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The lab was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of machinery and the faint click of Agent Stone's polished shoes against the sleek, sterile floor as he moved about. Robotnik sat hunched over his latest invention, his fingers twitching over the holographic interface, but his mind was elsewhere.
A peculiar, infuriating sensation had plagued him all day.
It had started when Stone entered the room that morning, carrying a fresh latte in one hand, perfect as always, and a clipboard in the other. Robotnik had barely glanced up from his work when it hit him: an unfamiliar fluttering in his chest, as if his heart was strangely moving around like a moth around a lantern. He’d dismissed it as nothing, a mere distraction caused by the caffeine deficiency he had yet to remedy.
But then it happened again. And again.
Every time Stone spoke, every time their hands brushed as he handed over a latte or an updated progress report, Robotnik felt... off. His heart rate spiked, his palms grew clammy, and his hyperactive brain seemed to stutter in a way that was entirely unacceptable.
It was something he had never experienced before, and he didn't even know what it was.
By mid-afternoon, the symptoms had escalated. He found himself hyper-aware of everything about Stone: the precise angle of his carefully groomed beard, the subtle change in his scent - something strangely resembling sandalwood, Robotnik's brain supplied, rather unhelpfully - and even the faint scratch of his pen as he filled out forms. And the small noises Stone made while working, his little hums and the quiet way he would talk himself through complicated formulas, they were driving Robotnik insane.
"Agent Stone," Robotnik barked suddenly, startling the younger man.
Stone looked up from his clipboard, his ever-placid expression tinged with mild concern. "Yes, Doctor?"
Robotnik swiveled his chair to face him, his sharp eyes narrowing. "What, pray tell, is that smell?"
Stone blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Smell, sir?"
"Don't play coy with me!" Robotnik shot to his feet, pacing in tight, erratic circles. "That... odor. It's new. Subtle. Not unpleasant. But different. What is it? Did you switch soaps? Perfume? Or have you been handling a new chemical compound without informing me?"
Stone cleared his throat, his cheeks darkening as Robotnik paced. "It's, uh, a new cologne. I thought I'd try something different."
Robotnik froze mid-step, his mind racing. New cologne? Of course! That explains why I've been - no, wait, that doesn't explain anything at all.
He turned back to Stone, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Stop it."
"Stop what, sir?"
"Whatever it is you're doing that's... distracting me. I don't have time for distractions, Stone. I'm on the brink of a breakthrough - an invention that will redefine the laws of physics as we know them! I can't have you wafting about with your... sandalwood nonsense."
Stone tilted his head, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth - and those terrible symptoms came back with a rather strong vengeance. "I'll, uhm, keep that in mind, sir."
Stone had excused himself for an hour before coming back with damp hair and his pleasant scent - and why did Robotnik think of that as how to describe it? - returned to how it normally was.
But despite the sandalwood nonsense being dealt with, the symptoms persisted.
Later that evening, Robotnik locked himself in his private quarters, determined to get to the bottom of his condition. He sat in front of a wall of screens, each displaying a different medical database. His fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting his symptoms with clinical precision.
"Increased heart rate, sudden perspiration, involuntary attention to irrelevant details," he muttered, typing furiously. "No prior history of cardiovascular or neurological disorders. Possible causes: rare tropical diseases? Exotic allergens? Something Stone brought back from his last grocery run? Assassination attempt by that man I accidentally proposed to while on a totally evil vacation in Białystok?"
He hit enter, and the search results filled the screen. Robotnik leaned closer, scanning the list with growing frustration. "Heat stroke? Absurd. I haven't set foot outside in weeks. Anxiety? Preposterous. I don't do anxiety. Lo- love?!"
He snorted loudly, scrolling past that option without a second glance, rolling his eyes at the notion. "Ridiculous. Love is a chemical imbalance, a biological weakness designed to propagate the species. I am above such base impulses."
And yet...
The thought lingered, unwelcome but persistent. Robotnik slammed his fist on the desk, the screens flickering in response. "No. It's a disease. It has to be. Something terminal, no doubt - a horrifyingly rare condition that only I could contract."
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as a wicked grin spread across his face. "Yes. A terminal illness. Something so rare, so insidious, that even the world's leading scientists will be baffled by it. They'll name it after me. 'Robotnik Syndrome.' I'll be remembered forever, not just for my genius, but for surviving a disease that would destroy any lesser man."
With that he pushed his chair away from the desk, twirling around as it rolled across the floor, a grin on his face at the thought of his looming medical stardom.
By the next morning, after the strangeness around his cologne the previous day, Dr. Robotnik was a whirlwind of erratic behavior. Stone, as usual, bore the brunt of it with unwavering patience. He had learned long ago that questioning the doctor’s eccentricities rarely yielded productive results. It usually just ended with Stone pinning himself to the wall while Dr. Robotnik leaned so close to him that their noses brushed and Stone could see every detail in his irises.
Stone rather liked being in that position, if he was to be honest.
Still, today seemed... different.
"Stone!" Robotnik’s voice echoed through the lab as he stormed in, his lab coat flaring dramatically. "Cancel all appointments. Clear my schedule. And for the love of all that is science, double my latte intake. I’ll need the extra fortification to survive this day."
Stone set down the blueprints he was reviewing carefully, right next to the Doctor's prepared latte, "Is something wrong, Doctor?"
"Wrong?" Robotnik whirled to face him, his expression a mix of manic glee and theatrical despair. "Of course something’s wrong, you utter buffoon! I’m dying!"
Stone froze, his heart freezing in his chest. "You’re... dying?"
"Yes, yes, yes! Isn’t it obvious? Look at me!" Robotnik gestured wildly at himself. "The pallor of my skin, the faint bags under my eyes, the slight tremor in my left hand. These are the hallmarks of a man whose brilliance has burned too brightly, too quickly. Oh, the tragedy."
Stone frowned, stepping closer, scanning the Doctor from head to toe. "You look the same as always, Doctor. Maybe you’ve just been overworking yourself-"
"Nonsense!" Robotnik interrupted, waving him off. "My body is a temple. A fortress of unparalleled intellect and physical fortitude. No, this is something far more sinister. A disease so rare that no one - no one but me, of course - could ever hope to identify it."
Stone’s concern deepened. "Have you seen a doctor?"
Robotnik arched an eyebrow, giving Stone a withering look, as if he had just asked the most idiotic question the Doctor had ever heard. "I am a doctor, Stone."
"I meant a medical doctor," Stone clarified patiently.
Robotnik scoffed. "Medical doctors are quacks and charlatans. They wouldn’t recognize true genius if it bit them on their overpriced stethoscopes. No, I’ll diagnose myself, thank you very much. And when I do, the scientific community will bow before me in awe of my resilience."
Stone sighed, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. "If you say so, sir. But if you need anything-"
"I’ll call for you," Robotnik finished with a dismissive wave. "Now go. And I thought I told you to stop wearing that cologne. It’s too... distracting."
Stone looked down at himself for a moment, his brow furrowing. "But... this is my regular cologne, sir."
"Well, stop wearing it anyways!"
Robotnik spent the rest of the day conducting increasingly bizarre experiments to "test" the severity of his illness. Stone, despite his better judgment, followed along.
He supposed that it was better safe than sorry, if the Doctor really was sick, then Stone would of course be delighted to aid in procuring a cure for his mysterious ailment.
"Hold this," Robotnik ordered, thrusting a device into Stone’s hands.
Stone looked down at the machine - a tangled mess of wires and blinking lights, a mess that Stone couldn't make sense of in terms of function. "And... what is this, Doctor?"
"A prototype for my cardiac stability analyzer," Robotnik said, strapping a series of electrodes to his chest - he had somehow taken off his top without Stone noticing, and Stone had to fight to keep his gaze trained on the Doctor's face. "It will measure the irregularities in my heart rate when exposed to external stimuli."
Stone hesitated. "What kind of stimuli?”
Knowing Robotnik's eccentricity, he was about to tell Stone to shock him with enough power to kill a giraffe, or make him enough coffee to win a marathon with a sloth.
Robotnik smirked, as if the answer was painfully obvious. "You, of course."
"Me?"
Or... that.
"Yes, you! Don’t play dumb, Stone. You’re clearly the catalyst for my condition. Every time you enter the room, my heart rate spikes. When you hand me a latte, my hands shake. When you smile-" Robotnik cut himself off, his face twisting strangely. "Anyways, so we will get to the root cause of the problem."
Stone blinked, taken aback. "When I smile... what?"
Was this some strange exhaustion-fueled dream?
"Nothing!" Robotnik barked, his voice rising an octave, the barest hint of pink dusting across his pale cheeks. "Just - just stand there and look... Stone-like."
Stone suppressed a laugh. "If you insist, sir."
Robotnik flipped a switch on the device. It emitted a series of beeps, followed by a loud, dissonant screech. He winced. "Fascinating. My heart rate has increased by 27% since you entered the room. This confirms it - your presence exacerbates my condition!"
Stone tilted his head. "Or... maybe you're not sick at all? It sounds like you’re just nervous about something."
"Nervous?!" Robotnik’s laugh was sharp and incredulous. "I’m not some lovesick teenager at a school dance, Stone. I am Dr. Ivo Robotnik, the greatest mind of the 21st century. I don’t get nervous. What a terribly human emotion."
Stone’s smile softened. "Of course. If you say so, sir."
The breaking point came that evening, when Robotnik sat alone in his quarters, reviewing the data from his experiments. No matter how he analyzed it, no matter what variables he adjusted, the conclusion remained the same.
It wasn’t a disease. It wasn’t a rare tropical illness or an exotic allergen.
It was... him.
Robotnik groaned, slumping back in his chair. "This can’t be happening. I don’t get attached. I don’t feel. I’m a perfectly calibrated machine, immune to trivial human emotions. And yet..."
His mind conjured an image of Stone: his calm demeanor, his ever-present loyalty, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The way he looked when he was pinning himself to a wall, his dark eyes looking up at Robotnik- nope. Robotnik scowled, shaking his head as if to banish the thought.
This certainly felt like a disease, he couldn't escape it!
"This is unacceptable," he muttered. "Completely, utterly unacceptable. I’ll have to fire him. Yes, that’s it. Fire him and hire someone less... distracting. Maybe a robot. Or an intern. Or a robot intern. Robot interns don't smell nice. Or smile. Or make me perfectly crafted Austrian goat milk lattes. Perfect, just what I need to cure me from this... malady."
But even as he said the words, Robotnik felt a pang of something unfamiliar - a heaviness in his chest, a tightness in his throat. He clenched his fists, glaring at the ceiling.
"Curse you, Stone," he whispered. "Curse you and your stupid cologne."
Robotnik paced his lab the following morning, muttering to himself. His plan was simple: confront Stone, fire him, and erase every trace of his existence from the lab.
It was the only logical solution to his predicament.
But when Stone entered, holding Robotnik’s morning latte with his usual calm precision and a soft smile settled upon his lips, and all of Robotnik’s carefully rehearsed words evaporated.
"Good morning, Doctor," Stone said, his tone warm and familiar. "I have your latte, just how you like it."
Robotnik froze, his brain scrambling for a response. He settled for glaring, crossing his arms and tapping his foot against the floor. "You’re late."
Stone raised an eyebrow, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "I’m five minutes early, Doctor."
"Exactly. I expect punctuality to the second, Stone. If you can’t manage that, then perhaps you’re not fit for this position."
This was proving to be much more complicated that Robotnik had planned.
Stone frowned, setting the latte down on the table. "Is there something wrong, Doctor?"
Robotnik opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught in his throat. He stared at Stone, his frustration building as he took in the man’s steady gaze, his faint smile, the way he stood there, radiating calm in the face of Robotnik’s chaos.
God, he was perfect.
"Everything is wrong!" Robotnik burst out, throwing his hands in the air. "You’re wrong, Stone! You’re a walking, talking, latte-making disaster! I can’t think when you’re around. My heart races, my palms sweat, my mind - my genius mind - turns into mush! Do you understand what that means?"
Stone blinked, looking utterly bewildered. "I... not... not really, sir."
Robotnik stalked closer, jabbing a finger at Stone’s chest. "It means you’re infectious! A virus! A parasite that’s wormed its way into my perfectly calibrated system. You’ve ruined me, Stone. Ruined me!"
Stone stared at him for a long moment, and then, to Robotnik’s horror, he started to laugh, his hand rising to cover his mouth as that delightful sound escaped his lips.
"What’s so funny?" Robotnik snapped, his face turning red.
"Doctor," Stone said, still chuckling. “You’re not dying, and I certainly don't think you're ruined. I... I think it's something else."
"Oh, no?" Robotnik scoffed, stepping back. "Then what do you call this? I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, my heart’s skipping beats like a faulty metronome, and you’re saying I’m not ruined? Do you have a better explanation, Stone?"
Stone hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, his usual composure slipping for the first time. "Well... Doctor, maybe... Uhm, it sounds like you’re in love."
Robotnik recoiled, stumbling back a step as if Stone had physically shoved him. "In... what?"
"In love," Stone repeated, his voice gentle. "It sounds like you care about me, even if you don’t realize it. That’s why you feel the way you do. That's can happen when you work with someone, it doesn't have to be... y'know." Stone shrugged, motioning to the air as if it explained anything - which it didn't.
Robotnik gaped at him, his mind racing. "No. No, that’s impossible. I don’t- I can’t-" He took a step back, shaking his head furiously. "Love is illogical. It’s messy, irrational, a distraction from progress. I don’t do love, Stone. I do science. Love is not science."
Stone smiled softly. "Well, maybe it’s not as illogical as you think."
"It is illogical, and if you can't help me deduce the root cause of this illness, then perhaps I should find someone who can," Robotnik snapped, though the words felt hollow even to him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he struggled to keep his expression neutral, to push down the maddening warmth that crept up his neck every time Stone met his gaze.
Stone's brow furrowed, his words slow as he squinted at Robotnik, "Sir, are you... firing me?"
"Yes. No. Maybe!" Robotnik threw his hands up in exasperation, pacing erratically. "I haven’t decided yet! What I do know is that you’ve become a distraction, Stone. A liability to my brilliance. I can’t have you prancing around with your calm professionalism and your maddeningly perfect lattes, throwing my equilibrium into chaos!"
Stone blinked, visibly trying to process the tirade. "I... see. So, my efficiency is a problem now?"
"Precisely!" Robotnik spun around to face him, jabbing a finger in the air. "You’re too efficient. Too... infuriatingly competent. It’s unnatural, Stone! You're perfect! And no one should be that... perfect."
Stone hesitated, and then, to Robotnik’s utter horror, his lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Are you saying I’m too good at my job, sir?"
"Don’t flatter yourself!" Robotnik barked, his face turning an alarming shade of red if the heat he was feeling was any indication. "This is a strictly professional matter, nothing more. I just can't focus when you're around, and that is clearly a professional issue!"
Stone paused, a flicker of something almost imperceptible crossing his face before his smirk softened into a smile. "Well, if that's what you feel is best, sir," he said quietly, nodding to Robotnik. "I'll go and pack my things."
Robotnik’s heart skipped, his chest tightening in a way that felt suspiciously like panic. No. That... that wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He needed Stone to argue, to fight, to do something that would justify keeping him around. Instead, Stone was being infuriatingly reasonable, as always. Curse him.
"Wait," Robotnik barked, louder than he intended. Stone stopped mid-turn, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Yes, Doctor?"
Robotnik opened his mouth, then closed it again, his carefully crafted words dissolving into a tangled mess. His fingers twitched at his sides, his mind racing through a thousand calculations that all led to the same inevitable conclusion.
"Sandalwood," he blurted, his voice cracking. Stone blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"The cologne," Robotnik said, his voice dropping to a mutter. "You should wear it again. And stay. If... If you want to."
Stone was his assistant, for crying out loud! Why was he asking him to stay? He didn't have a choice!
Stone tilted his head, his lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. "I thought you said it was distracting."
"It is," Robotnik admitted, his gaze darting to the floor. "But it’s... tolerable. In small doses. Sometimes."
For a moment, there was silence, the hum of the machinery the only sound in the room. Then, Stone stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor. Robotnik forced himself to look up, his sharp gaze meeting Stone’s steady one.
"Doctor," Stone began, his tone gentler than Robotnik had ever heard it. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to keep me here."
Robotnik’s jaw tightened. His pride warred with something deeper, something he couldn’t name but refused to let win. "Don’t flatter yourself, Stone," he snapped, though the usual bite in his words was conspicuously absent. "You’re simply... efficient. Replacing you would be an inconvenience. Robots cannot make Austrian goat milk lattes like you can. They don't have an eye for art."
Stone’s smile widened, a rare, genuine expression that made Robotnik’s chest ache in a way he didn’t understand. He took another step closer, close enough that Robotnik could see all of the faint flecks of varying shades in his dark eyes.
"Understood, Doctor," Stone said softly, his voice low and warm. "I’ll stay. For efficiency’s sake."
And then, without thinking, without calculating, without planning, Robotnik leaned in and kissed him.
That was most certainly not a part of the plan, and Robotnik was certainly panicking.
It was brief, almost clinical - a quick press of lips that was more about silencing his own spiraling thoughts than anything else. But when he pulled back, Stone was still there, his expression unreadable, his lips slightly parted in surprise, a soft noise escaping him.
"Don’t read into that," Robotnik said hastily, his cheeks burning as he dusted his suit off - simply to keep his hands busy, but nobody else needed to know that. "It was... a test. Yes, a test. To confirm my hypothesis."
Stone blinked, then chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down Robotnik’s spine. "And what’s the conclusion, Doctor?"
Robotnik hesitated, his brilliant mind suddenly useless. Finally, he scowled, turning on his heel and stalking back to his workstation. "The data is inconclusive," he muttered. "Further testing will be required."
"Do you still think you're dying, Doctor?" Stone asked, although the sparkle in his eyes told Robotnik that his question was of a more teasing nature rather than worry.
"...no," he muttered finally, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. "Maybe - and I mean maybe - there’s some... truth to what you’re saying. But if this is love, Stone, it’s your fault. And you’d better fix it." He punctuated the declaration with a sharp sniff and an imperious lift of his chin.
Stone’s smile widened into something brighter, though he quickly tempered it with his usual professionalism. "I’ll do my best, Doctor."
Robotnik grumbled under his breath, covering the topics of "emotional sabotage" and "breaches of protocol," but his indignation lacked its usual venom. A tiny, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he turned away, muttering, "Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous."
Behind him, Stone’s laughter echoed through the lab, warm and unguarded, and for the first time in days, Robotnik didn’t mind the distraction.
Love, what a most ridiculous notion.
Weeks later, Robotnik had somewhat adjusted to his "condition," though he refused to admit it outright. Stone remained at his side, as loyal and steady as ever, and the lab returned to its usual rhythm.
If their stools in the labs were closer than ever, so close that their shoulders brushed while they worked, neither mentioned it. And if the rather ridiculous amount of hearts drawn on his latte made Robotnik smile despite his hardest efforts to remain calm and cool, Stone didn't say anything.
And, sure, maybe Robotnik kissed Stone again, once or twice. Or ten times. Or twenty. Or - well, honestly, he had lost count. But it was purely for scientific reasons, nothing else.
One day, as Stone handed him his morning latte, Robotnik paused, glancing at him.
"Your cologne," he said abruptly.
Stone tilted his head. "Yes?"
"I like it," Robotnik muttered, looking away. "It's nice."
Stone’s grin was small but genuine. "Thank you, Doctor."
His symptoms were still there, but they now something that Robotnik would almost call... enjoyable. They were making him be nicer to Stone, of all things. A most peculiar thing.
Robotnik took a sip of his latte, hiding his smirk behind the cup.
Love, it seemed, wasn’t as terminal as he thought.