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“Alright, gentlemen. We have a long meeting ahead of us, so silence your cell phones.” Commander Walters drones, watching as a sea of impassive, wrinkled faces collectively grimace, reaching into their pockets to turn off their devices. Stone switches off his watch and his phone, before scurrying over to Robotnik’s side. He’s already visibly pouting, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, which already isn’t a great sign for how this meeting is going to go.
“And that includes your control gloves, Doctor.” Rockwell warns, stepping in front of Walters, face cold, stern, and unmoving. “If you play Crazy Frog while Senator Jackson is going over the budget proposal again, you will be escorted out of the room.”
“Ugh.” Robotnik groans melodramatically, typing a few command prompts into his gloves either a tortured expression. “Killjoy.” The soft, flickering lights within the gloves’ circuits go dim, and Robotnik shoves his hands into his pockets.
“Now, everyone take your seats.” Walters instructs, and before he can even react, Robotnik grabs Stone by the arm and drags him towards their designated spot at the very end of the table. The higher-ups figure he’s bound to cause less trouble that way. Robotnik marches over there with purpose in his stride, Stone in tow, muttering derisively about how inane this meeting is all the while. Should have been an email!
Stone agrees that the meeting is pretty pointless, but he’s not too broken up about it. He’s been looking forward to gossiping about his coworkers with Robotnik under his breath the whole time. There was no better feeling, just the two of them giggling amongst themselves and bad-mouthing them all rather viciously as the doctor extensively rattles off all of their personal dramas and the details of their search histories. The workplace tea was always scalding. Robotnik may have hated meetings, but Stone definitely didn’t mind them.
But when they arrive at their spot, designated nameplate and all, the seats immediately adjacent to Robotnik are both already filled. His mustache twitches, a twinge of irritation in his jaw.
“Walters! Where the fuck is Stone’s seat?” Robotnik shouts from across the room, immediately causing the heads of everyone sitting at the table to swivel with a fierceness. All eyes are on the two of them, already.
“Language, Robotnik.” Walters warns, raising a hand in an attempt to appear intimidating. It’s a laughable attempt, Walters looks like a particularly strong breeze could knock him over, but it’s an attempt nonetheless. “Stone doesn’t have clearance to attend this meeting. There isn’t enough room for him at the table, and these schematics don’t concern a specialist like him.” Walters narrows his eyes, pursing his lips. “Stone, you can guard the door. We’ll call for you if we need anything.”
The doctor’s face screws up, brow furrowing and eyes glinting with poorly concealed hatred. He draws his lips back, teeth bared in a vicious snarl, like a cornered animal. Stone knew that expression well.
Welp, there goes any chance of this meeting being productive. This should be interesting, at the very least.
“How dare you?” Robotnik spits, sweeping his hand across the table, sending water bottles and loose papers flying in his wake. “Who do you think you are, bossing my agent around? He answers to me! And I say he stays!” Robotnik seizes Stone by the lapels of his blazer, pulling him flush against Robotnik’s chest. He keeps Stone’s head there with a firm grip to the back of his head, unyielding and possessive - almost an embrace, but not quite. Oh God, he’s so close. Close enough to smell his cologne; sandalwood and pine scented, mmm. Stone can practically taste his heartbeat in his throat.
“Calm down, Robotnik. Let him go. You can debrief him after the meeting if necessary, but he really doesn’t need to be here.” Walters instructs tiredly, deep shadows beneath his eyes as he repeats this spiel for probably the millionth time. Years and years of dealing with Robotnik’s bullshit, etched into every single pore and wrinkle of his skin. “Nuh uh!” The doctor counters childishly, blowing a raspberry in Walters’ direction. He tucks Stone’s head underneath his arm, the almost-hug turning into a bit more of a chokehold. Stone can’t say he particularly minds.
“There isn’t enough space, Robotnik. Sit. Down.” Walters growls, trying his absolute damndest to be domineering. “Oh, that’s bullshit, and you know it. What a load of malarkey.” He shakes Stone for emphasis, sending him off balance, all of his weight resting against the doctor’s side. He goes limp in his arms like a rag doll, not wanting to disrupt his tirade by moving.
“Are you daft? Have you finally gone senile, Walters?” Robotnik mocks, smushing Stone’s nose as he squeezes him tightly against his ribs. He can feel the vibrations of the doctor’s voice, emanating through his skull. Stone is in heaven. “Maybe they should haul you off to the dementia unit instead of having you oversee important government meetings, if your cognitive capacity has declined this much.”
“The insults are uncalled for, Robotnik.” Walters says dully, hitting them with his most haunting dead-eyed, lead paint stare. He already looks like he’s so over Robotnik’s bullshit.
“They’re very clearly called for, because nobody else in this room has the teensiest degree of problem-solving skills! How did any of you graduate elementary school, let alone military college?” Truly, Stone weeps for the state of this country’s education system. He knows Robotnik does too. “There’s a very simple solution to that problem. Somebody pull up a chair for him. Duh!”
“Have you not considered the possibility that he was excluded on purpose?” Walters seethes, voice tight with poorly suppressed frustration. Even from his position, Stone can see the bulging veins on his forehead popping. Robotnik’s antics were going to send this man to an early grave, he was sure of it.
“What?” Robotnik lets the question hang heavy in the air, chopping the t at the end of his what like an axe.
“We’re not as blind as you seem to think we are.” Rockwell cuts in, face frigid and composed, in stark contrast with her boss’s steadily boiling anger. “He’s clearly a distraction. Don’t think we can’t see you two whispering like rowdy schoolchildren every single meeting. You’re not exactly subtle.”
“God forbid I want to make these boring time-wasters a little more tolerable!” Stone internally preens at that. His presence makes meetings tolerable. Robotnik needs him. “Either Stone stays, or I go.”
“Can you really not survive an hour without him?” Rockwell snarks, arms folded tightly across her chest.
“That’s rich coming from the woman whose last doomed situationship imploded because of her U-hauling.” Robotnik replies with an eye roll, and Stone has to suppress a laugh. Robotnik had already told him all the details of Rockwell’s latest messy breakup at the last meeting, and Stone had lapped it all up like it was his personal soap opera. He fucking loves his job.
Rockwell looks deeply frazzled, a rare moment of hesitance flashing across her face before her expression sours. “Hey, that’s -“
“Zzt! I don’t care.” Robotnik pinches his fingers together in a zip-it motion, effectively shutting her up. Her face goes red, silently fuming. “Is Stone allowed in this meeting, or not? It’s not like this is a top secret affair.” He looks to Walters expectantly, who rubs his temples in frustration, knowing full well that this temper tantrum will only keep going if he doesn’t give the doctor what he wants
“Ugh. Alright.” Walters concedes. “He can stay, but only if he stands near the -“
“Nope! He stays within arm’s reach.” Robotnik sits down in his chair, tugging Stone down with him. Stone stumbles a bit, but scrambles to comply with the doctor’s whims, allowing himself to be pulled against the doctor’s body. He hoists Stone onto his lap, arms wrapped protectively around his waist as he fixes Walters with his cheekiest smug glare.
“You know what? Okay, sure. Fine.” Walters pinches the bridge of his nose with his forefingers, looking beyond exasperated. “We’re already running behind schedule, just don’t be disruptive.”
Robotnik grins in triumph, hooking his hands under Stone’s arms and squeezing him tight against his chest. Stone is practically purring, looping his arms around Robotnik’s neck and burying his head into the juncture of his shoulder, lapping up all of the attention like it was his last meal on death row. He can feel the eyes of all of their coworkers burning into his back, all staring at them and muttering unsavory things under their breath, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a damn what any of those mouth breathers think, anyways. He nuzzles his head into the crook of his neck like an affectionate house cat, drinking in the heady scent of his cologne.
As the presenter starts setting up his slideshow, Robotnik leans in closer to Stone, lips pressed up against the shell of his ear. “You wanna hear about how this guy cheated on his wife, and is estranged from both of his kids? The dumbass uses public WiFi without a VPN, so I was able to really dig through all his data.”
Stone grins from ear to ear, giggling and nudging himself up against Robotnik, legs circling around his waist. He feels so overjoyed, so absolutely giddy. He fucking loves his life. “You know I always do, sir.”