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Stone hated when his superiors remembered that he possessed qualifications that made him an extraordinary field agent. Every now and then they would politely ask the doctor whether they could 'borrow' him for special grade assignments. Usually, Stone had no interest in doing any kind of work that did either not come from the doctor himself or was not directly in the man's favour or interest.
Unfortunately, this time - and thankfully it happened seldom enough - Robotnik had agreed to his superiors' request and graciously permitted Walters to temporarily re-assign him, mumbling something about enrichment. Much to Stone's displeasure.
But he tried to make the best of this disruption to his blissful routine with the doctor and saw it as a chance to vent some of his more recent frustrations. For example, only a day ago, his precious, expensive and long-awaited delivery for Colombian coffee beans had arrived wet and soiled! He had wanted to kill someone so badly. So. Having been assigned field-work hadn't come entirely as an inconvenience.
What inconvenienced him greatly, though, was the fact that they had sent him half-way around the world. And for, possibly, multiple days. That irked him.
Be that as it may, Stone was currently standing in the middle of some abandoned storage hangar in La Plata, Argentinia - his well cared for Glock in one hand and a military-grade carbon-blade knife in the other. Mission objective was the eradication of a group of local criminals. Stone hadn't been given any more detailed information and honestly, he didn't need it or care for it.
The file had shown him fourteen names and pictures and the very simple order to eliminate.
Easy.
Six of the targets were already down - bleeding out or fully dead somewhere in the corners or upper walkways of the hangar. The remaining eight men had, by now, realised that even though Stone was alone and had yet to change his first magazine (Haha, a 17-shot-magazine, really? He had brought a laser-magazine from the doctor, naturally.), he was about to take them all out.
They were yelling at each other, stupidly giving away their hiding spots. Their panic afforded Stone a moment to inspect the blood splatters on the hem of his jacket. Sigh. And one of the dead targets had left a cut in one of his sleeves when he hadn't been quite fast enough to move. The knife hadn't even knicked him but his jacket now had a cut. And with the way he was moving it was steadily ripping further. What a nuisance.
Ah, his left shoe was scuffed.
He huffed a world-weary sigh and rolled his eyes.
Then he returned his attention to the targets. He listened until he had located them all acoustically. Really. How stupid of them. One was hiding behind a toppled over table. It was made of metal but the top was barely six millimetres thick. His Glock shot right through it, taking out another target. Seven down. Seven more to go.
The screeching in horrified Spanish intensified.
"SHIT! FUCK!"
"WHAT KIND OF GUN IS THAT?"
"SHUT UP, HECTOR! HE'LL HEAR WHERE YOU ARE!"
"WHAT IS GOING ON?"
"IT'S JUST ONE FUCKIN' MAN!"
"FUCK! FUCK! THIS THING WON'T FIRE! WHY WON'T IT FIRE!"
Stone listened as two of them tried to sneak up on him from behind. As if he couldn't hear their boots crunching on the littered hangar floor. Or hear their laboured breathing. Without looking he lifted his arm and shot the one taking aim at him. With a terrified scream the second one loosened his own shot but Stone had already moved.
It was almost boring. Guns were linear weapons. Very easy to evade. And knives, well, one had to be close enough to use those. Getting close to Stone in a fight was never a good idea. Four of the dead targets had learned that the hard way. Although, learned? They were dead. Maybe 'experienced' was a more fitting description.
The second creeper was firing away, hitting everything except Stone.
With a semi-wide circuit, Stone approached, making use of whatever cover was around, and finally kicked the man's ankle. He shot him mid-fall. Eight down, six more to go.
This close-combat-manoeuvre also had the desired effect of luring out some of the other targets. Thinking him distracted, three more heads lifted into shooting range. Three left.
He could hear them whimpering in Spanish. Trying to invoke divine help through prayer or satanic intervention by colourful swearing. They should have stayed silent.
Stone could pretty much saunter up to them while they covered and wailed.
Number twelve screeched at a pitch so high, Stone scrunched up his nose in discomfort and slit the man's throat. Drat! He got blood on his glove. With the rabbit-fast pulse of a panicked man he should have sliced faster. Irgh. That was good leather.
Two more.
He heard one. Hiding in-between two stacks of cargo crates. He wasn't talking, yet his panting was loud enough to alert Stone to his location. He rounded the crates and shot him from behind.
One more.
Now, this one had obviously learned a lesson because Stone could neither hear nor see him. Very good. Unfortunately for the target it only meant that at this point Stone could start using one of his little helpers. The teeny tiny mini-nik hovering beneath the hangar roof was scanning the space. Stone waited patiently.
Eventually the drone beeped and pointed a laser beam at a spot somewhat to Stone's right. He began heading that way.
It was then that the final target briefly showed himself - to throw a live grenade at him.
Ok, points for trying.
Stone shot the bomb at its highest arc and shielded his face with his arm. When the ball of fire had receded, he checked the laser-beam-aided location of his target. It had moved, was still moving. Trying to circle around him. Good idea. In theory.
Stone shot twice into the man's direction, simply to make him nervous. He heard him curse in Spanish and also heard him stumble. In the short moment of distraction he slipped into cover as well. Quietly, he headed for the guy's location. The mini-nik was continuously showing him the way.
One more shot. Then he could go back home.
He slipped around the last crate, stood and aimed.
"Son of a bitch!"
The last target was staring at him, utterly terrified but also determined - in a pushed-into-a-corner sort of way. In his hands he held a very familiar looking piece of drone-tech. Stone's eyes widened and shot immediately - knowing that while he probably had taken out the final target, he himself was in danger. The man had activated this obviously stolen bad-nik's self-destruct feature.
The drone's lens flashed red several times, it beeped and exploded.
Stone, standing a mere two metres away, felt the pressure and heat hit him like a freight train. He was swept from his feet and darkness claimed him.
*
He had been listening to a distant conversation for quite some time before he realised that he was awake. He felt sluggish. Dead tired. Numb. His eyes burned and he rubbed at them. His arm was as heavy as a lead weight. Also, bandaged? And fuck, the overhead lights were so, so blindingly bright. They hurt his head.
The conversation from across the room kept floating through his dizzy mind:
"I hope for your sake that he'll wake up soon. And fine. Because if not, Walters, there's going to be a reckoning." That was a familiar voice. Stone couldn't properly put name nor face to it, but it soothed the knot in his chest and he sighed.
"No need for threats, Rob. I'm sure he'll be fine. And don't forget that he's an agent. Things like that happen." Ah. General Walters. Stone recognised that voice.
"'Things like that happen'", the other voice mimicked in a derisive sneer, "Not to my agent, Walters. Also: why the fuck wasn't he informed about the finer details? Like, how these fumbling morons got their dirty paws on one of my drones?"
"Rob..."
"I know for a fact that all my drones are accounted for. Except for the batch of twenty I loaned to you three months ago. Now, can you tell me where those are? Honestly don't even bother! I know where they are. I just assumed that you had sent that one along with Stone to help him. Why hadn't either of us been informed that that piece of invaluable technology had been stolen? Everything about this could have been avoided if you'd come forth with this LITTLE PIECE OF VITAL INFORMATION!"
Stone grinned sleepily. That temper was kind of hot. He wished he could see Walters' fumbling face. Judging from the tone of his voice, the general was very nervous. Terrified, possibly. It made Stone chuckle.
That roused the attention of the two men.
A leather-clad palm came to rest on his forehead: "Stone? Report."
He had no idea why the stranger thought he had to report to him. But, the voice made him turn his face toward it. He wanted to bury himself in that voice. "Mmmh", he hummed and wondered whether he was drugged. There was a cable on his chest. And a tube in his arm.
The man at his side rose to his feet and marched to the door of what Stone could now assume was a hospital room. He struggled to open his eyes. Oh boy. The man was tall. And currently yelling in Spanish. When he strode back to Stone's bed, his knee-length jacket billowed like a warrior's coat. He looked very fetching. "Doctor's on the way", that smooth voice said. Sexily. A thought in the farthest reaches of his mind was purring something along the lines of 'yes, he is'.
Stone grinned. Ok. He was drugged.
"How are you feeling, agent Stone?" That had been Walters. The general was still standing at parade-rest at the foot of Stone's bed. Looking both relieved and wary.
"Like I've been hit by a freight train."
"Do you-?"
"Shut it, Walters", the stranger snapped, having sat back down on the chair beside the bed, "No point in stressing him more than necessary."
Surprisingly, the general fell silent and Stone wondered what rank this man could hold that it would make the other obey. Trembling included. It was kind of a hilarious sight. And exciting.
The doctor arrived. Or, several of them. Their white coats beneath the halogen lights a terrible strain on his sensitive eyes. They bombarded him with questions, looked him over and checked the infusion bags and machines he was hooked up to.
Apparently, Stone learned then, he had been caught in an explosion. He figured the rest. Walters' presence could only mean that his latest mission had gone awry. He did not remember anything about it.
"Do you remember your name?", they asked in stilted English.
He sighed. "I do but I've also heard these two saying it a couple of times." He gestured weakly in the direction of Walters and the stranger.
"Full name?"
"Classified", Walters interrupted. "State your personnel number, agent."
Stone sighed again and did so.
The doctors looked confused for a moment, at a loss, but at the general's nod ticked something off on their clipboards. "Where were you born?"
"Tripoli." The stranger nodded.
"Do you know what day it is today? What day of the week is it?"
At that Stone frowned. He could not tell.
"What is the last thing you remember?"
With rising dread, Stone realised that nothing came to mind. At least, no specific moment. He knew that he remembered Walters and that he was an agent for the government. His parents lived in Canada. He liked motorcycles.
The handsome stranger rolled his chair into his view: "What's the last motif you put onto my latte?"
Huh? Coffee? He made that man coffee?
His expression must have been answer enough because the stranger's face morphed into a glare: "Do you remember me, Stone?"
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "No, sir."
Hectic scribbling from the doctors, followed by several attempts at re-assurance. Stone knew the drill. Head injuries could cause memory loss. Hopefully temporary. But, how much had he forgotten?
"Then we're talking about roughly three years of memory impairment", the man said, displeased and with a lethally sharp look toward Walters. "Great, just great."
"Do I know you, sir?"
"We'll talk about this later", Walters interrupted. Stone barely listened as the general argued with the perplexed doctors about his return to the US. Naturally, none of the physicians wanted him released just yet. A consensus was reached when the stranger suggested impatiently that he would fly Stone back to Washington where he could pass the remainder of his physical recuperation in a hospital closer to home.
That seemed to assuage the doctors and they scuttled away, hopefully to prepare his release forms.
All the while, Stone had tried his best to come up with some point it time that would pinpoint his last memory. The blank period was freaking him out. The stranger did seem to know him. And Stone himself... recognised him on some level. Yet he could neither remember a name or a single specific moment. There were only feelings. Many of them.
With the doctors gone, the man rolled back close to Stone. The agent looked at him, searching his face for any traces of familiarity.
"Don't stress yourself, agent", the man sighed.
Walters took this moment to excuse himself, muttering something about privacy. Stone frowned.
As soon as the door had fallen shut, the stranger leant back into his chair and exhaled in a theatrically exaggerated way - what a funny man: "Really, Aban. This is quite a nuisance."
Oh. His first name?
"Also, mind telling me when you had me listed as your emergency contact? Ah, forget it. 's not like you can remember."
The man was his emergency contact? "What about my parents?"
"I wasn't about to call them without any more information about your condition", the man glared, "You think I'm telling your mother how you've been involved in a rather violent 'accident' and had not yet woken up? No. Wanted to wait until I knew more." He seemed a little flustered and was avoiding Stone's eyes. Cute.
"You have my parents' contact information?"
"Walters was definitely not going to call them. I was emergency contact. His part was done."
Stone had a flicker of recollection and the term 'mama Stone' flashed through his mind. Could this be true? "Who are you?"
There was a pointedly long moment during which the stranger was looking at him with deep, deep calculation. Stone used the moment to study the other as well. He was older than Stone, by a wee bit. Tall. Handsome. Roguishly dressed. Dark hair and moustache. The sight of him made Stone's pulse pick up.
"My name is doctor Ivo Robotnik."
Oh. That was why Walters had called him Rob.
"Ivo", Stone tested the name, feeling its form on his tongue and lips - it did not feel familiar, but: "That's kind of cute." Adorable.
"What?" The expression on the man's face was a hilarious mix of fluster and indignation. "No. You call me doctor. Or sir."
Stone frowned: "Is that a bedroom kink? Sounds hot but I cannot be calling you that the entire time, can I?"
He watched with a morbid kind of fascination that stemmed at least half-way from his forgotten memories as the man called Ivo Robotnik blushed. "WHAT? You work for me, Stone!"
Stone should be embarrassed then but too many things were not adding up: "That sounds odd. I make you coffee. That would be way beneath my pay-grade. And I seem to be decorating those with pictures? You're my emergency contact. You know my parents. And my first name." That sounded not at all like anything he would be doing with a superior. He usually kept a very strict distance to the morons at HQ. All of his observations hinted at a much more... personal and domestic relationship.
Obviously unwilling to discuss any of this any longer Robotnik pushed to his feet, lifted a travel-bag from where it had been lying at his feet and dumped it onto Stone's bed: "Get dressed. We're leaving."
*
It took those doctors the better part of three hours to finalise his release and hand them a medical report along with recommendations for further treatment and medication. Robotnik stuffed everything into Stone's travel-bag, placed over Stone's lap, and kept pushing his wheelchair toward the lifts. This didn't feel like a boss/employee-thing at all.
He kept his mouth shut though. If we truly are working with each other then, naturally, Ivo may not wish Walters witnessing our personal involvement. Relatable.
But the general had not been seen for hours and upon enquiry Robotnik dismissively told Stone that the 'the old fart had left', making a vague gesture with his one hand. Stone chuckled at the disrespectful manner. "What do you do? For work, I mean. Why was I assigned to you?", he asked when the lift doors closed.
Where were they headed? The lift was ascending instead of descending. Weren't they leaving?
"You never heard of me? Even before your re-assignment?", Robotnik was chuckling, very entertained.
Stone frowned. Should he have? He racked his fragmented memory and came up with nothing. Nothing aside from the impression of motor-oil. And a prominent fluttering in his belly.
The lift stopped at the top-most floor, the doors opened and Robotnik rolled Stone onto the corridor. "Where the hell are we going?", he was starting to get a little annoyed. Walters would (probably) not have left him in the hands of a hostile agent but his own occupational paranoia was prickling in his neck.
"You'll see", Robotnik grinned.
"'You'll see'", Stone repeated in a less than complimentary tone of voice. Grimace included. He hated when people purposefully left him in the dark. As if they could ever have something over him.
"I'm seeing a whole new side of you, agent", the man groused, all humour gone. "Remind me to stagger your work-hours."
"Are you going to tell me what it is you do any time now?", Stone snarked right back. From his point of view there was this albeit handsome stranger he'd never seen before abducting him from the hospital. He himself was still pretty much hopped up on potent drugs and not in full control of his own temper. "You one of the higher up generals at the pentagon?" He did not look like it.
Robotnik snorted a laugh: "Oh please. Nothing so basic. Give me a little credit."
Basic? Stone loved that word. It described perfectly all the fools habitually surrounding him at work. He was increasingly confused about this Ivo. He was kind of a jerk. But also very funny. And sexy. Had he emphasised that already? "I would, perhaps, if you'd finally tell me what it is-?"
Oh.
Oh.
They had left the corridor and stepped onto the helicopter deck on the hospital's roof. The pad was occupied. And not by some boring-ass medical helicopter.
Stone's eyes widened.
Was he hallucinating? How strong had his pain-medication been?
"Impressed yet?", the Robotnik drawled, taking great pleasure in Stone's awe.
Before him perched a beyond state-of-the-art aircraft. All sleek and sexy and as if plucked right from one of Stone's science-fiction-novels. It resembled none of the pre-existing jets or planes Stone had ever seen, ever. Not once during his entire career. White and black and red. At a gesture from Robotnik a hatch slid open at the front side of the craft and a fully automated heavy-duty staircase extended to the ground.
Stone sat slack-jawed in his wheelchair, feeling the need to clutch his travel-bag more prominently over his lap.
That construct seemed like a wet-dream come to flesh. Or to carbon-fibre composites. Metals and ceramics. Fused silica. Stone had a hard time breathing.
It looked...blisteringly fast.
Which, naturally, Stone responded to on an almost sexual level.
A distant memory reared its head in the farthest reaches of his mind: "Wait a minute... are you that elusive master engineer the government has been contracting for years?"
"The one and only." Before Stone could jump to his feet to better stare at the phantom he had admired for so long, Robotnik had already clamped a hand down and over his shoulder, keeping him seated. "No standing up."
"Oh my god! You are? You are! I-I saw some of your drone-tech during an assignment in Houston and-!"
"Calm down, Stone. I don't want to go back to the hospital because you're hyperventilating. Your humongous crush on my person is well known to me." Stone blushed a deep, deep red and stammered. "Please don't faint", Robotnik rolled his eyes, "I want to be home before dinner."
*
It took Stone nearly the entirety of the flight back home to process the information that not only had he finally met the most genial man on the face of the earth but that he was also working for him. Had been for about three years. All of his dreams must have come true and he remembered nothing of it.
He wasn't sure whether to be happy or devastated. He leaned resignedly toward the latter.
Not even the experience of flying with the doctor's aircraft managed to cheer him up. Why couldn't he remember? Finally, finally he had found someone to excite and impress him and he had forgotten everything. How much had he seen? How many of the doctor's wonders had he been allowed to witness? He would spend his entire life making that man however many coffees he wished and he would be honoured to do so. Happy even.
Everything made sense now.
And yet, not.
"Are you sulking, Stone?"
No, he was not. He was a grown man.
"Why are you sulking?"
He wasn't sulking.
"Stone, remind me who's the assistant and who's the mastermind here?"
"I'm sorry."
"That sounds more like it", Robotnik grinned triumphantly. He was lounging in the pilot's chair while the jet flew on full autopilot. "Now tell Papa why you're moping."
Papa? "I hate that I don't remember the best time of my life."
"Don't be melodramatic. With time your memories will probably come back."
"But I have forgotten how to do everything. I don't want you to have to put up with a mediocre assistant…"
Robotnik sighed deeply and said sarcastically accompanied by a lot of emphatic gesticulating: "I promise to be patient. Maybe even lenient. Now stop yapping!" He was such a joker sometimes. Stone was having a hard time not finding it utterly endearing. He was not in the mood.
But Stone did not pout. "Was I allowed in your lab?"
"Yes."
"Did I get to see your work?"
"Yes."
"Was I ever allowed to use any your inventions?"
Robotnik heaved a put-upon sigh and dug out his phone. Stone watched as he unlocked it, searched for something and then passed it to the agent. Stone took it with revering fingers. He was looking at a photo. A photo of himself, grinning beatifically at the camera - because he was stood before a shiny, brand-new, sleek black motorcycle. The tank was emblazoned with the doctor's personal logo. Stone was bent sideways over it doing a victory-sign with one hand and a Korean finger heart with the other.
Stone's eyes widened and he nearly snapped his neck with how fast he turned to look at the doctor: "Is that mine?"
"You use my inventions all the time", Robotnik explained, "The reason you're still alive is probably because that mini-nik you took with you on your mission, shielded you from the brunt of the explosion. It was also the reason why my abducted baby-egg refused to shoot at you. You're whitelisted after all. And that motorcycle was a birthday gift from last year."
Stone returned his gaze to the photo, cheeks flushed, and bit his lips together to prevent himself from grinning like a fool.
*
He spent one more week at a hospital in Washington, having multiple doctors and personnel from HR fawn over him. The only doctor he actually wanted see never showed up again. He tried not to be miffed over that, after all, Ivo Robotnik was a very busy man. The fact that he'd come to Argentina for Stone had been an honour. He should not get greedy.
On the other hand, he seemed to hold a place in the man's life. Possibly heart. Why else would he receive such invaluable gifts? He had made the doctor his emergency contact and the man had come to his hospital bed from half-way across the world. He knew his parents. He knew his name. He obviously protected him from Walters.
Stone was stupefied how he had managed to... 'land that'.
After that one week the doctors were finally willing to release him into supervised domiciliary arrest.
"Who'll be picking you up, Mr. Stone?", the nurse asked him, scribbling on her clipboard - probably filling out a his medication plan, recovery instructions and drug prescriptions.
Eh. Stone had no idea. He had just finished packing up and was ransacking his brain for a possible babysitter. He did not want to bother his parents...
"Papa's here!", came a sudden proclamation from his room's door. Stone whipped around and there he was: the one doctor he had wanted to see. "All packed up and ready to go, agent? Better hurry, I don't have all day."
The nurse had covered fearfully at the unexpected entrance and was peaking over her clipboard: "Are you Mr. Stone's-?"
"Yes", Robotnik interrupted imperiously, "Can we go now?"
Stone grinned from on ear to the other and waved his release papers: "All set and ready, sir!"
The nurse looked sceptically between the two of them, especially at the appellation, but quietly handed over the last piece of paper: "Have a speedy recovery, Mr. Stone. And do take it easy. You had a severe concussion and are still suffering from memory loss. You are not to be-!"
"We know!", the doctor interrupted again, did a mock bow and then gestured Stone grandly from the room, "I bid you adieu!"
Stone kept looking at him with star-struck eyes: "I did not expect you to come and pick me up."
"Who the hell were you expecting, agent?"
"I don't-?"
"Never mind. Hurry up! I only have forty minutes until the housing for my latest prototype has to be taken out of the acid bath."
"Where are we going?"
"Are you daft, my forgetful henchman?", Robotnik rolled his eyes and held open a door for Stone to slip through, "You're supposed to be on bedrest. I'm getting you to bed. Then I'm back to work but be warned: you're not going to be unsupervised, lest you do any more stupid things. Like getting blown up. I temporarily transferred most of my current projects to the lab in my apartment. This way I can make sure you're not secretly off to get yourself killed."
"Your apartment?"
"Naturally. Where else? Your apartment is pitifully ill-equipped for any form of proper work. So, you'll be staying with me. Everything you'll need has already been transferred."
Stone blushed: "I'll be staying with you?"
"I see the concussion has further lowered your cerebral capacities. This is going to be extraordinarily exhausting, I can tell. Yes, agent. Unless you magically procure someone who can keep their eyes on you. Can you?"
"I-?"
"That's what I thought", Robotnik groused as they stepped out of the hospital and headed for the parking lot. "I cannot believe it has come to this, Stone. Really. Remind me again who was supposed to be the assistant here?"
"I apologise for causing you trouble, Ivo."
"Better. Now, hop in."
Stone blinked and looked at the not-at-all inconspicuous limousine parked before them. It was undoubtedly another of the doctor's brilliant inventions. The door opened on its own and Stone slipped inside, Robotnik pushing him farther and following after. The door closed and the limousine gently rolled into motion - no driver behind the wheel.
Amazing.
*
The first two days were a haze of wonder. Stone was indeed put into the doctor's private apartment. In his bed. Where he was ordered to remain aside from trips to the bathroom, kitchen or book-shelf. Through the open door he could spy the maestro at his industrial-grade workbench. Robotnik would spend hours there - tapping and swishing on his holo-screens, scribbling away on blueprints, soldering circuit-boards, hammering away at skeletal prototypes, checking his 3D-printer. It was a mesmerising dance that Stone watched more than the TV across from the bed.
At one point, on the third day, Stone felt the insurmountable urge to make the man coffee.
It was probably some form of muscle-memory from before his amnesia. And with the doctor habitually lost in his work, oblivious to anything happening around him, Stone simply got to his feet and snuck into the kitchen. The coffee-maker flummoxed him. It was more intricate than any machine he had ever seen at Starbucks.
He could do this!
He glared, closed his eyes and lifted his hands.
Eleven minutes later he was holding a cup of coffee - having no recollection of how he had managed that. Steamed Austrian goat milk, yes? He frowned. Something still didn't feel right. What had Ivo said? Back in that hospital room in La Plata?
'What's the last motif you put onto my latte?'
Stone angled his head to the side and studied the white expanse of foam. His fingers were itching.
Carefully he used the handle of his spoon to draw a heart into the foam.
He blushed deeply at the sight and considered stirring it away but - it felt right. He left it and crossed over to the doctor's work-bench. Silently he put the cup down and crept back to his bed. Robotnik's bed. The thought still sent goose-bumps up and down his arms and back.
Over the course of another week, this routine hardly changed - though Stone got more and more bold. He kept making those special lattes and discovered that he was rather adept at making foam-art. Robotnik never commented on all the hearts and portraits but often sighed contently after his first sip and praised the agent.
That never failed to speed up Stone's pulse.
He had also taken up laundry duties - his boredom was threatening to kill him. And that odd chore had felt strangely familiar, too. And not in the sense that he had, of course, done his own laundry before. No. He knew how to sort and launder each of the doctor's clothes. How to iron them out. Where to put them in the drawers.
Cooking had been less of a surprise. He had always liked the process of cooking - it was calm, straightforward and rewarding. With the doctor's apron hanging from his neck, tied behind his back, he was under the immediate impression of having become a proper house-husband.
And somehow that pleased him. Greatly.
Eventually he even pilfered a laptop computer from the doctor so that he could at least keep an eye on the man's schedule. It was frustratingly empty. Oddly enough. That felt unusual. But he could not ask the man lest he find out that Stone had stolen the computer and was circumventing his sick-leave.
After 17 days Stone couldn't take it any longer.
"Can I please take a walk outside? Please? Ivo, I am going insane!"
"I don't have time to go on walkies with you, Stone! I am busy!"
"You don't have to come along. I feel fine. I can-!"
"Utterly out of the question!"
Stone did not pout. Grown men did not pout. But it may have looked a little as if he were.
"Irgh!", Robotnik threw his head back, "I cannot work with you moping so loudly over there! FINE! But you're taking a badnik and you had better only walk leisurely. No running. Not even speed-walking. No stairs. Twenty minutes and you're back!"
"Thank you, Ivo!", he grinned and briefly hugged the man's neck from behind - possible only because the tall doctor was still sitting at his work-bench.
There was a sort of garbled noise but Stone was too happy to care. He hurriedly put his shoes on, took his jacket and tipped one hovering badnik onto the lens to make it follow him, then he was out of the apartment. Finally! He sighed to himself and immediately tried to hurry toward the lifts. The badnik zapped his elbow.
"OW!"
It beeped in response and no translation was necessary.
"Oh for the love of-!", Stone sighed again, emphatically, and walked leisurely forward. The badnik whirred and followed.
Really, his boss/possibly lover had an odd way of being a sweet jerk. That brilliant dork. He could absolutely understand why he loved him so.
But. He also needed air. And movement.
He wasn't meant to be sitting idle.
The fresh wind was a balm on his face and his legs itched to run. If only the badnik wasn't hovering over his shoulder like his personal gaoler. So Stone contented himself with a moderately paced walk around the plaza before the HQ building. The weather was somewhat grey but thankfully dry.
"Stone?"
He halted and craned his neck, spotting what he could only presume to be other agents waving for him. They were gathered around a smoking station, huddled together in their black suits with no further protection against the wind. Stone checked the time on his wristwatch and stepped closer.
Some faces he recognised: agents Butler, Arnold, Getz and Biswas. The remaining two sprang a blank result in his memory bank.
"Hey", he greeted passively.
"Didn't know you were back", Butler hissed and inhaled on his cigarette. His lips were turning blue. "Heard you had an accident during your last mission."
"Explosion to the face", Stone shrugged, "Not back on duty yet, though."
"We figured", Getz gestured at his outfit, "A bit too casual. Why're you here then?"
Stone tried to suppress his annoyance but ultimately didn't care: "I was released from hospital but not deemed reliable enough to remain without supervision."
"They put you into one of the residential apartments?", Butler frowned and sniffed, "Who's the poor soul got to babysit you?"
Arnold laughed under her breath and hid her grin behind her cigarette hand: "You haven't heard? He's staying with the doctor."
"What? Isn't that, I don't know, counter-productive? How's he supposed to recover with the nutjob around?"
It was Stone's turn to frown. He might be missing important pieces of his memory but he was certain he did not care for badmouthing Ivo. Before he could say anything, though, Arnold was already talking again:
"Come on, our Pebbles is probably happy for it. We all know he's, like, the only living person on this planet who enjoys spending time with the man. It isn't even the first time they bunkered down together. Remember Tanzania? Fifteen agents and Stone was the only one volunteering and allowed to go with the doctor. They even shared a room at that dreadful motel."
Tanzania?
"Considering that he's practically been living in the lab anyway, this cannot be too much of a difference. Right, Stone?" Getz was squishing the butt of his cigarette into the ash bowl on top of the trash bin they'd been gathered around. He shrugged his shoulders to provoke some warmth into his joints and sniffed. "This freaky thing you got going on with the doctor progressed beyond simple fuckin'? You moved in yet?"
Were they having sex?
One of the nameless agents shoved his arm: "Keep it down! You know how the superiors get when they hear about fraternisation! Let's not even mention HR!"
Arnold nodded: "Remember Bozovic from IT and that sweet girl from accounting? And they weren't even agents."
Stone listened with increasing scepticism.
Butler was looking at him funny. Stone was a twitch away from punching him in the face.
"Think you'll be back on duty soon?", the other nameless agent asked, "Been a while since we've been in the field together."
Yeah. Even with his memory loss, Stone had no interest in working with these gossiping fools. "Can't say."
"Let him be", Arnold grinned, "He's enjoying his vacation with the doctor. All the bedrest must be tiring, huh?"
Stone heaved a heavy sigh that probably went unnoticed because all the agents except Butler were snickering amongst themselves like thirteen-year-olds. Really. Was it any wonder that he preferred Ivo's presence? These basic Neanderthals...
He excused himself after another glance at his watch and hurried away. The badnik did not stop him.
Twenty minutes had passed a lot faster than he liked and when he returned two minutes after his curfew, Robotnik was already waiting for him at the door, arms crossed and spectacularly incensed, looming. "I said twenty minutes, Stone. Twenty minutes. Want me to repeat it in your native tongue?" He had obviously been pulled from his work. Much to his displeasure.
Stone simply stuck out his tongue, face blank, and shrugged off his jacket.
"At this point you seem to be begging me to put you over my knee", Robotnik growled.
Stone grinned: "Please."
"I can't wait to see your face once you start remembering everything."
"Why?"
"You're not usually this cheeky."
"Why not?"
"Given my vast intellectual superiority and prolonged observation I can only guess it is because you are usually a lot more worried about me replacing you."
"Please", Stone rolled his eyes and toed off his sneakers, distracted, "You came all the way to Argentina to bring me home and you even let me stay in your private apartment. You threatened Walters because he'd put me in unnecessary danger. You talked with my parents for me. You gave me that amazing motorcycle. Love my lattes. You're not going to replace me."
"Are you sure?" Robotnik straightened himself then, blocking his way. He stood tall, in his full height. Arms crossed over his chest. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. There was grease on his lower arms. Hairstyle somewhat dishevelled. Stone had no idea where to look first. The doctor was going all boss-engineer on him and Stone was weak and helpless. This was blatantly unfair! He had a type...
"Yes?", he attempted meekly, all bravado gone.
"Interesting."
Stone frowned: "Are you?"
"We'll see", the doctor said - authority obviously re-established.
"Ivo!"
"Make me a latte, Stone", the man sighed and turned away, heading back towards his work-station.
"Yes, doctor", Stone surrendered, "Don't send me away. Everyone else is so... dull."
"You're an idiot, Stone."
Yes, he was.
He took extra care to prepare Robotnik's coffee and drew especially many hearts onto the foam. When he carried the cup over, the doctor was hammering away at a piece of metal squeezed into the bench vice. Every few minutes he would lift a Bunsen burner and re-heat the metal under critical eyes. Stone put the cup down and relocated to the couch.
From there, he had a prime spot to watch the doctor be... brilliant. And he was. Stone sunk lower into the upholstery, snuggling into a comfortable position.
The burner was switched off and Robotnik lifted the metal piece with pincers, inspecting it. Eventually he put it onto a rack for cooling off and sat down, swiping and tapping at his holo-screen.
"The other agents are gossiping about our sex life", Stone admitted eventually, down-trodden and no, not pouting, "They piss me off so badly but I can ignore them. I hope. What about you though? I don't think I could bear their idiocy if they upset you. I could have them removed without a trace if you would like it that way?"
Robotnik didn't even look at him: "Is that why you were late and cheeky?" He sighed: "Where is mellow agent Stone?"
"Don't know", Stone sighed as well. Still NOT pouting. "Maybe I need to get laid."
The doctor halted for a split second before humming: "Maybe you do." He sounded amused.
"Why won't you do something about it then?" Now he was pouting. No point in pretending otherwise any longer. "You've been sleeping on this couch ever since we got here."
This made the man pause properly, hand frozen where it had been swiping at the screen, and turn halfway around to face Stone: "Eh?"
"It's been nearly three weeks, my head is fine." Stone knew he was blushing but he was at his limit. "You won't even so much as kiss me."
"Ehrr..."
"Aren't you pent up at all?", Stone frowned.
"Me?"
"Aren't you?"
Robotnik angled his head to the side, studying him - an expression of intrigue and fascination.
Stone could not bare his amusement and raised his head from where he had been lounging on the cushions: "Wait! You're not, you know, sleeping with some else?"
"Besides you, you mean?"
Stone blushed, properly embarrassed: "Well, yes?"
"No", Robotnik said, oddly gentle,"And I'm not going to fuck you. You're still recovering from your concussion. That is off the limits."
Sensing an opportunity, Stone rose to his knees: "No problem." He hurried to his feet and over to the doctor. He slid himself onto the man's lap without hesitation and grinned happily: "I'll ride you. No strain on my head this way."
"What the hell, agent!", Robotnik yelled and jerked - his ears a bit red.
Stone only grinned wider: "I'm feeling well, Ivo. Don't worry. I even carried a crate full of water bottles this morning and nothing happened." He might have rolled his hips down. A little.
"WHAT?"
He stuck out his tongue and grinned: "I'm fi~ne, Ivo. Ah~!" He gasped when Robotnik bit his throat. It had probably been meant as punishment but had quite the opposite effect. His patience run out, Stone took the man's face in his hands, angled it up and kissed him. God, finally! He moaned. And moaned louder when hands landed on his waist, squeezing. Yes! More!
Robotnik seemed incensed: "You're going to regret this, agent!"
"Yeah?", Stone smirked and kissed a path down the doctor's throat, "You going to punish me?"
"Not what I meant but also, maybe."
"Can't wait", Stone chuckled and kissed that genius jerk once more.
*
Stone was on cloud nine. He still couldn't remember anything from the past three years but he had a feeling that everything had fallen into place once more. After that first time since he'd lost his memory, when he had dragged an adorably exasperated Ivo to the bedroom and made good on his suggestion, the doctor had been a lot more inclined to physical closeness.
Especially when Stone had finally officially recovered and the doctors had cleared him for active duty once more.
Robotnik kept ranting about his productivity, kept pretending to be annoyed and inconvenienced, but he was suspiciously quick to surrender to Stone's flirtations and often enough the agent thought he could spy a covet grin, filled with way too much mirth.
Whatever had Ivo so amused, Stone couldn't care to find out. Not as long as he kept falling into bed with him every night and wake in his arms come morning. He was happy. So, so happy.
Until he remembered.
One night, a quarter to three in the morning, roughly a month after he'd been given a clean bill of health, he tore from his sleep - heart beating thunderously, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Sweat was pooling on his naked body. His fingers shook. Cold terror crept up his spine.
Oh no...
Oh god no!
Please, please, no!
A pitiful noise rose high-pitched from his throat. He slapped his hands over his face and cursed fantastically in Arabic.
Next to him, Robotnik rolled away, pulling his arm away from around his waist to steal a pillow and stuff it over his face. He mumbled something that might have been 'what the fuck, Stone' and groaned.
"Doctor...?" Stone was having a heart-attack. He was sure of it.
Robotnik grunted and did not resurface from his refuge: "Nnh?"
"Doctor?" He was panicking. This had to be a nightmare. He had screwed up.
The pillow remained where it was but Robotnik's voice was a lot more wakeful - and a lot more pissed off: "WHAT STONE. I'M TRYING TO SLEEP."
"Did we-? Did I-? Have we-?"
The pillow was lifted a bit, only enough to let Robotnik twist around and look at the agent: "Ha! Welcome back, agent! How's it going? Told you, you'd regret it." With that, the doctor simply flopped back down, intent on resuming his sleep.
"Oh my god...", Stone wailed, again in Arabic, and dropped to the side, burying himself in all the blankets he could reach - including the doctor's. Which provoked a very immature tugging war that ended with Stone squished underneath the surprisingly heavy weight of a master engineer.
Robotnik had him caught in his blanket cocoon, arms wrapped around him, chin hooked over his shoulder. His voice was sleep-deep and gravelly, sending inappropriate shivers down Stone's spine: "Cool your vents, Aban. It was very amusing how you eagerly jumped to the conclusion that we were... a thing. However delusional."
"Oh god...", Stone whimpered into his hands.
"Very cute, too. Would you ever have acted on that crush of yours without memory impairment?"
"I wanna die..."
"Don't be melodramatic, agent. All's well that ends well and all that, right?"
"I'm sorry..."
"Oh shut up. Is your freak-out almost over? Because I really wanna go back to sleep."
"I'm sorry, doctor."
"This is getting monotonous."
"I love you."
"Ja, I know", Robotnik snapped, "Now, go back to sleep. I need to be well rested for tomorrow's conference. This new drone-prototype I'm presenting has taken a lot longer than planned. For obvious reasons. Are you still going to wake me like you used to for these past few weeks?"
Oh god. Stone's face would never not be red again. Ever. How could he have been so bold? But...
"Whatever you wish, doctor."
"Good. Now relax and sleep, habibi."
END