Oh, if you told me
That you were down
I'd slay the beast
And make your darkness turn around
And I know it's scary
Yeah, that's for sure
But now you don't
Don't have to feel that anymore
Oh, you can wear it
Heart on your sleeve
And I'll protect it
Baby, believe
Oh, I'll take care, take care of you
Oh, I'll take care, take care of you
And I'll do the things that no one else will do
Yeah, all of the things that no one else will do
Like take care of you, oh, oh
Take care of you, ooh
And I'll do things that no one else will do
Yeah, all of the things that no one else will do
"Take care of you" by Ella Henderson
Sometimes, Robotnik likes to think of himself as above petty little human problems; no, more than that – sometimes he likes to think himself above humans. He has never fit quite in with the rest of humanity; always too smart, too fast, too much. Where others stop, he goes above and beyond. Where other see dead ends, he sees opportunities. Clearly, he is meant for more than the rest of humanity. He should not be burdened with the same troubles as them.
Except he is. As if to remind him to stay humble, to be a little more down to earth rather than reaching for stars others could not even dream about, every now and then, there are instances which to very painfully remind him that he is, despite everything, still very human. With all the weaknesses that might entail.
One such instance is, for example, when his self-inflicted, hellish schedule combined with his lack of care for his own well-being take their toll on his body.
Today is one such instance, although the doctor does not know it immediately when he wakes up.
When he comes to, startling up from sleep with a snoring grunt, he is sitting half-slumped sideways in his chair - not an unusual occurrence, at all. The sight of his lab first thing when he opens his eyes in the morning has become something of a familiar thing for him.
What is unusual, however, is the persistent throb behind his eyes, and the scratching in his throat.
Frowning blearily Robotnik reaches for his throat, rubbing lightly to get rid of the itch - and nearly startles when the motion does not serve to bring relief, but instead makes it worse, and the next second, he starts coughing, dry and aching. Still coughing he flails to sit up straight in the hopes it will help with whatever is stuck in his throat, but it doesn't help. Instead, the throbbing in his head turns into a sharp ache once he is upright, making him groan quietly as soon as his coughing lessens. What the...?
Dizzy and annoyed by this rather rude awakening, Robotnik huffs - coughs again - and makes to stand up. It does not go without a hitch, and he has to pause twice because before the room tilts precariously around him. Something is not right today, he decides with a grimace. On a whim, he puts the back of his hand to his forehead - and hisses out a startled sound when he feels the heat there.
Headache, coughing, general sense of weakness and exhaustion... a vague apprehension rises in the back of his mind, and Robotnik tries with his other hand, as if that will bring a different result. No such luck.
"No, no, no!" Ignoring the unrelenting vertigo, he crosses the lab until he finds a suitable reflective surface and leans in closer, hands propped up left and right, to peer at his reflection. There is no mistaking the feverish gleam in his eyes and the flush in his cheeks, a stark contrast to the unhealthy pallor of the rest of his skin.
Damn. He even looks -...
"I don't get sick ," he snaps at his reflection, and pushes off the gleaming chrome - too fast; he nearly trips over his own feet with another wave of dizziness. Hand pressed to his forehead, he stumbles back to his desk, still muttering himself, "I never get sick, ever, that's not happening."
As if to call him out on lying, his throat chooses that exact time to act up again, a sharp pang making him cough, barking and hoarse. Once he is done with the fit, he feels even worse than before.
With a miserable groan, Robotnik drops into his chair, running both hands through his hair. Think! But what is there to think a b out? It's not like he can outsmart his rebelling body, or plot a way around a beginning illness.
H e can simply be more stubborn then any kind of virus trying to get a hold on him, though, the doctor decides with a furious snarl, sitting up straighter. A little coughing won't kill him, and it certainly won't be able to keep him from his work! He can do this. He can push through with his usual stubbornness and ride it out, no problem. Child's play, in fact!
Feeling quite a bit better already, at least mentally, he checks the clock. It is still early; he has approximately one hour before Stone will be here, punctual always. His agent is the only one who will see him in this state, and thus could potentially pose a problem. Stone can be terribly persistent when he thinks the doctor might be overworking himself. Those are the rare instances when he actually defies orders, and generally just lurks close by as if fearing he will have to catch the doctor because he will simply double over from exhaustion.
Never mind that that had actually happened once or twice already.
Something to drink will probably help, Robotnik decides, getting up on his shaky legs again. A bit of cold water splashed onto his face to counter the worst heat, and he will just… find something to occupy Stone with which will keep the other out of the lab for the rest of the day. Yes, that's good.
Mind set, he goes to get himself a glass of water.
And resolutely ignores the way his vision begins to blur at the edges while he does so.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hour goes by maddeningly slow, every minute stretching into endlessness. The water and the drink do not help. Not at all. and with every second Robotnik does his damned to continue working and pretend everything is just fine, the symptoms worsen considerably.
By the time he hears the familiar sound of the security system admitting someone in, and the lab door's hiss open in his back, Robotnik is more hanging In his seat than really sitting, feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous. Heat is radiating off of him now so clearly he does not even have to check to see that he is running a fever, and every now and then a dry cough will wrack his body, further aggravating his aching throat.
He feels absolutely miserable, and the only thing keeping him upright and going is his own stubborn pride.
Stone's usual cheery greeting is charring in the miserable silence hanging about the room, chipper and bright, "Good morning, doctor."
Robotnik opens his mouth on instinct, one of the various greetings ranging from a simple "sycophant" to "get out of my face Stone" already forming on his tongue – only to pause, blinking sharply, when he realizes he cannot speak. With how badly his throat is aching right now, he just knows his voice will come out as a pathetic croak; Stone will know immediately that something is wrong.
T hinking quickly, he decides that a verbal answer simply won't be necessary today. Feigning concentration, Robotnik grumbles something unintelligible, keeping his entire focus on the holoscreens he had pulled up before. He can barely make out their contents since his vision keeps swimming in and out of focus, but he is a great actor, if need be.
He is almost physically aware of the quiet steps while Stone approaches. Seconds later, his assistant sets a cup of steaming hot latte on the desk beside him and greets him with a smile. The doctor's curt "greeting" had not deterred him at all; it never did. "How is the upgrade on the tank-Badniks power unit coming along, doctor?"
The power unit . Robotnik barely keeps himself from flinching, swearing, or bith. He had forgotten about it entirely that that had been on the to-do list today. Him! Forgetting his projects! He had been so preoccupied by this blasted bout of...!
With a start, he realizes that Stone is still standing right there, looking at him – no, now staring at him, the doctor corrects with a grimace. There is the first hint of a frown starting to form on the other's face; he is clearly catching o n that something is off today.
"I'm working on it," Robotnik grumbles. His voice cracks in the middle, slipping c lose to a wheeze, and he could have screamed if his aching throat had let him. Damn, damn, damn. This day just keeps getting worse.
The hints of worry on Stone's face are quickly deepening and he steps closer, hand reaching for the doctor as if on instinct. "Doctor, Is everything alright...?"
Hissing in alarm, Robotnik steps aside before the other can touch him, half because he hates touching, half because one brush against his skin will reveal the heat radiating of f of him. "I'm f ine," he snaps... or wheezes, to be more accurate.
Stone's gaze racks over him, clearly taking in his flushed face and feverish eyes, and the worry tilts fully into alarm when realization sets in. "You are-..."
"... very busy," Robotnik interrupts, voice low. He will give his sycophant exactly one chance to drop this right now, no more. " Correct Stone. So keep your interruptions to a minimum."
Clearly, Stone hears the underlying warning - order - in the words, since he pulls back, fingers flexing like he is not sure what to do with them now. His jaw works quietly for a beat, before he opens his mouth again and does the one thing he shouldn't have: He refuses to drop the matter. "Are you sure you can work like this...?"
"When exactly," Robotnik interrupts him, voice dangerously low, "did you start questioning me, Stone? You seem to be forgetting yourself."
"I'm just worri-..."
" Get out."
"Doc-…"
"I said OUT!"
The last word is a shout, loud as thunder, bouncing off the lab's wall impressively. Stone is smart enough to snap his mouth shut and step back – retreat – with his head lowering in a nod, and turns to march out of the room without a second look or word.
Robotnik manages to keep his lips pressed tight and the itch in his throat contained until the door hisses shut behind his assistant. Only then does he allow himself to give into the cough clawing at his throat after raising his voice like that. Doubling over with the force of his hacking, he has to prop himself up with both hands on his desk or risk falling over while the coughing shakes him through, driving tears into his eyes and making the room spin around him.
Once he is finally able to draw gasping breaths again, he feels like his head might explode any second. Blinking up at his reflection in one of the holoscreens, he takes note of the exhaustion etched deep into his features, and the feverish glint of his eyes.
His work day has only just begun, and he looks dead on his feet already.
With a sigh, Robotnik directs his gaze back to his desk – and frowns unhappily when it lands on a fallen paper cup and a rapidly growing puddle of coffee forming there. He must haven knocked it over without noticing in his flailing and hacking.
Calling stone for a replacement would seem like a weakness, after kicking him out a minute ago. So no latte for him on top of everything else.
Damn. This day is already shaping up to be a really bad one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stone's innocent question had reminded Robotnik rather unpleasantly that he had had important work planned for today: The improvement of the tank-badnik's power unit. A self-designed and self-made battery, since nothing on the market right now fulfills his lofty ambitions, and an Ivo Robotnik does not settle for second best.
Perhaps the most reasonable approach would have been to wait with this until he felt better, but... he had deadlines to meet; the government wants the upgraded tank-Badnik by the end of this week. He had worked towards this for weeks now, waiting for the right materials and preparing everything... this little thing is the last step to finish a project which had been weeks in the making, and he refuses to wait even one minute longer than necessary.
Too stubborn and too proud to let himself be deterred by something minor like a common little cold, he starts preparing everything. The desk is mopped down haphazardly and cleaned off everything which might distract him. The almost-finished battery – only an empty corpus right now, devoid of its core – is set in the middle.
One more check if he is alone in the lab. Stone has not tried to return yet after that clash between them before. Good. He cannot be distracted right now; this is delicate work.
Preparations done, Robotnik pulls his googles over his eyes and only then goes to retrieve the liquid core had prepared days before; unlocking the special fridge designed to hold exactly these kind of chemicals, he grabs the lone test tube sitting in the middle of it and lifts it out carefully. The bright green liquid inside glitters ominously while he holds it against the light, checking over its texture. Still fluid, still the color it is supposed to have. With utmost care, he carries it back over to the desk, never once letting his eyes stray from it, watching like a hawk that not a single drop splashes over the rim. The liquid is compose of several different acids, and together, a single drop is enough to eat through skin and flesh and right down to the bone in a matter of minutes. He would rather not have any of that touch any part of him, thank you very much.
As careful and slowly as possible, he lifts the test tube over the open container , tilting it ever… so… slowly… careful now… almost there.. .
It is going perfectly well.
Until he sneezes.
Loud and abrupt, with such a force it makes him fly forward in his seat. The worst part, however is that he reflexively balls hist hand to a fist - and squashes the tiny glass body he is still holding in his grip.
The shards bite deep into his skin, drawing blood, but that is not the worst part; the worst part is that liquid splatters over his bare hand, sizzling ominously already even while he is still sneezing a second and a third time. He doesn't even getting the time to draw breath to swear before the burning pain sets in, radiating up his entire arm, and his swears turn into a throaty yell. Eyes tearing from pain, Robotnik pushes back from his desk and stumbles to his feet, his stained arm held away from his body at an awkward angle. He cannot see it, but he can hear and worst of all feel his skin being eaten away by the vicious liquid. Dizziness, either caused by that damned cold or by the pain, overtakes him before he can take two steps towards the door and he falls to his knees with another shout, this time more out of anger than pain.
"Doctor?! What happened?!"
Stone's voice close by makes Robotnik jump in surprise and then breathe out harshly, a startling wave of relief swamping him. He had not heard the door open, and cannot figure out how Stone had heard him from wherever he had been, but now there are quick steps coming towards him. Seconds later, his sycophant appears at his side, falling to his knees much like the doctor had, already reaching for him. "Your hand , what happened-..."
"Don't- don't touch it, you imbecile...!" Robotnik manages through gritted teeth, trying and failing to rip his arm out of Stone's hold. At least the other had reached for his wrist and his forearm first, not his hand.
There is a pause while the doctor's wrist is turned over, then a hiss; ah, now his sycophant ha s understood, Robotnik thinks wryly, managing an annoyed grimace even through the pain, finally .
Some of Stone's frantic energy has vanished when he speaks up next, his words curt and to the point, "Acidic or alkaline?"
"What?"
"Doctor, is this stuff acidic or alkaline?!"
Stone is - is snapping at him, and the sheer offense of that is enough to jolt Robotnik out of his frozen state. "Acid," he grinds out, biting back all the information about the liquid which are now flitting through his mind; that is not what Stone needs to know right now. "The base is acid."
A qui e t sound next to him, like understanding, and then Stone is gone from his side so suddenly, Robotnik nearly tilts over to the side without his sycophant's support. Blinking sharply, Robotnik manages to focus his gaze somewhat, but he still has to narrow his eyes to be able to see and follow Stone's frantic movements. The agent has stridden over to one of the cabinets nearby, rattling at the door until it flies open, and then begins digging through the contents. Since the other is standing in the way, the doctor cannot make out what exactly is going on, only hears the clinking of glass hitting against more glass.
He does not have to wonder long, however; not even a minute passes before Stone is back at his side and takes hold of his wrist again, turning it until the bubbling, red skin hit by the acid is pointing up. The sight alone is enough to nearly turn Robotnik's already squeamish stomach and the doctor has to look away sharply before he does something embarrassing like throwing up in front of his sycophant.
Looking away, he's taken by surprise when more liquid is splashed over his entire hand and a good deal of his forearm. It burns on first contact with his skin, a stinging sensation through the entire limb. Startle, He hisses and jerks away, but Stone's grip on him is like a vice, making escape impossible.
And then the burn suddenly... lessens, and when Robotnik glances over in surprise, the acid on his skin has stopped steaming. It is also, he notes, mixed with a second liquid of a different color now. It is easy to figure out where that one had come from, since Stone is putting a half-empty container with contents of the same color down onto the ground while the doctor watches.
Lye , to neutralize the acid, Robotnik realizes. Distantly he is almost impressed by Stone's quick thinking.
"We need to wash that off. Come on, doctor, up," Stone commands - commands , how dare he!
Robotnik bristles and pulls at his arm, stubbornness returning slowly to him now that the pain recedes somewhat. "Who do you think you're talking to, barnacle?! I can do it myself-...!"
He must have taken Stone by surprise, since almost manages to escape, arm sliding free. For one moment, Robotnik is triumphant - and then immediately less so, since another wave of dizziness overcomes him and he sways on his feet. The whole room spins and tilts around him, and his uninjured hand flies instinctively, uselessly, to his forehead while he squints and ties to get the world to sharpen and focus again.
"Doctor!" Hands grab him by the shoulders, steadying him. Stone's face comes into focus, much closer than Robotnik would allow him to come on his own volition if he had anything to say about it, but since he is fighting a wave of nausea, he does not have a lot of room to speak. The agent's face is drawn tight, worry in those expressive eyes of his even while he is frowning in annoyance. "Don't be - doctor . Let me help ."
His dislike to accept help, show weakness, wars with his common sense for a moment. Finally, he sags in obvious defeat, grinding his teeth when he allows haltingly, "Fine."
stone's stormy gaze brightens considerably and he wastes no more time, taking the doctor by the wrist again and pulling him along, out of the lab.
His assistant doesn't even ask for permission, his usual careful approach gone out the window apparently. Robotnik scowls down at the hand wrapped tight around his wrist, wondering faintly when Stone had gotten comfortable with touching him so casually like this; leading him around like this.
There is not much time to think about it, however, because they reach the bathroom and Stone directs him to take a seat while he digs into the cabinet to unearth a first aid kit. Grumbling and grudging, Robotnik more falls than sits down and holds out his bleeding hand for his sycophant to take.
The first touch of his assistant's fingertips to the back of his hand makes him hiss and jolt, but Stone's other hand is once more tight around his wrist, holding him still while the other inspects the damage done. "I will first have to take out the larger fragments ," he mutters while rooting through the kit for the necessary tools.
There is a snappish answer forming on Robotnik's tongue but he forgets all about it when he really takes notice of the sharp shards sticking out of his hand . His already weakened stomach gives a lurch and he breathes out deeply, looking away without comment.
The last thing he sees is the worried frown Stone gives him over the lack of answer.
An uncomfortable silence settles over them while Stone sets about removing the bigger chips of glass with the help of tweezers while Robotnik switches between watching the other work and staring into the distance as indifferently as possible. The later is made more complicated by the little coughs shaking him every now and then, and the occasional hiss of pain when tugging out a shard aggravated the corroded spots.
Finally, the worst of it is done. Not only Robotnik breathes out in relief when his assistant throws the last big shard into the trashcan; Stone, too, veritably sags, shoulders slumping. He only allows himself the one moment of relaxation however before he carefully maneuvers Robotnik's hand up and over to the sink, turning on the water to wash out the finer splinters, the blood and the last of the acid and the lye mix.
Robotnik watches his assistant closely while Stone turns the water back off, dries his hand with infinite care, and then prepares to clean and bandage it. His sycophant wants to say something; it is clear as day in the way his jaw moves silently, and his gaze keeps darting over to the doctor while he works. the doctor's nerves, would be better off if Stone kept his mouth shut, but that is probably a far-fetched hope. With a sigh and an eye-roll, Robotnik decides to jump the gun and get it over with. "Whatever it is, stone - spit it out already, before you start steaming out of your ears."
There is a brief pause, the smallest of hitches, where Stone does not immediately finish the last pull with the bandages. Then he visibly forces himself to finish the movement before he looks up, a frown drawing his brows together. "Doctor, I keep wondering - why would you work on something like this without the proper protective gear? You're usually so careful when working with chemicals-..."
Right for the jugular, huh. Robotnik, briefly, is torn between snapping at the other or laughing it off. Neither would really work, because Stone is right, and they both know it. He had been careless, and downright stupid, and he does not even have an excuse for it except this damned cold and a very simple, moronic explanation: "I forgot."
The silence setting in after that statement is more telling than a lot of speeches the doctor has heard in his time. "You forgot." Stone's voice is flat, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline.
Something about the deadpan way it is said in, the raised eyebrows, is too much. It feels like Stone is rubbing it in, and Robotnik loses it, frustration spiking and turning against the only real target in the room - Stone. Throwing his hands up, the doctor snaps,"I forgot! Did not remember! It escaped my notice! Laugh it up for as long as you can, sycophant, because that happens once in a blue moon!"
For a moment, there is only deafening silence. Stone's expression flickers - emotions passing by too quickly for Robotnik to decipher - before his jaw sets and he declares with a quiet, firm voice, "That's enough ."
Taken aback, Robotnik actually needs a moment to come to terms with the fact that his sycophant has actually spoken to him like that, in that tone. His voice, once he finds again, is little more than a dangerous hiss, "Excuse you?"
Either Stone is too much of an imbecile to notice the looming danger, or he is brazen enough to continue despite it - which makes him only more of an imbecile, Robotnik decides with a quiet snarl. Whichever it is, the agent continues on, eyes blazing and jaw set, "You can't work in this state. I didn't say anything when I came in and noticed you are sick this morning, but I can't let you continue like this."
"Which one of us is the genius here, agent? I'm more than capable of deciding if I can or cannot work in any given situation-...
" You nearly maimed yourself a few minutes ago, doctor! You're in no shape to work!"
"Who do you think you are , barnacle? Talking to me like this-..."
"I'm your assistant, and your bodyguard. It's my job to protect you, even if that means I have to protect you from yourself."
"Your job? Your job?! Don't forget that you can be out of that job in the blink of an eye if you keep up with this impertinent behavior of yours, agent!"
Sudden icy silence falls between them once Robotnik finishes speaking, only interrupted by the doctor's wheezing breaths. Stone's face is impassive, only his eyes flickering briefly.
An uncomfortable prickle begins at the back of Robotnik's neck, but he squashes the feeling immediately. It is neither the first nor the last time that he has threatened to fire Stone, this is no different from all the other instances. He will not take it back. His sycophant can damn well deal with it, or leave.
Of course, Stone does not leave; a fact Robotnik counts on when flings the threat around so carelessly. His sycophant takes a deep breath, and releases it slowly again; he does not show any more of his annoyance than that, but it is quite clear anyway. When he speaks next, he obviously has decided on a new strategy: "If you continue on like this," Stone's voice is soft but steely, "your work will suffer for it. Not to mention that you cannot attend any of the scheduled meetings in this state."
having already geared up to debunk any and all new attempts to get him to take a sick day or some such, Robotnik finds his protests wither on his tongue when he thinks that over quickly. Damn. That is… actually a good way to get him to listen, he has to admit. For his own body and health, he cares very little, but his work… instinctively, he flexes the fingers of his injured hand, feeling it sting, and pulls a grimace. Any more slip-ups like this today, and it will throw him back weeks in his work. He won't be able to catch up to the work load at all if he has to clean up his own mistakes on top of everything.
And the thought of being seen in this weakened state, by any of the groveling monkeys at the pentagon… he shudders to think of it.
Snapping his attention back to Stone, he notes that he must have kept silent for too long; there is a clearly triumphant gleam in the other's eyes, and Robotnik does not like it. Coughing once, sharply, the doctor croaks out, "Don't get cocky now, Stone. Just because you're right the one time…"
Barely blinking at the hidden threat in the unfinished sentence, Stone smiles slowly. "Is that a Yes, doctor?"
"Yes," Robotnik snaps, throwing up his hands – ow, bad idea; still injured on one side. "don't belabor the point. I will be taking the rest of the day off, wait this… this interference out. Cancel or reschedule what you need to and make sure nobody bothers me. I'm not in the mood for any of those pentagoons right now."
"Certainly, doctor." Stone is all eager obedience all of a sudden. All but jumping to his feet to get to work, he pauses only briefly on the way out, chancing a curious glance at the genius. "Doctor… will you need to be driven home?"
"I don't feel like driving myself," Robotnik grumbles, quickly covering another cough by clearing his throat. He very much doubts that he could drive, with how his vision keeps swimming. "So, yes. Get the car."
The smile his sycophant directs at him makes it seem as if the doctor has done him a favor with that simple allowance. Cracked barnacle. Robotnik rolls his eyes at the other's retreating back and slumps in his chair, finally allowing himself to sag and rub a hand over his throbbing forehead.
God, he hates being human, sometimes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Much to Robotnik's annoyance, Stone does not drive him home directly, dropping him off and then leaving him the heck alone. Despite the doctor's protests, the agent insists on taking a stopover on the way, and pulls up in front of a pharmacy.
"Just a quick stop, to collect some things you might need," Stone assures him when Robotnik grumbles out a weak sound once the engine cuts off.
Robotnik is in no shape to further protest the development. At this point, his fever has shot through the roof; waves of hot and cold are wracking his body, and the ever-present nausea is tormenting him further. Everything is far away, and blurry. Distantly, he is aware that he is probably delirious right now.
He barely reacts when Stone says something to him, only flaps his hand with a grunt when his assistant leans into his field of vision with a crease between his brow and worry evident in his eyes.
It must have been enough of an answer; or maybe it worried the other even further. It is hard to tell. In any case, it makes Stone disappear for a little while – likely leaving the car. It does not really matter to Robotnik, who only curls into himself, trying and failing to keep warm and stop his limbs from shaking so violently.
When Robontik next startles out of the half-doze, half-fever dream he had fallen into, it is because of an insufferably loud rustling and the bang of a car door slamming shut.
"Doctor," Stone is back, eyes still so damned worried when he leans over Robotnik – and when had the doctor even slid so far down in his seat? Eh, to hell with it. Grumbling unintelligibly, Robotnik attempts to roll away from the annoying presence of his clingy sycophant, curling further into himself. He's cold (no hot; or both?) and he wants to sleep.
"Doctor," there is a hand on his shoulder now, shaking him carefully. "Come on. I need to take your temperature, see what we're dealing with here."
"Grmpf," slapping at Stone to get him to back off proves to be a mistake; he has briefly forgotten about his injured hand. The pain is sharp and sudden, makes him flinch and miss the fact that Stone reaches for him again. Before Robotnik knows it, there are fingertips alighting on the side of his jaw, holding him still with the lightest of pressures and with sheer shock alone. Going entirely still, the doctor blinks at his assistant, not sure if he should start yelling at him for overstepping grossly by touching him, or simply gape in shock.
Stone takes the decision out of his hand with the beseeching look he gives him, holding up a clinical thermometer for emphasis once more. "Doctor, please?"
He should yell at him. No, bite him, for daring to lay even so much as a single finger on him. Instead, for reasons he could not possibly explain, Robotnik finds himself parting his lips with a grunt of agreement, allowing the other to do what needs to be done.
He tells himself Stone's smile only seems so bright because his vision is still impaired thanks to the fever.
The thermometer is gently put under his tongue, and they wait in awkward silence til the results are in.
Pulling the little item back, Stone takes one look at it and makes a sound which is half whistle, half-hiss, and shakes the thermometer with a frown. "That high... Doctor, I'm actually tempted to take you to a hospital."
"No hospital," Robotnik protests immediately.
"No, I know I wouldn't get you to go," Stone smiles briefly, as if the constant protest is both anticipated and funny, to him. Then he frowns and shakes his head, packing the thermometer away. "I will bring you home as planned, but if the fever will not break inn the next twenty-four hours, there's no way around a trip to the hospital."
We will see about that, Robotnik thinks – or maybe he says it aloud, since Stone sighs deeply next to him. At least his sycophant is smart or sensible enough not to comment, and wordlessly slides back behind the wheel to start up the car again.
The drive to the doctor's house is a short one, afterwards. Of course he had chosen a location close to his work, loathe to spend more time than necessary away from his projects and his babies. The second criteria had been that the location is a removed one; no nosy neighbors, no traffic, no nothing. Miles and miles of nothing all around him. He does not spend a lot of time here, but what little time he has to waste on recuperating, he will not be disturbed by anyone.
Stone parks the car in front of the house. "Doctor? Do you need help?"
Help? Even in his bleary state, Robotnik snarls quietly at the word. He absolutely does not. Straightening up with a grunt to get out, though, quickly curse him of his brief flicker of false pride; everything starts spinning around him and he nearly slams sideways against the car door when he tips precariously to one side. Oh. Well, that is… unfortunate.
There is a sound like a sigh next to him. Or maybe a laugh. "One second."
A door opens and closes, and seconds later, Robotnik's own door is opened right next to him. He blinks against the sudden brightness, and scrutinizes Stone's outstretched hand with his head tilted curiously. What is he supposed to do with that?
"Doctor," Stone sounds endlessly patient, and slightly amused. "Come on, let's get you inside."
That sounds like a good enough plan. Satisfied with that, Robotnik briefly fumbles with his seatbelt – when did those get so complicated? - and once freed, graciously allows his assistant to help him up and out of the car.
As soon as he gets his feet beneath himself, his knees buckle. Only Stone's steady grip on him keeps him upright, else he would have toppled to the ground. "Careful!" The agent warns, ducking to allow the doctor to slip an arm around his shoulders for support. "There we go. Like this."
None of the several alarms set up around the house starts up when they make their laborious way up to the front door. Of course the security system is programmed to let Stone through. He has been here before; dutifully picking the doctor up when the other had been too lazy to make the trip himself, or bringing him home after days of non-stop work had taken their toll and the genius had keeled over in the middle of his work once more.
But his assistant had never been inside the house, only ever in front of it. Robotnik gets reminded hotly of that when Stone pulls to a stop in front of the door, carefully shifting the doctor's weight so he can keep him upright and gesture at something next to the door at the same time. "Doctor? You need to open the door."
does he have to? He's so tired. Blinking through narrowed eyes at the very much closed door in front of himself, Robotnik decides that is way too much work, and grumbles. "You do it."
"We need your hand print for it."
Oh, that makes sense. Robotnik blinks at his arm, hanging limply and entirely unhelpfully by his side, and then looks up at the scanner. It looks so far away; the effort to move his arm that far seems entirely to great at the moment. "Hm. Can't. Use your own."
"Doctor, that-…" why does it sound like Stone is laughing while he speaks? Huh. Weird. "That won't work; I don't have the access rights to your house."
What? Nonsense, utter nonsense. Robotnik begins to shake his head, and then immediately stops when that makes the world spin wildly around him. He does utter a noise of protest, though. he has given Stone the exact same access rights as he has months ago already, surely his sycophant had not forgotten that?
Although... had he ever told him about that? It is hard to remember right now...
"Alright, let - let me help you." Stone still sounds faintly amused when he makes the offer, but at least he is not outright laughing at him.
Grumbling under his breath - he does not need help, not ever, he's a genius dammit - Robotnik feels his arm being lifted up gently, directed so it is stretched out before him, and then his palm is being pressed against a hard surface. There is the familiar sound of the palm scanner running and then the beeping which indicates success.
Next to him, S tone utters a sound of relief and then tugs the doctor's arm back around his shoulders. His hand settles on the older man's hip and like this , he maneuvers them forward, presumably over the threshold into the house. Stone is talking while they go, and Robotnik instinctively angles his head to listen closely. "... it can read the hand print even through the bandages," the agent is saying right now, awe clear in his voice. "Marvelous work as always, doctor."
Despite his persisting headache and his generally bad mood, Robotnik nearly preens at the compliment, humming in content. Trust Stone to notice the ingeniousness of his inventions, the way they were supposed to be noticed. The man has a knack for that, and Robotnik enjoys it immensely.
Once they are inside and the door falls closed behind them, Robotnik instinctively attempts to angle his body towards the living room. There is a couch there – at least he is pretty sure there is one. He can blearily remember crashing on it whenever he is at home and exhaustion overtakes him, and he is too out of it to make it to the bed. It seems like a worthwhile goal right now.
However, Stone seems to disagree on that. He holds fast when the doctor makes to move away from him, and ignores the disgruntled sound it gets him. "Where's your bedroom, doctor?"
Very good question. Squinting down the hallway, Robotnik ponders that for a beat before indicating the second door on the right on a whim. That seems to be about right.
Not commenting further on the awkward pause, Stone adjusts his grip on him and continues to lead him down the pointed way.
They do not make it very far down the hallway when Robotnik's stomach gives a sharp lurch, growling audibly. The nausea he has felt all day skyrockets without warning, and he stumbles to a stop, pressing his lips together. With a startling clarity which pierces through the fever haze he realizes – he is going to be sick, right now.
"Doctor?" Stone has come to a halt next to him, clearly sensing that something is wrong.
Speaking seems impossible, shaking his head as well; he is going to be sick immediately if he does either. With a sharp breath, Robotnik tugs at his arm, attempting to free himself as quickly as possible before he hurls all over Stone's shoes.
Perhaps his assistant sees it in his eyes, or his sickly pallor, because suddenly, the worry is gone from Stone's voice, only startled realization there when he mutters an "Oh" and he lets go, thankfully, just in time. Feeling immensely grateful that his sycophant is so quick on the uptake, Robotnik wastes no further time and all but throws himself – falls, more like – through the nearby bathroom door, stumbling over the few steps to the toilet and crashing to his knees in front of it.
He starts retching the moment he bends over the edge of it and opens his mouth, his stomach rebelling and turning traitor on him – he hasn't eaten anything all day, and the better part of yesterday, so he has nothing to give except painful dry heaving and gagging. Every new lurch is more painful than the last, sending knife-stabs of pain through his chest and back and racketing up his headache another few notches, but he can't seem to stop, no matter how much he wants to.
When the torture is finally over, Robotnik can barely keep himself upright anymore. His arms won't keep him propped upright against the porcelain anymore, so he ends up leaning half against the toilet bowl, half against the bathtub next to it, panting to catch his breath. He feels as if he has been run over twice by now, parts of him aching he didn't even recall having. At least his head is a little clearer, now; as if he has simply thrown up all the muck slowing down his brain the entire day. He is lucid enough again to recognize his current situation. With lucidity comes embarrassment. Him, greatest genius alive - – kneeling in his bathroom, hugging the porcelain bowl. Splendid. God, he hates his body; hates having to deal with weaknesses such as this. He is above such degrading things, he shouldn't have to feel like shit like some common imbecile.
There is a quite rustle of clothes behind him, then something cold and wet is pressed down on his neck. The sudden touch and the cold is a shock at first, but it quickly turns into relief so intense that Robotnik cannot stop the quiet groan bursting out of him, instinctively leaning his head back to get more of the sensation. He is entirely too out of it to care that he is showing even a lick of vulnerability in front of his assistant; the welcome coolness after the sweaty heat is too good.
Stone does not lose a single word or even a breath of a chuckle over the proceedings; he merely supports the doctor's head more firmly when the other leans back. "… think that's it?" He inquires softly after a beat.
"Don't know," Robotnik flinches when the short words aggravate his poor throat, and licks his dry lips. Urgh. He needs to get that taste out of his mouth. "I still feel sick."
"I see." A few more beats of silence, only interrupted by their quite breaths, then Stone offers quietly, "If you feel like you're going to be alright for a minute, I can get you something to calm your stomach?"
Something about the way he says it – so clearly eager to stay with him, despite the pathetic, frankly gross display – has Robotnik huff a laugh. He immediately regrets it when it hurts like hell, but still he manages a weak eye-roll and a flapping motion of his hand. "I don't need your help to hurl, Stone. Go on, shoo."
Despite his clear, though very quiet, order, Stone stays for a moment longer, stubborn until the end. "I just don't like leaving you alone like this."
That… Robotnik takes a deep breath, feels it catch in his chest in a way that has nothing to do with the cold at all. The sincerity in his sycophant's voice is… startling, to say the least.
Thankfully, Stone misses his slip-up entirely. Shifting the wet cloth a bit so that it will hold in place even after he lets go, the agent gets up carefully, hand briefly brushing over the doctor's back in a gesture which could have been accident, or comfort, or both. "Alright. I will be right back."
"Hm."
Steps move away, and Robotnik is left to his own devices. Head still spinning, he leans his forehead against the porcelain edge in front of him, grateful for the coolness of it. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Don't throw up again. Repeat.
Either he loses track of time for a bit, or Stone has mastered the ability to teleport around while the doctor's back was turned. Faster than should have been possible, his agent is back at his side, lowering himself to sit next to him and holding out a cup for him to take. "Here you go, doctor. This should help."
Hoping for the familiar, comforting taste of Stone's perfect lattes, Robotnik draws himself up straighter and then flops backwards against the bathtub's side for support. Accepting the cup with a grunt, he lifts his lips with shaky hands - and immediately pulls a face, leaning back to do a double take. "That is not a latte, Stone."
"Good catch," Stone replies without missing a beat, dry as a desert. "It's chamomile tea. It should help with your upset stomach."
"Not with my upset mood, though."
"I thought starting with the former would help with the later."
"You thought, huh," Robotnik attempts to mock; but even he can hear that it lacks his usual bite, hoarse and weak as his voice still is. Scrutinizing the light liquid in the cup once more, he grumbles out a sigh and takes a careful sip of it. Disgusting. Pulling a face, he smacks his lips, and chances another glance at the tea. Something is dawning on him slowly. "… I wasn't aware I have chamomile tea at home."
It is an open invitation for an explanation, and Stone takes it without missing a beat. "You didn't. It's part of the care package I put together when we stopped at the pharmacy."
"Care package? What do you think I am, some toddler you can dote on-…"
"Medicine to battle the cold symptoms, tea, some easily digestible food to strengthen you again," Stone lists up, ticking each item off on his fingers while he simply ignores the other's protests. "Basic things for anyone who is coming down with something, really. I thought you should at least have that much available to you while you're sitting this out."
Stone had… put a lot of thought into this, hadn't he, Robotnik reflects while blinking down blearily at the cup he is still clinging to. He might joke about the other's inability to think on his own sometimes, like he does with everyone, but now more than ever, he is made painfully aware that all of those jokes are blatant lies. His agent thinks and plans things through with an almost inhuman accuracy and care… and especially when it is something to do with the doctor himself; going out of his way to make sure Robotnik has everything he needs or might need.
He is used to this kind of behavior from his assistant; wherever Robotnik goes, whenever he turns around, Stone is there, anticipating what the doctor could need, or at least ready to drop everything to procure it immediately for him. It should be something to marvel at, or at last something to be grateful for. And yet, Robotnik had started to take it all for granted long ago, simply taking and taking and taking what Stone so readily gives him, as if he is entitled to it. Never questioning why, only assuming that it would never change.
Only now, sitting on the cold tiles of his bathroom, worn out from fever and equipped with a cup of disgusting (kind, thoughtful) cup of tea, Robotnik finds himself questioning how the heck he even deserves all this.
"Stone," he begins, feeling tired to the bone, and not only because of that blasted sickness. The words come spilling out of him before he can even wonder if they are a good idea. "What are you doing here, really?"
somewhere along the line while the doctor had still been deep in thought, Stone had gotten back up to wet the cloth again for him. At his question, the agent falters for the first time since this entire crazy day has begun, and turns around to him with a truly perplexed look on his face. "My job."
It is posed half as a statement, half as a question, and it is entirely wrong on both of those accounts. Huffing out a disbelieving laugh, Robotnik shakes his head, immediately hissing and stopping when that makes the room spin once more. Groaning and pressing a hand to his temple, he mutters, "No, no, this is… absolutely not part of your job description."
There is a pause before steps sound next to him, and Stone comes to kneel at his side once more. With a look which is both worried and slightly amused, the agent lifts the wet cloth in his hand for emphasis – Robotnik grunts an agreement – and then reaches out to press the cool piece of cloth back against the doctor's neck. "No offense but," Stone murmurs while he does so, gently rubbing the cloth up and down to wipe away the sweat there,"in my opinion, it very much is."
Robotnik frowns; wants to argue, wants to grab the other and shake him, question him why. But he's... so very, very tired. Nothing makes any sense in his feverish state. Stone doesn't make sense. He tells him as much, outright. "You don't make sense," he grumbles, dropping his head back against the bathtub's edge. "And I'm not sure if that's because of the fever, or just because of you."
Stone merely quirks a smile at him. "Want to try if you can finish your tea before we get you to bed?"
We. We, as if that is already a given. Humming blearily, Robotnik nods – oh great, no dizziness this time! - and mechanically lifts the cup to his lips once more to take another sip.
He forgets entirely to complain about the taste, this time.
They stay like this for quite a while, sitting on the ground in silence while Robotnik sips his tea in tiny gulps, and Stone gets up occasionally to replace the wet cloth. From time to time, the doctor's stomach gives an annoyed gurgle, reminding him sharply that it is still upset with him, but thankfully, he manages to keep down what little liquid he had gulped down by now. Despite the hard ground and the frankly pathetic position he is in, Robotnik finds he starts feeling a little better, after a while. Almost comfortable. Content. He even catches himself swaying slightly to the side from time to time, exhaustion catching up with him, before he rights himself with a quiet grunt again. And again. Again. Once, twice, three times.
After the fourth time, he kind of forgets to sit back up again. He is so tired; he is only going to close his eyes for a little bit. One second. Half a second. Yes. No more.
The next thing Robotnik is aware of is a hand settling on his shoulder, shaking him lightly, and the pillow he has been resting his head on moves, shifts under him and speaks. "Doctor."
"Hm?!" Jumping slightly, Robotnik blinks out of a doze he had never meant to slip into, and blinks blearily.
Stone keeps his hand on the doctor's opposite shoulder, making sure the man does not fall over because of the abrupt movement. "Think you can make it back to bed now?"
He hadn't been in bed yet? Robotnik blinks again, focusing on his surroundings again. Right, the bathroom; they are still sitting on the ground, which is getting entirely too uncomfortable by now, and the pillow he had been leaning against had been... oh ...
Blinking owlishly at Stone - the only warm and yielding thing in the room - realization hits with all the uncomfortable suddenness of a bucket of cold water being dumped over his head, and Robotnik feels himself flush with anger and something else entirely. Oh. Well damn, this day couldn't get any more embarrassing, could it?
"The bed, yes," Distraction seems best. Get out of here before he disgraces himself any more. Robotnik attempts to push himself up - and immediately falls back again when his arms give out on him once more. Looks like the embarrassment is not over yer.
Much to his annoyance, he needs stone's help to get back to his feet, since his legs are still shaking too badly to manage it. When Stone moves as if to help him wash his face and brush his teeth, though, Robotnik draws a line and shakes him off, threatening to sicc a few Badniks onto him if he so much as tried that again.
He tells himself he dislikes the way Stone merely smiles at the threat, and continues to glare until the agent steps back with his hands raised in a placating gesture and goes to wait outside.
Even the simple task of freshening himself up takes more time and energy than Robotnik would have licked. By the time he is drying his face off with a towel, he already feels nauseous again, this time from exhaustion and pain. Gritting his teeth, he refrains for calling for Stone - calling for help - and instead stumbles the few steps to the door himself.
Stone is there as soon as he opens the door, basically catching the doctor before he can keel over. Wordlessly, the agent maneuvers Robotnik's arm around his shoulders once more and together, they make the short trip over to the bedroom.
Much like the rest of the house, Robotnik's bedroom can only be called spartan . Bed, night table, wardrobe . No more. He rarely ever uses the room, and he is not sentimental enough to have any unnecessary decoration or lavish comforts lying around.
The moment they step into the room, Robotnik zeroes in on his target: The bed. Now it is him who almost drags Stone forward, mind made up and goal clear.
There is only the mildest protest from his assistant. "Don't you want to dress more comfortably before you-..."
Ignoring Stone's continued blabbering, Robotnik slides out of the other's grip, stumbles the last few steps towards the bed and lets himself fall face first onto it.
He swears he hears his assistant mutter something along the lines of " so that's a No, huh," behind him, but he ignores that as well, and begins to scoot around and tug at covers to get comfortable. Usually, it would have taken force to get him to take a nap during the day, but right now, he is shivering, cold and miserable, and he wants nothing more than to wrap himself into a ton of blankets and have this entire day be over and done with.
He resurfaces from the blanket long enough to notice Stone had left the room at some point and pauses in surprise. He does not need to wonder for long, since Stone reappears quickly enough again, carrying a tray (and if that had been part of Robotnik's household before, the doctor had no clue).
Through tired eyes, Robotnik watches Stone move around the room, setting up everything he seems to think the doctor could possibly need. A decanter of water on the night table, another cup of tea besides. Packs of tissues. An empty bowl besides the bed - when Robotnik realizes this is his assistant being pragmatic about the possibility of the genius throwing up once more, he nearly snorts.
"That should cover the basics," Stone announces once everything is prepared to his satisfaction. "If you need anything else, just give me a call."
Robotnik merely grunts, sliding further under the covers. Right now, he is shivering with cold, the blanket a welcome source of warmth.
Seeing him struggle to get the blanket right where he wants it, Stone reaches out and untucks the end which is stuck, holding it out for the doctor's grasping hand to take. "Doctor? You will call me, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," finally able to draw the covers around himself like a cocoon, Robotnik rolls along with the motion and curls onto his side, knees drawn up. Already, his eyes are beginning to fall closed, refusing to stay open any longer. Sleep, something he so despises usually, now sounds like heaven to him.
Any other time, Robotnik would have latched onto the fact that Stone being in earshot would mean that his assistant intended to stay here while he slept. Any other time, Robotnik would probably also have thrown a fit, or demanded that Stone get the hell out and leave him alone (to his misery)
Not this time. He is asleep before any of it can even cross his mind, slipping into the merciful embrace of sleep without a semblance of resistance.