Chapter Text
He enters the painfully bright room, squinting his eyes as he walks, the linoleum floor sparkling at him. He finds the Doctor as he often does, sitting on his chair, writing calculations with fast gloved fingers.
Stone walks over, making sure to make noise as he does, standing a few good steps away he speaks.
“Doctor”
The sound of keyboard keys slows but doesn’t stop. “Agent”
Stone doesn’t say anything else as he leaves a latte on Robotnik’s desk, he knows the Doctor is in a bad mood just from the clipped way he spoke. In these cases Stone knows to stay quiet—
“Ugh” comes a sharp frustrated groan.
—except when he doesn’t. “Doctor?” He can’t avoid it, his brain has been acutely aware of every part of the doctor for years now, he’s rewired himself to serve one man, and now his body reacts without hesitation.
The chair rolls backward and turns towards Stone in one swift motion. In a second there’s dark eyes glaring at him, Robotnik has never understood personal space, specially when he’s angry, so it’s not surprising how he’s a breath away from the taller man.
“Doctor” he mocks in a high pitched voice. “Has every other word ln the english language escaped your grasp?” He yells at his assistant’s face. Stone often feels like a dog, something useful but beneath you, the separation clear as a cut.
Stone goes to open his mouth but is cut off. “Do i have to mourn your last neuron? I hope you weren’t gonna answer a rhetorical question just now.” Stone shakes his head as much as he’s allowed without knocking noses with the smaller man. His back pushed against the wall.
“Good.” Like a dog, Stone will always come back for this, the subtle sweetness on an otherwise hateful speech pattern. “Now tell me, Stone, do you know how long i’ve been working on these military grade devices?”
“23 days, sir.” He answers without missing a beat, expression as impassive as ever.
“Twenty three day.” He says in a poisonous tone, emphasis on every syllable. “23 days I could’ve been doing something worth my time! But the imbeciles who’s job is to rattle their empty brains in search of a new and better way to annoy me decided my design could use a more subtle approach!” Not a breath between those words, somehow. And a hand comes up to slam frustrated at the wall beside Stone’s neck, who breathes in imperceptibly.
“Do they know im not a fashion designer? Have you told them that, Stone? Have you? Maybe you should, because it seems they don’t get It.” He rambles on.
“…Why must i endure their insignificant existence? Don’t they know they mean nothing to me? Like bugs under the floors of a colosseum. They are BENEATH ME.” By now his breathing is closer to panting, and with little effort Stone can imagine smoke coming out of his ears. Oh. It’s one of those days.
“Most certainly, Doctor.” He says with confidence before a strong hand closes around his face and makes his cheeks push against his sharp teeth. He’s tugged harshly forward to look right into the doctor’s eyes as he says pointedly: “Bootlicking might’ve gotten you here but if you expect a pat on the back for it you are throughly mistaken, dear sycophant.” The last words were said out of breath, still with all their force and bite but different, and Stone’s head swims with it.
“You should use your puppy eyes with Towers, buy us more time to finish up this mind numbing work he’s so greatly bestowed upon us.” He comments with a scoff. “I’m sure the commander—“ He stops and Stone’s heart stops as well, with the Doctor’s keen eyes fixed on his own, he’s examining and calculating. For a moment Stone is afraid he’ll know.
He’s fantasized about this, the Doctor stealing every thought inside his head like he owns them, with nothing but a little concentration. Stone would gladly give them to him, he’d give him everything, if he asked. Stone wishes he was worth his Doctor’s attention, His eyes would look at Stone the way they do his inventions, a puzzle to solve, an interesting piece of machinery.
“Actually, that might not be a bad idea.” He mutters, gaze unwavering. Breaking Stone from his thoughts. “Do you know how to beg?” He asks and Stone is sure this constitutes as torture. He’s suddenly forgotten how to breathe, it’s making thinking difficult, with all the beating on his burning ears. What were they even talking about?
He tries very hard to keep his face blank, and wonders if the question is one that requires an answer or if it’s simply a request. He shifts slightly in his place.
Thankfully for him Robotnik gets bored easily, and after a second he speaks again. “We’ll leave it as a last resort. Not to protect your dignity, but mine. As you know you’re an extension of me and Doctor Robotnik doesn’t beg.” He spats the last part, with righteous hate.
He steps away from Stone and crosses his arms. “My coffee is warm Agent.” The doctor doesn’t drink coffee bellow tastebud burning levels of hot, Stone has often wondered the doctor’s opinion on ice lattes. He won’t ask today though.
“I-“ He clears his throat. “I will bring you another one, sir.” Straightening, he scurries off to the kitchenette.
.
By the time Stone came back with a fresh cup of (burning) coffee Robotnik was nowhere to be seen. Slightly concerned he looked around looking for his boss, hesitant about yelling out to him, he called in an almost whisper first. wondering about the office, opening doors and looking under tables because that had happened before (once, but Stone never forgets).
“Doctor..?”
“…” He sighs as he walks into the storage room, which was filled with unfinished or failed rethought projects and miscellaneous materials, like cables and metal pieces.
Stone likes this room, the doctor is engraved in every piece of machinery, his ideas and passion burned into every corner of the stuffed room, making it feel like walking through the genius’s brain, and isn’t that a lovely thought? Stone passed a hand over an older version of a badnik, bulkier and less expensive, yet still just as impressive to him.
His musings are interrupted by a sharp sensation at the back of his neck, he recognized it as someone being close behind. Stone doesn’t even think about it as he reacts, his muscles being quicker than his brain to react to the perceived threat.
His face was an inch from his boss’s before he could do anything to stop it, one hand on his chest pushing him harshly to the wall, a gun raised to his middle. Perhaps if the lights had been on, it could’ve calmed his jumpy nerves, but something about this moment of _melancholy_ nostalgia made him react like how he would back on his combat days.
Not a second after the doctor hit the wall was Stone already backing away, putting his gun in its holster, stunned silent by his own actions and…
No, it was just a trick of the light. Robotnik hadn’t looked afraid just now, had he? Doctor Robotnik doesn’t get scared, not by him anyway. And now he wasn’t moving, not fuming and yelling at him, not even sending him to clean the spilled coffee. He simply looks blankly at nowhere in particular, half hidden in shadows.
The silence was making his stomach twist in worry. “Doctor, Sir. I- i wasn’t thinking. You spooked me…” He tried explaining in a small voice that betrayed his concern.
“You have a gun?” Somehow that was worse than the silence, Stone thought. Because the doctor didn’t make useless questions with obvious answers. And his voice was all wrong! He sounded neutral, scarily steady and nothing like his usual emotion-full and dramatic tone of voice.
Should Stone answer that? The doctor didn’t like it when he stated obvious facts, but HE had been the one to ask so… “Yes. To protect you, sir.” He didn’t need to steady his voice to sound confident, it was an oath he had made to himself a long time ago, to protect what is precious.
When his boss didn’t answer he filled the silence. “I’m really sorry. This won’t happen again-” He assured him sincerely. But for some reason the smaller man frowned, only for a second, then left with a dismissing gesture.
.
After finding the building’s rooftop suitable for a flying test of his latest invention, he decided to go get the machine—and for extension his agent, because he won’t be carrying the heavy metal machinery on his own, not because he lacks the strength mind you! But he might as well make use of Stone.
He sighs as the doors of the elevator close, and he’s hit with the sudden urge to yell at his agent again, because why wasn’t he following behind him like he ought to? That way he would’ve send Stone to bring the machine while he got set up upstairs. With a stern talk in mind he went about finding Stone.
To his surprise he doesn’t find him in the main room or the kitchen, and that’s interesting enough that he doesn’t call out to him, he knows Stone would answer immediately, but where’s the fun in that? He wants to see what he’s doing while not in his presence, a wicked part of him wants to see him out of his element, find a crack in the perfect agent. A wound he can get his gloved finger inside of, and mock the meat for not having the surety of steal.
He hears it then, a sigh, or maybe a huff, he follows the sound into a dark room, pitch black to his adjusting eyes.
He sees his agent, recognizes his silhouette, and no, he doesn’t want to think about why that is, he’s got things to do, he’s a busy man.
He’ll go and jam a finger in the guy’s back, maybe get a gasp out of him, that’ll show him, for taking more than the necessary amount of space in his perfectly organized brain. And for making him walk around looking for him when he should be a few feet behind him.
He takes one step closer, but instead finds himself closer to the door he just came in through, his head knocks against the wall behind him as his back collides with it, his lungs achingly empty for a second, thanks to the hand pushing on his chest, all in the matter of half a second.
It happens really fast but he catches Stone’s eyes, the light from the door just catching them. They look empty, so far removed from the Stone he knows his brain disbelieves it, his heart races, not out of fear but something different, some he hasn’t felt in a while.
Oh no.
He doesn’t hear the apologies and other words coming out of Stone’s mouth, he only hears his heart, fluttering, his chest tingling where the hand pushed him, and the something hot pooling at the bottom of his stomach, because that was Stone, his Stone, the man he yells at and manhandles anytime he feels like it, the man that draws pictures on his coffee and smiles disgustingly sweet at him—pushing him around like… like he’s helpless. And for a moment he is, if Stone had wanted to he could’ve shot him, no time to get his badniks to help him, no way for him to think his way out of it.
He’s never without his machines, he’s never helpless. Except now, at home in his lab, when his walls are low and he’s easy prey. He shudders. Wonders when Stone had became another cog in his mechanical mind.
Stone got this job after a failed mission, angry men in ties had decided the best punishment for the man was working under Robotnik—who immediately refused, refusal which was immediately denied—he made a background check, as always, and found that the agent was…intriguing, most of the important information was redacted, which said enough on its own.
The man was a trained soldier, he always knew that, but, maybe he forgot somewhere along the way…he got used to big black eyes that sparkle with praise and silent submission he’s come to associate with his agent way more so than with any dog.
He wants to run, but instead he asks something stupid, because he can’t concentrate—he can’t think. “You have a gun?” His voice is foreign to himself, almost hoarse. He needs to get away, fast.
“Yes…to protect you, sir.” He says it with intensity, he’s being sickeningly genuine, anyone with eyes could tell, but he’s not like that with or for everyone else, only for him, only for Robotnik to see.
He wants to break this man, to chew him to pieces and then put them back together like a well known gun.
He hates not being able to open Stone up and rummage through his insides, follow cables to where they connect to to understand how he works, or read all the lines of code that make up his mind and copy them into his own hardware to be on the same page. It’s not fair.
He doesn’t know where these sudden urges came from, but he needs them to stop. He wants Stone to- shut up!
He leaves, the shame covering him like a blanket. He tries to walk away nonchalantly, but he’s hyper aware of everything. Is his face red? He hopes not, but his ears feel hot. Maybe he should’ve stayed in the badly lit room.
He sighs as he gets to the main room, the lights suddenly too bright, too noisy, too much.
He can hear Stone step into the room behind him, or maybe he imagines he hears him, Stone is good at not making a sound. For once he wants him to speak, to say something, anything, so that he can yell at him and get this awful feeling out of his chest.
After a long minute, or maybe many, Robotnik can finally think straight, and turns around deliberately sharp. He sees Stone standing almost military style at the doorframe.
“What are you still doing here?! Do i look like i need another useless unmoving waste of space in this lab?” He hopes it gets the message across. Leave. But it doesn’t get rid of the tightness in his chest or the worryingly unrecognizable feeling in his stomach (it’s butterflies). Stone’s face shifts slightly into something unreadable.
The agent moves to get to work, understanding the message, as always quick to please, but the Doctor stops him with his next words, not baring the sight of Stone walking away for some god forsaken reason he’ll never understand.
“Tell me something Stone. If you have a gun to ‘protect me’, who protects me from you?” Robotnik is sure that must sting, at least a bit, Stone has always been very good at his work, under the Doctor he’s never made a mistake, and he prides himself on it. He’s told Robotnik that he won’t let anyone hurt him, that he’d always be there. Robotnik thinks it’s condescending, and it sounds narcissistic, and dramatically incorrect based on fact and probability!
“Doctor, I… I would never hurt you.” His voice is small, raw.
I know. He wants to tell him, but…he ignores his quiet plea. “I don’t need you to protect me, i don’t need you, period.” The tightness in his chest makes it feel like he’s dying but he can’t stop, he’s just so full of…something and needs it gone. “You’re disposable.”
Stone’s eyes widen, and he looks at him with pained eyes, his brows slightly furrowed. He reminds Robotnik of a painting, like The Fallen Angel, eyes that yell heartbreak, but instead of righteous rage at being betrayed there’s shame.
Robotnik’s mouth feels dry, he wants to take the words out of the world and delete them like lines of failed code. He wishes, not for the first time, that Stone was a robot, a machine that doesn’t feel, something Robotnik understands, something he can’t fuck up.
It hurts, it had never hurt to hurt someone else before.