

Or in simpler terms: Stone found Command’s idea a ridiculous whim destined to serve no lasting purpose.

It was cold outside as the end of the year approached. Not too bad yet, though. Winter’s worst was yet to come. For the Doctor, at least. Robotnik’s toes barely felt the ground on which they stood.

Both men stood back-to-back in the middle of the familiar tall grass prairie from the base’s grounds. A spot far away from the fences, to be on the safe side that no outsiders would catch sight of testing.

That morning, each wore one of the control gloves.

A perfect circle of drones hovered around them, light emitters turned on. The grey sky had ceased to exist, and in its place, the underwater view of a great blue whale swimming by.

“Uh— It’s looking good!” Stone tried, but his enthusiasm was forced. Clearly, the man remained unsure on how to deal with Robotnik’s colder-than-usual demeanor. “I… fixed that frame rate issue last night.”

When he’d arrived that morning, Stone had already been there, trying to launch a stream of excuses he really wasn’t in the mood for. So, he threatened to leave. That had shut the man up. But it didn’t spare him from having to endure an antsy, mad engineer for the rest of the day.

“Hm. Is that why you’re wearing yesterday’s clothes?” He answered dispassionately.

Stone noticeably faltered for a moment. The silence was loud.

“I showered in the lab, though.”

“Nerd.”

“A very hygienic nerd, if you must.”

“Just get it going already, for fuck’s sake.”

Another uncomfortable silence behind him.

“Right. On it.”

With a graceful arch of his arm, Stone commanded the animal to swim down towards them in a spiral. Now came the difficult bit: getting the great beast to follow a live commanded course without glitching. For now, it might be something as inconsequential as a whale, but the goal was to one day fake the presence of a hundred extra war tanks or aircrafts.

Intimidation tactics, and all that.

“It’s not blending well with real light. Feels plastic. Like I popped a shitty psychedelic.” Robotnik grumbled, looking down at the panel in his own wrist and tapping in annoyance.

“Hey, this isn’t Photoshop. I don’t think the opacity settings are gonna solve it.” Stone chuckled awkwardly as the whale flicked through different levels of transparency to then suddenly have its whole color scheme inverted.

“Agh! Blasted thing!” Robotnik snarled and kept tapping.

“Uh, no, go back, go back—”

Overall, the test was going well. Boring, uncomfortable, making Robotnik’s skin crawl with the need for time to pass faster so he could fuck off back to the safety of his own home, sure, but it would at least keep Walters distracted.

Stone apparently decided to change the scenery, pressing buttons on his own palm.

The deep-sea shades faded out in a cascade as the drones recalibrated… In its place, a huge nebula spread, like ink dipping into water. A burst of glittering stardust and color, bathing them in deep orange.

Robotnik’s eyes became as round as saucers, gaping up at the display he wasn’t familiar with.

“Oh…” He breathed in awe, momentarily forgetting himself.

“A little program I’ve created a while ago. Inspired by the nebula-like explosion from Red Sky day…” Stone spoke in a low tone, half turning his head to observe his companion’s reaction. “What do you think?”

Did Robotnik like it? Yes. It was beautiful. Swirling shades of orange and red in incredibly high definition, the bright white core gleamed like a Sun… Better than fireworks. But the Doctor could damn well read the room if he wanted an answer for that.

“I saw the first one as a child...” Robotnik spoke distractedly, the memory rising in slow tides.

“Red Sky day?” Stone’s voice piped hopefully, “How old were you?”

“Hm… About ten. Before running away. I was walking back from school when suddenly this bright light burst in the sky… like a small sunrise at midday. Extraordinary. I couldn’t look away.”

Stone might have been posted behind him, but he could almost feel the side-eye. His full attention on him. Annoying. Needy as always.

Robotnik did the math.

“You were alive during the second one. Did you see it?”

Stone’s breath caught.

“Ah… Yes, I did. I was 17. Exactly like you said, extraordinary. Like an eye opened in the sky, though I thought a plane had blown up or something at the time.”

Robotnik didn’t remember much of that first Red Sky day, only that it had been a decisive one for him, when he met the kids who dragged him into the criminal underworld of the time.

Funny how things are. Sometimes you witness something so strange, so astoundingly magnificent, or so utterly out of place, that you dismiss it as a coincidence. Perhaps it was. Yet years later, looking back, you can’t help but marvel at how that singular moment marked the first turn toward something fateful. An omen. A warning.

Seldom do we have the foresight to name signs as such at the very moment they appear.

“A plane?” He scoffed, “That’s ludicrous. How would a plane ever cause something like that. Those phenomena changed the tilt in which the whole damn planet turns!”

“Just by a bit!”

“Enough to turn winters and summers fucking unbearable.”

“Oh… It’s not that bad, c’mon.”

“It’s not that bad, c’mon.” Robotnik mimicked in a disgusted tone.

Chapter Text

“Why do you think they keep sending us to lavish parties?” Stone asked as he helped Robotnik into a tuxedo jacket.

The Agent snorted. Shimmied his shoulders to slip into it.

“Simple. Because fat cats are the ones investing actual money in security. And the law, sycophant, certainly doesn’t keep them from getting creative. Too much dancing for Walters’ stiff little soldiers!”

The younger man hummed as he circled him, eyes sharp on the piece’s every detail. He closed in, hand rising to gently straighten a lapel.

“And boy, do we know how to dance…” He joked, bringing his eyes to Robotnik’s. Then added a whispered “Perfect fit.”

Robotnik quickly raised his chin, staring dead ahead over Stone’s head as to pretend he wasn’t there.

“Is it working?” He muttered, not finding enough breath to bark.

Hands slid down his chest, fastened a button.

“Look down.”

Robotnik swallowed. Forced his eyes down.

All he could see was the floor. Stone’s shoes. No sign of his own body. Adaptive camouflage on, baby!

“まじで?!” He gasped, beaming like a maniac.

Stone laughed, and Robotnik realized he was only looking in his general direction. He cackled, then smoothly stepped to the side.

“Hey, I can hear you running away!”

The Agent couldn’t help it; the man was practically asking for it: he jabbed a hand at Stone’s side hard. It earned him a nice and loud yelp!

“Left yourself op—"

Fingers wrapped around his wrist.

Robotnik’s eyes widened, and in the next second, he was being pulled flush to Stone’s chest, the tuxedo’s camouflaging turning off as soon as the button got sandwiched between them.

Ah. There went the rest of his breath.

“Open?” Stone finished for him.

Robotnik could feel himself starting to flush.

“Hello, Doctor Stone? Are you there?” Someone called from beyond the storage door. Sounded like that Zabriskie intern. Well, not an intern anymore, but whatever.

They pulled away.

“Sorry, it’ll be just a moment.” Stone added a little distractedly. Made for the exit, measuring tape still slung around his neck.

The Agent pretended to inspect his cuffs to avoid watching him leave.

Robotnik, of course, was correct.

The intricacies of the security system in that event were so thorough that Stone spent the whole helicopter ride to the city studying its schematics for the fifth time just to be sure he hadn’t missed anything.

“It really is impressive! How do you think they came up with that?!” He’d shouted over the noise.

Robotnik just smirked.

So, you might imagine the look of surprise on the Doctor’s face when the Agent pulled him towards the front door, instead of heading to the back of the building to initiate the complicated and high-risk infiltration plan they had come up with weeks ago.

Robotnik marched right up to the bouncer and gave some weird name that sounded more like a gaming username. The door was pulled open so reverently, it was as if they were guests of honor.

“What— how—” Stone stuttered as soon as the elevator doors closed.

“Remind me, what kind of inconsequential people throw absurd rooftop parties to auction off unsanctioned weapons?”

“I don’t know, multimillionaire criminals?”

“Spot on, sycophant! In other words: my clientele. It was easy enough to get an invitation. They practically begged me to come.”

Stone just gawked.

‘Ostentatious’ was not enough to describe that place.

The entrance was through an immersive tunnel of LEDs, which opened up to a wide, crowded venue. Everything was bathed in colorful lighting, surrounded by terraces overlooking the gleaming city below. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, along with gracefully swinging aerialists that sometimes dropped close to the ground to pour champagne into any raised glass. There were at least three ice sculptures in sight, and a live band played in the corner; the singer’s face was familiar enough that Robotnik would bet she was some trendy celebrity.

“Is that a whiskey tasting station?”

“Of course that’s the first thing you’d notice.”

“Oh, no intention of indulging, of course. It’s just… Wow. This is a lot.”

“These people don’t need to hide the money they embezzle!”

Stone chuckled, still looking around.

“I’d bet.”

They cut through dancing people, passed a cigar bar, then found an available two-person table at the terraces and sat down. As if there was a sensor, a waiter popped up immediately, placing drinks and aperitifs between them to then disappear back into the crowd.

“The security strategy. You’re the one who came up with it.” Stone spoke after a while, pinning Robotnik with a studying gaze, “You said ‘clientele’. You’re, like, some… criminal consultant. That’s why Walters is keeping an eye on you.”

He stared back, raising an eyebrow.

“Problem?”

Stone let out a quiet breath. Was that discomfort?

Maybe he was beginning to feel that getting involved with Robotnik was trouble waaaay over his head after all—

“It’s brilliant! You’re brilliant.”

Oh.

“Of course I’m brilliant.” He huffed, “Did you just figure that out?”

Stone smiled easily, picking up one of the drinks but not sipping.

Robotnik looked around and mentally catalogued the faces he knew. Not personally, his deals being always online, but all the hacking for background checks had turned them familiar enough.

In the plans they’d submitted to Command, they wouldn’t be reaching the rooftop and surreptitiously invading the party until an hour from then. And so, they stayed in that spot for a bit of pleasant chit-chat, where the Agent proceeded to gossip to Stone about every spicy affair and betrayal within those circles. They huddled closer over the table, snickering over stupid jokes.

“I can’t believe you blew it up! To the beat!” Stone shook his head while trying to contain the wheezing.

“That’s what I do best! They had it co-co-coming!”

Robotnik smirked, admittedly enjoying the Doctor’s full attention on him.

Close like this, handsome, hanging on his every word… For a moment, it made the prospect of being attracted to him less irritating. A man could savor the approval of someone generally desirable, even if nothing more would come of it. Good for self-esteem, and all that. The idiot found him amusing, might as well take the dopamine where you can, right?

Though it did need some reigning in. It wouldn’t be smart to forget himself.

“In any case, this should be a decent opportunity for you.”

Stone frowned a little over the lingering smile.

“Opportunity for what?”

Robotnik motioned wide towards the unsuspecting public, like presenting a circus. He avoided Stone’s eyes by pretending he was seeing something interesting in the far corner of the room.

“Your networking. Not only for our fun-tastic plans, but for yourself! When we part ways, you’ll have to earn a living without the good guys— because, yuck, if health insurance is a nightmare to exemplary citizens, imagine for the ones on the run!”

A beat of silence.

“Part ways?”

“Of course! Soon, there’ll be no need to tolerate each other anymore! You’ll finally get to disappear into the Sun with that kinky heron, and I’ll be on my merry way to take over the criminal underworld until mankind rightfully bows down at my feet! Happily ever after for everyone!” Robotnik was babbling. Couldn’t seem to stop. He looked down at his watch as if checking the time, “—Maybe we’ll catch sight of each other from time to time, who knows! I’m sure you’ll find new ways to give me a raging headache, even miles away—that’s your natural talent, after all—”

“Kinky heron?”

Robotnik’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull rather dramatically.

“Christ, you’re slow!”

“Are you talking about Calhoun?”

That name alone was enough to make the corners of his mouth twitch in disgust.

“Who else would it fucking be? Or do you have other tall, rich girls lining up for whatever freaky shit you’re into?!”

Well, that was escalating. The Agent couldn’t quite pinpoint when exactly in the conversation his amusement had soured into a growing desire to fuck off.

He felt a warm hand gently covering his over the table. And though it could only be Stone’s, it was still shocking when he glanced down to confirm it.

“It’s really not like that. How many times do I have to—”

Nah-ah. Nope. What the— Robotnik snatched his hand away, and it shot up to seize Stone’s jaw. Gloved fingers mercilessly stuck into his mouth, his palm grabbed around the bearded chin. Gagged. Very appropriate for the subject at hand, Robotnik thought.

Stone inhaled sharply. A few heads turned towards them, but of course, no one would dare pick a fight there.

“I don’t know what you get by parroting the same lie over and over again, but I’m getting reeeeal sick and tired of hearing it! Shut it once and for all, or I’ll throw you out of the goddamn balcony!”

Stone’s eyes were filled with… something.

Fear, perhaps. Or desperation? Who the fuck knows. Not important. Stone was utterly nonsensical, and no mystery of his should occupy a spectacular mind like Robotnik’s for more than a speedy minute! And yet, somehow, the sight still made something inside his chest squeeze.

He gritted his teeth, pulled the hand out and used Stone’s lapel to rub the spit off. He stood up.

“Time’s up. You slow them down, I’ll steal the prize. Hie-ho!”

Just like the waiter, Robotnik quickly disappeared into the crowd.

He pushed past sparkling dresses and expensive suits, his hands flexing restlessly in a feeble attempt to release the buzzing energy disrupting his system, barely aware of where he was going. They had a job to do.

Things stopped running smoothly about two hours later.

Besides breaching security, the mission wasn’t really hard. Not for them. You see, the issue that came to complicate everything was that across every version of Robotnik’s life in every parallel universe within a wide multiverse... there was always someone he’d pissed off enough to come a’knocking.

And so, later on, when he finally managed to slip into the backrooms and steal the very same modified gun he’d sold on the darknet months ago, it really shouldn’t have surprised him that Stone wasn’t answering his earpiece.

“Will you fucking ANSWER me already?! I will MAIM you, Stone. Do you hear me? I’ll chop you off into such tiny little bitsy pieces that BACTERIA will snack on you as if you were a bunch of POTATO CHIPS—”

“How harsh, Meestah Robotneek.”

The Agent halted in the middle of the corridor. He brought a hand to press the earpiece harder into his ear as if it would make him hear better.

“Who the fuck is this.”

“Just-a an old friend, eh? Un buon compagno who missed you so much, he’s come-a all this way to see you!”

No fucking way.

“The Napolitan contact.” He breathed, more to himself than anything else. But if they were talking to him through the earpiece, then that meant— “Where’s Stone?”

“Your friend? Maronn’, a feisty one! We had to put-a him to sleep.”

Robotnik’s stomach dropped.

Blank. No thoughts.

No nothing.

No.

Nononono.

“You... didn’t."

The man was laughing in his ear. Shrill. Piercing through his skull. No, please. Please stop.

“Yes!" The voice answered. He could practically hear the smirk. Could see himself pulling every single tooth from it with a rusty pair of pliers. Every single nail. Every single bone until there was nothing left of that sorry piece of shit—

"Guarda come dorme, sembra una bambola!" The man spoke again, "Why don’t you come get him, and we can finally discuss-a that deal of ours?”

Robotnik had to lean against a wall to calm his breathing.

Right.

The man had been talking literally.

For a second there, he’d thought that Stone had been… No matter.

Talking literally. They knocked him out or something. Good. Right. Yep. 

All he had to do was… recover his composure. Then track him down. Shoot some people.

Maybe shoot him too for being an absolute ignoramus and getting kidnapped while INSIDE a party. With SO MANY people around. And where the FUCK was Onyx?!

“Sounds like a date!” He blurted, still a little dazed, but the instinct to mock was automatic at this point, even if his head wouldn’t stop spinning, “Where’s the meet-cute?!”

“Grande! Just-a two floors down, East wing! We shouldn’t disturb a good party.”

And the connection cut to static.

He tapped furiously on his watch, pulling up Stone’s location and recalling the building’s schematics from memory. East wing. In a large meeting room on a corner, one entrance only, which meant easy to guard, easy to shoot someone down. Couldn’t simply pull a one-man berserker where it would be so easy to spot him.

Of course, he could always go in peacefully and hear their terms.

SIKE.

The window, it is.

He sprinted to the opposite end of the floor. Soon enough, the Agent was pointing the laser up and frying a window latch inside some dark, empty office. He slipped one long leg at a time through the opening, climbed out to balance precariously on the ledge. This side of the skyscraper sloped outward, and his brilliant plan involved sliding down on his ass a few feet, shooting through the right window, and dropping into it before the incline ended in a fatal free fall.

How was it possible that he could hear a random police siren wailing from this high up? The wind does carry it all away... A smidge of vertigo kicked in. He looked down at the distant glimmering lights, cold wind biting into his face. Best not to slip, Ivo. Pancake shape wouldn’t suit you.

Holding tight to the windowsill, he shimmied his knees a little. Cocked his head side to side until his neck popped, took a deep breath, pressed the tuxedo’s camouflaging button. 

A lick on his gun for good luck.

Robotnik had entered the chat.

He dived.

The glass squeaked loudly, and so it was a very good moment to be invisible. He vaguely registered confused faces looking around before his shots rang out. He fell to the floor with a grunt, landing in a clumsy crouch that almost had him falling on his face. Ugh, should’ve gone for a lower window.

The whole situation was a damn mess.

His arrival had, naturally, confused them. How were they to explain an exploding window with no apparent cause in sight?

Too much shouting. The Italians were barking rather rude expletives as if competing on who was going to be the loudest. Glass everywhere, hurried footsteps, an overwhelming smell of cigarettes for some fucking reason, someone was shooting at the other windows as if that would help with anything, and more shards rained down. Robotnik quickly crawled on all fours under a large table, gun in hand. Someone cried out, some mean scruffle was going on over the table— thunk!

A body fell to the ground.

Stone!

Wrists tied behind his back and writhing like a feral fish out of water, but still a very alive-and-kicking Stone! Literally. He had just kicked a man away. A tooth hit Robotnik’s shoe. Hah! Nice one, sycophant!

But the man lunged to tackle him again. A gunshot cracked. The dead body fell to the Doctor’s side with a thud. 

Robotnik was done playing.

The Doctor gasped, looking around in confusion. He could wait.

Too many ankles running around, in his opinion. A steady hand made sure to aim for each one. More cries rang out in the noble Italo tongue.

Then:

“SOTTO IL TAVOLO!!”

Shit!

He threw himself to the ground, rolled around and grabbed Stone’s shirt to pull him flush to his chest.

The Doctor’s eyes were wide, probably at a loss. But when a round of bullets was shot straight at Robotnik’s back and the shells fell to the ground instead of killing him, perhaps deducing what was happening wasn’t such a stretch. Or maybe it was the Agent’s pained yelps. I mean, sure, the tuxedo was bulletproof, but it still hurt! Like tiny super punches or something.

“Agent!” He breathed, elated.

“Focus, Stone! How many left standing?!”

Dark eyes quickly darted about.

“Three on the ground but moving, two by the door, and they’re about to—”

“AGH!”

Another persistent round of bullets, mercilessly grinding the meat on his back.

“—shoot! Shit!”

“Tell me when they’re recharging!”

“Now!!”

Robotnik’s hand shot inside his jacket. The modified gun was pulled out at the same time he rolled around; pulled the trigger.

The bullet zapped across the room, through the door, and hit the wall outside with a bonus ground-shaking BOOM.

The lights overhead flickered.

Robotnik’s ears rang.

He had never stood this close to the explosive force of his own creation before.

Groaning, he forced himself up.

Through the smoke, he shot enough stunned idiots to know that the fight was over. This one, at least. Who knows what beasts that noise would summon.

The camouflage was deactivated.

“God…” Stone muttered from the ground.

Hazel eyes quickly scanned the younger man for any injuries, but besides a bruise to his cheek, everything seemed in order.

“I cannot begin to express how fucked you are when we get back.”

Stone frowned groggily at him.

“What— why?”

“My back just got mangled because you, a first-class halfwit, couldn’t manage the simple task of NOT BEING KIDNAPPED!”

Stone sighed tiredly.

“How about I just give you a wonderful two-hour massage and we’re even?”

Robotnik sputtered, growing red. “That’s not— what— no! Get the fuck up this instant, we need to go!”

Hilariously enough, Robotnik didn’t bother untying Stone before grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the room. The little shit deserved a little more suffering. And there wasn’t even time, if the sound of approaching footsteps was anything to go by. Two corridors down, the Agent decided it would be better to hide for a bit in a cramped janitor’s closet. He shoved the other man against the wall and closed the door behind him.

A relative silence fell over them for a while.

Just two men in the dark, standing too close, hearing each other’s breathing return to normal...

“How you doing, Agent?” Stone mumbled. The rumble of his voice reached Robotnik’s hand between his shoulder blades.

"Oh, ya know. I'm bitchin'."

“Hhmm…”

Another strange silence. Robotnik closed his eyes for a moment, relishing it.

Relishing the up and down, up and down, up and down... Breathing. Stone was breathing under his hand. Alive. 

He so had a swat to the head coming. Up and down. When they got out. Up and down. Idiot.

A brief moment of respite.

“I like having you around.”

Too fucking brief, it seemed.

“What the fuck, Stone.”

He heard a snort, then the sound of what was probably a forehead thumping against the wall.

“You said earlier that soon we wouldn’t have to tolerate each other anymore. That’s not right, because I don’t ‘tolerate’ you. I like you. I… I have the most fun when you’re around.”

Robotnik frowned.

“I constantly insult you.”

“That’s just how you talk.”

“I hit you.”

“Nothing serious! Shits and giggles.”

“What? You’ve got bruises!”

“Just a dash of purple! It kind of suits me, anyway.”

What the fuck.

“I move your shit around.”

A pause.

“Yeah… I’ll admit that’s a little annoying.”

It was Robotnik’s turn to snort.

“See? Tolerate.” He retorted, but the exchange was already echoing inside his skull.

Stone liked having him around? Actively? That couldn’t be.

“Nah, still like you.”

It was said so matter-of-factly, as if it were the simplest truth in the world.

Robotnik couldn’t, for the life of him, push down the sudden swarm of butterflies taking flight in his stomach.

Up and down. He wanted to step closer.

Bury his face in the nape of Stone’s neck, hide where it met shoulder, renounce the sad little world on which they stood. The hand on Stone’s back faltered. Slid down his spine and grasped at the ropes binding his wrists. The Doctor shivered.

He wanted to step closer.

He swallowed.

The beginnings of a panic threatened to rise. This whole attraction thing was taking a strange turn.

No, he wasn’t thinking straight, not now.

Classic case of small things feeling bigger under the limelight of raging survival chemicals currently pumping in his bloodstream. Get a grip.

He began untying the rope.

“We have to move.”

Stone took a moment before answering.

“Let’s get Onyx first.”

Onyx, as it turned out, had glitched terribly a few hours earlier, when Stone sneaked out of the party in an attempt to hunt down the electrical panel and short-circuit the floor’s power. He’d plugged Onyx to it to speed up the process and suddenly found himself surrounded by armed men. He’d tried to teleport in a rush and not only got one of the gloves fried, but had the unexpected effect of sending the drone in a chaotic frenzy of teleportation on its own.

Robotnik stared wide-eyed at the scene. The silly thing kept flashing back and forth in a corridor, without pause, sometimes on the ground, sometimes glued to the ceiling, going through a wall. Stone tried to stabilize it with the remaining glove, but after five minutes of stressing out, Robotnik simply got into shooting stance and started firing.

“How’s that going to solve anything?!” The Doctor shouted over the noise, earning himself a rough shove.

But alas, one of the shots hit its mark.

An all-consuming metallic hum reverberated across the walls, under their skin, behind their teeth. Like hitting a doomsday gong.

The drone stopped. Its silhouette blurred for a moment as it vibrated.

Then it beeped cheerfully. Turned into an egg.

They quickly realized that getting to ground level would be a challenge. The elevators had been locked, and the stairs swarmed with approaching heat signatures. Robotnik had begun babbling about opening holes in the ground and descending each floor through them, but Stone quickly shut it down.

“We’re still too high up. That much noise will draw them to us before we can get out. I… I have an idea. Trust me? Please?”

And it was so that Robotnik found himself perched at yet another ledge. Stone stood over a floating flat-shaped Onyx, offering his hand.

“It’ll be over in a moment, c’mon.” He beckoned against the night sky, mistaking the Agent’s hesitance for fear of heights.

Whatever. There wasn’t another option.

He took it. An arm snaked around his waist, holding him close.

“Sorry. We need to hold on.” Stone mumbled, avoiding his eyes, which Robotnik was thankful for. He hummed in agreement, and they were smoothly gliding down out of that mess.

Robotnik glanced at Stone as they flew back to base.

The noise-cancelling headphones were not enough to quiet down the helicopter’s roar, but for once, he didn’t mind it that much.

Heavy-lidded, bruised cheek, hair a little ruffled.

For a moment back there, the Agent had thought they’d killed him.

It had sucked the air from his lungs, turned his knees to putty.

Just half a minute, sure, but he’d felt it; a horrible scratch of not wanting it to be true. The beginnings of a profound disappointment with existence itself, as if he wasn't disappointed enough already! Horrible seconds, in which he'd felt like a child all over again. Alone and small, while monsters took his favorite toy away. Stolen. Unfair.

Not that Stone was a toy, it was just that... Not that Stone was a toy?

Fuck, he barely sounded like himself.

Robotnik looked down at his knees. Then down at the few lights of whatever small town they were flying by.

“I like having you around.”

Unfair, taking away someone... That he didn’t hate having around either.

This complicated things.

Danger, danger, he’d become... No.

Something had to be done.

Robotnik rolled his eyes.

“What I want is to go home and sleep for ten full, blissful, uninterrupted hours!”

The helicopter had left them at the base, and the sole intention had been to get his stuff, shut himself in his car and drive home above the speed limit. But Stone seemed to buzz with a strange energy, asking him to linger a few moments longer because he had something to show him.

“C’mon, I know you’ll like it!”

Robotnik wasn’t in the mood. Not after the problematic revelations of the day, not after so much… Mush. He needed space, solitude. Some goddamn quiet so he could sort his thoughts out and start planning what to do about it.

But Stone looked up at him with such… eagerness.

“I like having you around.”

This wasn’t a good moment for the puppy eyes to make a comeback.

Robotnik sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his face. What the hell. An hour more was no biggie.

“I will slap you, Stone, if it’s not the most splendiferous fucking thing in the world.”

“Splendiferous. Noted.”

They ditched the dusty blazers, rolled up their sleeves and headed straight to the hangar.

At first, everything was dark, silent, the picture of ‘closed for the night’

“I did notice the clown in charge had a black eye I didn’t put there…” Robotnik spoke after a while, watching Stone turn on some of the lights.

“He’d forgotten his manners.” The Doctor smirked, “I don’t appreciate being touched without permission.”

The Agent raised an eyebrow, recalling a few too many times he'd manhandled Stone without receiving a peep back.

“Ah, I see you prefer gentlemen.”

Stone chuckled, pulling out a panel on the floor that Robotnik had miraculously never noticed was there before. Always full of secret compartments, that one.

“Not always…”

Before the Agent could process that answer, the entire hangar rumbled. His eyes widened.

“What the seven devils—”

A few feet ahead, at the center, the ground shook and opened.

A mist of artificial smoke rose.

Lo and behold, rising from the darkness below as if in a TV commercial: a sleek, coal-black jet, unmistakably Stone-built, unmistakably unsanctioned.

State-of-the-art kind of thing, too high-tech and ambitious for the brass’s eyes!

Robotnik’s jaw had gone slack.

Practically skipping steps, Stone approached it and turned around, raising his arms excitedly.

“I present to you, my first independent, completely secret —that for once no one told me to make—, attempt at ‘pzazz’!”

Holy fucking shit— “You built a flying saucer?!”

Stone beamed in that way that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, clearly reading the awe in the older man’s face.

"Yeah! Basically!"

His long legs crossed the hangar in a second.

He pulled off a glove, carefully laid the bare hand over the glossy hull. Fingers skidded across the surface, the texture so delicious beneath his digits that it sent a shiver up his arm. It was perfect.

“Does it work?” He breathed.

Stone seemed transfixed by the gentle exploration.

“Yes. Though, like this, it’s a bit comparable to a military aircraft... But!” He leaned closer, a mischievous gleam in his eye, “Slot in the power-source and the real magic happens. Haven’t fully tested it yet, but I’m confident. That’s how we’ll get out of here, when the time comes.”

The Agent stared.

It had been a bit of an obstacle to figure that part out in their plans. Robotnik just couldn’t quite believe he wouldn’t need to be the one to come up with a miraculous and eccentric exit route, like he always did, because Stone had gone and taken care of it by himself in the most unexpected, impressive, indescribable manner known to Earth!

“This is…” incredible? Remarkable? Extraordinary? Robotnik would kiss the breath out of him right then and there if he were anyone else? “Quite the gamble. When did you even find time to build it?!”

Stone’s eyes drew back from the hand still on the hull, “I… Oh. I’ve been sleeping here a lot these last few months.”

Robotnik allowed himself to smirk.

“You better have showered enough.”

“Some days twice!”

They talked schematics and mechanics for at least an hour.

Stone moved about to turn it on and show its interior, explaining every panel and function, clearly aware that Robotnik had credentials to pilot a plane if need be. It was like a private high-tech showcase; the Agent had stars in his eyes, truly a dream, being able to touch and marvel at such a machine. And the idea of eventually getting to fly it… Phew!

If his ten-year-old self could see it.

“And what’s this?” He asked upon spotting folded fabric over the rear seat.

The Doctor smiled, brushing his fingers over it as if fond. “Flight suits! Safety measures and all.”

“Red and purple?”

“Oh, yes, purple’s mine, red’s yours.”

Robotnik frowned.

Stone frowned back. “What? That’s your favorite color, isn’t it?”

“Well. Yes.” Then he squinted. “How the hell do you know what my favorite color is?”

The Doctor blinked. Twice.

“Uh, you just. Showed some preference. Sometimes.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds more.

“You’re actually obsessed with me. That’s pathetic, Stone.”

The nervous laughter that erupted from the younger man’s throat just made him want to slap him.

Eventually, they moved on to the storage, just to make sure everything was in place and that Onyx was recharging normally. It beeped tiredly at them, as if a machine could ever become tired, but count on Stone to make an AI expressive to that point. Another Onyx rose from the docking stations to follow them. They returned to the lab, where Stone continued to talk animatedly about the building process and casually pulled out a bottle of whiskey from under his desk.

Which wasn’t suspicious at all, of course.

Sure, let the man have a bit of a drinking problem if that was his thing… Who was Robotnik to judge? As long as it didn’t interfere with their scheming.

The excitement, for once, was shared. They were nearly there! Despite the ups and downs, despite certain differences, certain bullshit that the Agent was too tired to even contemplate again just then.

Almost done. Almost out of Command’s slimy grasp! And with a ride to match their level!

When the Doctor handed him a glass, he accepted it. Pulled his chair to the middle of the lab, because Stone insisted he had just another cool little thing to show him: an advanced stargazing mode from DOLUS.

Goddamn sentimental.

“You need to be down here to get the full picture!”

“I will not lie down on the floor like a dog, Stone. What are you, twelve?”

The Doctor shifted from lying flat on his back to his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His chin came to rest lightly in his hand, gaze tilted, “Ten, actually.” He drawled with a smirk.

Look at that smug face. He knows just how charming he is.

It grated on Robotnik’s nerves, though less than usual. He leaned back, sipped from his glass.

“Then you should respect your goddamn elders and leave them be.”

Stone laughed easily, raising his own glass to his lips, then leaving it on the ground against his stomach. They’d been at it for a while now, and there was a slight flush to his cheeks.

“C’moooon—”

A sharp clink followed.

Then a hollow, rolling scrape across the floor as the Doctor’s glass rolled away from him, the little whiskey that was left pooling in a gleaming half-moon trail. Robotnik had slid his backside down the chair just enough to reach the glass with the tip of his shoe, lightning fast, knocking it sideways.

Stone gawked at him.

“Hey!”

“Minors don’t get drinks.” The Agent muttered while awkwardly sipping from his own glass, shoulders drawn up rather comically from bracing against the chair’s arms.

“Depends on the culture!”

Robotnik snorted.

Then let out a pathetic yelp, as his ankle was unexpectedly enveloped in a grip, and in the next second, was yanked forward. The chair’s wheels creaked, suddenly he was close enough to fall flat on Stone’s chest if he decided to slide off the seat.

He scrambled to sit up straight, feeling heat rising to his neck.

Stone was giggling.

“Fucking menace!” He blurted, awkwardly flailing his free leg around, not knowing where to put it.

“The—” Stone kept wheezing, “—noise you made— your face! I swe— AGH!”

“Not so funny with my heel through your stomach, huh?! Left yourself open!”

Now Stone was flat on his back again, wheezing from both laughter and having the air forcefully knocked out of him.

Robotnik grunted and left his foot to rest above the shaking chest.

Exactly where you should be, beneath me.

He didn’t think too much about the double meaning of it. Or about how Stone’s hand remained gently wrapped around his other ankle.

“Look, over there. Know that one?” Stone pointed to the ceiling after a while.

Robotnik leaned his head back against the backseat and stared.

“Ah, the shapeshifting rapist. Cygnus.”

Stone barked a laugh, “How do you even come up with this stuff?”

“Zeus transforms into a swan to seduce weird old Leda, that’s how the story goes.”

“So she’s a zoophile? Maybe they cancel out each other’s creep.”

“Hashtag creep4creep, amiright?”

“I don’t understand half the things you say.”

“You’re twenty years younger than me, how come I’m the chronically online one here?”

Stone shrugged against the floor, smiling. His gloved fingers curled inwards to click a couple of buttons on his palm, making the stars shift. He pointed again.

“That one?”

“Is this a middle-school test, Stone?”

“Indulge me?”

Robotnik sighed heavily. He swayed the glass dangling from his right hand, squinting at the new constellation plastered over their heads.

“Capricornus.”

“That’s yours, right?”

Robotnik frowned, then looked down at the younger man in utter confusion. Stone met his eyes with the casualness of someone talking about the weather.

“Your astrological sign.” He clarified.

The Agent scoffed.

“Are you some kind of shanti-shanti lunatic?”

“Is it, though?”

“How the fuck would I know.”

“You can name any constellation, but don’t know the one related to your birth date?”

“I have more important things to do. Unlike you, obviously!”

Stone motioned towards him, “When’s your birthday, then?”

“Like I’d tell you.”

“Then Google it!”

“How about you go shove it instead?”

Stone laughed again, much to Robotnik’s chagrin. Where had his talent for offence gone? It used to be so useful for reigning the man in… The Doctor shifted a little under his foot, reaching into his own pants’ pocket to fish for his phone.

“Is it…” He squinted under the blinding flash of light, “Somewhere between December 22ⁿᵈ and the 19^th of January?”

Robotnik’s body stiffened.

Full of surprises today.

Pressure increased over Stone’s chest, making him grunt and frown up at Robotnik. Who, in turn, had hunched down over his parted knees to squint accusingly at him.

“And how exactly would you happen to know my ‘sign’, sycophant?” He hissed through his teeth. “I don’t recall approving birthdates to show up in my file.”

Stone’s dark eyes widened a fraction.

That weird look again. Expectant. As if something else was happening in the room beyond what he could see. He didn’t like not knowing. The foot pressed harder.

Now that Robotnik thought of it… He’d never been an obvious kind of man. ‘Unpredictable’ was practically his middle name. Followed closely by ‘closed off’.

And yet, here was Doctor Aban Stone. Repeatedly making him feel… predictable.

The hand around his ankle tightened, as if mirroring the knot forming in his stomach.

Stone’s breath quickened.

“A hunch—” He coughed quietly, almost out of voice, “Just a hunch—” the damned hand slid upwards to cradle his calf in alarm. Its warmth now in direct contact with the skin under the hem of his trousers. Electric, sending completely unjustifiable shivers throughout his entire body.

Robotnik’s foot tugged free, then gave a rough push so the chair could slide away. He cleared his throat.

Digging for his information, huh? What for, at this point?

“A hunch, hm?” He snarled, “And what’s the constellation for the 31^st of May, then?”

Stone’s birth information was redacted, too. Two could play at this game.

Bingo.

“What—” Stone stuttered, propping himself up on his elbows, “How?”

Robotnik leveled him with a dangerous glare. “What. Bunch of miserable stars. Are assigned. To you?”

“I…” Stone swallowed, “It’s Gemini.”

“I see. Castor and Pollux,” Robotnik mused dryly, “Coincidentally, children of Leda. Are you a creep too, Stone? What kind?”

The beat of silence that followed wasn’t satisfying.

It didn’t feel like the checkmate Robotnik was hoping for, just made him want to sink further into the chair’s cushions and disappear. Teleport to his dark living room and be alone.

Stone’s eyes became half-lidded just before he dared answer with an unbearably soft:

“The kind that cancels out yours, I hope.”

Robotnik stiffened further, if that was possible.

No, he was misinterpreting this somehow.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean.”

Stone swallowed. Took a shaky breath.

“I… I like you, alright? A lot. That’s why I… wanted to know your birthday.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

He was definitely misinterpreting this.

“I know you like me. You said so. And why wouldn’t you? Best darn Agent to ever come your way.” He bit.

Was that desperation in Stone’s eyes? It made no sense. Robotnik felt increasingly unmoored in this whole situation. Any semblance of control seemed to be slipping through his fingers, leaving him deeply confused and uncertain of what to expect.

What was going on?

“No. What I… What I mean is—” Stone cleared his throat. He looked up at the ceiling as if gathering the courage to speak. No, no, no, no, don’t you dare— “I have feelings for you. Romantic… Uh, romantic feelings. And attraction. Very attracted.”

No.

“I don’t—” Stone pushed on, breathing faster, “I don’t want to ‘part ways’—” he laughed brokenly, “Actually, I’d prefer to never let you out of my sight again?”

Well.

Maybe not misinterpreting after all.

Robotnik closed his eyes tightly. His hands were shaking. Why were they shaking?

It didn’t make sense.

“A-agent?”

Robotnik’s brow furrowed further, the familiar voice making his chest squeeze painfully.

Why did he care, anyway?

Just say you don’t feel the same and leave the poor idiot to get over it. Other pressing matters here! Like the fact that he stalked you! Focus! That’s what he’s good at, diversion!

Truly, what’s a little crush anyway?! It could even prove useful! Having such an asset at his beck and call, right?

Right?

He wasn’t focusing.

The glass in Robotnik’s hand shattered.

Sparkling shards flew to the ground along with the heavy bottom that thudded dangerously close to his feet. His eyes flew open. The scattered splinters groaned under his shoe soles as he sprang up and stepped over them.

Stone had sat up in alarm, eyes wide.

“It’s late.” Robotnik managed to spit out, though with considerable effort. He was lightheaded to the point of not feeling his face, but there was no doubt that whatever it showed was not something he wanted witnessed a second longer.

He shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have accepted a drink.

“Agent," Stone called, in vain.

Robotnik made a sharp turn towards his desk, snatched his car keys, stormed towards the elevator. The doors opened the moment he jabbed his finger on the button.

“Agent, wait!”

He winced upon entering, the sudden bright light inside a harsh contrast from the inviting gloom behind. Leaning against the wall for support, he furiously hammered the button responsible for closing the doors.

“Agent!”

An arm was jammed between them just before they sealed shut.

Robotnik groaned loudly in frustration— something inside his stomach was doing fucking somersaults—, he kept pressing the button as if frenzied repetition would override the safety mechanism. But of course not. They slid open all the same, allowing entrance to his pursuer. Traitorous machine!

“Can you wait a goddamn minute?! Shit, you’re all the same, always bolting!” Stone barged in and slapped a hand against the same wall Robotnik was hunched against.

“FUCK! OFF!” Robotnik roared like a madman, balling his fists and slamming them even louder.

A chaotic succession of events followed.

Because a persistent, foolishly unafraid hand clamped onto his shoulder, triggering a brutal pivot as Robotnik shoved both it and its owner aside. But the doors had already closed behind him, so a loud thump echoed as his back hit cold metal. Stone tried to speak again, but was cut off. This time, by a chest slamming into his and a leather-clad hand locking around his neck.

“What do you think—” Robotnik seethed, nose to nose with the other man, “—you’re getting at?! Go find another idiot to— FUCK” both came tumbling out as the doors opened again behind Stone.

Their legs tangled in an uncoordinated attempt at regaining balance, and down they careened in a direct route to the concrete floor.

It turned out to be raining outside.

They met the ground with a wet thud.

The silence that followed was filled with gasps and heavy breathing.

Nothing like a hard crash to cool tempers, right?

Luckily, Stone had not mangled the back of his head against the first step of the stairs. But only because Robotnik’s hand had flown to cradle it in the process.

Wide eyes met wide eyes.

“A-are you alright?” The Doctor breathed, squeezing the other man’s shoulders.

Was he? Knees and elbows aching and soaked? The concrete edge digging into the back of his gloved hand? Crushing Stone’s body against the floor?

Shouldn’t he be asking Stone that?

He swallowed.

“No. An imbecile dragged me down.”

The corner of Stone’s mouth twitched.

“Shit. I hope he broke your fall.”

“I hope he didn’t almost get himself killed by bursting his thick skull open!” He bit back impulsively.

The Doctor’s smirk grew in a terrifyingly flirty manner, “You do?”

Red alert again! Abort! Up up up!

Robotnik clumsily pushed himself to his feet. He cast a flighty glance towards Stone as the man sat up. He pointedly didn’t offer any help. The Sun hadn’t risen yet, but cast a faded blue light on the horizon, the only sliver of color under a starless night. He wiped back the hair that had fallen to his forehead. Squirmed upon feeling water slipping into his shoes.

His chest constricted horribly around a fast-beating heart.

From the corner of his eye, Stone was standing up too, as wet as a dog.

He couldn’t afford to linger.

“As I said, it’s late.”

That was all Robotnik offered before fleeing to his car without looking back.

Chapter Text

Robotnik woke to the sound of muffled pounding.

He tried to open his eyes, closed them immediately. It stung. Something was slipping through, clinging to his eyelids.

And God, what a splitting headache.

He winced, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Finally, he looked down. Something sticky and dark smeared the glove.

He frowned. Pulled the rearview mirror downwards.

And was greeted by the horrific sight of his face half-covered in blood.

There was an open tear on his left brow.

Right-o. Nothing too serious then, just flashy. Another ridiculous place to have so many blood vessels... Outside, a huge tree stretched across the road as its heavy branches dug into the hood of his precious, beautiful car. Swallowing it in foliage, pushing silver windshields wipers into odd angles. A notch in the trunk stared back like a single, all-seeing eye.

He sighed heavily, feeling another wave of pain licking at his head. Some raindrops still pattered against the glass. Almost... soothing.

Pounding again.

He jumped in his spot. Whipped around.

On the other side of the window, was the familiar sight of the wide-eyed, handsome face of his protectee.

Handsome? Jesus Christ, pull yourself together.

Stone was trying to open his door a little too desperately for his tastes.

Robotnik gritted his teeth and pulled at the latch, bumping the door against the other man to put some distance between him and his way out. He sprang out of the driver's seat into the dark road.

The shove clearly didn't even compute, as Stone circled the door and stepped into Robotnik's space in a matter of seconds.

"Agent! Shit, you weren't waking up, are you alright?!"

"Do I LOOK alright?! Imbecilic—" Oh, whoa. Robotnik stumbled, hands latching at the biker's jacket for balance. He blinked owlishly at the zipper, suddenly not so sure about where gravity was pulling him to.

Hands were steadying him by the elbows.

"Hey, hey... Easy." Came the soothing voice.

Robotnik closed his eyes tightly, took a few deep breaths. This was pathetic. He needed to get a grip now.

Lock the fuck in.

But his body had other ideas.

A shiver ran up his spine, mouth watering uncomfortably. Oh no.

He lurched around. Left hand left heavy leather to grasp at the roof panel of his car as he bent down to dramatically vomit over wet concrete.

Well.

Managing not to barf all over the car or the man still trying to steady him was testament enough to his competence. Especially when the world kept spinning.

"I have to take you to a hospital, okay? You're clearly concussed, let's just hope it's mild."

Robotnik frowned, breathing heavily.

"You can..." another breath, sneering at the bitter taste in his mouth, "fuck right off, Stone."

He heard a sigh. It was just then that Robotnik realized soothing circles were being traced on his back by a gloved thumb… He pretended not to notice.

"You can't head home like this. We need to check it out. I will not have the best agent in the country risk cognitive impairment because of pride. Here, hold on to the door for a sec— I have some water in the bike."

Robotnik watched from the corner of his eye as Stone jogged over to his motorcycle, which had been parked in the middle of the road. The helmet was thrown haphazardly on the pavement; it seemed the man had made his way to him in a hurry.

He watched Stone bend down to reach for the backpack, also discarded nearby. The leather clung enticingly to his thighs and backside.

He forced his eyes away. Really? Now? The things head trauma will do to a man.

"Here," Stone said upon returning, immediately having the water bottle snatched away with more force than necessary.

Robotnik took a large gulp, swished the water around in his mouth, spit it out as if it offended him. Repeat. Then chugged as much as he could to get rid of the taste.

How he wished for a toothbrush right now...

And an umbrella. The rain was light, but it was starting to make him feel overly humid everywhere and not just around knees and elbows. At least the floor had stopped undulating.

"Worldwide," Robotnik muttered after a while.

Stone frowned, accepting the bottle back and screwing the cap, "What?"

"Best agent worldwide."

Stone grinned ear to ear.

His big eyes were doing that thing again, where they'd go half-lidded and cling to Robotnik as if being magnetized out of that thick skull and towards him.

His chest felt tight.

"My bad..." Stone offered distractedly.

Robotnik swallowed, squared his shoulders. He profoundly disliked being at the receiving end of that look. Especially now.

He cleared his throat, looked away.

"I'm not going to a hospital. I'm fine." He argued, "and if you try to force me, I will become physical."

"Promise?"

Robotnik froze. Gripped the metal under his hands with force. Another wave of that headache coming in just from the sheer amount of blood rushing unbidden to his ears and face. He couldn’t deal with this shit right now.

But when he stared at the Doctor, the man was equally red. As if his mouth had run without permission.

"I, uh..." he was avoiding his eyes, "I meant, promise me you won't do that. It'll only worsen your condition."

"You're drunk." He blurted out.

“What? No.” Stone rushed, "I just had one glass, you know that."

“You're drunk driving a motorcycle under shit weather and you think you can tell me what to fucking do?!”

"I'm not drunk."

It was another sign that perhaps he should listen to Stone's persistence in checking his concussion when the following impulsive phrase spilt out of his mouth before he could catch up to stop it:
“You’re drunk, and you keep staring at me with those huge fucking Bambi eyes, like you’re about to Rickroll your way into taking my virginity!”

Jesus.

A mental image came with it.

Of Doctor Stone above him, looking down with adoring eyes. Kissing him slowly, intertwining their fingers— He closed his eyes tightly. Brought a hand to rub at his face.

Ugh, he'd forgotten about the blood.

He opened his eyes to find Stone's jaw had gone slack.

Robotnik swallowed.

He whirled around in search of anything to do. Yes, that. He dipped into the driver's seat again on his knees to grab his now cracked phone and keys. He had to be careful not to crunch the device further in his tense fist.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Pretend nothing happened.

He clumsily rose back to stand, very aware of the lack of help from Stone's end. He wobbled a little on his feet.

Stone's gaze seemed far away; he scratched at the back of his head.

Robotnik bit the inside of his cheek.

"I have to call towing services, but then you'll take me home. I know what a problematic concussion feels like, and this one so far lacks symptoms. I just need a goddamn bed, Tylenol and ice." He grunted, tapping furiously at the ruined but still functional phone, "And maybe a stitch to the eyebrow, but jury's still out on that one. Me being the jury."

He brought the phone only to the vicinity of his ear because the caller’s beeping was just too loud.

“And if I realize you’re trying to be sneaky, taking me to a hospital anyway, I will be jumping out of that ride.”

Too many trees rushing by, blurring together into a single dark stain. His forehead rested against Stone's shoulder as he drove. Warm. 

Don't be sick. Just a few minutes left.

The trip was mostly a blur. When the bike came to a stop, morning had come.

Robotnik hopped off without a word. Stumbled a little. Walked on. Water squished out of his soaked shoes and he vaguely registered that it was making funny noises.

It was only upon dialing in the password to open the front door that he realized Stone was still tailing his shadow.

The system beeped to signal a correct input, and the latch opened with a muted hiss.

"Go home, Stone." He spoke somberly, not daring to look back.

A beat of uncertain silence followed, but Stone wasn’t deterred.

"I think you should be monitored at least for a few hours..."

Robotnik scoffed.

"Monitored?" He turned around, throwing the nastiest glare he could muster, "pray tell, by whom? You?! Don't make me laugh."

Stone stood firm, glaring back.

"I'd prefer the hospital staff do it, but you made threats."

The Agent rolled his eyes, pushing the door open with absolutely no intention of allowing that anomaly of a man in. Especially after realizing the ridiculous places his thoughts could go with his head in this state.

"If you haven't noticed, I still am an exceptionally functional man. Unlike you, I don’t need a babysitter. Go home." With that, he stepped in and tried to slam the door closed. Only tried.

Because a biker helmet was suddenly thrust in the way. The door bounced back pathetically. Robotnik pushed it back once again, but it didn’t budge.

"Don't want to let me in? Fine. Then come back to my place. It's not that far, I can stay on the couch for the night." Stone bit out, the arm holding out the helmet unwavering.

Smart to not use his foot, Robotnik thought, wishing the opposite had happened just so he could've crushed it by slamming the big door harder. That would have shown him.

But the mean little voice hissed in his head: you wouldn't have done it, not today. Because you want him to come in.

Which only served to deepen Robotnik's scowl.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" He growled low in his throat, baring teeth.

Stone stepped closer. Too close. His chest flush against the helmet, and so the only space between them was the exact size of it.

It felt like Robotnik's intestines were coiling around themselves.

"I will drive my bike into your damn window if need be."

Robotnik's mouth ran dry.

Just like that.

This was the type of situation he'd usually go into full psychological tyre fire mode. Shove, kick, snarl, and put whoever dared defy him in their place. Point the barrel of a gun between their eyes.

And yet, speechless. At Stone's tone, fierce expression. At his closeness.

Proximity was becoming something of an issue. It really didn't need to.

Hazel eyes flickered from one point of his face to another. Sure, handsome face. Obviously. No news. Anyone could see that. Nothing special about noticing a conventionally attractive man's symmetry. It didn’t have to mean anything except boring recognition of something easy to label.

Like looking at a nice car. He would know.

And yet.

Some of the dark hair was stuck to his forehead, a little plastered from having been shoved into the helmet while still wet. Strong eyebrows, thick lashes, flustered olive skin.

Nice lips.

Robotnik swallowed.

Perhaps not like a nice car after all. Unless you took into account that he'd consider riding it.

Good lord, you really need sleep.

"Please. Let me in." Stone's breathless tone broke into his trance.

"Don't touch anything." Robotnik muttered under his breath and pivoted, heading directly to the bathroom. To not say 'fleeing'.


An insufferable amount of fussing from the Doctor ensued. Warm hands on his face to assess the damage, then to clean it up, then an argument followed about who was going to do the stitching, to which Robotnik won out of sheer stubbornness and exaggerated complaints about how Stone was pulling at his nerves and making his headache worse.

Of course, it would've been easier to sit back and let someone else do it; he was exhausted enough, but all the touching of skin against skin was making him feel increasingly claustrophobic. Regaining space was essential, and so Stone was kicked out through a series of mean barks.

Robotnik had taken the solitary moment to stare at his own reflection. Dirty, wet and mussed. Pale, tired.  And his own eyes seemed reprimanding.

Look at the state of you. In need of coddling. Really, Ivo?

He groaned. Snatched a bottle of soap to throw against the tiled wall— Fuck! Another dizzy spell. He let go of it. Leaned against the sink for a while, muttering curses under his breath.

The most careful shower of his life followed. He avoided shoving his patched-up spots under the hot water to avoid ruining all the work. And Stone was going through the cabinets in the kitchen, from the sound of it… He sighed. How was any of this happening? 

What had happened anyway? He couldn’t recall hitting that three. Did it fall on him? They were having a drink under holographic stars, talking shit and... Then what? 

He winced. This fucking headache was killing his groove. 

Time to make the way to the wardrobe. Easiest task in the world. Bare feet padded out of the bathroom. The doors were opened a bit too harshly. He rid himself of the towel, pulled up a set of his favorite black pajamas. His body ached to rest and wind down from one of the most catastrophic day-and-a-half of the last decade.

"You think your airtight sealed containers in the freezer are soooo discrete, don't you?" Stone piped up in clear amusement as he entered the bedroom, an ice pack and a box of painkillers in each hand.

Robotnik turned to him with a raised eyebrow, still buttoning up the nightshirt. Badly. 

"I told you not to touch anything."

He smiled easily, putting everything down on the nightstand.

"I didn't. Wouldn't dare, was just looking for ice."

The biker's jacket was gone, probably discarded over the couch. Or pristinely hung over a chair, if taking into consideration the usual obsessive-compulsive behavior. Now only the shirt remained, sleeves still folded and tucked above the elbows as if they’d never left the lab.

"Hm." He started, briefly distracted by the casualness of it. It was too strange to see the man walking into his private space like that. Wrong. Uncanny... But… Not the end of the world, "If you had, it might've gone 'boom'." Robotnik bit dryly. "On second thought, perhaps you should have, after all."

Stone chuckled, eyes briefly drawn to Robotnik's still exposed clavicle.

"Another explosion to the collection. It’s been very James Bond-ey lately, right? Mangled Aston Martin included."

Look at him, making jokes.

Robotnik sighed dramatically, grieving the state of his beloved car. Taking yet another beating...

He pulled the covers, sat on the bed.

"I have absolutely nothing in common with that pathetic depiction of spy work. Except perhaps being forced to endure brainless Bond girl here. Though you're missing the tight dress and sexually suggestive name, Stone."

"I'm more of a leather femme fatale, really. And just make the name Stone Topp. Double P like Xenia Onatopp."

That ripped a snort out of Robotnik. He leaned back against the headboard, basking in Stone's accompanying giggle. Stone's laughter was like a balm to the whole feeling like shit situation.

"Now let me sleep.” He muttered, trying to remain as expressionless as possible, “Fuck off and die like they usually do in the end, yes?"

Stone smirked. Robotnik could see gears turning behind those eyes; he was wondering whether to joke about something or not. Probably related to the type of relationship Bond girls and the main character had. Predictable. He was surprised that none had come yet.

The Agent tensed up, for some reason.

Thankfully, the younger man's smirk faded into a soft smile, and nothing else came. He looked tired too. 

Robotnik huffed, picked up the ice pack and pressed it against his injury.

It was hint enough.

Stone soon bid his ‘goodnight’ and carefully closed the door behind him on the way out.

“Left yourself op—"

“Open?”

“What? That’s your favorite color, isn’t it?”

"Capricornus."

“That’s yours, right? Your astrological sign.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Again. This is not the end of the world, you are overreacting. You shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have accepted a drink. Uncomfortable clothes sticking to his skin, why did the man have to be so infuriating—

“I… I like you, alright? A lot. That’s why I… wanted to know your birthday.”

Fuck off. Fuck off with the inviting eyes, so filled with adoration he didn’t deserve in the least. Fuck off with the soft laughter while pointing up at fake stars—

“I have feelings for you. Romantic… Uh, romantic feelings. And attraction. Very attracted.”

AGH!

Trees blurred past, rain streaming across the windshield. The road ahead, infinite, stretching under the sweep of headlights. A sudden flash. His eyes burned. Movement.
A massive tree toppling straight into his lane, slamming down in sync with thunder’s death-drum.

Waterlogged shoes slammed on the brake. Squishy, disgusting. Nothing. Again, harder. Too close. Once more, why isn’t it working?! Stop. Stop. Stop, goddammit, STOP—

This time, Robotnik woke up on his own.

He grunted, sitting up in the dark. His limbs ached, sore everywhere.

What time was it?

He hissed and looked away as soon as his phone turned on, its glow even more unbearable than usual. Fuck it. Who needs to know the time anyway. He slammed it back down on the nightstand.

Calm pacing could be heard from the living room.

Stone.

He clenched his jaw.

He remembered it now. All of it.

Stone's eyes as he confessed, branded into his mind's eye. Too much. 

Focus.

The brakes hadn't worked, but his car had recently been checked. Everything working in perfect condition.

His eyes traced the mean scar across the man’s left eye. It stretched from temple down to his grinning upper lip, red and angry in a way that spoke of a relatively recent injury.

“Gruesome warfare, then? A white tiger?”

Nonsense. Paranoia. Stone had given up on getting rid of him, had told him so.

He'd confessed feelings.

The pale, manicured hand resting in Stone’s calloused grip, the height difference only adding to the picture’s charm. And those half-lidded dark eyes looking up to meet blue ones with an intensity bordering on scandalous. Which was worse, if the stars in his eyes were real or fake?

He grasped the sheets in a white-knuckle grip.

“Not the time for what?” Stone whispered back, the face of innocence.

“Childish games while the Colonel is speaking!”

Stone just shrugged, as if he had no idea what Fraser was getting at. The man was becoming red again.

“Stop staring at me like an obsessive maniac. It’s goddamn annoying. Control yourself.”

“Hard to, sitting so close to the object of my obsession.”

He was feeling hot all over again. His head hurt and hurt and hurt.

Stone’s home was in a completely different direction. How did he find Robotnik’s crash so soon?

“Yes. And that sneaky little shit got me discharged. He was all smiles and nice talkin’, so no one there believed me. But I know it was his goddamn fault; he didn’t fool me.”

“That’s yours, right? Your astrological sign.”

“I like having you around.”

Reconnaissance. Diversion. Sabotage and weakened defenses. Like that scratch on the glass.

The mean little voice in his head returned:

What? Were you thinking you made a friend?

Oh.

You did, didn’t you? Ivo, Ivo, Ivo… That doesn’t happen to you. You should know by now. Look at that man. Look at yourself.

How old are you, twelve?

That had been the plan all along. The one Doctor Stone had drafted to get under his skin.

The boring old tactic of… seduction.

No amount of banter or impulsively saving each other’s asses could have put a stop to the oncoming climax of the man’s manipulative nature. No lines worth preserving, no boundaries worth respecting. Was it all a power trip for him? Get the lonely old man’s guard down. Give him a neat little joint project, high-tech secrets he can’t ignore. Get him to trust you. Lower his guard. Smile. Get him a drink. Throw him off with a confession. Fuck with his brake and let him do the dirty work all by himself.

Nothing had changed. He never stopped being prey.

No friends in showbiz! The nasty voice roared.

How old are you, twelve?

Stone’s low rumble from earlier echoed back:

Ten, actually.

Robotnik rose in a daze.

He reached for a small karambit knife hidden away under the mattress and staggered to the door.

The floorboards emitted a barely audible sigh beneath the Agent's bare feet as he advanced through the corridor. It was still dark. Or already dark? Did he really sleep through a whole day?

Dark except for the familiar soft yellow lighting he recognized from the tall lamp beside his couch. He delved further, stopped by the corner and leaned against the wall, surveying territory.

‘You must think I’m an idiot.’

‘Quite the opposite. I think you’re brilliant.’

A mug of fuming contents sat over the coffee table. Chamomile tea, by the smell of it. Phone beside it. His jacket, helmet and backpack, a few feet away by the kitchen counter. And Stone was standing before one of his bookshelves, so at ease, leafing through some old book on explosives engineering. No control glove either.

He looked warm.

“Hm… PHD in tinker-tailor, is it?” He teased absentmindedly.

Stone grinned warmly, looking up through his lashes, “Something like that.”

Robotnik gritted his teeth.

Not warm. Unguarded.

Distant from his things and anything that could aid him in an emergency. Now or never.

The Agent left his darkened corner without a sound. He knew which floorboards would creak. Avoided those. Balls of his feet first, barely allowing heels to meet the ground, the necessary compensation for achieving absolute silence as he sneaked behind the Doctor and seamlessly slipped an arm around his throat.

The audible intake of breath was simply thrilling.

Even more so was feeling the other body immediately go from pliant to a block of concrete under his grip. The knife pressed under the bobbing Adam's apple.

"Doctor." He rumbled in a low, venomous tone.

"Is that really necessary?" Stone hissed back.

"You would say that."

A warm hand gently rested over Robotnik's forearm. A question.

"I'm not snooping, I swear."

"Like you'd know where to look."

"Then why." He breathed, fingers curling slightly and catching at the hair there. Robotnik suppressed a shiver.

"You've been dying for an opportunity like that one, haven't you?"

Silence.

Ha, note the lack of surprise.

Robotnik squeezed him tighter.

"What?" Stone grunted, unconvincingly.

"Don't play coy with me," he hissed into his ear, closely watching for any twitch. The Doctor would not be getting a single second of opportunity to pull free. This was Robotnik's only chance to set the record straight without any of his technology around for protection. His only chance to off him, with all the comforts of home. Like control over surveillance, like a full stash of corrosive chemicals to eat a corpse away, like his favorite 10% bleach solution for any possible bothers.

"Thought you could get rid of me, hmm?" He mused, mildly aware that he didn't feel as triumphant as he had thought he would, but went on nonetheless, "Just like you did with the previous two officers unlucky enough to be stationed at your precious lab. Not that they realized what was happening."

“I’m used to being on my own around here, you know? My own space, my own time… Walters sending in agents is a new thing, you must’ve read that the other two before you messed around in the lab with things they shouldn’t have, and it ended badly. I suppose it made me a little defensive when he sent another one, but” He motioned reverently towards Robotnik, “your expertise clearly surpasses theirs. You’re… Different. You know what you’re doing.” 

Manipulative little shit.

Stone's breathing was speeding up to match his erratic heartbeat. Still, he didn’t dare struggle. He felt warm against his chest.

“When did you sabotage my brake? How? Did you send Onyx to do it while you were pointing constellations?!”

"I don't know what yo—"

Robotnik lashed out. The blade had been pulled away, but the shove used to push Stone forward was violent enough to shake the bookshelf as he crashed into it with a broken gasp. The Agent lunged forward in a rage beyond his own explanations, grabbed his shoulder to spin him around, then sent him crashing back again. Left hand wrapped around the column of his neck, right hand poised the knife to his abdomen.

"Get cute and you're liverless.”

"Shit—"

"Right?!" He barked manically, nose to nose with a wide-eyed Stone, and pitched up his voice for mockery, "Shit! He found me out! Can't go around seducing the motherfucker anymore!"

Stone stared right into his eyes, oozing dread with every breath.

And Robotnik wished he could say he was above it all.

That Stone had been no match. Just another idiot who thought he could beat him and was proved wrong.

He wanted to hurt him so much.

"The first one didn't play that team, but nothing sells more to an uninspiring straight macho than some gym tips and VIP peeks at classified firearms, right?!" He cackled at himself, an anger licking its way up his throat so old he barely remembered how deep it slumbered.

"But Officer Miller? Oh-ho-ho-HO! Easy-peasy lemon-squeezy— bat those lashes and SCAR HIM GRIZZLY!"

To say Stone was thunderstruck under his hold would be an understatement.

His hands clawed desperately at the taller man's shoulders, "I—Ivo, please—" he gasped between a breath and a choke, "—please listen to me, I can explain—"

"Oh, first-name basis now! Devious minx, you must think I'm a lowly, disgusting, lying jackass like you!"

Robotnik didn’t ever think he'd feel like this again. It simply shouldn’t be possible.

The putrid ache of betrayal, the overflowing self-hatred that somehow gathered unseen under his skin for so long, now burning and liquid, gooey, thick, making him feel like his pores were struggling to expand because all of it wanted to spill out in one go. The stinging knot in his chest. Tighter, tighter, tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

How did this happen? How did he manage to become entangled like this with someone he knew, from day one, was out to fuck with him?!

He'd become compromised.

And that was a lesson he was supposed to have learned decades ago! No letting anyone close like that. He was supposed to be untouchable. No pretty face or easy smile was supposed to worm its wicked way into his defenses.

No false promises of belonging.

And yet! Look at him!

Fuming, panting in unfiltered wrath and spitting while he shouted like a full-blown madman. He should have made it quick and silent before the goddamn heartac—headache got worse. Fuck, his skull was being split open.

Decidedly not Cool. Decidedly hurt. How pathetic, Ivo.

Stone struggled against his grip, trying to gulp enough air.

"How about you bleed out by my feet, you—"

"I LOVE YOU!"

The drop of sweat trickling down his temple paused.

He didn't... know what. What... what?

The knot in his chest seemed to slide upwards to squeeze at his throat. A choked sob was all he could muster.

What? No... no.

No. Too low. C’mon.

He yanked Stone forward only to slam him back again, but it didn’t land as harshly, even if the man moaned in pain in front of him.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Cue the pants should be on fire now.

Stone's eyes were boring into him with uncharacteristic rawness. Oh, there were... Tears. Trailing down a silvery path and disappearing into his beard.

Uh, nope.

He couldn’t fucking digest that for the life of him. The knot pulled in too many directions simultaneously.

Robotnik chose to follow the one pulling him away as if burned.

He desperately reached for the back of the couch for support. The room was spinning. He gripped the knife tighter, snapped it towards Stone, who, in turn, still panted against the bookshelf.

"Leave." Robotnik managed to wheeze out. "I never want to see your fucking face again."

“Ivo, please—” Stone stuttered again like a broken record. His knees hit the floor, palms raised in submission, “—please listen, please—”

Robotnik closed his eyes tightly, shit, what was happening to him?

“You’re right, I got rid of them, okay? I didn’t want a pack of government goons messing around in my lab! And it’s true I planned to send you away too—”

Robotnik scoffed exaggeratedly. Then promptly started coughing.

“Okay!” Stoned leaned forward, desperately trying to stay in Robotnik’s field of vision and hold his attention through the emotional fog. “Not just send away. If the money-laundering scheme didn’t work, I did have some freak accidents in mind, but I stopped! Truly! I stopped because I realized you are absolutely brilliant, unparalleled! If anything, I am the one who’s trying to be deserving of your presence!”

Stopped when?! Was it the knife against your throat that changed your mind? Fucking touching. Real redemption arc stuff! He’s so damn good, knows exactly what you want to hear, Ivo! Look how much you’ve given away for it to get to this point. Getting old, huh? Retirement never sounded so fitting.

Robotnik opened his mouth, but nothing found its way out. He felt so tired. Maybe he should just lie down on the carpet.

“I love you. I do, please— please don’t send me away, let me make it up to you. Let me show you.”

And Stone kept looking at him with such desperation. Could he be that good of an actor?

Of course he can.

Robotnik slid down against the back of the couch, taking deep breaths to regain control of himself. His arms dangled from over his knees, knife still in a tight grip. His head hurt so much.

“Hey, I’ll be coming closer, okay?” Stone spoke carefully, starting to make a slow crawl towards him.

Robotnik flinched when he felt gentle hands on his calves. Warm, sliding up to cradle his hands.

“Give me the knife?”

At that, Robotnik’s eyes widened, and he snarled, pulling the blade to his chest, away from the other man’s reach.

“Okay, okay, nevermind! Keep it.” Stone placated, hands flying back to where they started.

Yes. Stay there.

“I… I know it sounds like an excuse, but I was going to tell you, I swear. There's actually a lot more I need to tell you,” He sighed shakily, “I didn’t know how or when or… I just— I’m sorry. It’s so complicated. I didn’t expect any of it, I didn’t even know if you felt anything for me, I—”

“I don’t.”

Stone looked up with gigantic, syrupy eyes. Robotnik’s chest constricted so painfully he’d think he’d taken a punch.

“I was always going to get rid of you, too. Even-Steven.” Robotnik breathed, intently watching the thousand micro expressions running amok in the Doctor’s face, “You’re not special, Stone. You just happened to be a smidge more entertaining than the usual apes I have to deal with.”

There. Finally, something that looked like it hurt.

How about being cast as just another one of the many irrelevant targets? Just another inferior, just another blip.

But that same hurt didn’t last as long as it was supposed to.

It didn’t spread and sour the pretty face until the act was wholly contaminated. Instead, Stone’s eyes hardened into some new resolve. His hands braced his weight over Robotnik’s knees, and he leaned forward without hesitation.

A spark of panic, then glitched, fizzled out.

Stone’s hot breath against his lips was the sole thing he became aware of.

And he stayed there, an inch away from his face, a moment of hovering that crashed any tabs left open in the Agent’s addled brain.

He wasn’t… Supposed to let this happen.

He couldn’t move. Could barely keep his eyes open.

And then soft lips closed around his. The whole system went offline.

Slick, warm, tender.

Not a coherent thought in sight. He hummed at the subtle caress of a tongue against his upper lip; pressed closer.

And he was responding, wasn’t he? Idiot.

Breath escaped him and he drank it back from Stone's mouth. There was a hand circling his jaw, a thumb stroking his cheek. He should push him away. No, pull him closer.

His lips kept moving. Couldn’t stop. Needed more.

Stone began to break away. Robotnik bit his lower lip to drag him back. And fuck if he didn’t respond with the most delicious groan he'd ever heard in his life.

He was becoming dizzy again.

“Ivo, shh…” Stone whispered against his mouth, he already wanted to taste it again, “You need rest. We can talk about this later. Please, trust me one more time…” A kiss to the corner of his lips. Robotnik was about to go insane, he was sure, “I’m yours… Loyal to you. You’re safe.”

Robotnik detested, loathed, the caress on his cheekbone. 

And the sniveling, soft thing inside him, begging that to be true.

"an infinite series of times, in a dizzily growing, ever spreading network of diverging, converging and parallel times. This web of time- the strands of which approach one another, bifurcate, intersect or ignore each other through the centuries- embraces every possibility. We do not exist in most of them. In some you exist and not I, while in others I do, and you do not, and in yet others both of us exist. In this one, which chance had favored me, you have come to my gate. In another, you, crossing the garden, have found me dead. In yet another, I say these very same words, but am an error, a phantom."

-Jorge Borges, The Garden of the Forking Paths

Ivo Robotnik exists in a great number of parallel universes.

You know this. 

The moment his existence was conceived, that one point in history expanded forwards and backwards to give him past, present and future. He might have started as a dorky villain in a video game in the year 1991, timeline #230094876788097B or whatever... But once out there, he became real, just as real as you or I. Because, like him, we exist across a million, billion versions of reality. Repeating ourselves over and over again in different lenses like a viral meme on Twitter. Copy, paste, tweak it a little. Retweet.

But even if he's been around for a long time, goofy and iconic, Robotnik has always been... alone.

That is, up until one universe was born, in which he crossed paths with Stone.

Thus, a spark of creation. Of connection. That’s all it took. And suddenly, the perfect partner in crime spread throughout his many timelines like wildfire, taking his hand, surprising his cynical tendencies, proving himself, laughing at his jokes, matching his freak.

In one single universe, Robotnik ceased to be alone, even if he took too long to realize it. And once that happened, Stone could never again not be there. Even in the versions where he's not, his absence can be felt. Noticed. Pointed out. Corrected. 

By whom, you may ask.

Must I really spell it out?

Time isn’t as linear as one might think. Whoever convinced you that the future can’t change the past was lying. It can, and it will.

Alterations echo throughout the multiverse. It tends to be subtle, in our case. But that's only because we're in it. 

In Robotnik's case, we're looking from the outside. It's also easier to spot, because another thing he shares with too many versions of himself is that he's not subtle, and here, that tendency did leave some debris... Am I making sense? Perhaps not. But in my defense, there are a few things you don't know. Of course you don't. Or perhaps suspect? 

So far, it's been Robotnik this, Robotnik that, Robotnik there and back again.

Let's step back for a bit. Let’s rewind this tape.

To a particularly shit day to be working.

Think peak of summer, but with the special touch of a nice breeze drifting by, taking the edge off the heat.

One of those days that begs to be filled with smiles, memories of friends and family, or simply just chilling. One could go for a pleasant walk in the park, take a dive in the local public pool, have a smoke on the highest hill in town while no one is around, some sunlight warming up skin for that good ole bump of vitamin D…

Instead, sadly, a seventeen-year-old Aban Stone was hurling a heavy trash bag into the trash can. He grunted with the effort of it. Wiped at his forehead, checked around to make sure nothing had escaped and fallen off. He wished he could be anywhere else.

Something caught his eye.

High in the sky, a strange light.

Like an eye had opened over the cloudless blue. White at the center, with swirling shades of orange and red circling it, bits of cyan too, pulsating like a faraway storm.

Wow… Beautiful.

What could have caused that? Did a plane explode mid-air or something?

Shit. Would any metal debris fall around town? Maybe he could find some, that would be cool.

Taking a last glance at the strange sight, he hurried back inside.

“Hey, Ella! Anything on the news? I think something blew up in the sky!” He called from the kitchen, having to stop and wash his hands before he could focus on anything else. He detested taking out the trash, but someone had to do it, and nothing would ever get done if soap wasn't heavily involved. 

The familiar golden ponytail waved as the girl popped her head through the small window between the kitchen and front counter. Grinning wildly, she completely ignored his question:

“Aban! You won’t believe the guy that just walked in.”

He frowned, a little frustrated. Normally, Ella was pretty uninterested in anything around her, but it wasn’t every day he asked a question like that! Didn’t things blowing up merit any kind of attention?

But seeing her eyes wide like that intrigued him. It meant that whoever she was talking about was very particular.

Maybe someone famous?

He slipped out of the kitchen into the counter, standing behind the cashier to pretend he was checking whether there were enough coins for change. His eyes peeked ahead discreetly.

Boy, Ella wasn’t kidding.

The only customer, in the middle of the café.

Despite sitting down, the man was obviously tall. Dressed in a charred red coat, bald as an egg, and most importantly, sporting the most unkempt, menacing, exaggerated mustache Stone had ever seen in his life. Like wild tufts of fur around a feral cat’s face.

“Think he’s homeless or something?” Ella whispered from his right, partially hidden by the column there.

Stone frowned, watching as the man frustratedly turned the page of a newspaper he’d spread over the table.

“Or ran away from some kid’s party? Maybe he’s some sort of clown.”

“Pfft. Space zombie clown, you mean.”

“Very eloquent, Ella.”

“Very what?”

Stone rolled his eyes.

“Means you worded that in an intelligent way.”

“Oh! Thanks!”

“I was being sarcastic.”

She pinched his side.

“Ow!”

“Callin’ me dumb, pretty boy?” Ella teased, before sliding back into the kitchen. “I’m not serving him, might be a creep.”

Stone sighed heavily, closed the cashier. Count on Ella to send him to do stuff she didn’t feel like doing. Circling the counter and plastering the most pleasant fake smile he could, the young man approached.

“Good afternoon! Would you like to order?”

The man didn’t even look up.

“Finally, Stone! I thought you were going to take the whole damn day! A latte with steamed Austrian goat milk, but do put a double shot of espresso in it, I freakin' need it today.”

The teenager’s posture stiffened, staring wide-eyed at the odd man.

“I— I’m sorry, do I know you?”

That finally caught his attention.

The mustache looked even crazier from up close now that the man stared at him with assessing eyes.

“No, you don’t. You walk around with your name written in a tiny plaque stuck to your chest like a damn dog, what did you expect?”

Stone stuttered. The man sounded so done and certain of himself, but he hadn’t looked at him right up until now. And didn’t the plaque only have ‘Aban’ written in it? Before he could check, the man spoke again, stealing his attention:

“I’m hungry as well. Very. What do you suggest for a decent snack around here?”

Still a little stunned, but having customer-service procedures deeply ingrained into his brain, any suspicions were dropped to rack his mind for the best recommendation.

“Do you like tomatoes? We make a mean bruschetta!”

The man hummed in thought, eyes still glued to his face.

“Depends. Who’ll be the one cooking?”

Stone shrugged.

“Uh… Either my coworker or I. But rest assured, we’ve been well trained by—”

“Yadda yadda, IDC. I’ll only take it if you’re the one making it.”

Stone blinked. This was definitely among the weirdest guys he’d served.

“Uh… Sure. I can make it, no problem. Anything else?”

The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes. When are you going to grow a beard? You look weird without it. Like your mother just popped you out of her womb.”

What the hell.

Stone shifted, growing tenser.

This was out of line. No one was entitled to come into his workplace and make idiotic comments about his appearance. ‘Customer is always right’ equals bullshit.

“I’m sorry— you don’t know me. So keep your opinions to yourself and stick to your order, before I ask you to leave.”

The guy’s thick eyebrows rose to his hypothetical hairline. Oddly enough, he grinned.

“Ohohoho… Love the attitude, Stone! Ah, to be young, rebellious and free from Command’s grasp!”

Alright, he was gonna have to go. His boss would kill him if he found a customer had been kicked out despite deserving it, but he wasn’t here now. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

He squared his shoulders, watched as the man’s face grew even more amused upon realizing a line was about to be crossed on his side too, and then something caught his attention.

On the man’s wrist, a red light started blinking. From some sort of screen.

Two pairs of eyes stared at it now.

“Shit, shit, shit! NO!” The man started tapping at it furiously.

Uh. Didn’t he know that screens couldn’t be… tapped?

The strange wristwatch flickered, then went dark.

“NO!” He shouted, springing up in alarm. The table shook, Stone’s hand flew to stabilize it.

The smugness under that mustache had disappeared completely, giving way to an almost panicked expression.

Geez. Maybe it had been a gift from someone special?

Had to be. The shaky breath that left him, almost hopeless and defeated. Like watching a flower wilt. A fucking weird flower, but the point remains.

“Uh… Never seen a watch like that, but there’s a Clock Repair down the street, maybe they could fix it?” Stone tried, feeling a tinsy bit bad for the man.

He dropped back down to his seat, staring ahead with empty eyes.

“I…” He mumbled absentmindedly. Slowly shook his head. “I can’t go home without it.”

Stone shifted uncomfortably.

“Maybe a map could help? Or, I don’t know, do you want to use the phone?”

The man wasn’t listening, still slumped and dazed.

Oh my God, his eyes were shining in the way eyes usually did before a good cry. Shit, shit, shit, shit—

“Oh, Stone… Why didn’t I listen?”

The man covered his face with his hands, hiding from the world, overwhelmed.

Stone was at a complete loss.

Carefully, he removed himself to allow him some privacy… And did the only thing he could think of: a nice warm meal, bruschetta and a serving of tiramisu included. He placed everything on the table, along with a small glass of water and a marigold in it. Maybe a touch of something beautiful might help the lost look on those hazel eyes. God knows how he wished people were kinder to him when he’d had a bad day, too.

“On the house”, Stone said.

Chapter Text

Stone had half-carried Agent Robotnik back to bed about two hours ago.

Two hours. His hands were still shaking.

It was a little difficult to tap at the tablet like this, but there was no time to waste.

Work might have suffered a dramatic pause, but he now had an investigation to conduct. The Agent had cried ‘sabotage’ when throwing accusations around, and Stone knew the limits to the man’s paranoia. Emotions might not be his forte, but any details peppering the physical world did not escape that keen eye. If he thought someone had crippled his brake, someone had crippled his brake.

Stone sank further into the couch. His eyes blurred for a second.

God, he was so tired.

No time. Whoever had done it was going to regret it.

He’d remotely activated the drones. Had dispatched half of them to the mechanic Robotnik’s car had been sent to, half to guard the house’s perimeter.

No one was going to lay another single finger on Robotnik.

No one.

Not now, when he finally got him back. Stone couldn’t lose him again.

The stranger with a weird mustache had stayed around until late, that sunny day.

After eating and having some time to collect himself, he’d become easier to talk to. Less overbearing. Even allowed Stone to pose questions about the broken watch— it looked so different from anything he’d ever seen! — and revealed he’d been the one to build it. If that wasn’t already interesting enough by itself, they spent hours chatting about the uprising of smaller mobile phones like Nokia and Motorola, or how cool the whole Internet thing was— Stone knew a guy who could download actual whole songs from the net into his MP3 device. Even if it took a lot of time to do it, he still found it so cool and wished he’d be able to afford a computer someday.

One thing led to another, daylight gave way to night, and when dinnertime came, Stone had grown to really like the guy.

Who would’ve thought?

Clearly super smart, even if a little cooky, charming in his own way. Kinda funny too if you didn’t take the prickliness personally.

And for once, unlike his boring schoolteachers, he talked to him like a normal person and not like a delinquent. Told him fascinating stories about building robots and was somehow convinced Stone was good at it? He didn’t understand half of the terms employed, but that did not deter engineering gibberish to keep spilling. Sometimes he’d even interrupt himself when losing track of his point over some technical detail to grunt ‘Oh, but you know this already. Back to what I was saying—"… It was an inspiring afternoon.

Before leaving, he’d asked for the man’s name.

“Oh, I’m just… Doctor.” Was his answer, before disappearing into the night.

To Stone’s dismay, the man never showed up in the quaint old café again.

Life went on.

On, and on, and on.

“Oh, boring story, especially compared to yours. I was actually thinking about joining the army, mostly because I had no clue what else I’d be good at… Then one day, I served coffee to this, uh, tech-enthusiast, who spent the whole afternoon telling me about the incredible projects he’d worked on. I was so inspired, decided to give it a go myself.”

Funny how small the multiverse is.

“Now, now… Careful. Your imbecilic, brainless ape of a boss might not be able to see these imperfections, but I can. And they’re unacceptable. Do better.” The Doctor grunted from over his shoulder.

Stone bit the inside of his cheek, narrowing his eyes to focus on the micro-soldering of a prototype’s motherboard.

He was 27 now.

A full-fledged engineer who fast-tracked his way into a degree, a master’s and three PhDs in record time. He was currently at his fourth and thriving, part-time in a private robotics firm and, most importantly, tinkering around in the Doctor’s secret basement lab every weekend.

He knew about the Doctor’s original reality.

Not every detail, the man was defensive about it.

But he knew of a near-death experience, an explosion, being flung back in time by the chaotic power of an alien life-form. Of that alien being injured and accidentally separated from him when they kept jumping through time and getting the destination wrong. The last jump he’d made had been from that fated day they first met in the café, only to land back in the same timeline but years later, two years ago. That’s when the Doctor whooshed back into Stone’s life and upended everything he thought he knew.

Parallel dimensions. Time travel. A quill capable of holding unimaginable amounts of energy… Not that he had it anymore.

The Doctor’s ongoing project was to build a machine capable of harnessing the same kind of energy and returning to his own reality. He missed it, home. Missed… another version of Stone.

Not that he’d explicitly revealed this last part, but it could be read between the lines.

“Better?” Stone asked, turning his head just enough to glance at him. The Doctor was standing far too close for a full turn. Might end up with his nose against his cheek and wouldn’t that be… awkward.

“Hm… Yes. But don’t let it go to your head or you’ll grow sloppy.”

“C’mon, I deserve a compliment for this one!”

“Ugh, Stone, you’re too needy.”

“Am not!”

The Doctor pulled back, whirling around to return to his table full of antennas.

“Get yourself a girlfriend to dump all that whining on. Then I won’t have to suffer through it.”

Stone’s shoulders stiffened. He watched the man slump onto his chair and pull down his goggles.

“If I had a girlfriend, I couldn’t be down here every weekend, you know.” Stone spoke too casually, eyeing the motherboard with little interest.

It wasn’t the first time the subject had come up over the years. It always made him somewhat uncomfortable.

It was true that queer people were starting to express themselves more openly, but most of the time, letting that cat out of the bag was more trouble than it was worth. Not that Stone had any problems with his own… inclinations… but someone of the Doctor’s age might.

But then again, he was from the future. And often spoke about a lot of taboo subjects that Stone wasn’t used to hearing so openly. Like Grand Theft Auto being funny. The current Pope being full of it. The lack of women in the military.

Stone wasn’t sure yet what to think. Or how to feel about the idea of coming out. Because he couldn’t lie to himself, it mattered what the Doctor thought of him.

And if the man suddenly revealed to harbor some kind of homophobia and kicked him out of his lab, Stone was sure he’d end up very drunk and desolate in a matter of hours. Thinking about the brilliant man he’d never be able to rip a laugh out of again, or hear his horrible jokes, or watch him sit in the most inhumane positions known to man, or find himself in another extremely rare occasion of having the man fall asleep with his head against his shoulder, breathing hotly against his neck—

Hm… Well. Back… to the point.

Despite all of it, did Stone really want to be close to someone who couldn’t deal with that part of him?

“Then maybe this is me telling you to get a life, Stone. Go chill, touch grass or something. Instead of spending all of your time with a gruffy old man in his basement.” The Doctor muttered in an undecipherable tone, tinkering with the antennas and a complicated piece of machinery he’d created.

Stone sighed and pulled off his own goggles, losing interest in his work.

“I already told you I like being here. Would you have me spend my time with things I don’t?”

“You’re 20. What do you know about what you like?” He bit back.

“27. And I know enough.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you stopped questioning me on this, Doc.”

“Like I care what you ‘would appreciate’. Hmpf. You’re all the same, sucking up to me until it ruins your entire goddamn life.”

Stone stilled.

The Doctor continued to work, still hidden behind his goggles, but he could see the somber scowl.

Ooooh... One of his dark moods again.

Shit, Stone should have realized it sooner. But he could berate himself later. If he didn’t act now, he might find the man spiraling down into a debilitating depressive episode. One time had been enough.

He didn’t blame him. Imagine being pulled away from your reality and all the people you know? It was bound to result in the occasional moment of crisis.

Standing up and putting on his best casual act, Stone spoke:

“Feeling a bit tired, now that you mention it…” He calmly approached the Doctor’s table, leaning against it across from him and eyeing deft fingers at work.

“Then go.” He muttered.

“Come with me. They’ve gifted me another pair of movie tickets.”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“Then how about some of that nice, mulled wine from the Christmas market at Penn Quarter?”

“Too crowded.”

“Not right now. Still got some time before rush hour.”

“No.”

Stone bit his bottom lip, thinking harder. There had to be something. Some way.

“I… Then take a walk with me. Rock Creek. Just for an hour. I need to take my mind off the dissertation for a bit, and it’ll just be boring if you’re not there.”

When he caught movement indicative of the Doctor’s head lifting towards him, Stone put on the best damn pleading eyes of his life.

Even through the reflective lenses, he could tell it was a battle won.

Stone cursed as the first egg landed on the fizzling pan with a broken yolk.

“Scrambled it is…” He huffed, rushing to mix everything.

His mind wasn’t fully in it, as might be expected.

The memory replayed time and time again behind his eyes. Robotnik’s shouting, wounded eyes full of betrayal, the tears, the kiss. A man that size looking so small, curled up on the ground like an overwhelmed child.

That had shaken Stone more than the knife to his throat.

Robotnik still didn’t trust him.

Fuck, could he blame him?

The Doctor sighed tiredly, adding a pinch of salt and black pepper and continuing to stir.

He’d found out about the others, somehow. Stone shouldn’t have underestimated him, especially after realizing… Realizing who he was.

It was no surprise that climbing Robotnik’s walls would be a tough job, but by now, he’d expected that the Agent would at least trust that he wouldn’t try to hurt him anymore. They’d been working together for months, relying on each other in high-risk situations and even planning treason. He’d told him under a polygraph that it was genuine, for Christ’s sake!

And they seemed to be getting along!

That perfect dinner together still fresh in his memory… Especially since he’d recorded all of it and would sometimes replay it just to watch Robotnik smile again. He’d even been planning for the next one: have Onyx bring premium sushi from the city, dust off his bartending skills with a few creative cocktails... Maybe risk giving him a single rose.

Stone felt his ears grow warm. No. Not a rose, that would be silly. Obvious. Cliché.

The Agent might be a bonfire, over the top, but anything that screamed ‘stereotypical romance’ had the tendency to make him too self-conscious and shut down.

But the point was, where Robotnik’s walls were concerned, Stone genuinely thought he was at least halfway there, you know? But then one sabotage happens, and he was easily thrown back to the bottom.

Well, eggs were good. Best leave this ongoing conundrum for another time. Stone scraped them from the pan and carefully arranged them over two plates. A quick run to the nearest mirror just to check if his hair was in order. Nothing on his teeth, good. He rushed back to the kitchen, placed the food over the single tray he found lying around and headed for the bedroom.

His knuckles rapped softly against the door.

“Ivo? Uh, I mean, Agent?”

Right.

Robotnik hadn’t greenlit calling him by his first name; he should be more careful. Loving how the syllables sounded on his tongue gave him no right to cross that line. It was just that… Ivo Robotnik. Such an incredible name.

Stone took a shaky breath.

How he treasured finally knowing it.

“What do you want.” Robotnik rasped from inside.

“I’ve made breakfast. Can I come in and leave some for you?”

A beat of silence.

“Go on.”

Stone squared his shoulders and opened the door.

The room was engulfed in darkness, and the Doctor had to turn on one of the bedside lamps. Robotnik still lay on the bed, wrapped in sheets and with a bare back turned towards him. Pale skin peppered with too many bruises.

Jesus, the Italians really did a number on him.

Stone swallowed, feeling the urge to touch it. Comfort him.

“Tea and special scrambled eggs incoming. I didn’t make you a latte, I suspect caffeine won’t help right now.”

“I don’t like scrambled eggs.”

Stone carefully sat by his feet.

“You’ll like mine.”

The man grunted but didn’t shift a fraction. Stone tried not to feel hurt that he wouldn’t even look his way. It was to be expected.

“I’ll… just leave it here. Careful not to kick it off, alright? And I already called the base. Told them I caught a virus and passed it to you, so now we’re both on sick leave.”

A snort. Then silence.

Right.

Stone sighed and stood up, making for the door.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything else.”

“You are really pitiful, Stone… So pitiful I can’t even bother to feel sorry for you.”

Stone snickered, taking a gulp from the beer in his hand.

“You can’t say that to an orphan, Doc. Pretty rude.”

“Orphan to orphan: you are ridiculously antisocial and fake. And you can’t even blame that on bad parenting. That’s aaaall you, mister. Telling that poor girl you’re so busy with work only to come crack open a cold one here.”

The Doctor had a beer can cradled in his sleeve-covered hands, as if he wasn’t even familiarized with how people normally held them. And despite the jabs, there was a smirk under the mustache.

He had let Stone trim it a little today. Just a little. The Doctor quite liked the wildcat look. But today he even applied some wax on the tips for the occasion. Stone had finished his dissertation, and insisted on celebrating it by bringing in good beer and having them drink it on the roof of the Doctor’s old house as the Sun set.

“She wasn’t my type.” Stone joked, but couldn’t help feeling a little heat rise to his face. It always did nowadays, when this subject resurrected.

“Oh, the man has a type! You’re ridiculous. And this tastes like feet.”

“Hey! It’s my favorite brand!”

“Jesus Christ…” But the Doctor continued to sip.

Stone glanced over, feeling his chest warm at the sudden realization of how much healthier the man looked compared to when they’d started working together three years ago. His face had a natural pink flush, and the dark, sickly bags under his eyes had faded. Now it was just wrinkled, like it normally should be for his age… Not that he wasn’t wonderful before, quite the opposite! But Stone’s protectiveness was appeased to see improvements that positively impacted his well-being.

“This is the third PHD you see me complete. Don’t you think I deserve a prize?”

“You’re already getting one: my delightful presence gracing your existence. That’s prize enough, barnacle.”

Stone could agree to that with all his heart, but that wasn’t the point right now.

“Hm… How about—” He leaned closer to the Doctor, as if about to tell a secret, “You finally tell me your name?”

The Doctor’s eyes rolled back so dramatically they risked fleeing his skull.

“Doctor’s my name. Get over it.”

“The funniest thing is, you didn’t even watch Doctor Who.” Stone chuckled, sitting back straight and sipping beer.

“Doctor What.”

“Yeah, that’s the joke.”

“You’re a shit comedian, Stone.”

“I just want to get to know you better!”

“You know darn enough, goddamn menace.”

Stone laughed again, feeling too content. He bumped his arm against the Doctor’s, then focused on the beautiful colors painting the horizon.

It was a quiet area, the house being perched near an exit road. One of those strange places that occasionally pop up still close to the city, but surrounded by greenery in a sudden burst of nature. No tall buildings around. Seldom any people, just cars rushing by a few miles ahead.

“Well. Since you’re so keen on basking in my greatness…” The Doctor started, making Stone perk up in surprise and interest, “I will tell you just one thing. Look over there.”

The Doctor seldom shed his gloves, and as a pale finger pointed southwards, Stone noticed for the first time that both hands were bare. He became so distracted, he almost didn’t hear his next words:

“See those three stars? The faint ones near the horizon.”

Stone swallowed, spotting them distractedly.

“Yes. What about them?”

“Capricornus.”

Stone’s eyebrows raised. He looked at the Doctor’s smug face.

“Oh. Shit. Your sign?”

“The only one worth having. All the others are dullards. Losers all around the board.”

“That means your birthday is…?”

“Don’t push it. I said one thing.”

A loud crash woke Stone with a start.

He sat up quickly on the couch, the tablet slipping from his lap to the carpet.

He’d fallen asleep mid-calculations. He’d been so tired.

A sharp exhale escaped his lips when his eyes shot up.

Robotnik sat across from him on an armchair, cross-legged, silenced pistol in a casually dangled right hand.

Near his feet, a broken mug.

That was the mug Stone had used for tea earlier. Did that drama queen drop it just to wake him up? He really did give off cat vibes…

“Agent.”

“Doctor.”

Stone swallowed.

“I didn’t sabotage your car.”

The man raised an eyebrow. He still looked so tired.

“Oh, really?” Didn’t sound like he believed him.

“I swear. And I… I know you have reason to mistrust me. But I want to gain your complete trust. I really want that.” Stone sighed, wanting to pick up his tablet but aware that moving too much might not be a good idea. “What will it take? I’ll do anything.”

The Agent still looked unimpressed. But something in the stiffness of his shoulders belied how important this was. Sure, the gun hinted at it too.

“’Anything’, is it?” He sneered.

Stone nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact.

Please, see just how open to you I am. Please, give me a chance.

“Then start talking.”

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… Ugh. Done.

Stone heaved a relieved breath as he sat down on the wooden floor of the porch, wiping a hand against his sweaty forehead. Half the muscles in his body burned, but in the best way.

Day’s workout done.

He was in the final stretches when the Doctor barged out of the door, clad in his fluffy robe and goggles.

“Stone! I'm going to STRANGLE YOU!”

The younger man jumped in his spot, staring up with wide eyes.

“Jesus, Doc! What is it?”

The Doctor, in his place, froze as soon as his eyes landed on him.

Then did a full body scan, up and down.

Stone felt himself flush further, unused to being seen by him in the light shorts and tank top he wore for training. The Doctor rarely left the house without being dragged, so getting caught in that state was unexpected to both.

“What are you doing.” The older man asked flatly, stiff as a plank.

Stone straightened up. Cleared his throat. Where should he put his hands?

“Uh… Working out. Usually go to the gym, but wasn’t feeling like it today. Thought I’d just come over and do it outside.”

“Working out.” He repeated dumbly.

“Working out.” Stone countered just as dumbly. Probably dumber.

God, was the Doc blushing? Jesus, he’d made this awkward, hadn’t he? Oh God, did it look too gay or something?!

“I can’t believe you’re working out on my porch like a… Ugh. Like a healthy person!” The Doctor crossed his arms and looked away, “Showing off your goddamn… exemplary… lifestyle!” 

Weird. The Doctor didn’t stutter when he was simply in a mood to antagonize.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t! I couldn’t care less where you choose to sweat yourself half to death! Really! Your choice to parade around practically naked isn’t my problem!” He blurted, then whipped around and stormed back inside.

‘Practically naked’?

Was the man embarrassed by skin showing? Was that why he… looked?

Shit, no. Couldn’t be. Stone was overreaching; his traitorous mind wanted to trick him into believing something he wanted to be real. Maybe the man was just a little prudish.

Prudish? When Stone sometimes caught him carelessly roaming the house with nothing under his robe?

No. He didn’t know what it meant, and it was best left alone.

Right?

The Doctor had always been cryptic anyway.

Leave it alone.

Picking up the towel he’d left hanging around and dabbing it at his face and neck, Stone walked in, following the sound of hurried pacing into the kitchen.

The Doctor had his fists clenched, the goggles had been pushed back to his head.

“What is it you wanted to strangle me for, then?” Stone asked, crossing the room to pick up a glass and fill it with water.

The man was grumbling intelligibly under his breath.

“You’re a goddamn IDIOT!” He picked up a drying spoon from beside the sink and threw it at Stone, hitting him on the shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“YOU LIED TO ME!”

Stone froze. Surely he didn’t mean—

“YES! You know very well what I mean! You took the goddamn job! YOU TOLD ME YOU DIDN’T!”

The Doctor growled in anger, wrapped his hand around a handful more of still-wet cutlery and began hurling one by one in his direction.

Stone yelped, dodging only half of them and thanking his lucky stars the Doctor mostly ate Asian food and so barely had any knives in that bunch.

“Ow! Look— OW! Give me a goddamn second—”

“I told you to STAY AWAY FROM THEM! You think working for the government is some kind of HONOR BADGE?! They’ll sink their teeth into your talent and bleed it dry until there’s nothing left! You’re an imbecile! They’ll never let you walk away! They’ll chain your work, leash you like a dog! They’ll send idiot after idiot to hover over your machines, slobbering over your ideas, trying to steal them! And when they’re done with you, they’ll send assassins to finish the job!”

Shit, how did he find out?!

Stone had started working in the Department of Defense a little less than a year ago, but told him he’d declined the offer.

But he couldn’t have done that! There was too much to gain from that position, even if there were a lot of pet peeves. And it wasn’t as bad as the Doctor painted it, really. Sometimes it would do him good to remember they were from different realities.

“C’mon, Doc! We wouldn’t have gotten half the material we did for your reactor if I didn’t have access to their stuff! We’ve done so many incredible things!”

Dodging another metal chopstick, Stone lunged onwards and snapped his hip against the cutlery drawer the Doctor was in the process of opening for more ammunition. It clicked shut just as the man snarled, and then a hand was grabbing around his jaw, and he was shoved back against the counter.

“How dare you lie to my face day after day. Bring stolen material from their slimy productions. Contaminate the air of my sanctuary with traces of those GOOD FOR NOTHING CRAYON EATERS!”

“I’ve been making so much progress with my own drones! You’d change your mind if you saw how beautiful they’re turning out! When we find another power source they’ll—”

The hand squeezed tighter, successfully shutting him up.

“You. Are going. To quit.” The Doctor spoke through his teeth, face far too close for comfort.

Stone’s breath stuttered.

“No.”

Furious hazel eyes were boring into his with the power of a hundred death rays. His breath was ragged, his whole body strung up like a coil ready to snap.

Stone couldn’t help feeling a little distracted.

The warmth of the Doctor standing so close, his larger belly pressing against his stomach, hand firmly holding him prisoner… Blame it on the post-exercise endorphins, alright? But he was feeling a little hot again.

The grip Stone had on the counter’s edge was becoming a white-knuckled one.

“Yes, you will. I’m the one in charge here, and you have no option but to obey.” The Doctor drawled low, face coming even closer. Oh shit, this wasn’t good.

“No, you’re not…” Stone breathed, unable to avert his eyes from dropping to his lips.

How traitorous his body could be.

That was the last thing he should’ve done, for fuck’s sake! No resistance whatsoever against the brain fog pulling all of his focus from the trouble at hand and condensing it into the hard tug within his chest, the overwhelming need to push against the grip on his jaw and close the distance.

This was it. The Doctor had to be seeing this.

Stone’s eyes flickered upwards, to find the unexpected.

The Doctor wasn’t pinning him with a furious stare anymore. He was still too tense, but his expression had gone slack. Eyes half-closed, trained on his mouth.

On his mouth.

Stone forgot how to breathe.

“I…” The Doctor whispered without destination, licked his lips.

In the back of his mind, Stone knew this was delicate territory. But the hand holding him back wasn’t applying force anymore, and he just… couldn’t help it.

He kissed him.

And my, it still tasted like the last latte he’d made him.

The Doctor groaned, pressing closer. Stone’s hands shot to cling to the back of the robe for dear life, pulling the man tighter. His head was being held by two gloved hands a little too forcefully, fingers digging at the flesh behind his ears, but he just fucking loved everything about it.

He could scarcely believe he was awake. Sharing breath with the impossible man he’d been in love with for a while now, someone he didn’t think would ever even look his way like something more than a pupil, his tongue inside his mouth, the wet sounds between kisses filling the air.

The Doctor bit his lower lip, he moaned into his mouth, the mustache tickled and caught against his beard, he dug his fingers against his lower back, felt the man buckle against him— It was too much, he should have known it was too much.

But there was no sober voice left speaking in his head, only desperate ones, urging him to start backing the Doctor towards the living room, maybe to the couch, find out if he was wearing any underwear under the robe today, God, he was losing it—

“No!” The Doctor blurted suddenly, pulling away from Stone as if burned.

Stone’s little pained moan from the loss of contact seemed to push the man further away.

And he looked beautiful: panting, flushed, lips glistening, hazel eyes darkened by enlarged pupils. Stone would have swooned if he weren’t so busy aching to pull him back.

“No no no no NO!” He leaned against the doorframe, his whole body trembling.

“Doctor, it’s alright—”

“Don’t you DARE fucking tell me it’s alright! This is TOO MANY LEVELS OF FUCKED UP, STONE!”

He looked around, panicked, then pushed his robe even tighter around himself as if hiding— Oh. Good God. Stone was having a lot of trouble regaining his bearings. There probably was very little blood left in his body not occupied with rushing downwards.

“How could this be fucked up?” He breathed, balancing himself against the counter.

The Doctor seemed to be just as distracted by the obvious tent in his gym shorts. His eyes shot back to his face, blushing even further.

“How could this— What kind of imbecilic question is that?! I don’t— We don’t— We’re not like that!”

“We could be.”

“What THE FUCK, STONE! I— this doesn’t make any SENSE!”

Stone took a deep breath, trying to concentrate. The man was clearly panicking. Someone had to get a grip. Oh, but he wanted so much to kiss him again.

“Look, I know it might be daunting to realize men are an option—”

The Doctor scoffed loudly, looking at him like he really was an idiot.

“LIKE I CARE ABOUT THAT, STONE!” He waved his arms wildly around him, eyes growing wide and manic again, “But not YOU! NOT­- not… Not my trusty right arm! Not the loyal barnacle that has stayed by my side through the worst of it! My Agent, my…” And he trailed off. As if seeing something beyond the room they stood. Growing absent.

Stone swallowed, deeply confused about how to feel.

He knew there was an Agent Stone in the other reality too, that they were close, and that’s why the Doctor looked for him in this universe in the first place, but… never did he get a hint that maybe it was something more. He didn’t… Shit, what did it all mean?

Did the Doctor want to kiss him or the other Stone?

“Doctor?” He tried, still not confident enough to pull away from the counter, but the reasons for that seemed to be fluctuating.

“You… We shouldn’t have done that. I…” The Doctor swallowed hard, “I need to be alone.”

All air escaped the younger man’s lungs.

“Doc, please, can we take a minute to calm down and talk about this?”

“No.” He bit coldly, turning away. “Leave.”

He’d told Robotnik about knowing another version of him.

About the years working together and how much Doctor Robotnik shaped his path in robotics, not by simply handing him answers, but by making him earn them. Every lesson, every scrap of approval, every revelation had been hard-won. The Doctor had never taught him to build drones his way; he’d insisted Stone forge his own repertoire of crazy machines, even if the inspiration came from him. He hadn’t wanted a copy of himself, he wanted a pupil who could stand brilliant on his own, and only if he was truly capable.

Not that he knew his name then, or all of this would have been a lot less confusing.

He’d told him about falling in love. About not knowing what to do with it. About being left.

It took hours, so many that it had grown dark again, and he had to excuse himself to take a shower, start preparing dinner. Robotnik had allowed it, returning to the haven of his dark bedroom with the pistol still in hand.

He’d barely interrupted Stone’s wild revelations.

The lack of commentary unnerved him, but the way the Agent’s eyes tracked his every movement proved he was paying attention. Or how they’d widen at one point or another, probably recognizing something of himself in the way Stone described what he knew of his Doctor’s life.

Stone wondered how much was the same for him. How similar or different their personalities and history ran… He ached to learn more. Hoped Robotnik would want to learn more about him, too.

Maybe. Eventually.

Stepping out of the shower, he dried himself up. Made sure no water had overflowed to the floor, none of his products misaligned and occupying too much space on the sink. This wasn’t his house, after all. Extra care should be taken.

“Please. I’ve got unsanctioned, military-grade hardware even in my bathroom. You think I wouldn’t have a ski mask lying around?”

Stone’s eyebrow rose at the memory. His eyes fell to the drawers under the sink.

Would it hurt to take a peek? Hm. Knowing Robotnik, it damn well could.

He sighed, unfolding the spare clothes he’d brought. No, he hadn’t planned on any of this. He simply had them because he’d been sleeping at the lab.

Damn. Wrong shirt. How didn’t he see it?

Too distracted by how draining the conversation had been, probably.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he opened the door and ventured into the corridor with quiet steps. Which proved useless, because Robotnik had just opened his door and froze in place as their eyes met.

Stone swallowed.

Well, fuck. Wasn’t this familiar?

And what a stroke of déjà vu, as the Agent’s eyes traveled along the expanse of exposed skin, up and down.

Stone had to hold himself back from making a show of it, now that he knew what it meant. He usually wasn’t shy, but this really wasn’t the time.

Robotnik’s eyes met his again. Narrowed.

He stepped back and firmly shut the door.

Stone let out another sigh. Went for his backpack.

Stone’s hands were trembling around the bike’s handlebars.

He should be driving slowly tonight, carefully. Too distracted, too many knots in his stomach. Naturally, he was doing the opposite.

After that fated day Stone had kissed the Doctor in his kitchen, he’d left to give the man space. To… then not see him again.

He’d called so many times, left countless texts, visited the house periodically to check if he’d reappeared… Nothing. Evaporated from the face of the earth.

Six months of complete silence.

And then, an hour ago, a single text:

‘I’m back. Dinner at eight?”

Stone had still been at work, arguing with a coworker about her software choices, when his phone buzzed the notification sound he’d specially selected for the Doctor’s number.

His knees had failed, he’d had to take a seat, the coworker was too confused to keep going. Deep breaths, he almost dropped his phone twice while pulling it out to read it.

And now he was zooming past the city’s traffic to reach the isolated little house as fast as possible.

Dust rose as he pulled up to the front yard.

He yanked the helmet off and almost stopped breathing at the sight of the Doctor, alive and well, leaning against the doorframe, watching his arrival. It was too dark to make out details, but Stone could almost swear the man was glad to see him.

Walking up to him was an out-of-body experience, his feet carrying him in automatic motions, heart beating fast, dropping the helmet to the ground, throwing his arms around the broad shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug.

They’d never hugged before.

The Doctor gasped. But allowed it.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” He whispered, burying his face in the unfamiliar new coat to hide his increasingly wet eyes. Inhaling his scent. The smell was mixed with an unfamiliar brand of soap. There was a little less mass around his middle, as if the last months had been spent dieting. Or hungry. Stone tried in vain to swallow down his worry.

For a moment, neither spoke nor moved. Then he felt the Doctor shift, and a hand rested on his back, gentle.

It meant the whole world.

“I… Had important business to take care of.” He spoke with sadness in his tone.

“What the hell—" Stone pulled away only enough to glare face-to-face, “—did you need doing so bad that could possibly justify disappearing on me like that?!”

The Doctor didn’t meet his eye.

“It was important, Stone. And I… needed time. To sort through my own… well, mess. If you, normal people, have trouble untangling emotions, imagine what it’s like for a genius like me.”

Stone would have laughed if he weren’t so pissed.

“Then you better have a genius-tier explanation for putting me through so much worry!”

“God, you’re bossy here.” He muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything else. But Stone heard it clearly, and stiffened. His hands slid down his shoulders, loosening their hold to fully pull away.

“Right. Unlike him.” He bit, suddenly very irritated.

Confusing, to be jealous of yourself.

From the Doctor’s apologetic expression, he regretted it.

“I’m not good at this.”

Stone sighed, looking away.

“No, it’s fine, I… You did say dinner, right?”

The Doctor nodded, and they headed inside.

What Stone had expected was takeaway on the couch, talking half-turned and awkwardly balancing cartons over their legs as the difficult conversation unfolded.

But while takeaway was indeed involved, the rest was completely wrong.

So wrong. So right?

The living room was dimly lit with candles and a single lamp.

Over the table, a tasteful set of tablecloth and fine china, with blue flowery designs painted all over the plates. Wine glasses, gleaming cutlery set in perfect etiquette fashion… So unlike anything he was remotely used from the usually sloppy man.

Now that he was paying attention, the Doctor had cleaned up too, even if it was a subtler thing. Wax on the tips of his wild mustache, a black turtleneck under the new red coat, that smell he’d noticed before, probably recently showered.

Stone was gaping, wasn’t he?

“Geez, Stone, never had dinner before?” The Doctor muttered in clear embarrassment as he walked up to the table, shed his coat, pulled a chair. “Sit before you fall back on your clumsy ass.”

“Yessir…” Stone breathed, dazed that something as gentlemanly as a chair being pulled for him was happening. From the Doctor.

Some silence followed, as both got comfortable on the small table, and food was served. Stone poured them wine, and the older man constantly fidgeted in his seat.

“When I… What I… No, uh. Well.” The Doctor started nervously, huffed in annoyance at his own stuttering, tried again, “Before I got here. This timeline. I’d gotten involved in a scheme with my grandfather. Evil grandfather. That son of a bitch betrayed me big time, almost destroyed the world. I stopped him. Of course I did, I’m amazing!”

Stone stared at him with wide eyes. Moment of truth? Wow.

The Doctor had never told him the story of what really happened, only the necessary to make him grasp his predicament.

“Grandpappy was bound to stir trouble in this timeline, too. I… had to make sure that wouldn’t happen. Not to you. Not when… well.”

A pause.

What did that mean? Did he… kill him?

“What did you do, Doctor?” Stone asked carefully, watching as the man paid far too much attention to his napkin. Now that they were talking about it, Stone could see a new shade of haunted to the gleam in the hazel eyes, something that hadn’t been there before.

How did he ‘make sure that it wouldn’t happen’? God, Stone should have gone with him, helped, protected, anything! Why didn’t he tell him that?! Fuck—

“The really important thing right now is that back in my universe I didn’t really have a lot of reasons to want to save the world, okay?” The Doctor continued, “I saved the world because… Well. Because of you.” He averted his eyes, swallowing dryly, “You, the other you. My Agent Stone. He’d been… The only true friend I’d ever had. Even when there was no reason to stick around, he stayed. He cared, he…”

Stone’s hands rested on his own thighs, so the clenching fists were hidden. Six months, and he still couldn’t digest that someone else was so important to the Doctor. Even if that someone was himself. The other one hadn’t been here; he had been the older man’s sole company for the last three years, he had been the one to kiss him!

Sensing his unease, the Doctor rushed to continue:

“I realize now that he might have… felt what you feel. For me. And that, plot-twist, turns out I… feel… the same.”

Stone’s eyes shot up, watching the Doctor squirm under his gaze.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know, until you… did that. The whole… kissing thing.”

Stone’s heart didn’t know whether to speed up in somersaults to paradise or wrench itself out from his chest and plummet down to crush the butterflies.

“How long—” Stone took a deep breath, “—how long have you two known each other?”

“Ten years, give or take. If we don’t count the ones I’ve been here.”

Stone’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, “Shit. I’m no competition against that.”

The Doctor had the gall to scoff.

“Please, Stone— He’s you!”

Stone rolled his eyes to avoid tearing up. He wanted to leave already, but crossed his arms instead.

“As if! I’m no Agent Stone.” He sneered, “Just boring, ‘antisocial nerd’ Doctor Stone. Guess I should’ve joined the goddamn military instead, like I had planned.”

A chair screeched.

Suddenly, the Doctor was looming over him, hand snapping to grab around his jaw in the familiar way he did, forcing Stone to look up with wide, liquid eyes.

“You’re being utterly ridiculous!” The Doctor snarled, slamming the free hand over the table, “I’m not telling you this so you can wallow in jealousy and self-pity! And it’s not even earned self-pity! Jealous of yourself— do you even hear how insane that sounds? Did you lose brain cells while I was gone?!”

Stone swallowed. He didn’t want to look or sound even more pathetic, but after all these months despairing over the line he’d crossed and if he’d ever see the man he loved again, too much emotion had pent up.

“I get to feel whatever I want when I was pining for three damn years, then I finally get a taste and it’s him you wanted to be kissing! And then you ran away! Didn’t tell me shit! I bet you would’ve told him!”

Well. That sounded even more whiny out loud than it did in his head, but… The problem is that it was true.

It did seem to mellow the Doctor’s annoyance, though. His face had fallen, his grip loosened.

“No, I… I’ve always been a fool. Hid things from him, disappeared too many times without a word. He hated it…” He paused, thoughtful. Then frowned a little, “Three years? But that’s… That’s when we met. Again, I mean.”

Stone squirmed a little.

“It is.”

“Then how?”

“I thought you were amazing from day one. It just… became obvious to me a few months later. But it was always there.”

The Doctor swallowed. The hand on Stone’s jaw slowly moved to cup the side of his face.

“Don’t be jealous. I wanted to… kiss you. Not only him, but you too…” His forehead came to rest against Stone’s, both breathed a little shakily, “These last years have just served to confirm… It’s you, always you, Stone. In every possibility, you’re the weird little puzzle piece that fits mine. I’d want to kiss you in every universe. Even different, you’re always… you.”

Stone’s eyes fluttered closed.

In all his daydreams of reciprocation, none could compare to those words. He’d never pegged the Doctor for a poet, but the man was a genius, after all. Full of surprises.

How was it possible to feel so much for a single person? For a single weird ass man flung out of time? His hands gently wrapped around the Doctor’s face, just holding, as the man continued speaking:

“I know I’d have… wanted to. The other me, if he were alive here. Had you met, I’m quite sure he’d feel it too. We’re connected beyond any mortal definitions, Stone. Romcoms have nothing on us. I know that now. Like structuralist philosophy in science. I know you know this one.”

Stone nodded, sniffing a little.

“Humanity's scientific theories and models may change, but the structure, the relationship between entities remains constant, even if the entities themselves don’t.”

The Doctor smirked a little, dropping his tone low, “I do like it when you speak my language, Doctor Stone.”

Stone grinned a little, slowly feeling the colossal weight in his chest lifting.

The Doctor continued, “Even if there are universes where one of us doesn’t exist, we feel each other’s absence. Or in universes that pull us apart, this feeling… This feeling will always be there: If I meet you, however different we are, I know I’ll feel it. And you, the simp that you are,” He chuckled softly, “I know you’ll feel it too.”

Stone knew then and there, with no need to be told in these specific words: the Doctor loved him back. Every version of him. Every version of his.

It was dark out when Stone stirred, disoriented by the faint rustle of movement near the couch.

He grunted softly, groggy and stiff, the scratchy fabric of the cushions pressed against his back. The next thing he felt was his blanket being yanked away, he shivered, ready to fight back, then warmth. Knees bracketing his hips, a shape lowering over him.

His eyes fluttered open just in time to see Robotnik straddling him, shirtless, pale in the blue light of the full moon outside. His breath caught.

“Agent—?” he rasped.

Robotnik didn’t answer. Just leaned in and kissed him. Hard.

Stone gasped, hands shooting to his waist, unsure if he should push him away or closer.

Robotnik was kissing down his jaw, his chest brushing Stone’s as he shifted again, grinding down in a way that made Stone’s whole body jolt. There was no patience in it. No rhythm. Just hunger laced with tension, with something… angered and controlling.

“Agent—wait—what are you—” Stone tried, breath catching as teeth scraped over his collarbone. Shit, was he dreaming?

But Robotnik’s bare hands were very real and warm on him. Short-circuiting his rationality as they slipped under the undershirt, gripping his ribs, thumbing the dip of his hipbone. His mouth returned to Stone’s with a groan low in his throat, insistent.

“Jesus,” Stone breathed, half-lifting his head before it thudded back against the cushion. “What are you doing—”

Robotnik rolled his hips again, this time slow, dragging friction against the thin cotton of Stone’s boxers.

“Ah—” Stone’s fingers dug into his sides involuntarily, “Ivo,” Firmer now. “Talk to me.”

“It’s ‘Ivo’ now, hmmm?” He drawled low against his jaw. Malicious, cruel.

Stone’s heart thudded, pulse jumping under his skin. He could feel the tremor in Robotnik’s body, the heat, nails scraping at his sides. He loved everything about it, and yet.

“I— sorry. Agent. I meant Agent. Please, what’s this?” He gasped, not resisting the urge to let his hands roam the skin of a naked back despite the hesitation. Warm, so stiff. Robotnik nipped at his cheekbone, still working his hips in slow drags, driving him insane.

“Agent?” his mouth had to be burning holes in Stone’s face, impossibly hot, “I thought you’d want to call me ‘Doctor’ now.”

Stone’s entire body stiffened.

The universe was having a real laugh at his expense right now, he was sure.

He gripped Robotnik’s hips firmly, stilling them. The man groaned in frustration above him.

“What!”

“You’re twisting things.”

“I don’t care what you call me! Whatever gets you off! Just get on with it!”

“No.”

Robotnik snarled, sitting up. A hand pulled free and, in a familiar move, shot up to stick its fingers into Stone’s panting mouth. They closed around his lower teeth in a vicious grab.

Holy shit— his eyes widened as they met furious hazel ones.

“I can’t fucking sleep or think because of this goddamn itch that needs scratching! I don’t give a fuck what kind of kink you got pegged on me because of a multidimensional crush, I don’t give a fuck about being used, because honestly, I will be using you back— so just. Fucking. Do it.”

No, no, no, no. Robotnik was getting it all wrong. It wasn’t like that.

Stone tried to shake his head in the negative, but the hold in his mouth didn’t budge. The older man needed to know what his Doctor had helped him see: they were the same, even if a little different. Loving Doctor Robotnik was the same as loving Agent Robotnik. And it wasn’t like he was going at it blindly, reducing the man to the ghost of someone he wasn’t!

Stone had been attracted to him from day one! Even if he’d disliked the brazen arrogance at first, he couldn’t help noticing how handsome he was.

Then the more time they spent together, the more they bickered and gossiped, and he witnessed firsthand the undeniable dedication to his craft, the charm, the brilliance… He was head over heels. It was deeply confusing, developing feelings for someone besides the Doctor. He’d spent some time in denial, to be honest. Thought the interest was only due to the occasional coincidences his brain justified as simply having met someone similar.

But the coincidences amounted.

Stone forced his body to relax, his jaw to go slack. He needed to find middle ground here, but Robotnik wouldn’t listen if he didn’t feel in control.

He closed his lips carefully around the fingers, sucked.

The Agent’s breath stuttered, eyes half closing to stare at his mouth. His hips began to move again.

“Now we’re getting somewhere…” Robotnik breathed.

And God, did he love those hands.

His tongue slipped between his fingers, then under the digits as the hold softened, caressing, tasting. Long fingers that could align delicate circuitry, conduct his machines so elegantly, trigger-happy. Stone moaned around them, losing himself a little; he’d been wanting to taste them for so long…

Robotnik’s pace quickened above him. It felt so so good, perfect actually, he looked so hot towering over him, forcing him down, he wanted to— No.

Stone inhaled sharply. He was forgetting himself.

He didn’t want to part with the fingers just yet, but this couldn’t wait.

He gently brought a hand to the man’s wrist, tugging a little. It resisted at first, but he kept stroking it with his thumb until it was allowed.

“Agent…” He whispered, kissing the palm of his hand, looking up at him with all the affection and desire that swirled within, “I don’t want to use you…” his free hand encouraged the grinding, sliding between his legs to palm at the obvious strain on the pajama pants.

Robotnik groaned, chasing the touch a little desperately.

Shit, the solid press against his fingers was enough to make the ache between his own legs worsen. How long had the Agent been tossing and turning, thinking about throwing caution to the wind and coming to Stone? The mental image made the Doctor’s hip tip up.

“I want you, just you...” Stone continued, “Believe me, please… I love you.”

“Fuck, just shut it! You’re ruining it— Ah!”

“I know you find me a sap, but I need you to get it—” He moaned softly, feeling Robotnik’s nails digging delicious crescents on his chest, “I want Agent Robotnik, like this, and any other way you might want. You.”

It reduced the true complexity of his feelings for the man, but that wasn’t the part of the truth he needed now. The rest could come later.

“Don’t lie to me. Not like this.” Robotnik gasped, rhythm growing uncoordinated.

Stone’s thoughts were becoming harder to string into coherence as he watched the man pant above him, pale torso tensing up with every sway, eyebrows pinched as if in pain. It was a fucking vision sent from paradise, so much better than anything he’d imagined, every nerve in his body alight, he couldn’t recall ever being this turned on in his life. He lifted his thighs a little, forcing the man to bend closer. Then smoothly slid a hand into his waistband. Wrapped around him.

Robotnik arched into the touch, letting out a surprised moan. Loud and long, drawing another unbearable pang of want from Stone’s core.

“I’m not.” He gasped against his mouth, “I’ll never lie to you again. I promise… Just don’t run away.”

They kissed again. Gentler, this time. Careful.

Stone was on cloud nine, surrounded by soft light and a romantic dinner setting miraculously organized by the Doctor himself. When they pulled away, the world outside those walls had become utterly unimportant.

But the tragedy was, it wasn’t meant to last.

The Doctor stroked his cheek for another beat of silence, then inhaled a shaky breath.

“Stone, I… Took away my grandfather’s threat, because…”

Stone frowned, his thoughts still a little addled.

“…because I won’t be here to stop him again.”

Stone opened his eyes, looking up inquisitively.

“What?”

The Doctor straightened up.

“I found what I needed to finish my machine.”

Stone stared.

Then that meant—

“You’re going away.”

The Doctor swallowed, then began to pace.

“This is not my timeline! I left too much behind, you knew I planned to go back!”

Stone sprang up, feeling despair creeping into his psyche in a way that, oh boy, definitely promised trouble.

“Why?! You’re leaving things behind here! Leaving me!” He motioned between them in desperation, “Doesn’t this change anything?!”

“I’m not your Doctor!”

“There’s no Doctor for me! You said so yourself, all you found was a child’s obituary!”

The Doctor whirled around, expression filled with angst, “You can still find happiness! You’re successful, far too damn gorgeous for your own good—” He motioned towards Stone, “—so young!”

Which earned him a loud scoff.

“Young?! Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Stone, back home the age difference was already a stretch, but this? Thirty-plus years? That’s just pushing it!”

“I’m a goddamn adult, Doctor! Spare me this bullshit! You time jumped!”

“I know! I just—” He halted, pinching the bridge of his nose, “We’re not synced here, I’d just be slowing you down! I don’t even have my resources to compensate for it. I’m getting tired, Stone… So tired. And I left you there. All alone.”

“And that’s your solution, leaving me all alone instead?”

“God, I really dislike this whole self-commiseration streak you got going on tonight.”

“The goddamn audacity!”

“Please, Aban...”

Stone wasn’t prepared to hear his first name like that. Uttered so pleadingly. So defeated.

He turned his back to the Doctor, trying to look for some composure through a heart that hadn’t even finished mending before breaking again.

What option did he have?

If he tried to imagine ten years of loving that man only to have him ripped away without a single kiss… Without a single chance to be loved back.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor, dooming him to have known that love in a reality he simply couldn’t keep. Couldn’t even find it again because ‘his’ Doctor had passed away long before he was born.

Stone eventually calmed down. Cried his eyes out in the Doctor’s arms, kissed him a little more, heard awkward but soft reassurance he didn’t even know the man was capable of, and accepted his fate. They didn’t finish eating the food, neither had the stomach for it.

Then he walked the Doctor to the basement, where the huge, gleaming platform stood.

Helped the Doctor put on the Radio(in)active suit, his coat over it for style, adjusted his lapels, tried not to tear up again as the older man turned everything on, stepped up to it.

“Stone, oh, Stone… These last years were precious, because of you. Saved me once again.” He smiled sadly, looking down at the younger man as the air buzzed around them.

“You’ll be fine, you’ll see. You’ll forget all about me before you can finally learn to spell pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis!”

Ok, Stone was tearing up again. That old obsession with the English dictionary’s longest word had always exasperated him.

“You know neither of those things will ever happen, Doc!” He joked back half-heartedly, trying not to make it harder on him. Just a few more seconds. He could puke later.

It worked. The Doctor smiled beautifully as red lightning started zapping from the machine.

“Hey, Doctor Stone!” He shouted over the rising noise, pulling down his goggles.

“Yeah?!” Stone shouted back, memorizing every detail in the man’s appearance. The ridiculous mustache and bald look he’d come to need in his field of vision like oxygen was necessary to his lungs. The broad silhouette, dramatic overcoat, gloved hands that could build the most wonderful things.

His smile widened:

“Thanks for NOTHING!”