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Dr. Ivo Robotnik was the most famous surgeon in the country. Well-known for his five PhDs, high IQ and a perfect operations record (operations in the sense of surgeries), Robotnik's patients knew their life was in good hands before they were put under. He could pull off even the most intricate procedures, steady hands and steely concentration never faltering. That all changed when he was called in for an emergency surgery just after midnight.
"What's the situation?" he asked as he washed his hands, putting on his gloves, gown and surgical cap.
"Patient came in half an hour ago with an abdominal gunshot wound. He's in shock but stable."
"Exit wound?"
"There is one. The bullet was likely left at the crime scene, but the CT scan showed some pretty severe internal bleeding."
"Should be a piece of cake," the doctor replied, more to himself than anyone else, before pushing open the doors to the operating room. The anesthesia team was already working on putting him under, and as Robotnik got a closer look at his pale face, his heart stopped still. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. For the man lying on the operating table was none other than his old assistant Stone.
They had worked together for many years before the man suddenly quit to pursue another career, which he was rather secretive about. Robotnik wondered if his new job was the reason he got shot. But there was no time to dwell on it. Stone was losing a lot of blood, and now was not the time to get personal. He had a job to do.
Trying to ignore the fact that the man on the table was someone dear to him, Robotnik focused on disinfecting the abdomen, preparing to make an incision.
"Scalpel," he said, holding out his hand. Taking the tool the scrub tech handed him, he made a large incision from below the chest to the pelvis. He opened the abdominal wall carefully, layer by layer, not wanting to cause even more damage to the poor man's organs. As soon as the suction device removed the pooled blood, Robotnik immediately found the issue. "Damaged liver," he announced. "May need a hepatectomy. Not sure yet."
Upon further examination, Robotnik let out an almost silent sigh of relief as he concluded the damage was too minimal for the aforementioned procedure. Stone could keep his liver for now.
Robotnik began to pack it up with gauze to stop the bleeding. Stone had lost a lot of blood, and it was all over Robotnik's hands. If he slipped up, there would be literal and figurative blood on his hands. But the doctor was confident that Stone would survive. He was lucky as hell, really — the bullet hadn't hit any major blood vessels, because if it had, he would have been in serious trouble.
No matter how much gauze he used, the blood kept soaking through. The doctor began to sweat, though he kept his breath and hands steady. "I need more supplies," he said calmly, and was soon handed more gauze. His heart rate steadied when the extra gauze seemed to do the trick.
Once Robotnik was assured that the bleeding was under control, he got to work rinsing the area to prevent infection and stitching the wound back up again with the good ol' needle and suture. This was the easiest part, almost therapeutic to him: the repetitive in and out, over and under until the wound was cleanly stitched back up.
"Monitor him closely," he told the nurse as he placed down the tools, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Pain meds, fluids and antibiotics — you know the drill."
The nurse nodded, and before he knew it, Stone was being rolled away again; away from the operating room, away from the doctor. The procedure had taken 90 minutes, but it had all happened so fast that Robotnik wondered for a moment if it really had been his former assistant on the table in front of him.
When Stone came to, he was groggy and confused. He was faintly aware of bright white lights above him, his vision blurring everything together. His throat felt like he had drunk a tall glass of sand. As he slowly came to, he tried his best to remember how he had ended up in what he could only assume was a hospital bed. This proved a difficult task, so he instead focused on his surroundings. He noted the IV drip in his hand, which explained why his head felt like a cumulonimbus cloud. So full yet so empty at the same time.
Clouds. It had been cloudy yesterday. Raining even. He had gone to work in the rain. Why did that feel relevant? Stone was grasping at strings here, but it was a start. He went to work...no, a mission. He had been on a mission yesterday. The cloud in his head rained down memories like a waterfall as it all came rushing back to him at once: Stone had been on a mission with two other agents, and things had not gone according to plan. He could recall the scene now, the fight, the gunshot, the hot pain shooting through his body as his consciousness began to slip. He must have been fading in and out after that, because the memories of the hospital were more like a blooper reel. Ambulance doors closing behind him, being surrounded by doctors and nurses and wheeled along through corridor after corridor, the lights making his eyes hurt. Then a mask being put over his face as someone spoke to him calmly and reassuringly as though he wasn't bleeding out on the table. And now he was here, awake.
Stone groaned as he attempted to sit up, a wave of nausea rolling over him. His limbs ached from lying still for goodness knows how long, his stomach only throbbing dully. He lifted the hospital gown to inspect the damage, revealing a long vertical scar right down his torso. He quickly pulled it down again when the door opened, and someone all too familiar walked in.
"Ah, good. You're awake. I'll fetch the nurse," Robotnik spoke, turning to leave before he had even fully entered the room. Almost as if Stone had caught him off guard.
"...Doctor?" he asked hoarsely.
Robotnik paused in the doorway, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Good morning."
Stone opened his mouth the respond, but a sound not unlike a chainsaw starting up came out instead. Robotnik let out a barely noticable sigh, moving over to the bedside table to hand Stone the glass of water standing ready. Stone took it in shaky hands, gulping it down eagerly.
"Easy there. Don't choke," Robotnik replied, a softness to his voice Stone had never heard in all his years of working with him. He was silent for a moment before adding: "Long time no see, Stone. Or is it 'Agent Stone' now?"
"Just Stone is fine," the man replied, unsure what else to say. After so many years of not seeing one another he had so many things he wanted to say to the doctor, but with his head still fuzzy, he couldn't bring himself to form a longer sentence just yet. As the surgeon gave him a polite nod and left the room, Stone rubbed his forehead with his free hand in frustration. Of course it was him. Why did it have to be him?
They had not parted on bad terms, exactly, but the situation had always felt odd to Stone. It hurt him to leave the doctor like that, he had truly enjoyed working for the man, but he had reached a point in his life where he realised that medicine was not the right career path for him. Robotnik had always hated Stone's secrecy, but he wasn't allowed to disclose very much about his government job, much to the doctor's annoyance. He knew the doctor must have many questions for him (such as how the hell he ended up getting shot), and Stone had no idea how to answer them. Especially not in his current condition.
A minute later, Robotnik returned with a nurse at his heels, pulling up a chair next to Stone's bed while the nurse checked his vitals. "So, Mr Stone. How are you feeling?" he asked. Always the professional.
"Groggy," Stone replied honestly. "Disoriented. A bit confused."
"Yes, that's normal after anesthesia. It should wear off soon. How is the pain?"
"I'll survive," Stone replied as the nurse pressed a stethoscope to his chest. If she noticed his slightly increased heart rate, she didn't say anything.
Robotnik raised an eyebrow at his comment. "No need to keep up the tough guy image, Sto— Mr Stone. You're on quite a high dose of morphine at the moment. Please do your best to describe your pain so we can adjust the dosage."
Stone scratched his neck nervously, clearing his throat. "Well...pretty much my whole body is aching. The pain in my stomach is dull, but not gone completely."
Robotnik nodded, producing a notepad and pen from his breast pocket and jotting down a few things.
"Um...doctor? What exactly happened to me?" Stone asked, hesitating when the doctor looked up from his notes. He followed the doctor's gaze as the nurse left the room.
"You were shot, Stone," Robotnik said bluntly once the door had closed behind her. "Damaged your liver. I had to perform an emergency surgery to stop the bleeding, but as you can see from your living and breathing form, you are stable now. Recovery will take a while, though."
"How long?" Stone asked immediately.
Robotnik stroked his moustache in thought. "Let's see...no eating for a day or two. You'll need to stay here for a week, give or take, so we can monitor you. The pain should be gone in a few weeks—"
"Weeks?!"
"—and the full recovery will take two or three months," Robotnik finished.
"Months?!" Stone asked exasperatedly. "I can't be on the field for several months? They need me out there!"
"Calm yourself, agent. Maybe if you hadn't got yourself shot in the first place, you wouldn't have this problem."
Stone shut his mouth, grinding his jaw a little. The doctor was right, of course. He was always right, infuriatingly.
"Well, I should go," Robotnik said, standing up. "See that button there? Press it if you need a nurse. Otherwise, I will check in every now and then to see how you're doing."
"You're not staying?" Stone asked, barely masking his disappointment.
"To do what, exactly?" Robotnik asked, a small amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"To...catch up..." Stone trailed off, realising how stupid he sounded. He blamed the drugs for fogging up his brain. A part of him knew it wasn't just the drugs.
"Still funny as ever, Stone," Robotnik replied, tucking his notepad and pen back into his pocket. "No, I must go. I have other patients to tend to as well, you know." The way he emphasised the other was clearly meant in a mocking way, and yet somehow, it brought Stone comfort. He had missed this. Their old dynamic.
"...Okay," he said after a brief silence. "Don't mind me. I'll just be dying of boredom in the hospital bed."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Stone. I'm sure your thoughts will entertain you somehow. Toodle-oo!" And so the doors closed behind him, leaving Stone to overanalyse their conversation to his heart's content.