Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He can't stop staring at the other man. Although, to be fair, there is very little else to do at the moment, and he is making a rather large amount of noise.

The man paces the cheap linoleum in angry strides, long black coattails whipping behind him as he alternates shouting into his cell phone and casting withering glares at the customer service agent across the counter. The poor girl cowers behind her computer as he waves an arm in indignation, nearly knocking over a stack of luggage tags, ranting about the idiocy of the modern airline system and the fact that if he and his bag are not on the next plane out of town, he'll personally secure it's erasure from the map.

"Sir… I don't think you… uh, that is to say..." the agent stutters, curling in on herself with a faint "Eep!" as the man turns his glare on her once again.

Stone's own customer service agent takes pity on the poor girl, and steps in. "We can't put you on the next flight, Sir, because there isn't one. All flights have been grounded due to the weather." She turns her screen around to display a long list of flight numbers paired with bright red CANCELED tags.

Stone glances out the window at the storm. The snow that had started on their descent into town has turned to icy sleet that shows no signs of stopping. Fellow passengers have long since left, carried away by taxis to find shelter somewhere else. Stuck with the misfortune of a rear seat, he'd been the last to depart the plane, and the tiny two-room airport was now empty except for himself, the customer service agents, and one very angry man at the counter next to him, who looks like he's about two seconds from leaping across said counter to strangle someone.

"Hey, it's for the best, right? Would you want to be on a plane in this weather?" He says, trying to lighten the mood, but the attempt only succeeds in refocusing the man's anger onto him.

"Right now, I want to be anywhere except this Drecksloch of a town!" The man spits out, and in two long strides he's inches from Stone's face. "Unlike you hillbillies, I have important things to be doing."

Stone pulls his shoulders back, drawing up to his full height and shifting his weight. If things are going to get physical, he knows he has the advantage – up close Stone can see the man is beanpole thin, and older than he'd first assumed – but he really doesn’t want to have to resort to that.

“Listen, we’re all in the same boat here. Do you think I want to be stuck thousands of kilometers from home three days before Christmas either? It’s not their fault. This kind of thing happens.”

The man wrinkles his nose in distaste, moustache twitching upwards with the movement. He looks Stone over from top to bottom before turning away with a faint “Bah!” to go shout into his phone on the other side of the room.

“Th… thank you.” The still-cowering customer service agent graces him with a nervous smile as her comrade closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. “We don’t really get commercial air traffic here in Green Hills. It’s usually all locals and tour helicopters. I um… haven’t had to deal with angry customers before.”

“It’s no problem.” Stone smiles back, trying to put the girl at ease.

“He was fine until I couldn’t find his luggage, and then he just started shouting ...”

Stone winces, subconsciously gripping the handle of his wheeled carry-on tighter. He’s long since learned that flying in the winter comes with a whole list of pitfalls – including weather delays and the chance your luggage will be misplaced – two things that the man still ranting into his phone not ten feet away seems to have failed to account for.

“It’s not your fault, don’t worry.” Stone nods, and the girl seems to relax a little bit more.

“Sir?” the other agent asks, and Stone turns to see her holding out a small handful of papers. “This is your ticket for tomorrow, and your hotel voucher for the night. We only have one in town, so it should be easy to find. Continental breakfast is included.”

Stone takes the papers from her with a grateful nod, stowing them in his bag. The nervous agent is also holding a similar stack of paper, crumpling it in her hands as she casts quick, furtive glances across the room. It’s obvious she’s terrified to approach the man, and Stone takes pity on her. “I can give those to him, if you like.”

“Oh would you? Thank you so much !” The girl practically shoves them at him. “I think he’d rip my head off if I tried. And um… tell him I’m sorry we couldn’t find his bag, but we’ll try really hard to get it!”

Stone thanks them both again, promising to give them a positive review on the airline’s website, before taking a deep breath and walking up to the other man. He’s stopped shouting and seems to be talking to himself, angrily stabbing at the screen of his phone. Whatever he’s saying, it’s not in English.

Stone waves the papers into his field of view, and the man’s head snaps up. “Your ticket and hotel voucher.” He says, and the man snatches them so fast Stone has to pull his hand back or risk a nasty paper cut. “I know you’re upset because of the delays and your luggage, but biting people’s heads off won’t get you anywhere. The airline can’t control the weather, and neither can I.”

“I could, if those small-brained politicians at the Ministerium had approved the funding.” The man haphazardly shoves the stack of paper into an inside pocket of his coat.

Stone blinks rapidly, unsure if he’s heard correctly. “You… can control the weather?”

“ Could have . They made me dismantle the prototype.” The man sighs, putting away his phone and standing. “And I could have been home by now if we didn’t need to play nice with you thick-skulled, trigger-happy Americans.” He mutters something else Stone doesn’t quite catch, but it sounds poisonous.

“Not American, actually.” Stone tilts his backpack forward off his shoulder, so the red-and-white flag sewn onto the front can be seen. The maple leaf in the center is a little scuffed from being shoved under his seat. “Despite what you Europeans tend to think, we do like to distinguish ourselves as separate from them.” Now that the man is speaking at a more regular volume, he can catch the faintest hint of an accent. That he’s European is really a guess – Stone’s never been too good with identifying accents – but it seems to be correct, as the man simply twitches his eyebrows upward.

“My sincerest apologies.” He says, monotone.

Stone opens his mouth to retort, then closes it, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers against an oncoming headache. He’s too tired from a long day of flights to continue this petty bickering, and all he wants to do now is collapse on a questionably-clean hotel bed for a few hours before he’s forced to drag himself back out for their re-scheduled flight tomorrow. “Look. I’m going to get a cab to the hotel. Did you want to split the fare?”

Such a sudden change in topic and tone seems to throw the man for a loop, and he blinks several times before shrugging. “Fine.” With a sharp turn, he strides away towards the exit doors, leaving Stone to play catch-up, wheeled suitcase rattling along behind him.

The temperature plummets the moment they exit the building, icy sleet pelting the sides of their faces. Fortunately there’s an empty cab already waiting outside the doors, and they stumble into it, slipping across the snow-covered pavement.

The driver pulls away from the curb before either of them can give her an address. “Let me guess, connecting flight got grounded because of the weather? I’ve been ferrying people to the hotel all night. Busiest it’s ever been around here.” The cab’s wheels lose traction on a sharp left turn, causing the back of the vehicle to slide slightly, but a hard yank of the steering wheel returns them to the relative center of the road. “Sorry about that. Carl won’t have the salt out ‘till morning. Not often we get a storm this bad.”

“It’s alright.” Stone assures her. They all fall silent, the driver swearing softly under her breath whenever the car starts to drift. Stone figures it’s best to let her concentrate and turns to his companion. He’s gripping the bottom of his seat with both hands, teeth gritted and shoulders hunched, obviously unused to the perils of driving in a winter storm.

“I never did get your name.” Stone asks, trying to distract the man.

“Robotnik.” He replies, accent rolling the R slightly. “ Doktor Robotnik.”

“Is that your first name or last?”

“Last.” The way he says it leaves no room for argument or explanation.

“Well, I guess I’m just Stone, then.” He holds out his hand for the doctor to shake, but drops it when the move is not reciprocated. “Okay… What brings you to the US?”

“Being forced to play nice with the pea-brains at the Pentagon.”

“The Pentagon? Are you military?”

Robotnik huffs out a laugh. “They wish. Whoever decided that a joint project with the ol’ U-S-of-Arse was a good idea needs to have their head checked with a pointed instrument.” His shoulders have dropped now, hands still curling around the seat, but with less force than before. “Waste of time and waste of my intellect. Although the latter is infinite, my patience is not.”

Stone shakes his head in disbelief. “So you’re a weather-controlling European doctor with infinite intellect. Well, this humble Canadian hockey player is pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Ice hockey.” Robotnik says it like a question, looking Stone over from head to toe with a judgmental glace.

Stone shrinks into himself. He shouldn’t have said anything. He can almost hear the inevitable questions. “ Former hockey player, if you want to be pedantic about it. And to preempt your next question, yes I’m that Stone from the newspapers.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve certainly never heard of you before.”

Stone’s head whips around at Robotnik’s words. “You haven’t? I’d heard it’d made international news… I got a call from my cousin in France…”

The doctor shrugs. “Why should a genius care about the lives of professional sports players?”

“I guess he shouldn’t.” Although he knows he’s technically just been insulted twice, Stone can’t help a small smile as he turns to look out the window at the approaching hotel sign. It’s a bit of a relief to not have someone know or care about the scandal that’s been earning him stares on the street.

Their cab slows to a stop under an awning outside the hotel’s doors, the driver visibly relaxing as they get a momentary reprieve from the icy barrage still coming down around them. “Here we are, folks. Mostly safe and sound. Watch your step getting out.”

“Thank you so much.” Stone pulls his wallet out, subconsciously patting his pockets to make sure he’s still got all his other belongings.

“German.” Comes Robotnik’s voice suddenly, and Stone is momentarily distracted.

“What?”

“You kept referring to me as European. There are rather a large number of countries within Europe, and as you put it, we do like to distinguish ourselves as separate. Ich bin Deutscher .”

Robotnik’s out of the car before Stone can respond, sprinting towards the hotel doors. It takes him a moment to realize he’s just been saddled with the full taxi bill, and he pays the lady quickly, shoving an extra 20 into her hands for the trouble before chasing after the doctor.

This late at night there’s only one person behind the desk, a sullen teenage girl with purple-striped hair and a heavily-wrinkled uniform that’s lethargically typing Robotnik’s information into the computer. Stone stumbles to a stop behind him, cursing as he hears something rattle loose in his backpack. “I thought we agreed to split the taxi fare.”

“And I thought we were living in the 21 ^st century.” Robotnik says without turning around. “I fully intended to transfer you my portion electronically.”

“Oh. Fair enough.”

“Here’s your key.” The teenager interrupts in a bored voice, sliding a card and a piece of paper over the counter. “Breakfast ‘til 8, gym’s 24 hours, checkout is noon, no we don’t have a pool, wifi password is on the card in the room.”

“I see that all comes with stellar customer service as well.” Robotnik swipes the card off the counter, grimacing at its cheap plastic.

“Are you ever not in a bad mood?” Stone interrupts, patience quickly wearing thin with the doctor’s negative attitude. “You’ve done nothing but complain and belittle everyone and everything you come across. You’re not the first person to get their flight canceled, or get stranded somewhere because of the weather, or deal with a moody teenage worker!” He turns to the girl behind the counter. “Sorry.”

The girl shrugs, only half-paying attention. She’s obviously typing something into her phone, which has been badly hidden under a stack of papers on the desk.

“I’ve tried to be nice. It’s really not that hard! Do you think I want to be stuck here either? Because I don’t. I really don’t. Right now, to be honest, I’d rather be anywhere except in the same room as you. Keep your half of the taxi fare, I don’t care anymore.” Brushing past Robotnik, he turns his back on the other man and hands the girl his hotel voucher, hands shaking.

After a minute of silence, he hears slowly retreating footsteps, and the sound of elevator doors opening and closing.

“You alright, dude?” Asks the girl, and Stone looks up to see her worried expression. “You’ve gone kinda pale.”

“I’m… fine. It’s been a long week.” He takes a slow breath in and out, hands flat on the hotel counter to stop their trembling. “Sorry.”

The girl shrugs, wrinkling her uniform even more. “No worries. As long as you don’t pass out in the lobby. Here’s your key.”

Stone takes it with a nod of thanks before escaping into the elevators. His room turns out to be on the top floor, a single queen bed and the same bland décor as every other chain hotel he’s stayed at. He doesn’t bother looking out the windows before he yanks the heavy curtains shut – there’s probably nothing to see except the storm, and it’s not like he’ll be staying long.

He tosses his coat, shoes, backpack and suitcase haphazardly into the tiny closet, knocking a hanger loose from the rod above. He’s too tired to muster up the energy to put it back. The alarm clock on the bedside table reads 1:27 am, and he reluctantly sets an alarm for 6, more than enough time for a quick workout and shower before catching the tail end of breakfast. Burrowing under the scratchy hotel sheets, he falls asleep to the hiss and crackle of the storm.

When the alarm dutifully goes off the next morning, there’s a moment of disorientation when he opens his eyes to a smooth beige ceiling instead of the cracked stucco of his sister’s guest bedroom. A sudden howl of wind outside his window reminds him that he’s stuck in some small American town thousands of kilometers from said guest bedroom, and that he really should get going if he’s going to get his workout routine in before breakfast ends.

Dressed in a tank top and gym shorts, he returns to the main floor, where the same teenager from last night is still sitting behind the counter, un-subtly watching a video on her phone. He recognizes a couple other passengers from last night’s flight already sitting in the lobby, picking their way through the selection of cereals and pastry that constitutes this hotel’s continental breakfast.

The gym – as much as three treadmills and one rack of weights could be considered a gym – is empty, and he slides his earbuds in and gets to running. The routine is calming, something he’s done since the age of 16, when he’d made his first triple A league. Thoughts of his first league bring back thoughts of more recent events, and he grits his teeth and turns his music up to drown out the invasive thoughts appearing at the edges of his mind. Dwelling on it won’t change what happened. He reminds himself, legs pumping furiously until he’s panting and drenched with sweat, hopping off the treadmill to stare at his face in the mirror across, mind purposefully blank.

He’s so wrapped up in not-thinking that he nearly collides with someone on his way back across the lobby. He stumbles just in time to avoid hitting a wall of black fabric, and starts to apologize before he looks up to see it’s Robotnik. Narrowing his eyes, he takes a deliberate step around the man, but the doctor catches his shoulder.

“I’m not in the mood for your brand of negativity today.” Stone says harshly, shrugging off the touch.

Robotnik looks frozen for a moment, hand hovering mid-air as his mouth hangs open, eyes darting quickly downward before snapping back up again. He whispers something in German, “Heilige Scheiße...” which Stone shoots him a confused look for, but the doctor composes himself with a shake of his head, shoving both hands in the pockets of his long black overcoat. “I will pay you back the fare.” He says, quietly. “And I… believe I behaved in an unbecoming manner.”

It takes a second for Stone to catch on, but when he does he turns to face Robotnik fully. “You’re trying to apologize.”

Robotnik refuses to meet Stone’s eyes, but gives an almost imperceptible nod.

Stone lets all his breath out in a laugh that startles Robotnik, and he simply stares at the doctor for a moment, taking in the hunched shoulders and faint tinge of pink on his cheeks. For some reason his chest feels lighter than it has in days. Might be because this is the first time you’ve gotten an apology out of someone, after all the... his mind supplies, and he quickly shuts the end of the thought down, unwilling to let go of this small victory.

The sound of a crashing plate causes them both to turn around – a small child has just dropped it’s breakfast on the floor, bits of muffin and cream cheese scattering everywhere – and it gives Stone an idea that he voices before he can stop himself. “You can buy me breakfast.”

“What?” Robotnik frowns, finally looking up at Stone.

“There’s got to be somewhere in this town that serves a better breakfast than that.” He gestures vaguely towards the table set up with generic cereals and pre-packaged, sugar-filled baked goods. “Pay for it, and I’ll call us even.”

Robotnik considers the proposal for a moment. “Deal.”

“I have to shower first, but I’ll meet you back down here in half an hour?”

Robotnik nods, and Stone jogs to the elevators. He comes back down exactly 28 minutes later, showered and dressed in his warmest sweater, coat over his arm, to find the doctor draped across a chair in the lobby, absorbed in something in his lap. As Stone approaches, Robotnik turns his wrist so that a holographic map appears. The hotel and a squat, rectangular building several blocks away are both blinking red. “Jay’s All-American Diner. 1.1 kilometers away.”

He’s about to nod agreement with the choice when the rest of his brain catches up and realizes that he’s staring at an impossibly futuristic miniature holographic map. “How are you doing that?” He gasps.

“The map? Easy – I mastered holographic projection years ago. Google’s been scrambling to catch up ever since.” Robotnik turns his wrist again, and Stone can see that he’s wearing some kind of device, a flat wrap or gauntlet with a tiny screen that is currently projecting the image above it. On the palm of his gloves are several silver buttons. Robotnik presses one and the map vanishes, to be replaced by an arrow pointing in the direction of the diner.

“You going to beam us over there, Scotty?” Stone laughs, and Robotnik shudders.

“Sub-molecular disintegration, no thank you.” He pauses thoughtfully as he stands. “Besides, the math didn’t work out in the end. Lost my favorite lamp in the attempt.”

Outside the world is covered in a sparkling layer of white that crunches under their feet as they walk. The path has thankfully been shoveled, leaving a slim tunnel through the calf-deep snow on either side. To Stone’s surprise it’s not as cold as he’d expected – with a lack of wind and the sun shining on his back he’s comfortable enough to leave his coat tucked into the corner of his arm.

Robotnik says nothing on the walk to the diner, simply glancing at his wrist and gesturing left or right when they come to intersections before jamming his hands back in his pockets. Despite the fact that he’s wearing both gloves and a coat, they look like they’re more for style than warmth, and his ears and nose have turned bright red by the time they reach the diner’s front doors.

“You don’t get weather like this in Germany, do you.” Stone observes, after they’ve been seated in a booth and handed menus by an acne-spotted teenage boy.

“Snow, yes. This infernal cold? No.” Robotnik rubs his hands together vigorously, and the moment the gangly youth is done filling his cup with coffee he clutches it like his life depends on it.

“It’s not that cold.”

“Es ist scheiße kalt.”

“Oh, we’re bringing other languages into this now? Alright, c’est frais, mais pas froid.”

“ A rschkalt . ” He’s shivering violently, alternating between blowing warm breath over his bare hands and wrapping them around the coffee mug to absorb it’s warmth.

“Hmm. C'est une bonne journee plein de soleil .”

“ Ich erfriere. ”

“Don’t you have a thicker coat? Surely you must have checked the weather before we headed out.”

Robotnik casts his gaze downwards with a sniff, picking up the flimsy plastic menu to hide behind it, one hand still clutching the coffee mug. “I prefer to travel light. If those imbeciles hadn’t lost my luggage, perhaps.”

“Have you heard anything back from them yet?” Stone glances quickly over his own menu. It’s all typical breakfast fare, and he decides on Belgian waffles.

“No. As usual, the commercial airline industry astounds and amazes with their incompetence.” Robotnik pauses to flip the menu over and stare down the selection of desserts on the reverse side. “And the tracker inside the case is stubbornly returning an error code.”

Stone looks up at the casual tone of Robotnik’s voice, eyebrows raised. “You have a tracker in your suitcase?”

It’s Robotnik’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Yes?”

Stone mentally reviews everything the doctor has told him about his job. “Who exactly did you say you work for again?”

“I didn’t. I’m an independent contractor, and that’s the most I will say.”

“So you’re not with the military, but you can’t tell me who you do work for. You have a tracker in your suitcase, a hologram-projecting armband on your wrist, infinite intellect, and could theoretically control the weather. Am I forgetting anything?”

“I speak nine languages.”

“Nine. And yet you can’t remember to bring a warm enough coat.”

“Listen here-” Robotnik splutters, finger raised, and Stone smothers his laughter into his fist, waving his other hand in apology.

Robotnik’s burgeoning rebuttal gets interrupted by the waiter, who takes their orders – the waffles for Stone, eggs and toast for Robotnik – before filling their mugs again. By now, the red has faded from Robotnik’s nose and ears, and he sprawls his long limbs across his side of the booth as he drinks his coffee and stares out into the parking lot, seemingly content to ignore Stone for the time being.

Despite the fact that they’ve crossed paths so many times in less than 12 hours Stone’s never seen the other man so still, and he takes advantage of the moment to look him over. By lines on his face he’s somewhere in his 50s, although neither his carefully-styled hair nor sharply curling moustache show signs of greying. His long black coat and the neat black button-up beneath it both look expensive, and Stone self-consciously tugs at the hem of his own department-store sweater. Now that Robotnik’s gloves are off, Stone can see he has long, elegant fingers. He’s actually rather handsome. His traitorous mind whispers, and Stone quickly takes a large gulp of his coffee to distract himself.

Their breakfast arrives, and Stone cheerfully digs into the thick stack of waffles and fruit. Robotnik, to his surprise, eats with just as much enthusiasm, building a miniature food tower of eggs and hash browns on top of his toast before taking a large bite.

“Do you have Belgian waffles in Germany?” Stone asks. “Or are they called something different?”

“Belgium is one of our neighboring states, of course we do.” Robotnik replies, shooting him a withering look, although the effect is dulled by the line of toast crumbs stuck in his moustache.

“Is it?” Stone tries and fails to pull up a map in his head. “Geography wasn’t my strongest subject.”

Robotnik sighs, and before Stone can blink the doctor has swiped across his wrist to project a map of Europe onto the table and launched into an impromptu lesson.

By the time they’ve finished eating and Robotnik has paid for their meals with a sleek black credit card, Stone is finding himself almost glad he was the last one left in the airport with the doctor. Robotnik is an animated, enthusiastic speaker, and he’s learned more about history, geography and politics in the past thirty minutes than he ever did in school. They leave the diner walking with shoulders far closer together than when they entered.

As they turn out of the diner parking lot Robotnik begins to shiver again, tucking his hands into his armpits and hunching his shoulders. Stone takes pity on the man and holds out his coat. “Here. You need it more than I do.”

Robotnik bristles slightly, but he’s obviously considering it from the way his eyes flicker back and forth between the coat and Stone’s face. Stone makes an irritated tsk noise at the doctor’s stubbornness, then before Robotnik can protest, wraps the coat around his shoulders, pulling it as tight across his chest as he can with Robotnik refusing to uncross his arms. “Just take it. As a doctor of all people you should know the dangers of hypothermia.”

Robotnik stares at Stone with the same wide-eyed look as he did in the lobby that morning, mouth opening and closing several times before he settles on a quiet “Fine.”

They walk back to the hotel in silence, but Stone is pleased to see Robotnik’s shoulders lower slowly, until by the time they reach the front doors he’s slipped his arms into the sleeves of the coat.

Two steps into the hotel they’re stopped by a wall of people, all milling about staring at their phones or talking angrily in small groups. The purple-haired teenager has been joined by a severe grey-haired woman, and the pair of them are marching around the lobby with a clipboard and stacks of papers, grim looks on their faces. Stone recognizes the man he sat across the isle from on his flight, and strides over to him, Robotnik trailing behind.

“What’s going on?”

“You didn’t get the text? We’re stuck here, again. Something about the runway being too icy and another storm coming. They can’t safely have the plane take off.” He sighs heavily. “They’re comping another night’s stay, but nobody’s happy about it. Can’t blame them.”

Stone pulls out his phone to see he’s got three texts and an email from the airline company, all full of the usual corporate platitudes and apologies that boil down to the simple fact that nobody in this town is getting on any kind of plane for the next 24 hours. From behind him comes a string of loud, angry German swearing, and he quietly adds a few choice words of his own.

Robotnik strides off, fingers working furiously across his phone’s keyboard, and Stone follows him for lack of anything else to do. They settle into a pair of chairs tucked away in the back of the lobby, Robotnik now having a rapid-fire, multi-lingual argument with someone on the other end of the line while Stone sends a text to his sister telling her of the new delay. She responds almost immediately by calling him.

“What do you mean you’re stuck there for another day? There’s no planes flying at all?” She says as soon as he puts the phone to his ear.

“I guess.” He shrugs, even though he knows she can’t see it. “This isn’t exactly Toronto, they barely have an airport to begin with.”

“I heard the weather was bad out west, but I didn’t think it was that bad...”

A glance out the window shows that while it’s still sunny, heavy white clouds are slowly drifting in, signaling the approach of another round of snow that afternoon. “They’ve comped us another night at the hotel. I’ll still be home in time for Christmas.”

“Barely.” She sighs, and in the distance he can hear the sound of children running up the stairs. “Your nephews miss you. Trevor wants to show off his new skills to his famous uncle. He can skate backwards now. Well, almost. Very slowly.”

Stone smiles at the thought. “I miss them too. Tell them I’ll be there tomorrow. We can go out on the canal and they can show me what good skaters they are.”

He hangs up after another round of assurances that he’ll see them tomorrow, and yes, he’s brought presents for everyone. Lowering the phone, he catches Robotnik staring at him from the corner of his eye. “What?”

The doctor turns away sharply. “Nothing.” He’s finished his own conversation, phone lying dark and still in his lap. “Contemplating the best way to avoid dying of boredom.”

Spying a rack of pamphlets for local attractions tucked in an alcove, Stone gestures to it with the dramatic wave of a game show host. “Here in scenic Green Hills, Montana, you have your choice of ice fishing, 18 holes of golf, or a tour of the...” He squints harder across the room. “… Local prison.”

Robotnik snorts. “I would rather watch paint dry.”

Stone stands up and rifles through the pamphlets, spotting a bright pink flier tucked away in the back. It’s covered in horrid clip art and comic sans, but it advertises a local craft and food fair that's running this afternoon. He holds it up for Robotnik to see. “Feel like doing some shopping?”

The doctor gives him a wary glance, quickly scanning the flier, but he doesn’t outright refuse. “It’s indoors.” Stone assures him. “Free hot cider with admission.”

“Prepackaged and tepid, most likely, but if there’s nothing else to do...” Robotnik takes the paper and begins putting the address into his wrist device.

As he’s doing so, Stone is suddenly struck by the fact that not only is Robotnik still wearing his coat, but Stone had just assumed that they would both go to the fair together, and the doctor hadn’t corrected him. He’s actually started to enjoy Robotnik’s company.

“Well?” Comes an impatient voice, and Stone snaps out of his thoughts to see the other man already standing next to the hotel doors, gesturing towards them. “I’m not getting any younger.”

“Sorry.” Stone apologizes, as he catches up and they stride out the automatic doors, Stone half a step behind Robotnik.

Robotnik’s map turns out to be unnecessary only a block from the hotel, as pink and blue signs with arrows pointing to the community centre have been taped to light posts, cheerful bunches of balloons drooping off them. Stone flicks one as they pass it. “I wonder if we’re heading the right way.”

A group of small children go pelting past them, spraying snow everywhere as they run through the drifts beside the sidewalk. Robotnik glares at their backs with a wince at the volume of their excited shrieks. “I'm already regretting agreeing to this.”

“Would you have preferred the prison tour?”

Robotnik’s mustache twitches. “Ask me again in an hour. If I haven't gone deaf by then.”

Inside, the centre is warm and cheerful, Christmas music playing on hidden speakers and the smell of cookies and popcorn drifting through the air. They pay admission and grab styrofoam cups of cider from a smiling grandmother who informs them it’s her own secret recipe. The drink is pleasantly warm and tastes like cinnamon, and Stone’s smile grows when after a few appreciative sips, Robotnik swipes a second cup from the table.

They take a leisurely stroll down the isles of brightly decorated folding tables, pointing out particularly unusual things to each other, Stone nodding politely to the vendors as they pass. Their lack of conversation isn’t awkward; if anything, it feels like they’ve been doing this for years. Meeting up to do trivial things together on their free afternoons. Stone can appreciate a good silence, and Robotnik seems to feel the same.

Near the end of the second row, Stone pauses, his eye catching on a bracelet of coloured glass and clay he can see his sister wearing, and he steps up to examine it closer. Robotnik drifts over to a table across the isle that's selling used records, and starts to eagerly flick through the boxes.

The vendor ends up convincing Stone to buy a pair of matching earrings as well, and he’s waiting for her to wrap them when the doctor returns, clutching a record to his chest eagerly. He looks like a child that’s just been handed their favorite toy. “Find something good?” Stone asks, and Robotnik tilts the record towards him. The front features a man and a woman dressed in what was obviously the hottest trends of the 1970s, and Stone snorts out a laugh. “Planning on going to the disco?”

“The Poppy Family was most certainly not a disco group, do they teach you none of your own country’s music history?” Robotnik looks scandalized.

“Oh I’m sorry grandpa, some of us were busy not being born yet.”

“My generation invented music. Your generation ruined it.” Robotnik shoots back, although Stone can see he’s grinning underneath his mustache.

“You guys are so cute together. How long have you been dating?” The vendor asks brightly, looking between the two of them.

Stone’s breathing rate skyrockets, and he hunches his shoulders in, taking a frantic step away from Robotnik. “We’re not.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, just the way you two were acting together I assumed... Sorry.” The vendor’s face falls, and Stone takes his purchase from her without another word, striding off as his vision narrows and his heartbeat pounds in his ears.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s collapsed onto a bench in the corner of the hall, head in his hands, trying to get his breathing under control. Having a panic attack over one ultimately insignificant question asked without judgment is a bit of an overreaction, but that doesn’t stop memories of other questions coming into his mind, of fights and yelling and the flash of cameras as the reporters crowd him…

He snaps back to reality when a burst of red and a loud beep come from directly in front of his face. Robotnik is standing over him, hand outstretched, thin lines of red light extending from his glove and passing over Stone’s face and chest. When they finish, he turns his arm so he can read the screen on his wrist. “Heart rate 150 bpm, 23 breaths per minute, signs of elevated temperature, dilated pupils.” He reads out.

“Are you scanning me?”

Robotnik sits down next to him. “I highly doubt there’s a properly qualified medical professional present, and immediate action is crucial in the case of a heart attack.”

“I’m not having a heart attack.” Stone forces himself to take a deep breath in, slowly letting it out. After a few more it’s easier to do, though he can still feel sweat on his palms and the rapid beating of his heart. He can also notice the large amount of distance Robotnik is keeping between them on the bench, and the frown that’s on his face, and immediately feels terrible. “I’m sorry. I’m not disgusted at the thought of us… no that’s the wrong way to put it. I’m not… I’m not homophobic, or anything, I swear!”

Robotnik says nothing, and Stone awkwardly fumbles his phone from his pocket. “I’ll just show you. Remember how I said I was that Stone from the newspapers, shortly after we met?” With numb fingers he pulls up TSN, and manages to find the article without much difficulty. It’s only a week old, after all. Only a week since his life was ruined.

He passes the phone to Robotnik without looking, knowing exactly what the doctor is reading. The headline’s been burned into his brain by now. Canuck out of the closet: Stone caught at Vancouver’s notorious Pumpjack Pub. Beneath the headline is a slightly blurry picture, taken from a distance, but it’s obvious what it captures – his lips pressed to another mans.

“Fourteen years I played with the NHL.” He says, voice low. “Never a superstar, but I got my ice time, got traded to some good teams. Was looking to retire at the end of next season, go coach a league back home like the others always end up doing. And then I got caught.” He blows a breath out sharply, angrily. “Caught. That’s how they put it. As if I was doing anything wrong by going out for a night. I’ve seen my teammates stumbling drunk surrounded by topless women and nobody bats an eye, but one kiss with another man and I’m done. Cut, kicked, handed a statement to read to the angry mob of reporters and told to pack my skates. Managers tore up my contracts, teammates blocked my number, and I’ll never coach any league now – nobody would trust their children with someone like me.”

His hands are shaking again, worse than before, vision narrowed to the square of dirty concrete between his shoes. Robotnik still hasn’t said anything, and Stone closes his eyes, waits for the inevitable noise of him standing up, walking away…

What he’s not prepared for is Robotnik to blow a large raspberry and toss the phone carelessly back into Stone’s lap. “Well that’s a load of shit.”

Stone looks up so fast his neck cracks. “What?”

“Shit. Scheiß, šūdas, sopor. Your sexuality doesn’t dictate how well you can play a sport or how trustworthy you are, just like it doesn’t dictate my genius and robotic skill.”

“Yes! Of course it doesn't!” Stone exclaims in frustration, throwing up his arms. “That’s what I've been saying this entire time, but the commissioner obviously saw it differently, and the media...” He pauses, playing back the end of Robotnik’s sentence in his head. “Wait, you said it doesn’t dictate your genius? Does that mean you’re...”

“Gay, yes.” Robotnik shrugs, unconcerned.

“Oh.” Stone goes quiet, mind scrambled into static. After a minute, he laughs, once. Then louder, until it’s spilling out and he’s nearly doubled over, clutching at his stomach. Realizing Robotnik is probably horribly confused, he quickly holds up a finger, telling him to wait while he gets himself under control. “Sorry, sorry, I’m not laughing at you!” He wipes at the corner of his eye, turning to face the doctor. “I’ve been so stressed this entire week because of all this, all the fallout and articles and calls from my family and you’re the first person who just... really doesn’t care about any of it. At all. And that’s wonderful.”

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he rubs his hands on his jeans, heart rate and breathing finally back to normal. “I never thought I’d say this to someone, but thanks for not caring about my life.”

“I’m honored that my complete apathy is a source of comfort to you.” Robotnik raises a sarcastic eyebrow, and Stone chuckles, standing up and offering a hand to the doctor.

“Come on. Lets go look at gaudy Christmas-themed trinkets. And maybe steal more of that cider.” Robotnik stares at the hand for a moment before accepting it, allowing Stone to pull him to his feet. He drops it the moment he’s standing, but their shoulders brush against each other as they walk the rest of the isles.

Stone ends up getting a few more things for his nephews, Robotnik trailing behind him, slowly working his way through a box of brightly decorated homemade gingerbread cookies. They leave the centre late in the afternoon, the sky outside now fully clouded over and threatening snow.

“Thanks. Again.” Stone blurts out on their way back, looking up at Robotnik with a grateful grin. “For uh… not caring. And for deciding to come with me. I can’t imagine a small town craft fair being too exciting for a genius doctor.”

“Christmas markets are a grand affair in Germany.” Robotnik says, eyes fixed ahead, fingers tapping an irregular beat on the cover of the record he’s firmly tucked under his arm. “You make an afternoon of it – shopping, music and lights, fun for the whole family, that sort of thing. Kassler and Glühwein for lunch, and you buy your lover a Lebkuchenherz. Or your enemy.” He cackles slightly at that, and Stone shoots him a confused look, but Robotnik continues on without explaining.

“They would take us out to them every year at school. I’d stand around in the cold and the crowds, until I was half-deaf and my nose felt like it was going to fall off. It was my least favorite day of the year.” He kicks a chunk of ice down the sidewalk, and it bounces with several sharp clinks before landing in a snowdrift. “However, that may have been due to a lack of… good company. I don’t regret the decision to come along this afternoon.”

His words bring a soft warmth to Stone’s chest, and despite the growing wind, he doesn’t feel the cold at all on their walk back to the hotel.

When they step into the elevators, there’s a moment, half a second where Robotnik turns and seems about to say something, before closing his mouth and looking away. He starts slightly as his gaze catches on his sleeves, seemingly having forgotten he’s been wearing Stone’s coat the entire afternoon. He slides it off his shoulders, folding it neatly in half before offering it back.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?” Stone blurts out, fingers lightly brushing against the smooth exterior of the doctor’s gloves as he takes the coat. “For dinner, I mean?”

“Let me consult my schedule.” With a flick of his wrist and several button presses, a hologram of a miniature day planner appears, and Robotnik scrolls the “pages” with his finger. “Ah yes, December 23 ^rd , evening – general misery and rage about being stuck in some god-awful backwoods town for another day. But I believe that can be postponed.”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“I can slot you in at 7pm.”

“Meet you down in the lobby?”

“Will my current attire suffice? My wardrobe is rather limited at the moment.”

“I wasn’t thinking anywhere fancy, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t even know if this town has a fancy restaurant.”

The elevators ding, indicating the top floor, and they both get out. At the junction, Robotnik turns towards one end of the hall, Stone towards the other. “7 pm, then.” Robotnik says, before vanishing into his room.

“7 pm.” Stone whispers quietly, turning away towards his own.

At 6:15, he finds himself standing in nothing but a towel, staring down at his open suitcase and having a minor mental crisis.

“It’s not a date.” He says, firmly. (The contents of the suitcase fail to respond.)

By 6:21 he’s staring out the window, tapping a finger nervously on the sill. The storm is back in full, pounding winds hammering fat drops of freezing rain against the side of the hotel. He stares into his reflected eyes in the glass, and raises a finger to point sternly at himself. “Be reasonable! You just met him yesterday. All you’re doing is going to get dinner with a new friend.” With a decisive nod, he closes the curtains, and pulls on his socks and underwear.

6:29 finds him sprawled on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “You are going to get dinner with someone you enjoy spending time with. Someone who’s a doctor. A gay doctor. A handsome, intelligent, funny gay doctor who also knows you’re gay and enjoys spending time with you.”

At 6:40 he decides on his slimmest pair of jeans, and refuses to listen to the voice in his head telling him he’s done so because he knows they make his butt look good. He plucks them out of his suitcase and tosses them over the chair in the corner before turning to rifle through his few packed shirts. “Not a date.” He mutters. “And since it’s not a date, it doesn’t matter which shirt you pick. Doesn’t matter at all.”

6:51 brings the panic back, because while he’s finally put on his pants, he’s also changed his shirt three times. The current one is a deep green flannel with white buttons, and he steps in and out of the pool of light coming from the desk lamp, staring hard at the mirror and trying to figure out if the white of the buttons and the white of his undershirt are the same shade. “It doesn’t matter. Because it’s not a date.” He emphasizes, raising his eyebrows at his reflection. “Just a casual dinner. With a friend.”

With a final, decisive nod, he tucks his wallet and phone into his pockets, slips on his shoes and coat, and heads out the door.

As the elevator reaches the lobby, he realizes they never decided on a location to have said dinner, and he’s frantically pulling up a list of restaurants on Google maps before stopping to consider that he really knows very little about Robotnik. Aside from his fondness for coffee, toast and gingerbread cookies, he has no idea if the doctor has any dietary preferences, allergies, or even general food likes and dislikes. Coffee, toast and gingerbread cookies could very well be the only things the man eats.

He skims through the list of restaurants anyway, just to be prepared. There’s only a dozen in town, including the diner they visited that morning, and four are chain fast food restaurants that he instantly writes off. There’s a grill and a Chinese restaurant on main street that both look promising, but he mentally notes the name of the only restaurant that advertises vegan fare, just in case.

Pocketing his phone, he looks up to see Robotnik headed towards him, and his mouth goes dry. The doctor is still in the same clothes he’s been wearing all day, but he’s removed his jacket and armband and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal surprisingly muscular arms. His mustache and hair look freshly styled, too – smoothed and curled, still slightly damp from the shower. Stone can feel all coherent thought slowly leaving his brain at the sight.

“Well, whats your fancy?” Robotnik says as he stops in front of Stone, and Stone can feel his ears redden as his brain reboots just enough to provide him with an extremely inappropriate list of replies to the doctor’s question.

“Erm. I was thinking we could head over to Main street? There’s a few options there. Unless you have any dietary restrictions?” He manages to stutter out.

“Main street. How very original. Clearly used all their brainpower to come up with that one. Well, if we must suffer the tedium of rural living, might as well be in the center of it all.”

Stone grins, but it falls from his face as he catches sight of the still-raging storm through the front windows. “Oh the weather! I’d completely forgotten. It’s probably too far to walk in this.”

Robotnik shrugs, already heading for the doors. “Taxi!” He waves an arm enthusiastically at the pair of cabs parked only ten feet away near the edge of the awning. The drivers look up from where they’re standing together, and one of them grins and waves back – the same woman that drove them to the hotel the previous night. She steps into her car to pull it around.

“I promise to even pay the driver, this time.” Robotnik says, and Stone starts to protest, but Robotnik cuts off his objections with a raised hand. “In return, dessert is on you.”

The fact that Robotnik expects them to spend enough of the evening together to want order dessert sends a thrill through him, before his traitorous brain offers up several other interpretations of dessert being on him, and he nearly walks straight into the closed cab door.

With a quick head shake, he pushes the thoughts aside, and climbs in the back of the cab beside the doctor.

True to his word, Robotnik pays the driver the moment she pulls to a stop, and they dash out of the car to huddle together under the overhang in front of a grocery store. The icy deluge of rain has stopped; turned to fat snowflakes that are starting to pile up on the already slippery ground. The grill he noted earlier is right next door to the store, and Stone gestures towards it with raised eyebrows. Robotnik nods, and they both sprint the short distance to the entrance.

Stone reaches it a second before Robotnik does, the doctor skidding to a frantic stop and nearly falling over as he hits a patch of black ice outside the doors. Stone reaches out, catching Robotnik’s arm and pulling him back upright just before he goes down. Robotnik’s hands land on Stone’s shoulders as he regains his balance, the careful swoop of his hair now disheveled and falling into his eyes.

Neither of them move, both breathing heavily from the exertion of running, cheeks flushed red. The doctor’s hands feel like they’re burning into Stone’s shoulders. His bare arm is strong and cold under Stone’s hand, and Stone finds himself reluctant to let go.

Robotnik is the first to break the spell, slowly removing his hands in order to smooth his hair back and tug at a curl of his mustache. Stone clears his throat nervously, opening the door with a sweeping arm gesture to wave him inside like the world’s most awkward butler. Robotnik grins and mock-bows in return before entering, and Stone feels his heart flip.

Inside is dark and quiet, empty except for a small group near the back that appear to be celebrating something, judging by the pile of balloons and presents spilling onto the floor. The restaurant is painted in soft blues and greens, with striped tablecloths and a vase of fake flowers on each table. Dozens of strings of white lights criss-cross the ceiling and circle support beams like a glowing spiderweb. The hostess is leaning against her stand, reading a book that she hastily tucks inside her waist apron at the sound of their approaching footsteps.

“Oh, hi! Welcome to The Canyon Grill. Sorry, we weren’t really expecting anyone, with the weather...” She gestures to the restaurant behind her. “Sit anywhere you like, really. Not exactly a full house tonight.”

They pick a table against the far wall, next to an electric fireplace that has thankfully been turned on, and Robotnik scoots his chair as close to it as he possibly can. A waiter brings them menus and water before heading back to the front to sit beside the hostess, who’s returned to her book.

“I see this town has a work ethic matching their street-naming skills. Faule Hunde.” Robotnik shoots them a glare over the top of his menu.

“There’s probably not much to do, with no customers. You can only roll so much cutlery and sweep the same floor so many times before it becomes pointless.” Stone gives Robotnik a long look. “You seem like the type of man who never had to work in food service.”

“You assume correct. By the time I was his age…” He gestures to the waiter, who looks to be in his early 20s, “… I already had 3 of my 5 doctorates, and a handful of patents.”

Stone’s menu makes a faint thwap as he drops it in shock. “You have five doctorates?”

“Yes. I’ve been considering getting a sixth. Half a dozen’s a nice even number.”

“Oh sure, just pick up a sixth, you know, set some time aside on the weekend to get it done. No big deal.” Stone says, waving an airy hand to underscore his sarcastic tone. He picks up his menu and hides behind it. “And here I am thinking my two Stanley cups were impressive.”

“Is it impressive?” Robotnik asks, and Stone looks up to see the doctor has put down his menu, staring at him with genuine interest.

“You can’t possibly be interested in hearing about my life. Compared to all you’ve achieved, it must be horribly boring.”

“On the contrary, Stone. While I will admit I find professional sports a tad barbaric for my tastes, that doesn’t mean your life has been boring. I also enjoy learning new things. Now, what is a Stanley cup, and how does one win it?”

They pass the meal in enthusiastic conversation, trading stories about their lives (Stone) and their accomplishments (Robotnik). Words flow between them as easy as the bottle of wine they share, until plates are empty and glasses dry. The party in the back has long since left, trailing confetti and tissue paper across the floor, and they are alone in the restaurant.

This is the most enjoyable not-a-date I’ve ever been on. Thinks Stone, as he nods along with the end of Robotnik’s latest story. He’s pretty sure he’s been smiling for an hour straight, his cheeks softly pink from the heat of the fireplace and the presence of the man sitting across from him.

“...which of course meant that they had to reboot the entire system, and when they did, the virus I’d planted activated.” Robotnik slaps the table, causing the empty wineglasses to ring softly. “I bet half of the DLR still has nightmares about their computers being stuck in iambic pentameter!”

Their laughter rings through the empty restaurant, startling the hostess in front into looking up from her book. She nudges the waiter seated next to her, who’s nearly fallen asleep in his chair. With a yawn, he walks over to their table. “Any dessert?” He asks as he stacks the plates and cutlery for clearing.

“Cheesecake.” Robotnik declares, before Stone can even open his mouth.

“We have six kinds – plain, blueberry, strawberry, lemon, chocolate and uh...” He frowns, hefting the stack of dishes into his arms. “Something else.”

“Strawberry.” Stone says, raising an eyebrow at Robotnik. “If I’m paying for it, I choose the flavour.”

The waiter returns with a single thick slice, swirled red and yellow and topped with a fat strawberry smothered in chocolate. He drops two forks on the table with another yawn, heading back to his chair at the front.

Robotnik swoops down on the dessert, spearing the strawberry along with a fourth of the slice in one swift movement. The noise he makes when he takes a bite has Stone’s ears turning red. However, he has to admit that the cake is good – smooth and creamy and just the right consistency – and he closes his own eyes in appreciation as he swallows his forkful.

Between the two of them, the cake is gone in minutes, and they collapse into their seats when all that’s left on the plate is a smattering of graham cracker crumbs. “I think we may have found the only good thing in this whole town.” Stone pats his stomach, thankful that he chose to forgo a belt. He’ll have to run an extra half hour on the treadmill tomorrow, but it’s been worth it.

Robotnik makes a noise of agreement, head tipped back and long limbs stretched out under the table. He looks to be on the verge of falling asleep. Stone nudges his leg with a foot, and the doctor tilts his head down to blink at him. There’s a spot of cheesecake stuck on his cheek, and Stone wants nothing more than to reach over and wipe it off him.

“I’ll, erm, go flag down the waiter?” He suggests, very carefully not looking Robotnik in the eyes as he stands.

The waiter has vanished, but the hostess is still at her stand, more than willing to print their bill for them. Stone starts in surprise as he checks his phone – they’ve been there over four hours. “I’m sorry, have we kept you past closing?”

“Nah, you’re just in time, we close at midnight.” She leans in as she hands him the card machine. “And you and your boyfriend are so cute together.”

“We’re not boyfriends.” Stone mutters, swiping his card.

“Oooh, a first date, then? Sounds like it went well.” With a wink, she hands him the receipt, walking away before Stone can correct her.

Robotnik looks up from his phone as Stone returns. “I called for a taxi.” He spots the receipt and makes a vague noise of protest, reaching for his wallet. “Could have paid for my half.”

“You can pay for the taxi.” Grabbing his coat from the back of his chair, he hands it to Robotnik. “I can survive a few minutes in this slight chill.”

The doctor snorts in amusement, but puts it on. A cab is already waiting outside when they leave, the driver a friendly old man who chats lightly with Stone about the weather as they head back. The snow has stopped, piled up into drifts along the side of the road by the wind, and the town is dark and still. Robotnik stays silent the whole ride, staring out the window, face unreadable.

In the hotel lobby, they stop just in front of the elevator doors. Robotnik slowly slides Stone’s coat off his shoulders, but Stone holds up a hand to stop him before he can return it. “Keep it for now. We still have to get to the airport tomorrow and I bet the temperature won’t be much better.”

Robotnik tilts his head slightly, looking down at him like Stone is a puzzle he can’t figure out. The spot of cheesecake is still on his cheek, and as the moment stretches, Stone grows bold, spurred on by the wine and the fact that he hasn’t felt this way about anyone in a very long time. The moment he hears the ding of an arriving elevator car, he reaches up and gently brushes the cheesecake off Robotnik’s face. As he drops his hand, the doctor raises his own to the spot Stone has touched, eyes soft and wide. Stone takes a single step backwards into the elevator, and just before the doors close, gives Robotnik a wink.

Chapter Text

When his alarm goes off the next morning, the first thing he does after opening his eyes is put a pillow over his face and scream.

“What were you thinking?!” He chides himself, thumping the bed. “This isn’t a Hallmark movie! In a few hours you board a plane that will take you back home to Canada, while he will continue off to his fancy laboratories in Germany, where you will never see him again!” He hurls the pillow across the room, and it lands on the floor with a sad thump.

“Winking at him? Gently brushing his cheek? Have you gone insane? You’ve known the man twenty-four hours!” He continues as he puts on his gym shorts and tank top. He jabs a finger at his reflection in the bathroom mirror while he packs his toiletries. “You will go downstairs, work out, and eat breakfast alone. You will see him again, once, to get your jacket back. Then you will thank him for a wonderful day spent together as friends, and you will board your plane home.”

His resolve lasts until the moment the elevator doors open on the ground floor, and he sees Robotnik sitting in the lobby. “Tabernac.”

Robotnik has a paper plate in front of him, loaded with pastries from the breakfast table. He picks up a slightly squashed danish and wrinkles his nose at it, turning it this way and that, as though it might look like a more appealing choice from a different angle. Stone’s feet are stuck to the floor as he weighs his options. He could try and sneak past Robotnik and hope the doctor is gone by the time he finishes his workout. He could forget about his workout altogether, and retreat back to the safety of his room. Or, you could be an adult about the whole situation, and go say good morning to him. His brain suggests.

The choice is stripped from him when someone else gets off the elevator and walks straight into his back. He turns, apologizing profusely to the couple who’s path he’s blocked, and when he turns back around, Robotnik is looking directly at him.

Biting his lip, he walks over to the table. “Good morning.” Robotnik is as frozen as he was last night, pastry forgotten in his hand as he looks Stone over from head to toe with wide eyes.

Stone wants to say a number of things. He wants to thank the doctor for an enjoyable day, and wish him a safe flight home. He wants to say that sitting across from him in the restaurant was the most fun he’s had in years. He wants to say he wishes they would be stuck here forever, so they never have to say goodbye.

Coward that he is, what he settles on is a tentative “Sleep well?”

Robotnik slowly lowers the pastry back onto the plate, brushing crumbs from his fingers before he replies. “Adequately.” He brings a hand up to his shoulder, stretching it to the side with a faint groan. Stone considers the long column of his neck and swallows heavily. “My trapezius paid the price for the tissue paper this hotel dares to call pillows.”

“At least its the last time you’ll ever have to sleep on them.” Stone shrugs.

Robotnik starts to reply, when his attention is caught by a faint beeping and a flashing red light on his wrist. He taps the armband, and a scrolling wall of text appears above it. Stone can feel his phone vibrate in his pocket a second later, and his heart drops. “Tell me that message doesn’t say what I think it does.”

“I forbid you to ever open your mouth again. You’ve cursed us all.” Robotnik flips the holographic text around so Stone can read it. It’s a word-for-word repeat of the one they both received barely 24 hours ago. They’re stuck, again.

From all around them comes a chorus of groans and swears as various other passengers open the same email, but all Stone can focus on is the words floating in front of his face, and the look on the face of the man behind it. Robotnik seems almost… happy? He hasn’t moved a muscle, hasn’t pulled out his phone and started shouting into it again. He’s staring up at Stone, watching him through the wall of holographic text between them.

Stone is torn. He misses his sister and nephews, knows they’ll be disappointed he won’t be there to open presents on Christmas morning, even if he’s still staying with them until New Years. But at the same time, a secret, happy thrill is blooming in his chest at the fact that he gets to spend another day with the doctor.

As suddenly as he recognizes the feeling, he starts to panic, because he knows what it means. He’s falling for Robotnik . He’s falling for a man he’s known barely more than a day, a man who lives six thousand kilometers away. A man who he knows so little about, except for the fact that he likes coffee and cheesecake and summons impossible holograms like its nothing and can make Stone laugh and is smart enough to have five doctorates and has beautiful hair that Stone wants to run his fingers through.

The panic sends his brain into overdrive, and he can feel his heart rate increase as he frantically decides how to respond. After thirty seconds, Robotnik frowns, looking down at the rapid rise and fall of Stone’s chest. He reaches for his gloves, discarded on the table, and the blood drains from Stone’s face at the thought of Robotnik scanning him, discovering his rapid-fire pulse and his sweaty palms, and deducing the thoughts racing in circles through Stone’s mind.

He takes the only option left to him, and flees into the relative safety of the hotel gym.

As soon as the door closes he realizes the futility of his actions – Robotnik could easily follow him in. But when five minutes pass with no sign of the doctor, he starts to relax. Then immediately feels guilty for running away. However, he can’t bring himself to go back out and face the other man, and he climbs on the treadmill in an attempt to sort his thoughts out through physical exertion.

By the time he finishes his workout, dripping sweat and panting, he’s come to a decision. If he’s never going to see Robotnik again, he should make the most of what time he has.

One long, hot shower and a fresh change of clothes later, he’s standing in front of Robotnik’s hotel room, gathering his nerve for what he’s about to do. The cheap wood with it’s rusty brass numbers stares impassively back at him.

“Are you going to stand outside my door the entire day?” Comes a voice from within, and Stone jumps as the door swings open. Robotnik steps forward to lean against the frame, arms crossed.

Stone draws himself up to his full height, tucking his hands into his pockets in an effort to appear casual. “I was just considering my options.”

“Options regarding what?”

“Regarding what I was going to invite you to do with me today.”

Robotnik raises an eyebrow. “Feeling presumptuous, are we? What if I’ve decided my time is better spent alone, working towards the technological betterment of mankind?”

“I took an educated guess.” He shrugs, turning away. “But if you’d rather spend Christmas eve by yourself...”

A hand lands on his shoulder, and Stone grins as he’s turned back around to face the doctor. “Speaking hypothetically, what activities would you suggest, were we to spend the day in each other’s company?” Robotnik puts his own hands in his overcoat pockets, mirroring Stone’s earlier attempt to be casual.

Stone’s done his research this time, and holds up his phone for Robotnik to see. “I thought we could go skating.” The outdoor city rink is open, advertising skate rentals, hot chocolate and marshmallow roasting. If he’s being honest, he wants a chance to show off. Robotnik’s accomplishments and intellect will forever outshine his own, but if there’s one thing he knows he’s better at than the doctor, it’s ice skating.

“I suppose I’ll simply freeze to death in the process?”

“You have my coat, remember. And, here.” He holds out his spare toque, dark red with thin bands of white running along the bottom. “It even matches your own coat’s lining.”

Robotnik takes the hat, stretching it between his hands before letting it bounce back into its original shape. “One condition.”

“Name it.”

“We find the nicest clothing store this pit stop has. I refuse to spend another day in the same outfit.”

“Deal. Give me a minute to grab a sweater, then we can go?”

Robotnik nods, and Stone jogs back to his room, grinning the entire way. It’s a date, doctor.

They’re in luck that the nicest clothing shop in town still happens to be open. Slipping and sliding out of the taxi (while Stone waves goodbye to the same lady driver, who’s name turns out to be Kate) they stumble through the front door, nearly knocking over a mannequin in a tuxedo. The entire store looks severely out of place in the small Montana town, as if someone plucked a tailors shop off Saville Row and transplanted it into the American midwest. Soft grey walls and dim lighting are accented by rich, deep blue rugs and the gentle music emanating from an actual gramophone sitting next to the cash register.

Stone’s no stranger to suits – wearing one before each game was law in the NHL, and he owns a few – but nothing quite like this. His were purchased at chain stores and by-one-get-one sales, and this store looks as if it’s never offered a sale in it’s life. Three of the four walls are each dedicated to a single long rack of clothing – jackets, pants, shirts – while an elegant circular table in the middle holds a selection of ties and pocket squares, arranged by colour.

A short, stout man with tiny gold-framed glasses smiles at them from behind the counter. His long silver hair is swept neatly into a ponytail, his suit a rich brown tweed, accented by a crisply-folded pocket square in a brilliant turquoise. “Can I help you gentlemen?” He asks, looking them both over from head to toe.

Robotnik shrugs out of Stone’s coat, hanging it on the stand in the corner, and the stout man’s eyebrows raise at the sight of the outfit underneath, but he says nothing. “I’ve been trapped in this ditch of a town for two days with no additional clothing, thanks to the overwhelming incompetence of the American airline system.” Robotnik sighs, already striding towards the shirts.

“Ah, say no more.” The man drifts over to join him, and they begin rapidly flipping through the racks together, the man offering suggestions and Robotnik waving them off or begrudgingly agreeing. Stone tunes the banter out and starts looking through ties instead.

“The burgundy would compliment your complexion, or perhaps something in blue, for an accent?” Comes a voice, and Stone turns to see the shopkeeper standing only inches from him. Robotnik has completely vanished.

“He’s in the changing rooms.” The man smiles. “An excellent eye for quality, but the most terrible fashion sense. To think that he tried to pair a charcoal shirt with obsidian pants!” He makes a disapproving noise, shaking his head.

“Is that bad?” Stone asks, and the man lowers his head, giving Stone a long look over the top of his glasses. He has the feeling he’s being judged, and found lacking.

“Oh, very bad. Thankfully I managed to steer him towards far more flattering choices – not without great effort, I might add.” The man brings a hand to his chin thoughtfully. “He reminds me of my husband. Just as stubborn.”

“Did you move here for your husband?” Stone blurts out, and the shopkeeper raises his eyebrows. He shrinks under the other man’s questioning look. “Sorry, it’s just rare to find a shop this fancy in a town this small.”

The man tilts his head, conceding the point. “You are correct. I did move here for him.” His eyes unfocus; losing himself in a memory. “On my way to a conference, I was involved in a rather nasty car crash just outside of town. He was the dashing young physician that tended to my wounds. We shared a similar interest in literature, and while I recovered, he entertained me with the most enthralling debates on the topic of classic novels. I detested them, he adored them. We butted heads constantly, and he often left the room in a huff.” He laughs. “I proposed the moment I was discharged from the hospital.”

“I take it he said yes?”

“Of course. His only regret was that I asked first – he had a ring in his own pocket to do the very same.”

“So you stayed, opened your shop, and never looked back?”

“Oh no, it wasn’t quite that easy. This isn’t a children’s fairy-tale after all, we had to work for our happy ending. But I don’t regret any of my choices.” The man’s attention is drawn by the movement of the changing room curtain. “Speaking of choices, I believe your friend has made some.” He raises his voice so that Robotnik can hear as he crosses the shop. “Were the selections to your liking?”

“They fit and they’ll keep me from catching hypothermia.” Robotnik shoves an armful of clothes at the shopkeeper, keeping three hangers tucked against his side.

“We don’t have to go skating if you’re that worried about the cold.” Stone frowns. “I’m sure there’s something else open today-”

He’s cut off by Robotnik waiving a hand in airy dismissal as he walks past Stone and to the register. “I agreed to ice skating, and we will go ice skating, as soon as I’ve paid for these.”

“Would you like to wear them out of the store?” The shopkeeper asks politely. “I imagine you’re eager to get out of your current attire.”

Robotnik nods, and the shopkeeper quickly snips off the price tags, sending Robotnik back towards the changing rooms with a paper bag to put his old clothes in.

Stone watches the man ring up the items. “I don’t think I’ve ever spent that much on clothes before.” He pauses, considering. “Hockey gear, maybe. But that was technically a business expense.”

Robotnik emerges from behind the curtain, brushing at the shoulders of his new coat, and Stone can’t stop his mouth from dropping open. The blood-red button up and black pants are a slim cut, emphasizing Robotnik’s long legs and slender waist. An elegantly flowing overcoat matches the black of his pants perfectly, lined in a soft-looking silvery-grey material. He looks like he’s stepped off the pages of an expensive fashion magazine.

The doctor catches Stone staring, and does a dramatic spin, making the ends of his coat flare out with the movement. “Well? Am I appropriately dressed?”

Stone nods eagerly, and Robotnik’s mustache twitches into a grin. Stone doesn’t think he’s ever had this many butterflies in his stomach before.

Robotnik taps his credit card against the machine and turns to leave, but a shrill beep pulls him back. Frowning, he taps the card against the machine again, to no effect.

“Try the chip?” Stone suggests, and Robotnik huffs in frustration, but shoves the card in the slot and rapidly punches a series of numbers. The same shrill beep sounds as the screen flashes Card Not Recognized.

“ Verdammter Mist! ” Robotnik smacks the side of the machine roughly, and the shopkeeper hurriedly pulls it away before it can suffer any further abuse.

“All banks are closed for the holiday, but there are several ATMs nearby that may exchange for American dollars, if you’re willing to pay the fee.” He suggests.

As Robotnik continues to swear, furiously swiping through holographic screens on his wrist, Stone gets an idea. Before he can second-guess himself, he steps forward, tapping his own credit card against the machine.

The cheerful trill of a completed payment echoes throughout the shop.

“Stone, what-” Robotnik looks frantically between him and the machine, hastily switching to yet another holographic screen. “That really was not necessary, but let me transfer you the funds...”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Robotnik’s hands stop mid-movement. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on me.”

Robotnik and the shopkeeper stare openly at Stone as he tucks his card back into his wallet and strolls over to the stand to grab his coat. “We should get going if we want to be on the ice before it gets dark.” He says, feigning a causal tone, while inside his stomach is doing flips.

The shopkeeper unfreezes at the sound of the receipt printing, carefully tearing it off and tucking it into the bag with Robotnik’s old clothes. As he pushes it gently across the counter, he leans in towards Robotnik with a knowing grin. “ Der gefällt mir, behalte den lieber. ”

The doctor’s ears promptly turn bright red as he absentmindedly grabs the bag and replies “Ich denke, das werde ich.”

Outside the shop, Stone slips on his coat as they start walking in the direction of the rink. “What did the shopkeeper say to you?”

“Some very wise advise. I will pay you back, Stone, I insist on it. There’s no way you could possibly afford that purchase.”

“Do you know what the average salary of an NHL player is?” Robotnik stays silent, and Stone nods. “I thought you wouldn’t. These past few years I didn’t exactly make headlines with my contracts, but there wasn’t a single year of my career where I didn't make under half a million.”

“Half a million dollars. For pushing a circle around with a stick.”

Stone laughs. “Hockey is a bit more complicated than that. I will admit as a younger man I made some rash purchases. Nice cars, a condo right in the downtown market, that sort of thing. Eventually I smartened up enough to tone down my lifestyle, and actually start saving some of it. I’m no millionaire, but I can afford to occasionally splash out on a purchase for myself.” He smiles up at Robotnik. “Or for someone else.”

He’s walked another dozen steps before he realizes the doctor is no longer beside him. Turning, he sees Robotnik standing several paces back, having stopped in his tracks to watch Stone with wide eyes. “Why?” he asks quietly, fidgeting with the handles of his bag.

“Why?” Stone thinks about his response as he slowly rejoins Robotnik. Because you’re the most interesting man I’ve ever met. Because you make me laugh like I haven’t laughed in years. Because I think I’m falling for you.

“Because… I enjoy your company.” He looks down, cheeks red, unable to meet the doctor’s eyes. “Because you’ve made being stuck thousands of kilometers from home almost… fun.”

Robotnik barks out a laugh. “If this is your idea of fun, Stone, you need to get out more often.”

“Like say, to a skating rink?”

The doctor grins, pulling one corner of his moustache upwards. Stone stifles the urge to lean forward and kiss it. They resume walking, shoulders and arms brushing against each other. The silence that falls is comfortable; yet charged with an almost electric energy of anticipation and excitement. From above, a light snow starts to fall, delicate flakes drifting downwards to dust their shoulders.

At the rink, they store their belongings in a locker and rent well-worn skates from the cheerful middle aged man behind the counter. Stone laces his pair and flexes his feet, testing the fit – nowhere near as comfortable as his own, safely stored back home, but the blades are sharp. He steps onto the ice with a strong stride, taking a lap around the slightly bumpy rink to get his footing.

His lap ends back at the rink entrance, where Robotnik is leaning casually against the boards. Flipping around to skate backwards, he beckons the doctor forward. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”

With a cheeky grin, he flips back around, speeding up his pace. The snow is still slowly falling, and he tilts his head back, breathing in the crisp, fresh air as it whistles past, holding his arms out so the edges of his coat flutter behind him. From the flooded backyards and plywood boards of his childhood to the multi-million dollar rinks of his career, he’s always felt at home on the ice. He dodges the few other skaters with ease, weaving around teenagers holding hands and children clinging to their parents legs.

Spying the doctor only a few feet from where he started, Stone circles him several times before skidding to a stop, throwing up a small shower from his skates. He knows he’s showing off, but he really doesn’t care. It’s his turn to be the impressive one.

Robotnik brushes snow from the bottom of his pants. “Having fun?”

“Loads. What’s the matter doc, never went for your degree in patinage?” He teases.

With a glare, Robotnik pushes off the boards, arms flailing wildly for balance. He takes a confident step forward, leaning his weight onto the blade….

… and promptly falls flat on his back.

Stone stifles laughter into his coat at the sight of Robotnik spluttering in indignation on the ground, toque and hair askew, legs covered in a fine dusting of white. He extends a hand, and Robotnik clings to it, nearly knocking them both over as his legs skitter and flail on the ice.

“Not another word, Stone.” He threatens when they are finally both upright, one hand still holding tightly to Stone’s for balance as he uses the other to adjust his clothing.

Stone mimes zipping his mouth shut, gently guiding the doctor forward on the ice. They take meandering, wobbly laps around the rink, Robotnik clutching onto Stone the entire time.

“You’re doing better already.” Stone notes on their fifth lap. They’re still the slowest skaters on the rink by far, but Robotnik has finally managed to make it around the ice without losing balance once.

“I had much better uses for my time than learning how to go in circles with knives strapped to my feet.” Robotnik sniffs haughtily, looking away. He falls silent for half a lap, before suddenly blurting out; “Didn’t have anyone who cared enough to teach me, anyway.”

“Your parents never took you out skating?”

“Didn’t have any.”

“Skating rinks?”

“Parents.”

“Oh.” Stone’s heart breaks a little at the thought.

“Don’t start with the sympathy lines, I’ve heard it all before. Never knew them, never missed them. The Waisenhaus provided well enough.” Robotnik’s tone is flippant, but his grip on Stone’s hand tightens, just for a moment.

Stone squeezes back.

Despite his new, thicker coat, Robotnik starts to shiver midway through their tenth lap, so Stone guides them off the ice and over to a small stand that advertises hot chocolate for sale. They order two cups (Robotnik loudly insisting on paying) and totter on their skates to a picnic bench.

The doctor takes a sip and promptly makes a face. “Prepackaged, just as I feared.”

“What did you expect, a cappuccino with llama milk?”

They both laugh. Stone cant help noticing the way that Robotnik laughs – head thrown back and shoulders shaking, eyes flashing and cheeks red. It makes him look ten years younger. It makes him look beautiful. Stone guiltily takes a long drink of his hot chocolate, hoping that the doctor will attribute his flushed cheeks to the cold, and not to the thoughts currently racing through his mind.

Their legs brush against each other under the table as the sun slowly starts to set. Christmas lights blink on in the nearby pine trees, giving the entire rink a soft, multi-coloured glow. One by one, families and children drift off the ice, until the few skaters left on the rink are obviously couples, arms and hands linked tight. The atmosphere surrounding the ice has turned unmistakably romantic, yet Robotnik makes no move to leave, no suggestion that they should return their skates.

Draining the last of his hot chocolate and gently tossing the cup into a garbage can, Stone stands, extending a hand to Robotnik once more. “Up for a few more laps?”

Robotnik shoots his own cup into the bin with an exuberant free-throw, and takes the proffered hand. As soon as he’s upright, he tucks Stone’s arm into the crook of his own. “For balance, of course.” He mutters, but the corner of his moustache has risen in a grin.

They resume their slow circling of the rink, sides pressed flush. Snow is starting to fall in earnest now, thick, soft flakes that muffle the sounds of the other skaters and the world beyond. Stone closes his eyes, trying to burn the experience, the emotions, the rapid beating of his heart into his memory.

When he opens them again, Robotnik is staring down at him. “46.25 seconds without visual, and you didn’t miss a step.”

“I’ve been skating my whole life. An empty rink at this pace is nothing compared to dodging defencemen backwards with ten thousand fans screaming down at you.”

Robotnik unwinds his arm from Stone’s and Stone panics, thinking he’s said something wrong, that he’s somehow ruined everything.

“Show me.”

“What?”

“As fast as you can, backwards, do a flip, whatever you like. I don’t care. But show me what you can do.” Robotnik hoists himself up to sit on the edge of the boards, skates dangling. Stone is startled to see they’re the last ones left, and the skate rental stand is obviously starting to close for the night. It’s now or never.

Shifting into a crouch, and with a cheeky salute to Robotnik, he takes off as fast as he can. He’s across the rink in seconds, and just before hitting the other side, flips himself around, hurtling backwards along the boards. A full lap backwards and he does a spin on one skate, just because he can, before weaving rapidly up and down the ice, dodging imaginary defencemen. He ends the display with another lap backwards and a charge towards the doctor at full speed. Robotnik leans back, and Stone brakes just in time, ending only inches from the edge of Robotnik’s skates.

Robotnik’s eyes are wide as he grips the boards. “Heilige Scheiße… I see your descriptions of your skill level were accurate, after all.”

“Impressed, doctor?” He raises an eyebrow with a knowing smirk.

“Don’t get cocky, kid.” Robotnik says, and Stone bursts out laughing. The sound echoes across the empty rink, bouncing off the boards before being absorbed by the snowbanks beyond.

He extends a hand to help the doctor down. The snow is continuing to pick up, enough that they rapidly return their skates, gather their belongings, and run to the relative safety of the city hall’s small overhang.

Something about Robotnik’s words at the rink continues to stick in Stone’s mind as the doctor calls for a taxi. He knows he’s heard him say that specific German phrase before, but can’t remember when.

As they’re stomping snow off their boots on the hotel carpet, it comes rushing back in a moment of powerful deja-vu. “The first morning! In the lobby!” He shouts, pointing at Robotnik. The doctor turns, a startled look on his face, and Stone is acutely aware of the volume he just used, and the fact that they are currently being stared at by a half a dozen other hotel patrons. The severe grey-haired lady behind the desk raises a finger to her lips in a shhhh motion, and Stone ducks his head sheepishly, mouthing a frantic Sorry! in return before pulling Robotnik towards the elevators and into a waiting car.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Robotnik demands, pulling his arm from Stone’s vice-like grip and tugging his sleeves straight.

“That German phrase. The one you said at the rink. What does it mean?”

“Heilige Scheiße?” Robotnik looks away with a small cough, rustling the handles of the bag of clothing in his hands . “I believe the translation would be holy shit . Yes, your ice skating skills are impressive. Don’t let it get to your head.” When the elevator dings arrival at their floor, he strides out in a swirl of black coat, Stone running to catch up.

“Oh no, no, you’re not getting away that easy, doctor!” At the door of Robotnik’s hotel room, Stone slides between him and the door handle, crossing his arms and looking Robotnik directly in the eye. “You’ve said it before. Our first morning here, when you came to apologize. Why did you say it then?”

Robotnik stays stubbornly silent, staring back at Stone, but the tiniest flicker of his eyes downwards brings another memory flooding back. “I’d just come back from my workout.” He mutters, brows pinched as he thinks, hard. Why would he say holy shit in relation to coming back from a workout? Probably didn’t look that impressive, standing there in gym shorts, with the sweat stains on my… shirt…

His chin snaps up. “You liked what you saw.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“The other time you said it. I was confused then, thought you were upset at my shabby gym clothes or something, but that wasn’t it at all, was it?”

Robotnik turns red so fast Stone can practically hear the blood rushing to his cheeks, and Stone’s grin turns flirtatious as his heart leaps from his chest. “That’s why you froze. You didn’t expect to be attracted to me. And then you froze the next morning – when I was on my way to the gym, again.”

“I will admit you maintain your physique in a manner that is… pleasant to look at.” Robotnik tugs at the edges of his already perfectly straight sleeves, ears the colour of cherry tomatoes.

“You’re not so bad on the eyes yourself, doctor.” Stone leans slowly into Robotnik’s space, until they’re only inches apart. His attention is caught by something just above the door frame – a flash of green and white, long slender leaves and small white berries joined in a neat bundle with a red satin bow. He points upwards. “Mistletoe.”

Robotnik eyes it. “So it would seem.”

“Do you have the same tradition in Germany, where you kiss under it?” He meets the doctor’s eyes through lowered lashes. “Perhaps with someone you find rather attractive-” The end of Stone’s sentence is cut off as Robotnik takes a single step forward, and their lips finally meet.

The kiss is heated and hungry, leaving them both panting as they withdraw for air before crashing back together. Stone’s hands find their way into Robotnik’s hair, and a soft tug has the other man gasping, pushing forward until Stone’s back hits the door. Stone peppers Robotnik’s throat with kisses as the doctor tears through his coat pockets with a frustrated growl, until he finally unearths the hotel room key. He uses the moment of unlocking his door to wind a hand into Stone’s shirt, catching him as it opens, holding him aloft just long enough for them to both step inside.

When the door shuts behind them, the mistletoe flickers, wavers, and finally blinks out as on the other side, Robotnik’s wristband joins the growing pile of clothing on the floor.

Watery morning light wakes Stone, making him squint and groan as it passes across his eyelids. He shifts, trying to escape the intruding sunbeam, freezing when his arm meets resistance. Warm, solid, softly snoring resistance.

His eyes snap open when it all comes flooding back. Robotnik is sprawled across most of the bed, long legs tangled up with Stone’s, one lightly muscular arm across his midsection, head half on his chest. His hair and moustache are a mess, and Stone feels his cheeks heat as his brain helpfully provides him with a highlight reel of exactly how they ended up such a disheveled state.

But his brain also provides him a different, more important memory from the night before – a memory of words whispered by Robotnik, hovering on the edge of sleep, Stone stroking the long column of his back as they both catch their breath.

“Wasn’t just your physique, you know.” The doctors voice is partially muffled by Stone’s shoulder, and Stone tilts his head down to hear as Robotnik continues.

“Wouldn’t jump into bed with someone just ‘cause they were attractive. ‘M not that kind of man. These past two days have been… extraordinary.” His voice drifts off as he falls into sleep. “Du warst... außergewöhnlich…” He’s snoring before Stone can ask for a translation.

Lying with Robotnik tucked against his side, his mind races through a dozen scenarios and possibilities at once. They have only a few hours left. Only a few hours before they board the airplane that will force them to say goodbye forever.

Not if I can help it. The plan slowly sprouting in his mind is beyond insane, he knows that, but he has to give it a shot. Carefully extracting his arm from Robotnik’s grasp, he leans half off the bed in search of his pants. Digging in the pockets produces his phone, and still moving as to not wake the doctor, he sends a text to his sister.

Flight still on for today (so far). Might be bringing someone with me.

Her response is immediate. 1 of yr teamates?

No. Someone I met while stuck here.

!!! Sum1 handsome?? What follows is a string of emojis with inquisitive eyebrows.

He looks down at Robotnik, gently smoothing back a lock of hair with his free hand. At the touch, the doctor hums contentedly, arm tightening around Stone’s middle, and Stone’s heart melts.

Very handsome.

If he turns out 2 be a sereal kller I’m goin 2 haunt ur ass for eternity.

Robotnik has started to stir, blinking groggily, so Stone puts the phone down. “Good morning.”

The doctor yawns. “Time?”

“7:30. Flight’s at 11.”

As Robotnik untangles his legs from Stone’s and moves to sit up, Stone puts a hand on his shoulder. “Can we talk for a moment?”

Robotnik instantly whips around, face hardening, and suddenly Stone is looking back at the same angry man he saw in the airport on his first night; the one that terrorizes customer service agents and issues demands like the whole world is beneath him. Even dressed in nothing but a hotel sheet, his eyes burn through Stone like he could obliterate him with his thoughts alone, and Stone’s stomach drops in both fear and sympathy – fear that Robotnik is going to order him to leave and never return, sympathy that he has so obviously been burned by those words before, to react the way he has.

Stone holds his hands up, palms outward, trying to keep his face as open and honest as he can. “I have no regrets about last night, if that’s what you’re thinking. No regrets about anything that’s happened in the last few days.”

Robotnik doesn’t move, but his white-knuckled grip on the bedsheets loosens slightly, and the crease between his eyebrows begins to smooth out.

Stone rubs at the back of his neck, trying to find the proper way to ask his question. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before tossing all logic straight out the window and blurting out; “Come to Canada with me.”

“What.”

He scoots closer on the bed, until he can place a hand over the doctor’s. “I’ve had more fun being trapped in a dinky little town with you for two and a half days than I’ve had in fourteen years of touring big cities with my career. I think you’re just about the smartest man in the world. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and I doubt I ever will again. And…” he takes a deep breath in, summoning the courage he needs to look Robotnik straight in the eyes. “… And I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again after today.”

Robotnik pulls his hand from Stone’s slowly, eyes narrowed. “Have you failed to consider the fact that I may have family waiting for me in Germany? Commitments? A career that I can’t simply pause to go gallivanting across the globe with a man twenty years my junior?”

Stone freezes, mind spinning into panicked overdrive, and he can’t stop the shaking in his hands, the sudden desperate need to gulp for air. Shit, shit, this was the stupidest idea ever , of course he has a life back in Germany, I’ve made a terrible mistake and he’s never going to speak to me again…

“Fortunately, none of those things are true.” Robotnik says lightly, moustache lifting in a cheeky grin. He grabs his own phone from the nightstand, types a quick message into it, and turns the screen towards Stone. “I’m free until mid-January. Now, which hotel would you recommend, the Elgin or the Chateau-”

“Ostie de crisse de Tabarnac!” Stone hurls his pillow at Robotnik, hitting him square in the face. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

As Robotnik splutters in the wake of the linen-based attack, Stone stares at him incredulously. “You would really come home with me for Christmas?”

The doctor takes a moment to smooth his hair back into a semblance of order, before pulling at the ends of his (still disheveled) moustache in what Stone has come to recognize as a nervous tic. “The only thing that awaits me at the end of a 13 hour flight is a cold, empty apartment and a rather large bottle of wine to render myself incoherent enough to ignore that fact. Why wouldn’t I choose a different option?” He looks away, running a hand over the rumpled bedsheet. “Of spending this ridiculous holiday with someone who’s company I actually, shockingly, enjoy?”

Stone nearly tackles him in eagerness to get his hands around the doctor’s shoulders in a grateful hug. The fact that said hug makes the bedsheet fall off them both is a convenient side effect, one that causes them to spend rather a longer amount of time in bed that morning than either had planned.

They end up stumbling out of the hotel, hauling Stone’s backpack and suitcase behind them, with barely enough to time to get to the airport. Fortunately, Kate the taxi driver is sitting just outside, cab already warmed and ready to go. She gives them a grin as they slide into the backseat. “Thought I’d missed you! Would hate it if I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to my two best customers.”

“We’d hate to not get a chance to say goodbye to such a talented and gracious driver.” Stone winks at her through the rear-view mirror, and she laughs.

“Enjoy your time in Green Hills, boys?”

Stone looks over at Robotnik, cheeks flushed from cold and exertion, and takes the doctor’s gloved hand. Robotnik squeezes it in return. “Very much.”

They pass the ride to the airport in idle chatter about their Christmas plans, Robotnik staring out the window and refusing to contribute, but he doesn't let go of Stone the entire ride.

As they pull up to the airport doors and Robotnik steps out, Kate stops Stone with a hand on his knee. “You look after that one. I think his small heart might have grown three sizes already.”

Stone hands her the fare, plus quite a bit extra. “I think you might be right.”

They join the small queue of travelers, eager to finally get home. Tinny Christmas carols echo over the ancient announcement system, and the atmosphere is alive with the other patrons excitement and anticipation. When they reach the desk, the agent behind it looks up and promptly flinches. It’s the same girl as the first night, the one saddled with the unfortunate task of informing Robotnik his luggage had been lost.

“Oh… uh… hello again, um… Sir.” She stammers. Robotnik glares back. “Uh… I have some good news!” She says in a false-cheery tone, and reaches beneath the desk to push something into view. A sleek black metal suitcase sits innocently on the dirty airport floor, emblazoned with a pair of red lights next to a single metallic R. “We found your bag! It was stuck inside the scanner machine this whole time! Messed up our equipment real bad, but we got it out eventually!”

Robotnik’s nostrils flare, and Stone can see him inhale sharply, preparing to unleash a verbal barrage on the innocent girl, who’s preservation instinct seems to have kicked in, as she’s already backing away slowly.

Stone steps between them. “We are very grateful you found the suitcase.” He says in a calm tone, attempting to defuse the situation before it can start. “Thank you for your efforts.”

A low growl echoes in Robotnik’s throat as the corner of his mouth curls up in a snarl. He starts speaking in a low, dangerous voice, and Stone frantically tries to steer him away, but the doctor stands his ground, staring straight at the agent with a look that suggests hes trying to telepathically set her on fire. “Du bist eine Niete. Du bist eine Null! Cerebral minderperfundiert!”

“Thank you very much we are going now!” Stone blurts out, cutting across Robotnik’s tirade as he swipes their tickets off the counter and practically body-checks the doctor and his suitcase away from the desk.

Robotnik mutters venomously all the way through security, earning him an extra swipe with the metal detecting wand by a nervous guard, but he’s quieted down by the time they take their seats in the waiting area beyond. The sky is ice blue without a hint of cloud, and Stone can just spot the flight attendants preparing everything for takeoff through the miniature windows of the waiting plane.

He looks down at the tickets in his hands. “Ivo.”

“Yes?” Robotnik looks over.

“Your first name is Ivo. I didn’t know that.”

“Not many do. You should feel honored.” The doctor plucks his ticket from Stone’s lap. “And should you ever decide to divulge that information, I can promise retribution will be swift and painful.”

“Got it.” Stone holds up his own ticket for Robotnik to see. “Aban, by the way. My first name.”

“Aban.” Robotnik says the word like he’s tasting it. “Suits you.”

When the plane boards, Robotnik slides into the seat next to Stone with a look at the flight attendant that dares her to ask to see his ticket. (She scurries away down the isle without comment.)

Stone sleeps through most of the flight, waking up halfway through to find his head has migrated onto Robotnik’s chest. The doctor is working on something one-handed on a tablet, numbers and calculations and images flying by faster than Stone can process. What he does process is the sensation of Robotnik gently running a thumb over his collarbones in a repetitive, soothing motion. He closes his eyes, letting the sensation lull him back to sleep with a smile on his face.

They land just after sunset, Stone’s phone trilling with a flood of text messages the moment he turns it on.

“My sister’s coming to pick us up.” He snorts at the plethora of emojis attached to each message – half of them inquisitive, half suggestive. “She’s eager to find out more about the mysterious foreign man I’m bringing home.”

“Oh? And what will you tell her?” Robotnik stands, stretching his long legs with a grateful groan.

Stone considers his options as he retrieves his bag from the overhead bin. “That he’s a handsome German doctor who speaks nine languages, has mastered technology beyond our wildest dreams…” He pauses with a teasing smirk. “… And forgets to pack warm enough clothes.”

The moment they enter the terminal, Stone is tackled by a blur of ski jacket and jeans that eventually stops clinging to his neck long enough to resolve itself into the shape of his sister.

“Finally! Thought you’d decided to stay down there after all. Your nephews have been bugging me all day, made me promise not to start dinner until Uncle Aban came home.” She spots Robotnik over his shoulder and marches over to circle him, hands on her hips. “This the one that you mentioned?”

Stone moves to stand next to the doctor. “I’d like you to meet Doctor Robotnik, my…” He pauses, realizing they haven’t actually discussed what they are, if Robotnik even wants to put a label on this thing between them.

Robotnik laces his fingers with Stone’s. “Fester Freund. Copain.” He smiles. “Boyfriend.”