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“Pin yourself to the wall.”
A familiar order for Aban to receive. A familiar action, pushing his hand against his own chest. And a familiar cold sneaks past his thick suit as his back slams against the metal wall.
He let a snarky comment slip from his mouth in one of the doctor’s many moments of rage. On a regular day, he’d know better. Bite his tongue, nod politely, and agree with Robotnik. But today there’s a lot on his mind. Today all he can focus on is how his suit sits around his hips and waist. How chubby and short he is. How, even though he’s been on testosterone for seven months and he’s got his binder on, all he sees when he looks in the mirror is a girl.
And when he looks at the doctor he sees… well, a man . A man with a tall and masculine build. Long legs and broad shoulders. Sharp facial features and rough stubble along his jawline.
Aban feels a pang of envy when looking at his boss. He’d give anything to look like him. To be able to wear clothes the way he does. Cloth hanging down in straight architectural lines. Not having dips and curves to sit in.
He doesn’t want this body anymore. He doesn’t want any of this anymore.
"What was that?" Robotnik snaps, jaw tense.
"What was what?" Aban replies, shifting his attention to Robotnik.
"That. That sound you made. You sighed. Why did you sigh?" He says, the wrinkles in his face screaming rage but the look in his eyes conveying some kind of softness.
"Oh uh," Aban hesitates.
"What's wrong?" The doctor presses.
"Nothing at all, doctor."
Robotnik’s jaw clenches again. This time tight enough to break a walnut between his teeth.
"Agent Aban Stone, stop being so selfishly secretive. You are to tell me what's going on in that tiny moronic brain of yours right this instant. That's an order," he growls.
“But, sir–”
“That’s–” the doctor hesitates and leans forward. “–an order.”
Another sigh slips out of Aban’s mouth.
“It’s just… trans stuff, sir.”
Robotnik watches as Aban’s eyes dart around the room, waiting for the doctor to say something or step back or shout at him for wasting his time with things that don’t concern him. The doctor knows Aban is trans. How could he not? Every document linked to him has his sex written down as female and his gender as male. It didn't take Robotnik's IQ of 300 or mass of PHDs to figure out what that meant.
“Well, go on,” Robotnik encourages. “I’m listening.”
Aban falters, eyes blinking rapidly. To say that wasn’t what he’d expected would be a major understatement.
“Oh, I… I guess I just don’t feel like… a man,” Aban shrugs. “None of my clothes sit right. I’m– I’m going through puberty at 25. I can't get through a sentence without a voice crack."
His voice cracks as he talks as if hearing its cue. The doctor stares back, still pinning Aban to the wall.
But in place of his usual scowl, is a frown that seems to convey worry more than anger.
"And every time I look at you I see everything I want. The way your suits look on you - that's what I want! I don't want it to sit in every god awful dip in my body," Aban sniffles, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, sir. If I can just have 5 minutes to recollect myself I'll be oka–"
"Agent Stone come with me," Robotnik finally steps back, walking towards his monitor and pulling up the camera.
Aban follows, shuffling his feet across the floor and keeping his head hung low.
"Look at the monitor, Stone. Tell me what you see."
When Aban looks up he sees himself. A badnik stationed above the doctor's desk blinks its red light, indicating its active camera.
Upon seeing himself, tears well up in his eyes. There it is. His chubby and feminine face. Staring right back at him
"It's me," he mumbles between shakey breaths.
"Yes, Stone. It is you," the doctor nods. "What else do you see?"
"I don't know, sir."
"I see an impeccable agent. My favourite agent. An expert barista who can make my lattes flawlessly 98.57% of the time."
Aban lets out a small, breathy laugh, looking down at his shoes.
"I see a dashing gentleman who looks fantastic in that charcoal suit. I see a man who's empathetic, something I could never be. I see a man who's strong and brave. Remember when you charged into Walters' office with the confidence of a full army just because I wasn't happy with my funding?"
"Yeah," Aban smiles and looks up at the doctor. "Yeah, I remember that."
"And – most importantly – I see a man. A strong, bold, manly man ," Robotnik smirks and nudges his agent's side.
Aban feels the tears resurfacing and resting in the corners of his eyes. Only this time they're accompanied by a wide and goofy smile as he charges forward to hug the doctor.
"You are a man, Aban. And anyone who says otherwise will be vaporised by my beautiful babies," Robotnik says, his head resting on top of Aban’s head as he returns the hug.
"Thank you, sir," Aban stands back and scratches the back of his neck. "I really appreciate it."
"You have permission to call me Ivo. Just this once."
Aban’s smile spreads wider, which he didn't think was possible.
"Thank you. Ivo."
"You're welcome. Now sit. I want to discuss this resentment you hold for your body. I'm sure I can design something to assist you if I have a good understanding of what the issue is," Robotnik collapses back into his chair, grabbing out his notepad. His confidence falters when he notices Aban’s hesitation. "If that's okay with you, of course."
Aban feels his lip quiver as the tears start to fall from his eyes. He'd never expected to receive such a warm and kind response to his own problems. Especially not from his boss. When he first mentioned being transgender to Robotnik, he'd received a grunt and was asked to leave him alone.
"Doctor, I would be thrilled to help you."
"Great. Can't have my favourite agent distressed, can I?" Robotnik turns to his notepad, writing 'Project Help Aban' at the top of his page.