Work Text:
"Sometimes I wonder if I really have the genius of my grandfather."
Eggman's voice came to him far away, almost muffled, lost as he was in watching the fights of the androids in the fenced yard below. He remembered the myriad and myriad of his robotic clones he had encountered in Eggman's base some time before. His identity had hardly been questioned as much as in that critical moment when he had feared that he was simply a defective and out of control mechanical unit, capable of building his own will.
He did not turn to the scientist, continuing to turn his back to him, looking out with his arms crossed, his face serious.
"It's not like you to doubt your inventive genius, Doctor."
Eggman studied him, narrowing his eyes, rubbing a whisker, making it even more messy: how had Gerald Robotnik managed to create from nothing a form of life so perfect and invincible, without a defects or side effects which was Shadow? It was science from fifty years ago, yet, comparing it to its own results (in any case, excellent), him seemed to come from a distant future.
He stood up, bringing his hands together behind his back, looking at the ground thoughtfully. The Ultimate Life Form was not his work, and although the esteem for his ancestors was absolute, he felt that genetic weight on himself. Compared to Shadow, his robots were useless and noisy hardware.
Shadow had stopped caring about the robots, raising an eyebrow as he followed the sound of the Doctor's movement, without looking at him again. He had been contacted for a mission, and he hadn't been surprised: it wouldn't be the first time they worked together. Although in a conflictual and very often one-way relationship, both were tacitly esteemed and respected, without any doubt.
If this were not the case, he would never have addressed him with the title "Doctor".
It had to be said that the common hatred towards Sonic helped that occasional association.
"Only you and Sonic seem immune to self-criticism, Shadow. Another common point”.
The hedgehog narrowed his eyes, wondering for a moment if, taking out his rival's name, he hadn't read his mind. He turned to him grimly, loosening the grip of his arms, giving him a sharp look: "My confidence has nothing to do with the presumption of that blue megalomaniac".
Strange. If Eggman had to describe Shadow he would have used among the many adjectives just megalomaniac. He wouldn't have spared even Sonic, though.
He just chuckled under his mustache, shaking his head, while Shadow squeezed his eyes even more, reaching that limit of tolerance he gave to conversations in general.
"The objective of the mission is clear to me, so I don't see why to carry on this sterile conversation," he declared peremptorily, passing the Doctor and turning his back to him, ready to teleport away from that waste of time.
"One day I would like to talk to you about our family."
That phrase immobilized the hedgehog where he was, leading him to open his eyes wide, thanking God that Eggman was behind him, unable to see him: if he had looked at him he would have realized a new look in the eyes of the red and black hedgehog. He had left him speechless, for an endless series of reasons: had he said "ours"? Did he really want to talk to him about something that wasn't about missions, goals or strategies? Was he able to do it?
Would they even talk about Maria?
Shadow closed his mouth, in a discomfort mixed with morbid and masochistic curiosity. Did he just want to ask him questions? He didn't know he had known them, after all ... He swallowed silently, clenching his fists as he heard Maria laugh in his head. Why did he want to bring him back to those memories?
Confused and blurred images of a corridor running along and blood-stained glass hit his head like pins. Shadow gritted his teeth, looking up, now furious, full of hatred. Eggman didn't even see that, but that glare wasn't so rare after all.
Shadow said nothing, suddenly disappearing, leaving Eggman in his studio and in total silence.
The Doctor stroked his mustache again, turning to the large window in front of his desk. Shadow was not his creation, but he could never help but feel his in some way.
He looked at the sky, imagining the ARK, Gerald, Maria and Shadow together, as they did fifty years ago.