Chapter Text
Stone doesn't drop fully off the suppressants for the rest of the time in Green Hills. He doses himself minimally with the oral ones. Keeps him in check just enough while also not blocking his scent like an injectable high-grade dose. Its a decent balance, prevents any more spectacular failings of biology at the very least.
His face flushes with the thought of it, indignation and embarrassment bubbling up within. His own little terrible secret, compounded on to everything else that he is.
The doctor comes back three months later. He gets the alert through his watch. Throws everyone out of the cafe in record time. Sends off a care package and then injects himself with double the standard dose of suppressants, just to make sure. Every part of him needs to be set in place, there can be no failings, no missteps, not with the doctor finally back.
And back he is. Different, more weathered and weary and a off his rocker but still incredible, still Robotnik.
Maybe he's just grown more sensitive, more in-tune having dropped the dose for so long, but he swears the doctors scent is stronger. That sharp ozone and a cool clear smell, he reminds Stone of a storm, devastating and wild and unpredictable. A veritable force of nature. Its intoxicating. A shiver runs down his spine and Stone clamps down on the rest of his reactions. Presents the man with the latte he prepped so carefully and everything else follows suit.
The doctor was spectacular with the emerald. If Stone had thought he was a force of nature before than this was something beyond, something divine. It only solidified in his mind his need to stay the way he was, he had to keep up with Robotnik. Had to make sure he was right there on the off-step, no miscalculations, no biological intrusions. Easy, dependable. What was expected of him.
Like any good Icarus, the doctor fell.
Stone hadn't been there in time to catch him. Had pulled his own battered body from the rubble and gone digging. Found Robotnik, wonderfully, incredibly still alive, still breathing. That was all that mattered in the end. The thing he clung to when he dragged the man back to the CRAB.
Travelling and keeping him stable and surgeries and being on the run, dealing with his own injuries and the lingering effects of the chaos emerald. It kept him busy up until the CRAB was underwater and the doctor was unconscious and Stone was alone with his thoughts.
He had a small bunk built into the walls of the crab, hidden between the main center and the outer shell-like portion. It was compact, but serviceable. While the doctor was unconscious, he never slept there. Camped out on the couch or on particularly rough nights, a chair pulled up next to the bed. Indulging in the lingering scent of ozone that reminded him the doctor was right here, still okay. It was as much as he would let himself have.
Had anything gone wrong, one of the badniks or the many systems built into the space could have woken him up quickly from his bunk. But it wasn't something he could bring himself to do. Felt antsy and out of sorts when the doctor was out of his eye-line, wired and unable to sleep.
Instincts screwing around was all. So long being pressed down and then suddenly he had let the leash a little loose before tying it tight under his control again. Just needed to settle, get used to being like this again.
He kept up with the suppressant dosage, had a decent stash of injectable ones that he only needed to use every few months and oral doses as well. Occasionally he mixed the two, which anyone would tell you was a bad idea, damage to the endocrine system,messes with your instincts something fierce (more than the usual anyway) and the side-effects. But it was nothing he hadn't dealt with before, and any potential consequence was worth it in the end.
Stone needed to be here for the doctor, had to be steady and dependent and reliable just like always. So he adds the suppressants to the list of medical supplies he gathers up when he does his restocking adventures, builds up a decent stash squirreled away where the doctor won't care to look. It works well enough, its a system he's accustomed to. Built his life around this idea, this conception of who he was. Had let it slip in Green Hills and still flinches with the shame of how far he had fallen, won't let it happen again. Can't.
He focuses on keeping the doctor healthy, on maintaining the CRAB and the hive while Robotnik can't. It works well enough, soothes the part of him that feels unmoored and ruffled constantly. Always on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Its familiar at least.
Nearly a year into keeping up the charade in such close proximity and Stone has gotten very used to it. It helps that the doctor is a beta, notices less particularities about secondaries than an alpha or fellow omega would. Means the occasional slip up is okay. If his dose drops a little and the scent of coffee breaks through, its easy to mask through a latte or some other drink.
He keeps up cleaning in the CRAB, though the doctor won't let him in his bunk. Fine enough, he takes care of the rest of the space, makes him feel better at least. Attempts to coax the doctor into physical therapy early on, throws projects or ideas in the mans direction when he seems particularly low.
Robotnik's focus seems to be firmly on his shows and his games, streaming to a loyal group of devoted followers or 'egg-heads'. It seems to make him happy so Stone can stomach the discomfort and paranoia.
Stone doesn't nest, never did. Always felt not right, too soft and too suffocating, coffee and caramel and overwhelm. He just wasn't built for it, had accepted that fact a long time ago. It was better this way.
The closest he'll ever get is the way he maintains his living space, clean and orderly and put away proper. Not like no one lives there, but its purposeful. He likes the ritual of it, that's all, having a space he knows. Does his best not to bristle and get too rattled when the doctor makes a mess, refuses to let him clean up or move the space around or do much of anything really.
Its one of those days. And it shouldn't be bothering him this much. He tries to tamp down on the feeling, goes through the motions of making the doctor a latte and then sequestering himself in the workshop in the underbelly.
Tries to get some upgrades on his bike and a few other pieces he's been working on though its slow going. His mind is foggy at best and it feels like he's losing time, over-warm in the cramped space and unable to think. He's just cooped up is all, that and needs to properly sleep which has been evading him as of late.
He runs through the checklist of concerning suppressant abuse side effects and overlays them with his current state, nothing to indicate its killing him any more quickly than this kind of behaviour normally would and that's a risk he's accepted. Just another part of living the way he does is all.
Upstairs to give the doctor another latte and make some food. Spend some time cleaning the space in whatever way he can without inciting Robotnik's ire and then he sends himself to his bunk while the doctor is still awake and ranting to the camera.
Noise is nicely muffled with the metal panelling and insulation of the CRAB at least. The internal mechanics a pleasant hum he has gotten used to.
He changes his clothes three separate times as the fabric and feeling on his skin has him wrinkling his noise and a prickling sensation running through him. Out of sorts is all. Doesn't think anything of it, even as he shoves most of the things on his bed up towards the head, building up some kind of pile that has him cringing and thinking about the moment in Green Hills again.
Ridiculous. He's careful, been keeping up with his dose and everything. He'll take an oral suppressant in the morning just in case, but really, he's just tired and the doctor is in a mood which is making him feel out of sorts. He hates when it gets like this and there's nothing he can do, makes him feel useless. Shakes his head and buries his face into the pillow, lets his body curl in on itself and fall into a fitful sleep.
His internal clock wakes him up at some point later with a fever running through him, muscle aches and his heart drops to his stomach as recollection flows in through the fog.
Fuck.