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When Robotnik comes to, he has no idea where he is, or how he came here.
All he remembers is the color green. He was the green, bright and crackling like electricity, like fire, like raw and unbridled power in its purest form, and it had been glorious – until it had been stolen and he had just been himself again, less, maybe, and then -
Then there had been gold, a golden light brighter than his own, somehow more than he ever was even with the emerald...
After that, he doesn't remember anything.
Later, he will think that the situation had felt oddly familiar; the light, and the nothing, and the waking up in a place with no recollection of how he got there. But that will be later. Now, right in this moment, all he can think is It hurts.
His entire body seems to be one gigantic knot of throbbing, burning pain. Breathing hurts. Not breathing hurts more, somehow. He drags in a strangled breath and coughs – and, alright, that hurts the most, a feeling like thousands of knives puncturing every single cell of his body at once. Gasping, he tries to hold his breath to avoid further upsetting his apparently ruined body.
Desperately searching for something to distract himself from the pain, Robotnik casts his mind around to try and gather up the slivers of memories flitting past in front of his inner eye, get them into an order that makes sense somehow. There was… the emerald, and the wondrous power that came with it. The robot; his greatest creation yet. He had been so very close to victory and squashing that blue rodent for good, and then… then it had all gone wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
The hedgehog got away again. But how? Disbelief and anger take over, briefly pushing away the pain. It just does not make sense. He had literally turned into a near otherworldly being with the entire knowledge of the universe at his fingertips, and he had still lost to three furry little critters far below his own level. How? How could that be possible?
I just… don’t understand.
Confessing it, even if only in his own mind, makes him deflate, all anger forgotten. He just feels tired all of a sudden; so very, very tired. He cannot explain why he, who never really suffered a heavy loss before, keeps being bested by some extraterrestrial creature who by all rights should have nothing that enables it to compete with someone like him. It’s unfathomable. It’s ridiculous. If there is a logical explanation for it, then even he, with all his genius, cannot grasp it yet. He doesn’t even feel like he wants to try and explain right now; he just wants to wallow in self-pity for a bit.
No better time for it than now, he thinks, thin sarcasm seeping into the thought while he blinks his eyes open and looks at – absolutely nothing. There is only darkness around him, even though his eyes are wide open. It does not take a genius to figure out that he is buried under the wreckage of his own magnificent creation. Almost poetic, in hindsight. The genius creator, entombed beneath his own invention. He is in no position to dig himself out and his gloves are gone - he can feel the dirt beneath his naked palms - so he has no way to call for help, either. And anyway, he doubts anyone is going to come look for him; it is more likely they ball believe him dead, or wish he was.
This is different from the mushroom hell; back then, he still had the option to use his genius to think up a way back home. This time? Not so much. There really seems no way out for him anymore.
Morbidly, his mind starts presenting him with statistics on which end he would be most likely to meet first, trapped here as he is. Either the air supply would run out, or he would die of thirst.
"..-tor!"
Or maybe he would go insane first, Robotnik muses. He could have sworn he heard a voice just now. Great, is his first bleary thought, very close to hysterical amusement. Now I’m hallucinating even without mushrooms.
„Doctor! Doctor Robotnik!“
Wait a moment. The voice isn’t just inside his head; it is clearly outside, muffled by layers and layers of busted metal. It sounded so real, and so close. He wants it to be real, too, far-fetched hope it might be.
His lips move without his say-so, forming out the hopeful thought bouncing around his mind "Stone?“
His own voice sounds awful to his own ears, weak and broken, and he barely manages to finish the word before the tail end of it catches in his throat and he starts coughing violently. The resulting pain is excruciating, and if he still had the air for it, he probably would have screamed.
But miracle over miracles –there seems to be a good side to all the coughing apparently. Over the sound of his own gasping breaths, he hears something; a dull rapping sound, like something being hit against metal. And then, muffled but so very real, „Doctor?!“
He cannot possibly manage an answer, to busy trying to draw breath in between more coughs, but it is, somehow, not necessary. The voice comes again, closer this time, “Hang on!”
There is quiet shuffling, barely audible, and then the darkness around him seems to shake; movement goes through whatever he is buried under. Then, a groan - its source either human or metal, he cannot tell for sure - and the curved metal plate which had laid over him like a makeshift-tent is lifted up completely and tilts to the side with a bang. As a result, light comes streaming in, blinding after the long time in the dark, and Robontnik involuntarily groans and attempts to lift his arm to shield his eyes but fails; the limb feels entirely too heavy to move it at all, so he is stuck squinting against the sun.
"Doctor!"
Stone falls to his knees next to him, bending over him and blocking out the piercing rays of the sun. The agent looks nearly as awful as Robotnik feels: His suit is torn, one sleeve missing entirely. Dust and ash is smeared over most of his face, and it still does nothing to hide how pale he is, how wide and terrified his eyes.
But he is alive, and even though that changes nothing about their current situation, Robotnik feels like he can breathe a little more easily due to that fact. He has the peculiar urge to reach out and hold onto Stone, somehow, and suspects he would actually have done it if his arms would have cooperated. Things being like they are, he only loses control over his mouth, muttering a weak “Stone” before he can catch himself. Ugh. He needs to get his head checked, after this. Something seems to have been damaged in the fall if he can only keep mumbling his agent’s name.
Stone, thankfully, does not know what is going on in the doctor’s mind. Despite his own rumpled appearance, he sags a little with relief at the sound of Robotnik’s voice, a brief smile flitting over his face before the worry comes back full force. “Are you – can you move? Anything at all?”
It is a stupid question, and they both know it, but given the circumstances, perhaps it can be forgiven. At least a bit. Gritting his teeth, Robotnik forces his body to cooperate with him despite his muscles screaming in protest and actually manages to lift one arm enough that he can tap Stone‘s knee, a weak excuse for the slap he was going for.
„Oh, thank god.“ His effort earns the doctor another of those quicksilver smiles before Stone is all business again, worry being barely pushed back behind steely determination. „We need to leave, now. I’m going to get you out of here, don’t worry.“
I’m not worried, Robotnik wants to snap, but then doesn’t- mostly because it dawns on him that he really, truly is not worried, even with the current state he is in. Anything resembling worry has simply vanished when… when he heard Stone calling for him.
The realization sufficiently distracts him long enough that he only realizes Stone leaving his side when the sun pierces his eyes again and he has to squeeze them closed. Blindly, he croaks out “Where are you going?"
"It doesn't look like I will be able to lift the debris on your leg by hand." Stone sounds hurried. He is stepping in and out of Robotnik's limited field of vision, clearly looking for something in the rubble around them. "I will need some sort of lever for this."
His leg? Robotnik squints down his own body for the first time; true enough, there is a disconcertingly large piece of metal laying where his right leg is. Or should be. Oh. No wonder he cannot feel the limb. He will be lucky if it is only broken. The sight alone makes him nauseous and he swallows dryly, tilting his gaze back towards where Stone is still digging around with bare hands.
"Why is there nothing-..." Stone hisses under his breath when his hand hits still-hot metal and rips his arm back briefly, but goes back to searching a second later, teeth gritted. "In all this junk, you would think there is something useful-..."
He is talking a lot, Robotnik notes blearily. Which is odd, because Stone is not prone to rambling nonstop like he does now. "Stone?"
“Why did you give me a tracking device, anyway, when it’s you who always gets lost." There is a grunt which sounds distinctly triumphant. Stone seems to be holding something while he gets back up and comes back towards him, still ranting. “I'm putting a tracker on you first chance I get, doctor, one that works even off-planet, and that’s non-negotiable, I swear-…”
“Stone,” Robotnik says again, this time with more purpose. “You’re rambling.”
“Yes,” Stone answers, apparently at least aware of how much of a fool he is making out of himself, but simply not caring. He looks absolutely unapologetic when he appears in Robotnik's sight again, not even sparing him a glance while he searches for the best place to position the lever, even though he is now clearly talking directly to the doctor. “I figure that is a possible side effect of almost losing you for the second time in eight months. You will just have to deal with me rambling, because right now, I’m nearly going insane with worry for you.”
Which. Well. That actually manages to shut up Robotnik for a while, and he falls back into stunned slow blinking while his oh-so-genius mind tries to process that.
It gives Stone time to position the lever close to the inside of the doctor's knee, jiggling it slightly before nodding to himself. "Doctor," when he turns, there is a mixture of determination and trepidation in his expression. "Please tell me immediately when I hurt you in any way."
It is going to hurt either way, and based on the look on Stone’s face, they both know it. The sentiment is... ridiculous, but oddly appreciated. Taking a deep breath, Robotnik presses his teeth together as tightly as he can and nods once.
Immediately, Stone throws himself down onto the lever with a grunt, muscles bulging. Slowly, slowly, there is a groan and Robotnik feels something shake - then, with a last burst of energy from the agent, the piece of debris lifts slightly and tilts away. It is not by much, but it is enough: Suddenly, Robotnik's leg is free.
And as if his brain only now remembers the existence of the limb, the pain follows on the heels of freedom, searing and cutting, racing up from the limb throughout the entirety of his body. Robotnik convulses, teeth gnashing together to hold in the scream which wants to claw its way up his throat.
From far away, he hears Stone's voice next to him, but he can't focus on it, too busy fighting back the pain to an endurable level. He has always been stubborn; stubborn enough that he could push his body past its limit when his work demanded it. He can control this, as well. This is nothing, he tells himself while his body fights him. Nothing.
It takes him an excruciatingly long time until his breathing normalizes again, becomes more than pained panting. Slowly, very slowly, Robotnik unclenches his teeth again, hearing something pop in his jaw when the pressure lessens.
"I'm sorry."
Confusion slants his brow, and Robotnik fights to open one eye.
Stone is bent over him, one hand on the doctor's shoulder - he hadn't even noticed it through the pain. “I’m sorry,” the agent repeats, sounding so deeply regretful as if all of this is somehow his fault. “I wish I could have been more careful about it, but we don’t have time, we need to be gone when the government gets here, and-…”
“Don’t-…” apologize, he wants to say, but decides against it at the last second, because it feels too close to No, I should be sorry to be comfortable. Gritting his teeth against the pain and the words alike, he flails one arm up, genuinely surprised that the movement is even possible (not broken, then) and reaches for Stone. Hates the way how broken his voice sounds when he says “Help me up.”
Stone jumps into motion immediately, ducking under his arm and slinging it over his shoulder while slipping one hand under the doctor's shoulder to help push him up. Robotnik's limbs feel like jelly and he is hurting with every breath but he powers through it thanks to sheer willpower. Together, they manage to get the doctor into a sitting position, from which it takes them two more staggering attempts until they get to their feet.
The moment he is upright, Robotnik finds himself tilting dangerously to the right, instinctively gripping tighter onto Stone when his right leg won't even carry a fraction of his weight, giving a sharp stab of pain when he tries to force it.
"Careful!" Stone warns, uselessly so, and balances the sudden shift out for them. Without him standing firmly, they would probably both have careened straight to the ground.
Robotnik glances over at his agent, something sharp and cutting already on his tongue about how careful Stone himself should be, when something red in his peripheral vision distracts him from it. Frowning, he angles his head far enough away that he can really look at Stone - and hisses in a surprised breath when he catches sight of the freshly bleeding gash on his agent's forehead. From the fall? No...
Suddenly, a memory comes back, clearer and sharper than the rest of the mess in his tired mind. The sickening Crack of a head hitting solid metal and bouncing off of it. The unsettling silence when he had called out to Stone and there had been no answer from the motionless body slumped to the ground behind the control center.
Oh. How had he forgotten about that? Now he certainly remembers, unpleasantly so; his entire field of vision seems to shrink down to that one spot, bright red in the gleam of the afternoon sun, and a curious mixture of emotions curls in his chest, prompting him to lean in closer, bearing down heavily onto Stone’s shoulders and making the other man stumble under their combined weight. “Stone, you’re injured.”
He cannot believe that his assistant would be so reckless - here is Stone, doing the heavy lifting, dragging him from under rubble and all but carrying him around, when he very well could have a concussion, or worse.
“What? Doctor, that’s a scratch,” Stone sounds utterly disbelieving, like he can’t fathom why the doctor would focus on that right now, of all things. “That’s nothing, that’s – it’s not important. What’s important is to get you out of here.”
Robotnik does not budge an inch when Stone tugs at his arm lightly, anger rising at the sight of the fresh blood. "You're bleeding all over the both of us, Stone, want to explain to me how that is nothing-..."
"Head wounds bleed a lot, you know that. It just reopened from all the lifting, it -…” Stone cuts himself off with a deep breath, clearly forcing himself to stay calm and keep his voice from raising when he continues. “look, as soon as we’re out of here and I am sure you’re going to be alright, you can lecture me all you want, but please, just – forget about it, for now?”
The immediate rebuttal is right there on his tongue, fueled by that knot of pressure in his chest, yet part of his mind points out very rationally that if he will not budge, then neither will Stone; his agent is no less stubborn than he is, after all, when push comes to shove. They could go keep going back and forth like this for hours, wasting precious time. It takes a herculean effort to swallow his first response down, but miraculously, Robotnik manages it and leans heavier on Stone, making an attempt to swing his uninjured leg forward and start walking while he grinds out, “Hurry up, then, Stone.”
He can all but feel the surprise radiating off Stone at his easy surrender, but the agent is smart enough not to say anything about it and simply take what he is offered.
Together, they start making their slow and painful way across the wasteland left behind by the showdown with the hedgehog. And slow it is; not only are they both injured, there is also the obstacles to take into account. Smoke is rising from, making it hard to see uneven spots in the ground which nearly make them both fall every few minutes. More than once, they end up in front of a fragment of the fallen robot which proves to large and bulky to simply climb across, so they have to take a different route around it, further prolonging their journey.
By the time they finally, finally make it to the very edge of the part of the landscape leveled by the doctor’s creation and the following fallout, Robotnik is breathing through clenched teeth, spots dancing in front of his eyes from pain and exhaustion, cold sweat gathering unpleasantly on his neck. The only things still driving him forward are his own pride, and the fact that next to him, Stone is looking almost worse for wear than he does. No wonder; the man is basically carrying both of their weight, at this point.
“You need a break,” Robotnik wheezes out, tapping his agent’s shoulder with trembling fingers.
“I’m fine,” Stone answers without missing a beat, because he is a contrary bastard who would probably claw his way forward if his legs wouldn’t carry him any longer.
“No you’re damn well not. Don’t try to fool me, Stone – I might be a little out of it, but I’m not blind like most of the imbeciles on this planet.”
“We’re still too close. After we got a little further away-…”
“Ugh. I can’t believe you're making me do this.” Robotnik digs the heel of his good leg in and stops so abruptly he slips off Stone’s shoulders. For a moment, he sways dangerously on one leg, close to doubling over on the spot, but he persists. “I need a break, before I collapse. Happy now?”
“You-…” Stone turns back to catch him in time before his leg gives out. From the agent’s expression, it is clear that he sees the ruse for what it is, and seems to be torn between amusement and real anger. “You can never just listen to me, can you?”
“I listen to you more often than I listen to anybody else,” Robotnik answers sharply; then immediately clamps his mouth shut, because that was a little more honest than he truly meant to be. Trying to mask his slip up with a scoff, he allows Stone to take his weight again. “And anyway, which one of us is paying whose paychecks, again? If anything, you should do as I say, sycophant.”
“Nobody is paying anything at the moment; they froze our assets, remember?” Stone counters. At least he seems to have resigned to his fate, since he is dragging the both of them off to the side towards the trees, rather than continuing stubbornly ahead. With a grace that belies his own state, he somehow manages to lower them to be ground carefully, rather than simply dropping down in a heap; he even takes the time to help prop up Robotnik with his back against the tree before he drops to his own knees fully.
The moment he no longer has to force himself to stay upright, Robotnik can practically feel his body attempting to shut down, screaming at him to rest. He ignores it with practiced ease and focuses on Stone instead, noting the pale color of his skin and the blood still dripping down his face. He is only just opening his mouth to give a command when Stone already cuts in, sounding tired but firm, “No.”
Robotnik blinks rapidly, snaps his mouth closed. “No, what?”
“No, I’m not letting you take a look at my head first thing,” Stone specifies, already shuffling closer and reaching for the doctor. There is a firm set to his jaw, and a dangerous glint in his eyes that just dares his former employer to argue. “The first thing we do is making sure you’re not in serious danger, and patching you up; then I might let you take a look at my head.”
The sheer nerve of him briefly makes Robotnik gape, mouth opening and closing a few times before he catches himself. He yanks his arms up just in time to fend off Stone’s hands – they are infinitely gentle, and that nearly floors him yet again – and snap, “You’re being awfully bold today, Stone.”
“And you’re being more difficult than usual, which is saying something.” Stone does not even attempt to hide the frustrated little growl when he tries once more to reach out, and the doctor blocks him again. “Will you let me help you now?!”
“You’re the one with the possible concussion, Stone, so clearly it would make more sense-...”
“Considering you’re the one who fell freely from a height of approximately 400 feet, we would be lucky if you only have a concussion!”
After a brief tousle, no, flailing – they are both too out of it for a real fight – Stone manages to catch Robotnik’s wrists, squeezing them lightly before letting go again. Even now, he refrains from touching the doctor unnecessarily if he can help it, even when he speaks with authority, “Let me do this.”
It is not a tone the other man usually takes with Robotnik - steely and sharp, and absolutely unrelenting. Stone is seriously pissed right now, and Robotnik in no shape to fight back. And they are not getting anywhere with this.
With an unhappy grunt, the doctor allows his head to loll slightly to the side in a sign of surrender. “Fine. Make it quick.”
The surrender is almost worth it when the steely expression on Stone’s face melts away under the force of his relieved smile – but only almost. Robotnik continues to grumble under his breath while the agent carefully starts patting him down, asking questions as he goes.
“Does this hurt?”
“Ow! Yes, and you knew that it would!”
“I don't know what you mean. I’m not the sadist out of the two of us. Any pain while breathing?”
“Let me check. I am currently breathing, and you’re being a pain. De facto – yes.”
“I will jot that down as bruised ribs, but luckily it doesn’t seem to be broken.” Stone shifts in front of him, raising something in front of the doctor’s face. “Can you follow the light with your eyes, please?”
Robotnik makes a point to roll his eyes instead of following the thin light of Stone’s watch. It only gets him a look and a murmured “that will do”. The way Stone seems to relax while he gets to check up on him makes the doctor heavily suspect that his agent is enjoying this a little too much, and he bristles, going for mockery as his last defense, “Do you want me to say Aaah as well?”
“I would usually say yes,” Stone answers, nonplussed. “But I know you would be difficult about it, so, no.”
Robotnik had actually been thinking about biting Stone should he try to force his mouth open, which probably confirms the agent's statement. He scowls, which Stone answers with a look that very clearly says see, I knew it.
“I don’t know why my continued sharp wit does not reassure you that I do not have a concussion.”
“Because I have seen you be witty after being awake for over 48 hours and nearly hallucinating from sleep deprivation.”
“If you think that’s the worst, you should have seen me hallucinating from mushrooms.” Wait, no. Then Stone would have witnessed him talking to rock-Stone about how he might or might not miss him. Way too embarrassing. Delete that idea immediately.
But somehow, Robotnik finds the idea sticking, clogging his already sluggish thought process while he blearily watches Stone fuss over him. To his own deterrent, he finds himself wondering what the past eight months would have been like if Stone had been with him on that joke of a planet. Probably something just like this, he thinks with a wry curl to his lips: Robotnik pushing and pushing, and Stone, ever loyal and steadfast Stone, not budging in the slightest, refusing to leave his side.
Unbidden, the thought comes to mind that it would have been easier, then. Annoying, sometimes, yes. Entertaining, most of the time. (Deep down, he could even admit that this, right here, is a form of entertainment to him as well.) One thing is for sure, even to his tired mind – it would have been much, much easier on that mushroom filled planet, if only he had not been utterly alone.
Alone. He had always believed himself to be someone who enjoyed solitude, and abhorred the need to interact with other human beings directly. He still thinks so; he just knows that there is an exception, now. How embarrassing, that a genius like him had needed a trip to a foreign planet to fully realize it.
“I think it could have been worse,” Stone says, jolting the doctor from his musings. The agent is sitting back on his haunches, heaving a deep sigh that seems to come from his very core. Relief. “There seem to be no head injuries, and the reinforced suit seems to have caught a lot of the impact. Broken leg, bruised ribs, at least one sprained wrist, but still – it could have been so much worse. You were incredibly lucky, doctor.”
“Well,” Robotnik mutters, lacking his usual bite. He is still reeling from his sudden epiphany, too perplexed to really be his sarcastic self. “You know I'm too stubborn to die, Stone.”
It is not particularly funny, far from his best snide comment, but it is enough to make Stone snort, then look up at him with a grin, warm and crooked. "Oh, I know. And I'm very grateful for it."
He reaches out and smooths down the doctor's lapels as he talks; it is seemingly an unconscious action, hands moving out of familiarity and habit, but despite not thinking about the move, he is gentle about it, aware of the battered state of the other man.
It's the gentleness that does it, in the end, that cracks something inside Robotnik wide open and has words spilling out that he had kept between clenched teeth and barbed defenses for almost a year, maybe longer. Maybe they have been there for a long, long time before he finally allows them to break free.
“I missed you, Stone.”
The words are deceptively quiet when they fall between them, even when they have the emotional impact of an explosion. Stone stops moving, hands still on the doctor’s jacket closed once more and looks up slowly - not fast in shock or surprise, but slow, measured, and when their eyes meet, Robotnik has no idea what kind of emotion is playing out behind his agent's blank expression. They just... stare at each other in silence for a beat, and there is nothing between them but the doctor’s labored breathing, and Stone’s very quiet one.
Robotnik manages approximately one minute under the intense gaze of those dark eyes before he scrunches one eye shut and tips his head back against the tree bark, cutting all eye contact while he tells the sky above them, “That’s the concussion talking, in case you’re wondering. Don’t read too much into it.”
He can hear Stone's smile, can imagine the sunniness of it when the man answers slow and quiet, “Wouldn’t dream of it, doctor.”
The doctor grunts, noncommittal, and hopes that's it, and they can go back to pretending this moment never happened.
"Since we're being honest with each other right now," Stone begins - and immediately has to hide a laugh behind a cough when Robotnik groans in dismay.
"Of course you couldn't simply let it be, you insufferable little-..."
"Since we're being honest," Stone repeats louder, talking over the doctor's continued rant and insults. "I didn't know what to do with myself, when you were gone."
That gives Robotnik pause and he tilts his head back down enough to glance at Stone, eyebrows raised. He thinks of a perfectly built lab hidden behind a good going business, and doubts. "You seemed to manage exceptionally well."
A laugh bubbles out of Stone, harsher than his usual warm one. "I managed to function and follow the plan. I was not handling it well, or enjoying it."
A blink. Robotnik's fast working mind analyzes the statement, prods at it, sets up theories based on it and refuses all of them again in quick succession. No use, going about this rationally. There is too many variables, too many factors like feelings and doubts that make a clear picture impossible. So what finally leaves his lips is simply "Why?"
Why wait?
Why bother?
Why?
Stone's smile softens, the harsh edge to it fading; instinctively, he seems to know what the doctor is really asking. "Because being an assistant, or running a coffee shop, or taking over the world... to me, it doesn't really matter what it will be. The only thing that matters is that you're there for it, doctor."
The words are simple enough, but their meaning proves too big to grasp. It feels a little like Robotnik has been handed the entire knowledge of the universe’s inner workings for a second time, only that it is solely Stone’s universe this time. Which seems to revolve around the doctor to a greater degree than the genius has ever been able to grasp before. And Stone had simply – shared this knowledge with him, even knowing the doctor could have scoffed at it and brushed it off as nothing.
(Not that he wants to. Robotnik finds he wants to greedily gather it up like a precious gem and keep it all for himself.)
His agent is truly proving to be the braver one out of the two of them, today.
Robotnik blinks rapidly a few times while he digests all that. He has never been particularly well-versed with emotions, not his own, and certainly not those of others. This is a challenge he is not yet ready to tackle; it will take time to let it sink in, analyze it, analyze his own reaction to it, and choose an appropriate reaction to all of it.
For the time being, trusty old snark will have to do. "I see what you're doing there, Stone." He is surprised he can even get the words out in a steady voice, but miraculously, he manages. "You're trying to soften me up so I will allow you to put a tracker on me. Well, sycophant, it's not working."
Briefly, Stone’s eyes crinkle with amusement before he manages to wrangle it back behind a deadpan expression. His smile is still audible in his voice, brimming around the words. “Perceptive as ever, doctor.”
“Of course. It takes more than a concussion to distract me. Speaking of which,” waving his hand basically directly under the agent’s nose, Robotnik narrows his eyes at him. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Five, doctor.”
“How is the headache?”
“Nothing a few painkillers won’t fix.”
“Nausea? Problems with light and sound?”
“Nothing of the sort.”
“Would you even tell me if it were the case?”
“Of course, doctor.” Stone looks faintly amused while he awaits his verdict with a raised brow that spells content, now?
“Hm,” Far from perfect, but it is all he can really do for now. Worries assuaged for the time being, Robotnik softens a little - but not enough to keep himself from poking Stone’s forehead once, firmly, delighting in the scrunched-up face and muttered “ow” it gets him. “Payback for poking and prodding at me. Now help me up again. As you so astutely pointed out a few times already, we’ve got to get going.”
Stone is graceful enough not to point out that it was Robotnik who had made them take a rest in the first place, and goes to do as he is ordered with only a minimal curl of amusement to his lips.
After the break, it is easier by a mile to get them both to their feet again, even though Robotnik is still leaning heavily onto Stone as soon as gravity takes hold off him again. No matter; he knows Stone won’t let him fall, and his pride has already taken so many hits today that he can allow himself this one extra weakness for once. Not having to do the heavy lifting also gives him time to think, and his brain latches onto the opportunity with glee, running a mile a minute, already far ahead of the two men stumbling their way away from the crash side. “We will need to find a sufficient place to lay low and regroup.”
“And some resources,” Stone chimes in readily, multitasking while he steers them both to safety. “With our assets frozen, I only have the money from my coffee shop job to support us.”
“Back to crowdfunding it is. However, that does not provide a solution of where we should go for the time being.”
“I was thinking Canada.”
“So cliche, Stone,” amusement curls through Robotnik. He is already feeling a lot better compared to earlier, his loss no longer a dooming weight around his neck, but rather a minor inconvenience. He can simply try again. They can try again – because Stone is going to be right there with him. The thought is freeing. Safe. He lets himself sway sideways to bump Stone’s hip with his, nudging him to keep the conversation going. “Try a little harder.”
“What do you not like about Canada? It’s cliche for a reason.” Stone’s smile is audible in his voice, eyes crinkling with the force of it. “Fine. Europe.”
“I don’t do cliches, I’m too extra for it. And Europe is not even a country, that’s a whole continent. I said try, sycophant.”
“France, then.”
The doctor’s eyebrow leaps up, intrigued. “Tu parles francais?” How has he not been aware of that yet?
“Oui, docteur,” the answer is smooth, pronunciation flawless and without accent. “And I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”
“Cliches and more cliches! You are being incredibly boring. Paris is boring. I’ve been there; it’s not what it is cranked up to be. Don’t waste our time with it.”
Huffing a laugh through his nose, Stone helps him down a slope. Robotnik stumbles on the last few meters and goes careening straight into his agent, who easily catches his entire weight and holds him up securely. Stone does not even seem to particularly mind, still grinning when he picks up the thread of conversation once more. “I can’t imagine a trip with you would be boring, no matter where we go.”
“Back to buttering me up, I see,” Robotnik mocks, breathless not only because of the exertion and the pain but also from that unerring smile being directed at him. “Don’t think it will save you from the payback for being so cheeky with me earlier.”
“Since you confirmed yourself that you have a concussion a few minutes ago, maybe you could postpone the payback for a bit; at least until you had some time to recover.”
Despite himself, Robotnik finds himself barking out a true laugh, immediately regretting it a little when it makes him cough right after. Which still hurts, a lot. Next to him, Stone utters an alarmed little sound and grips tighter onto him, worry creasing his brow, but the doctor waves him off, still grinning even through the pain.
“Insufferable barnacle,” he wheezes as soon as his air supply lets him. “Always trying to have the last word.”
Stone’s expression relaxes somewhat when the coughing eases up again, and he shrugs lightly. “Someone has to at least try and keep up with you, doctor.”
Someone. As if Stone is not the only one who has ever managed; ever bothered. Robotnik snorts and slings his arm tighter around his agent’s shoulders, urging him forward again. “So. Paris. Why Paris?”
“Wait,” Stone follows the nudge, but blinks over at him a little owlishly, clearly surprised that he actually shows interest in it. “I thought we’re joking.”
“When do I ever joke? So, tell me. Why Paris.”
“Errr, often? And – I’ve never been there. I’m curious.”
That sounds like a nice enough reason, but there is more, Robotnik can tell. He squints at Stone’s profile for a long time before it clicks. “Don’t tell me you’re a hidden romantic, Stone.”
“I’m not exactly trying to hide it,” Stone counters, unabashed. “You just never asked.”
“Nitpicking!” And interesting. He adds it to his ever-growing collection of data on Agent Stone. “Fine. Assuming it means so much to you, we will settle for Paris for the time being.”
“I wasn’t-… you-…” For once, Stone actually seems at a loss for words. He starts several times before he shakes his head, huffing, grinning, and clearly disbelieving. “I was joking.”
“And I just told you I don’t joke, agent. Do keep up.”
“You don’t have to, you know. It was a joke, like I said. We can go anywhere.”
I will come with you wherever you go goes unsaid, but it is there, clear as day. It is exactly why Robotnik simply smirks and repeats, “Paris it is.” He might not be good with feelings, after all, but even he cannot ignore all the loyalty Stone has shown him, especially today. It deserves a reward of some kind. And Paris might be boring, but Stone isn’t. They can make it work.
Clearly still utterly blindsided, Stone starts laughing aloud, shaking his head half in amusement, half in despair. “You just – alright. Alright. But can we at least look for a place for the night which is a little closer? Maybe actually take the time to figure out how we’re going to get onto an international flight without getting apprehended at the airport?”
Robotnik would like to needle further, suggest they can very well come up with something when they are already well on their way to the airport, but he can tell his body is not going to hold up much longer under all the continued stress. Talking was nice, but it had also used up what little breath he still had left, and thinking is getting harder by the second. Maybe he will simply… stop thinking, for a while. What a novel idea! But Stone’s suggestion is sound enough, he supposes. With a grunt, he angles more of his weight onto his human crutch and nods, chin hitting the agent’s shoulder. “Alright. We will… think of something. Later.”
“Later,” Stone parrots, making it sound like an agreement and a promise all in one. Promising to be there later to continue this conversation. Gentler, he adds, “Save your breath. I’m going to find us a place to stay.”
Eyelids drooping, Robotnik only manages a hum of agreement. Focusing solely on staying awake and keeping his good leg moving, he trusts Stone to find them something suitable, and keep him safe in the meantime.