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The ringing startled Robotnik out of his mind; his body jerked and an undignified yelp came out of his lips as he glared at the freshly summoned holoscreen before him, the bright blue making his eyes sting. Grumbling, he dismissed the incoming call and turned back to his work, hunching over tiny metal pieces and mismatched cables with a furrow deep in his eyebrows.
Not a minute later, the holoscreen appeared once more, and whatever hope Robotnik had of finishing his work for the day was promptly squashed down. He growled, an honest-to-god growl deep in his throat, and pressed the ‘accept’ button with a jab of his finger.
“What,” he hissed, teeth bared despite the absence of any physical presence around him.
The person on the other side of the line seemed nonplussed, and carried on with a firm tone, “Is this Doctor Robotnik?” They asked.
Confusion took over rage, only to be replaced by it again a second after, “Why do you have this number.” He said, less of a question and more of a threat. No living soul besides the top brass should have knowledge of his personal number, and even them were cutting close to blocking territory once their demands started to grate on him.
“You are listed as Aban Stone’s emergency contact, sir,” they said, not unkindly. “He took a bullet-”
“What,” he said again, sounding like someone had punched the air right out of his lungs.
Robotnik was no stranger to his Agent putting himself on the line of fire for no reason at all, his overprotective tendencies clashing horribly with his proclivity for violence, and he’s witnessed countless stances of his recklessness on the field, stitched him up when there was no available medical staff around, disinfected his wounds when the man insisted he was completely fine yet swayed dangerously with every step. He was no stranger to Stone’s pain, but he had never been called upon to oversee it personally.
“He’s out of surgery,” they continued, seemingly accustomed to these kinds of responses, “there’s no one else-”
“I’m on my way,” he barked back, ending the call with a hand gesture and calling forth a stray badnik floating close. “Hold the fort for Daddy. If Walters even thinks of stepping foot in here, shock him.”
The drone beeped happily, accepting their orders, and while Robotnik couldn’t muster a full grin, the corners of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly at his child. He shrugged his coat back on, adjusting the fit around him with minimal effort, and glanced down at the underside of his glove, the sleek display presenting him with Stone’s exact coordinates.
It was a short trip if he broke a few traffic laws in the process. He considered it for half a second, how much of a headache was this whole endeavour truly worth it, and came out of his musings with a dramatic sigh and a foot already out the door. In a bout of minor insanity, he glanced over to the Prototype safely stashed away in the hangar as he walked out, wondering if it would anger his superiors too much if he took it for a rescue mission ahead of schedule.
While he drove to the hospital his Agent had found himself imprisoned, his mind strayed once again to the words said on the phone. “You are listed as Aban Stone’s emergency contact.” He, for one, never bothered to actually learn the Agent’s first name, be it a false one or not.
“Aban,” he said out loud to no one, testing how the word sounded in his mouth, how it felt to finally put a name to an overly familiar face. It was a good name, he decided. Strong and pleasant to hear. It lost its marvel quickly as his mind caught up with the situation once again, and, suddenly, the name felt more like a death sentence on his tongue, leaving a bitter and stale taste in his mouth. His foot slammed down on the pedal, swerving and cutting around other people until the outside blurred and blended together.
“There’s no one else.” It rang in his ears. No one? No one at all? “He took a bullet.” Then again, he’d taken many bullets before, and it never bothered Robotnik in the slightest. It was Stone’s - Aban’s - job after all, to guard him and intercept danger and stand perfectly still while Robotnik stitched him up with a clinical eye and a steady hand. So why now did his heart beat wildly in his chest as he got closer and closer to the hospital? Why did dread settle in his stomach and made bile rise up his throat at the sheer notion of his Agent being out of commission entirely? It happened before, so why now?
The hospital came into view soon enough, the screech of tires on the pavement as he stopped echoed in the street loudly enough to startle nearby patients and visiting families, but it did little to hinder his stride, the man already halfway through the glass doors when shouted protests came from behind him.
Shoulders up to his ears and palms splayed on the secretary’s desk, he growled out a demand. “Aban Stone’s room.”
A stern-looking woman stared back at him, one eyebrow propped up and an unimpressed glimmer to her eyes. “Your name, sir?”
“Doctor Robotnik,” he bit out, refusing to acknowledge the jittery, panicked feeling steadily taking over his chest. As always, he made up for it with scorching, white-hot anger. “If you don’t tell me where he is right this second I’ll make sure you never-”
The click-clacking of a keyboard interrupted him, followed by a deadpan voice, “Your relationship with the patient, sir?”
Suddenly, his brain went unhelpfully quiet. What was his relationship with Stone? His employer? Coworker? Friend? “Ah- I’m...”
“Only family is allowed to visit at this hour,” she continued, looking at him with barely contained impatience, and what a strange feeling it was to be on the other side of that look for once in his life.
Clearing his throat, he took his hands away from the desk and smoothed down his coat, “I’m his husband.”
The woman gave a noncommittal hum, typing away while Robotnik wondered what had prompted him to blurt out such an answer with so little thought behind it. He could’ve posed as his Agent’s brother-in-law, or a distant cousin, no? Before he reached a significant conclusion to his scattered thoughts, the woman spoke up once again.
“Room 204, second floor,” she said, attention elsewhere now that Robotnik had his room number.
With a jerky nod, the Doctor walked away, long strides carrying him as fast as he could manage without running. After a minor setback on the elevator, where a weeping lady stumbled into him and promptly stopped crying due to sheer terror at his scowl, he was standing frozen in front of room 204, the white door too bright, the chemical smell too strong, the buzzing of the lights above him already starting a headache. He gulped, the ball inside his throat going down painfully, for reasons he was not entirely sure.
A gloved hand smoothed down the coat once again, moving to pull his hair back and rub at his eyes before he adjusted his posture to full height, looking more confident than he actually felt. The door opened silently as he pushed it back.
“Ah, you must be Ivo!” A nurse technician, roughly Robotnik’s height and sporting impressive eye bags, greeted him cheerfully in the dimmed lit room. He was just finishing adjusting the contents of an IV bag when the Doctor came forward. “Aban’s doing fine, but the anesthesia will take some time to wear off and it’s better if he sleeps it out.”
Robotnik stepped closer to the bed hesitantly, stopping just short of the end where he could see Stone’s feet tucked below the thin-looking blanket. The Agent was sleeping peacefully, his face smoothed out almost unnaturally with the drugs in his system. It didn’t sit well with the older man. Even when resting, Stone was always lively, twitching and grunting in his sleep like it personally wronged him, perpetually tense in case a threat showed up to disrupt his restless slumber. There was no trace of furrowed brows or the soft snoring he learned to ignore in the throes of an all-nighter in the lab, and it made his heart clench painfully. Something else caught his attention, then, confusion evident in his stern face.
“How do you know my name?” He asked, not missing the twinkle of amusement on the technician's face and scowling in return.
The other man walked around the room, gathering materials and making sure everything was the way it should. “He talked about you, a lot,” he snickered, gentle yet with a hint of mischief. “Poor thing almost burst into tears when we told him you were coming.”
“Ah,” Robotnik murmured lamely, turning his gaze to the sleeping man once again. Unnaturally still beneath the covers, Stone looked dead to the world. He gulped down another unpleasant thing blocking his throat. “How bad was it?”
The man stopped, standing a respectable distance from him, and Robotnik could feel the weight of his stare. “Just missed his liver.”
High concentration of blood vessels. Severe internal hemorrhaging if hit. Often fatal without immediate medical intervention. His mind supplied automatically, pulling up every medical text he’d read and shoving it back in his face, taunting him with countless outcomes which could’ve come to pass. Eyes unfocused, he schooled his expression into neutrality, murmuring softly, “The cause?”
There was a deep sigh by his side, and while he could not muster a shred of empathy for the man, he sympathized with the bone-tired noise. “Stray bullet, cops haven’t figured out yet.”
Of course they hadn’t, the useless pigs. Rage burned steadily within him once again. He could do so much better, would do better. It was one thing for his Agent to fall on duty, but this was a completely different matter. He’d track whoever did this, he’d destroy everything and everyone they’ve ever loved, and then he’d go after the sorry excuses of police enforcers for good measure. The familiar sting of anger warmed him from inside out, inspiration striking in tandem as he imagined countless ends to the insignificant, plebeian scum who had dared to hurt his Agent, his-
“I’ll leave you to it,” the man said, startling Robotnik enough to make him flinch away. “You have two hours, okay?”
He nodded sharply, already resolute in breaking that specific rule when the time came. The technician made way to the door, a soft smile on his lips setting Robotnik’s nerve alight with suspicion. “Oh, FYI, Cheryl might’ve let you in, but I know you’re not his husband. Yet.”
Yet?!
Robotnik gaped, “Don’t even think about-”
“You can stay,” he interrupted, stare suddenly hard. “He cares about you. More than I think you realize.”
The words died in his throat at that, his face scrunching up as if he’d tasted a far too sour candy. “What are you, my therapist?” He hissed, wanting to walk up to the man and get in his face, but making no move to leave Stone’s bedside.
“Oh, God no,” the man laughed, “I pity whatever therapist you have, actually. If you have any, that is, judging by the whole ‘tall, dark and repressed’ thing you’ve got going on.”
Snarling, the older man stepped forward, ready to bodily pounce on the insolent excuse of a nurse for his taunting. He was stopped, however, when a weak voice called by the other end of the bed.
“Doctor?”
Stone’s voice was low and raspy, confused. It extinguished the burning rage in Robotnik’s veins instantly, leaving only soul-crushing relief where it once was.
“Good luck,” the man said, a grin splitting his face in two as he closed the door behind him.
Robotnik was beside Stone in a flash, eyes frantically scanning the man for other injuries irrationally, as he was used to doing whenever the Agent came stumbling back into the lab, hiding the real extent of the damage.
Stone’s eyes were hazy, pupils blown wide and leaving little of warm brown. “You’re here?” He said, awed, and it felt like yet another punch to the chest.
“How the actual hell did you manage to get shot off duty, you imbecile?” He snarled, hands gripping the metal bars separating Stone’s body from his with much more force than necessary. There was little color to the man’s face, but now the deathly stillness slowly faded away, and the Agent smiled, a dreamy, wobbly thing.
“You’re actually here?” He asked again, clearly still affected by the pain-numbing drugs.
“No. I’m just a hallucination,” he deadpanned, noting with a small twinge of guilt how Stone seemed to wilt at that.
“Oh, of course,” he mumbled, brows knitting together. “The Doctor has more important matters to attend to... I wonder if he ate today at all?” He asked mostly to himself, turning to Robotnik with a pinched expression. “You’d tell me if he ate, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m in your head, Stone, how should I know when you don’t?” Robotnik answered, confused at himself for entertaining the notion of unreality he had given Stone, uncertain of his own goal.
The groggy man nodded, finding his explanation sensible enough. “I worry about him.” He said to no one in particular, staring at the white ceiling. “Don’t tell him, but...”
Robotnik couldn’t help but lean closer, now immensely interested in whatever Stone’s foggy, drugged up mind would reveal to him. He’d ponder on the moral aspects of it later. Preferably never.
Stone sighed, “I’ve been sneaking protein powders in his coffee lately, just a little!” He confessed, upset by his own words and making the heart monitor previously unnoticed beep faster.
Ah, so that’s why it tasted different. Robotnik thought, rolling his eyes at the man’s dramatics. It was a strange sensation, to be so relieved by Stone’s survival that anger couldn’t be mustered no matter how hard he tried. He felt angry for him, of course, but that familiar spark of irritation, of exasperation and annoyance was nowhere to be seen, even when faced with definitive proof Stone had been messing with his drinks. It could’ve been poison, for all he knew, yet he still trusted the Agent completely. How quaint, that.
Wanting, inexplicably, to pacify the Agent, he tutted, “I’m sure you have his best interests in mind, Stone.”
It verged on pathetic, the way Stone pouted and bunched up his eyebrows in a heartbreaking expression strong enough to make even Robotnik feel sad. “I do. I swear I do!” He insisted, turning to look at him.
Why did he continue to entertain this, the Doctor had no idea, “I believe you.”
“Oh, he’s going to be furious...” he lamented, sluggish hands coming to cover his face. “I had to put him as my husband on the emergency contact information, or they wouldn’t allow him at all.”
Robotnik snorted despite himself. The brother-in-law story would’ve made things infinitely more complicated had he gone with it, then. He observed the Agent with begrudgingly fondness, marveling at how in sync they always appeared to be even apart. No one had ever understood Robotnik the way Stone did, no one knew how to manouever his moods and needs with such efficiency and tact until the man came along, all sharp smiles and insistent companionship.
Warmth settled in his chest as he rolled his eyes with amusement. “Something tells me he won’t mind.”
“You’re just telling me what I want to hear,” Stone replied, opening his fingers just enough to glare at him through them, then suddenly staying perfectly still. “You’re telling me what I want to hear.” He repeated, realizing something.
With a tilt of his head, Robotnik’s curiosity got the better of him. “Well, I am a figment of your drugged up mind, after all.”
The Agent made an effort to sit down, grunting when it pulled at the sensitive skin around the wound. Instinctively, Robotnik flinched forward to help him sit down, but stopped himself before he could touch the man. It would do no good for the illusion he was so carelessly keeping. Another minute, and Stone had shimmied into a more or less seated position, staring at him unblinking.
“You’re just in my head, right?” He asked.
Shoving down the surge of guilt, Robotnik nodded.
“Ivo can never know of this, you understand?” Stone said, all seriousness and with an edge of fear to his voice.
The Doctor quietly stored away the fact his Agent was on a first-name basis with him inside his own mind, finding the notion much less infuriating than expected. He nodded again, feeling like those silly bobble heads at that point.
“I love you,” he said, shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world was finally lifted off them. He chuckled, “I’m in love with you! I can’t believe I’m finally saying it out loud!” He gave another breathless laugh as tears welled up at the corner of his eyes. “Oh, he’d kill me just for thinking it, I’m sure... But you, you will just tell me what I want to hear, won’t you?”
Robotnik felt off-kilter, completely blindsided by his Agent’s almost delirious rambling. He drew in a shuddering breath, grateful that it was not his heart beeping away madly in the machine for the whole world to hear, even if it did beat painfully loud to his own ears.
“I...” he started, choking on the words clawing out of his throat.
Stone grimaced, then sighed, a tiny, broken exhale that hurt more than any bullet. “Right. I never enjoyed lying to myself, anyway.”
The room was silent save for the slowing pattern of Stone’s heartbeat, the commotion and agitation quickly draining what little energy he had gathered before Robotnik arrived and made everything infinitely more complicated. It didn’t take long for sleep to claim the Agent again, leaving the Doctor to stare at his unmoving form for far longer than he’d admit.
At one point, a different nurse came into the room, and while he didn’t bother to learn their name or answer their questions, he was grateful for the chair brought into the room for him to sit down, and made a point to stay out of their way while they fiddled with the equipment linked to his Agent. He ignored the pointed look aimed at him when his two hours were up, and refused to reason with the staff, leaving his government ID on the edge of the bed for anyone to see. The nurses and technicians worked around him from that moment on, never once uttering a word in his direction.
Eyes laser focused on the rise and fall of the Stone’s chest, he startled when a blanket was placed around his shoulders, thin and smelling of disinfectant, but comforting all the same.
“He’s not going to disappear, you know?” Came a familiar voice by his side.
Scowling, Robotnik didn’t bother to face the insolent technician. “Aren’t you supposed to be changing geriatric patient’s diapers, you waste of grey matter?” He mumbled back, pulling the blanket a little more snugly over his body. Hospitals always left him unbearably cold.
“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” He tutted back, a smile clear in his tone.
“It’s your job, it’s not supposed to be fun.”
The man walked around the Agent’s bed, checking this and that and stopping to look at the man’s face with a far away expression. “Do you want to know what he said when I asked about you?”
For some reason, Robotnik felt cold from the inside out, unsure if he deserved to know the answer to that question after what he’d just done. He stared at the Agent, at the deathly stillness of his body, and held back an unstable inhale.
“He went on and on about how brilliant you are, how the rest of us low-lives should be grateful to be alive in the same era as you, how you were destined to rule the world and he’d be grateful to serve you then,” he chuckled. “I had no doubt it was the anesthesia talking, but then you showed up.”
Only then Robotnik spared a glance at the man, expecting the awed and reverent gaze that followed those type of speeches, but only finding annoyance. His eye twitched at the sight. The man rest his hands on the metal bars of the bed opposite to Robotnik, staring down at him in a way it made an old flame of self-preservation light up in his body.
“You ran here in less than ten minutes of that call. You left tire marks on the pavement outside and scared the living shit out of at least fifty people. You threatened Cheryl, which was hilarious, by the way,” he snorted, not friendly in any way. “And after all that, I still doubt you’re worth of such devotion, the kind he’s giving to you freely and expecting absolutely nothing back.”
It was on the tip of his tongue, the scathing remarks and the insults. The urge to defend himself and obliterate everything in his path coiled tightly inside, waiting to be acted upon. He opened his mouth to do so, but was once again interrupted.
“You’re not worth his love just yet,” he said, eyes finally softening. “But if you’re half as brilliant as he says you are, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Nothing left to say, the man walked away again, a hand already on the handle when Robotnik spoke up. “You should change career paths.”
The technician barked a laugh, no doubt frightening other members of the staff as he did so. “And you should lighten up a little, he’s waking up again.”
Eyes wide, Robotnik scrambled out of the borrowed blanket and scooted closer to bed, the door silently clicking close behind him.
“Stone?” He called hesitantly, unsure if the drugs were finally out of his system.
By the way the man’s head whipped to face him, fast enough to make them both wince, it was safe to say he was in the clear.
“Doctor?” He asked, confused. “Why- Why are you here?”
Question of the year right there, Stone. Robotnik thought, making a show of rolling his eyes and getting up from the slightly uncomfortable chair to stretch and yawn. “Because we’re married, apparently.”
Color drained from the Agent’s face, the heart monitor beeping wildly in contrast, and again guilt pulled at Robotnik, only for a moment.
“I’m- I’m sorry sir, I just- There was no other way they would’ve let-”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Stone,” he huffed, smoothing down his coat for what it seemed like the thousandth time. “You’re lucky they’re incompetent enough not to check for actual documents.”
The Agent turned his eyes down to the blanket covering him, a frown twisting his face. “How long was I out?”
“Less than a day, but you’re not setting foot in the lab tomorrow- ah! Don’t even try, or I’ll put you in house arrest for a week,” he threatened, little heat behind his words. Still, he would put his Agent on house arrest if he insisted he was fine after narrowly missing death, again. The Agent pouted, his inhibitions not all that contained just yet.
“How much longer do I have to stay?”
It dawned on Robotnik, then, that he never thought to ask any of the staff that particular question, and that, moments ago, he was prepared to live off vending machine snacks and sleep on a chair for as long as Stone had to stay. “No idea, they just called me to play babysitter for a while, you know, to make sure you wouldn’t rip that thing off your arm and come back running.”
Stone chuckled at that, a small, amused sound. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Robotnik smirked, recalling all the times his Agent had abandoned his bed rest or emergency cot to come to him and ensure he wouldn’t be the next target, even if it cost him his life, his smile falling slowly the more situations came forth in his mind’s eye. Had Stone always put his well-being on the line like that for anyone else? “You’re not worth his love just yet.”
Shaking off the echoing words, Robotnik sighed and looked up, pretending to think until Stone broke the silence rather rudely with a rumble of his stomach. “Hungry?”
The Agent’s face burned crimson, embarrassed by the lack of control over his own body. “Ah, yes... I’ll ask someone to bring-”
“What are you in the mood for?” He asked, glancing at the visor on his wrist and then back up at Stone, who stared at him, befuddled.
“I’m not supposed to eat outside food, sir,” he tried.
“And who’s gonna stop me? Not Cheryl from the front office, I’ll tell you that,” he snorted, then remembered something Stone had confessed to him earlier. “I’ll even eat with you, I haven’t ingested anything other than caffeine for the past two days I believe. How does that sound?”
It felt bad to use his Agent’s worry for his health against him, but he had to make it up to the man, somehow, even if it meant eating the frankly awful healthy food he consumed on a daily basis. Who on Earth sincerely enjoys brussel sprouts, anyway?
When the familiar wrinkle of worry settled around Stone’s forehead, he knew he had won. “Okay, sir. I trust you to get something we both like.”
I trust you.
Humming a noncommittal sound to hide how much those three little words had actually affected him, Robotnik made the order and waited by Stone’s bedside, trusting one of his babies to deliver their food over the window.
“So...” Robotnik started, hating how the silenced stretched between them now that Stone was lucid and aware of how embarrassing the situation was.
The Agent looked at him, eyes weary and exhausted but with the slight hint of something shinning through, and how awful it was to be at the end of that particular look, now that he knew what it meant. “Yes, sir?”
“Are you going to tell me what actually happened for you to get shot on your singular day off?”
Stone laughed, aggravating the wound and coughing so hard they feared a nurse would pop up any minute to escort Robotnik out of the room for his meddling with their patient. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” he lied.
And Stone did tell him. Over disgustingly healthy food and tastier soft drinks, until all the energy had gone out of him again and he fell into deep slumber while Robotnik cleaned up their crime scene and dodged questions about his job and Stone’s background and their fake, happily-ever-after wedding in Greece with Cheryl at the front office.
He never did learn the technicians name, but, a few months after Stone’s discharge, he made sure to send the RSVP to his house with a fruit basket and a gift card to Olive Garden, as Stone had insisted with fluttering eyelashes, mostly as a private joke.