Work Text:
……
He was staring at the ceiling fan again.
He wasn't totally sure how long he’d been doing that- or for that matter, how long he’d even been awake. Time blended in on itself a lot, so much so that the alarm clock going off directly beside his ear faded into a dull nothingness, and for a long time he considers not getting up at all, and just closing his eyes till he doesnt wake up anymore.
But that would be a pathetic way to go. And he knows someone wouldn’t approve.
So Stone gets up.
His feet hit the thick carpet and reality seems to finally amass itself into solid form. A dark, empty apartment. Dull light peeking through the cheap blackout curtains on his window. And that beep beep beep of his alarm is finally getting on his nerves.
He almost wants to slam his hand down into the pathetic piece of junk, throw it against the wall to vent some of his frustration…but instead he clicks the button silently, and feels every vertebrae in his back snap into place as he stands up to stretch. His neurons haven't quite come online yet- but he only needs a few of them to follow routine.
One: get dressed. He’d abandoned the habit of ironing his clothing the night before he wears them almost a month ago- as a consequence, the white button down and black khakis he finds on the floor are both wrinkled. But that’s alright. They’re clean, and under his apron they’ll look fine. That led into step two: look somewhat presentable.
Maybe once upon a time, ‘somewhat’ would have been the lowest rung he could possibly reach. Now? It took all the effort he had just to touch up his beard (he’d need to properly trim it soon) wash his face (god, those eyebags) and comb his hair back in a way that said he wasn't in dire need of a barber (you’re a fucking mess Stone.)
It was fine. He looked functional. Maybe not a well oiled machine- but machines didn’t maintain themselves. And without anyone to maintain him, he-
….
He needed some coffee. Immediately.
The thought pushed him out of the tiny bathroom attached to his bedroom, and out into the small living room/kitchen area/office he’d been spending virtually all of his spare time in. Robotic components were scattered across his couch, the coffee table, and the floor- all reminders of the projects he had to finish and finish quite soon.
The doctor’s manifesto lay open on the couch cushions where he last left off, marked by a torn cafe receipt a customer had forgotten to take. He’d read it thrice times over by now, but the instructions for some of the steps to a secret evil lab were quite…exstensive.
For now, he breezed past the half finished mechanics and opted to instead bring himself to the small coffee machine he kept in the apartment. You would think the owner of a 4½ star cafe (oh the lack of perfection hurt more than it should) would keep an especially high-quality machine for his personal drinks of choice- but no. Instead what waited for him was the dollar store coffee maker he’d bought months prior, about as cheap and compact as one could possibly find. He prided himself on being an exceptional barista of course…but maybe it felt right to punish himself this way. A reminder that good things would be earned, rather than given.
Maybe when he’d finished crafting the lab, he would reward himself with something better, but for now he watched as the machine began to fizzle and make that strange squealing noise he’d forced himself not to worry about, trying not to feel anything. He could feel his life force dripping away right along with the shots of bitter espresso being diffused into his stained coffee mug. Perhaps if he tried, if he willed himself to close his eyes, and focus on that smell of brewing coffee, he could make himself believe he wasn’t here.
And he did try. And for a moment, he was standing under the lights of a sterile lab in the early morning.
The scent of machine coolant mixed with the coffee, and all around him the hum of electricity buzzed in his ears. A hive of activity, connected and working at speeds only a few select minds could and would ever comprehend. The lab of a brilliant man, of a powerful and misunderstood man, and Stone was standing in it, and for just a moment things were okay…
…the angry beep of the coffee maker sliced his fantasy like cheap cardboard. Right. Back to the daily grind, you’ve wasted enough time already.
The coffee is, frankly, bad, but it is sufficient enough to be considered coffee, so it could be worse. Stone forces the scalding liquid down as quickly as he can without gagging, and tosses the mug perhaps a little haphazardly into the sink to wash later. He doesn't hear the sound of shattering ceramics, so it’s probably fine. Just keep going. What's the next step Stone? Right, open the shop, attempt to be semi approachable for a few hours to rake in some money, etc.
He nearly slips on his way down the stairs from the apartment, and silently curses himself for having not yet remodeled the steep stairs. They’d been built for aesthetic, not for practicality, and as such they were the type of polished hardwood that might as well have been lathered in soap for all the times he’d slid down them on particularly groggy mornings. He’d thought for ages about getting it carpeted, or at the very least a grit coating, but the change was one a person would make in a permanent residence.
As long as he breathed, this hicktown would not become permanent.
The shutters on the cafe windows sprinkled sunlight into the dark space, something wholly unwelcome in Stone’s grief-stricken moping. Still, he had to make his own funding now, and somehow his shop had become a hotspot in town once he’d torn it from the clutches of the previous owners. They’d been running the place into the ground- he had saved it.
He allowed himself one last deep breath before pulling the shutters up and reaching to flip the open sign- only to be met with the most atrocious display of pinks and reds he’d ever seen in his life from just across the street. The local shops seemed to have, virtually overnight, turned from respectable businesses to disgusting displays of hearts, roses and chocolate. What the hell had happened here? What fresh hell was this? He squinted in disgust at the storefronts across from his picture perfect cafe…only to see his answers painted in a window advertising tacky teddy bears and flowers.
Valentine’s Day Sale.
It was Valentine’s Day? That was impossible, January was only yesterday, he was certain of it- oh.
His watch- one carefully crafted for his personal and professional use by a certain doctor- displayed the date plainly, right along with the time, and his rapidly increasing heart rate. February 14th.
The days had gone and blended together so thoroughly, he’d hardly been aware it was February, let alone the mocking nightmare that was this. The day of love. The day of buying someone a card they'll never read, a bouquet that will wilt on their dining table and be forgotten. Love.
He found himself watching like some bird of prey as happy pairs flitted by, hand in hand, off to bask in the presence of the other and pretend their relationship would last past a year. What did they have to be happy for? He was a lone sentinel, standing on a barren ledge while the world below went on in their mindnumbing attempts to understand love. They couldn't know love. They wouldn't know it if it hit them like a slab of concrete. They didn’t know how it felt to care for someone, to care so deeply that your very existence orbits around them. And when they’re gone, how it feels to be cast out into space, like a planet suddenly ripped from the gravitational pull of its star.
Yes, he stood by that window for longer than he’d like to admit. Maybe it was another way to punish himself. Maybe it was a way to snuff his feelings out with rage. But either way, by the end of his staring he was beginning to wonder whether it was worth opening shop today at all. He could keep closed, feign emergency, spoil the dozen or so dates that would have transpired here today…yes, that sounded perfect. He drew the blinds and finally allowed himself to turn away from the window…only to feel a harsh buzz on his wrist. Ugh, he hated spam messages.
Stone glanced down at his smartwatch with a scowl and allowed himself only a half second to read whatever ridiculous bullshit he was being sent before deleting it- but his finger froze right over the button. The contact name blinking on the screen nearly made him stop breathing.
The doctor. His doctor.
His doctor was alive? Alive and contacting him, okay he definitely wasn’t breathing-
Stone felt his knees about to give out, and so rather than collapse he pressed his back to the wall and sunk to the polished tile floor. He was dizzy. His hands were trembling so badly he could hardly get his fingers to cooperate enough to tap the message box. He expected a text of some kind, but instead he was met with the strange image of a voice message on his screen.
If his brain hadn’t been running a mile a minute, he might have considered the fact the doctor had never in their entire time working together sent him a text with more than eight words, let alone a voice message that looked to be five minutes long.
Unfortunately, his mind could only focus long enough to frantically press play, and wait with baited breath to hear his doctor’s voice for the first time in months. He felt hysterical-...but the shaky voice of his doctor drew him back to reality as it came through the static of the speaker.
”Stone, if this message manages to reach you, know that I am alive and as well as I can be surrounded by overgrown fungi. Now, listen carefully…"
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“Personal log. It is day sixty-five in this mushroom infested hellscape- but my time here has finally begun to condense into my most ambitious project to date.”
Robotnik spoke into the digital pad on his wrist as he descended the makeshift ladder he had constructed from dried mushroom stems, a haphazard structure created purely in an effort to not waste any vital materials he’d scavenged from the prototype. His boots hit the soggy ground with a wet thud, and as he gazed up at the magnificent marvel of science above him, he felt that strong sense of pride every creation gave his ego.
By no means was it as impressive as his tax-funded machines, no- but the antenna stretching high above him was an impressive feat when he had so very little to work with. This was just a test model of course- an attempt to see if this latest manic idea would really work. He wished he could say he had total confidence in himself, but that was the attitude of a scientist that had died the moment he’d crashed on this nightmare planet. He couldn't afford to be reckless if he wanted any chance of getting back to earth, back to-...to, his machines.
“My latest escape attempt has come in the form of an interstellar antenna, one with the ability to make contact with the satellite based communication systems of earth in record time. Today marks the fifth test of its capabilities- note previous logs for reference- and boy do we have a good feeling about this one folks! So strap in, it’s gonna get wild.”
Ah lovely, he was talking to himself again. No doubt a side effect of his isolation- but it was better than talking to rocks.
Robotnik ended the personal log with a flourish of his hand, as he marched over to the clunky control panel he’d fashioned from the remains of his ship’s digital screens. If the setup was successful, he would be able to calculate the exact coordinates of his recipient, as well as the estimated time of message arrival. He cracked his knuckles with a grin that felt slightly more deranged every day he stayed here- and booted up his little miracle.
One second passed, then two, then forty-seven- but just as he was about to screech and slam his fists into the already cracked screens, the satellite whirred to life, and began maneuvering itself on course for a message path to earth. Oh, it was beautiful. He’d be out of here in no time! A maniacal chuckle burst from his throat as he began to zone in on coordinates…only to die in the stale air when no suitable recipient came to mind.
…a revolutionary technological system…and no one to send a message.
He couldn’t contact GUN, that was for certain. No doubt by now they’d erased him from every inch of the planet. And that meant Walters too was no go. Ugh, he hated how much that disappointed him.
He’d made this vivid picture in his mind over the past few weeks. But now he was here, and the picture was a reality like so many of his ideas…yet who would be waiting on the receiving end?
No one, as per the usual of his life. Not a soul to reply to his cry for help- and it was, at this point, a cry for help. He was sure that with time of course he could manage on his own, but the sooner he got assistance the faster he could be back on Earth to exact his revenge on that pesky overgrown rodent. And now, after weeks of manic building, testing and failing and testing again, his efforts amounted to zilch. Furthermore- and this was the one realization that seemed to stab him through the heart more than anything- even if he miraculously did have someone to contact, there was nothing any human on earth could do to assist him. How could any of those imbeciles ever have the complex neuron pathways necessary to contribute even a fraction to his rescue?
No, this was…pointless.
Robotnik let out a groan of frustration and let himself fall forward against the console, head thudding against the cold metal. Think, Ivo. This couldn’t be for nothing. Was there anyone? Anyone that would hear him, that would at least try to understand? No, their brains were all filled to the brim with rocks. They-
…
Rocks. Yes, yes of course, there was someone!
Ivo shoved himself back into an upright position as he began to tap frantically on his screens, searching for the satellite signature of the tracker he’d placed on his agent’s wrist oh so long ago. The blinking red dot flashing back at him gave the first true relief he’d felt in months, a quiet source of hope. He locked in on the signature, grinning ear to ear as the recording software began to run. Stone was no genius compared to him, yes, but compared to the rest of the idiotic population? Well, were Stone out there still, were he still as much of a loyal dog as he was the past fifteen years…at least he had someone he could use.
“Alright then agent, now listen carefully…”
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Stone felt like he was about to be sick.
He’d only gotten through the first two minutes of the message, but his eyes were so filled with tears that he could hardly see enough to press pause and give himself a moment to breathe.
Was this real? He’d expected instructions. Demands.
Not…not this. Not whatever painful joke this had to be.
His chest felt tight, like a vice had wrapped around his ribs and decided to deprive him of all oxygen. He could only force himself to breathe when black spots began to swim in front of his watery eyes- and by then he’d been sitting on the ground for who knows how long. He had to get up. Get up off the tile, find a more secure place to break down…but like hell if he could get his legs in working order now.
And yet…the dull blinking of his watch screen seemed to spur him on. A dizzy, but very real ambition goaded him to rise to his feet, and however shaken make his way toward the stairs to the apartment. With his steps so carefully calculated he had no trouble slipping this time around, but safe to say a mild concussion was the least of his concerns.
Stone took a purposeful gulp of air as he finally stumbled back into the forsaken domicile, trying and failing to pull himself together enough to not look pathetic. Too much. It was too much and yet his chest was screaming like it was on fire. He wanted to press play. He wanted to delete it. He wanted to listen to the doctor's voice on loop forever- though that part had always been true. He had always yearned, but never had he thought his efforts would be acknowledged by the very man he worshipped like a god.
He didn't seem so godly now. So feasible to touch, were he not trapped in intercosmic space, so painfully far out of reach. Stone needed. He needed…needed what? He needed his doctor…he needed his voice again, he wanted to hear that voice-
Once again Stone felt almost hysterical as his feet carried him back to the dark of his bedroom without order from his mind. It felt a little like he was having a fit of lunacy, with the way the world seemed to spin around him with no care for his wellbeing. It only seemed to entirely stop when his rattled form hit the mattress, and he squeezed his eyes shut so tightly the pressure hurt his head. He would not crack, not now, not after so many months of emptiness. He was a trained agent. He could endure anything.
Somehow, his hands eventually found the edge of his weighted bed comforter, and he managed to burrow himself underneath it like a frightened rodent. Frightened was the wrong word, perhaps deranged was better. But either way, the warm fabric and weight surrounding him seemed to bring a well needed tranquility to his mind. He could breathe again, and aside from the occasional hiccup he was rather calm. He was okay…and he would be more okay when he finished the transmission the doctor had probably spent several weeks attempting to send him. Usually such an effort for Stone would have been strangely out of character- but then again this entire situation had been one disorienting turn after the other. Lord, what he wouldn’t give to close his eyes and wake up in the doctor’s lab, being screeched at for slacking off.
Stone let himself settle into the warmth of his bed, suddenly very tired from his outburst, only shifting his position once to bring his watch to his face and resume the message with a single click. If he used his imagination- always overactive- it almost felt like someone was laid on top of his body, hugging him from above and letting him calm his mind. Warm, and soft, and murmuring in his ear as the message played out.
”-an’t imagine how things have been for you. You are beyond a doubt intelligent enough to survive without me, but knowing you, survival is far different than thriving…”
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These readings couldn’t possibly be correct.
And yet, Ivo knew somewhere in his mottled soul that they couldn't possibly be wrong. He had created the algorithm himself, checked it over a dozen times before he’d put it into effect. So as he stared at the blinking numbers, he knew they were accurate.
Two years. Two years, it would take, for his two hour message to reach his home planet and be transmitted to his (hopefully still) faithful agent. His message hadn't been that long, an estimated two hours of detailed instructions for the building and subsequent launch of a prototype rocket modelled to travel dimensionally with that fascinating ring technology, and bring him home.
But by two years, there was no way Stone would be waiting for him- and certainly no way he’d survive that long off of mushrooms and rainwater. Hell, he was already starting to drop weight faster than he could replenish calories; by two years time, he’d be a goner.
No, this wouldn't work. He’d just have to shave down some time.
He unceremoniously deleted the offending message, and cracked his knuckles as he began another transmission. Nooooo biggie. He could deal with being brief in his explanations. The rescue device would just have to be a little less perfect.
“Alright agent, let's try this again…”
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It seemed this was a more difficult process than he thought. Every time Ivo opened his mouth, he remembered more information regarding his instructions. The message was still just under two hours- he still had to shave some time off.
“Listen agent, I will attempt to be brief…”
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Fucks sake, this shouldnt be this hard.
His fifth message was no better than the first attempt- barely a thirty minute improvement. By his calculation, and the calculations of the computer that he was sure was mocking him now, his instructions still wouldn't reach Stone before the 18 month mark. Barely an improvement- and by reducing the detailing of his message, he risked the project taking even longer to finish while his imbecilic assistant fumbled to fill in the blanks.
…no, that was unfair. He couldn’t blame Stone if he struggled with such a complex mechanical wonder- no man on earth wouldn't struggle, seeing as the exception wasn’t currently on earth.
No, insulting his loyal sycophant would do him no good. He’d just have to keep trying.
“Stone, I have to be very short, but focus now…”
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Ivo lay flat on the ground of the hellish planet, staring up at the now blackening sky.
Thirty attempts to shorten his instructions had failed, and he’d wasted just about all of his daylight trying.
He had to accept it…his efforts had gotten him nowhere. There was no possible way to shorten his demands in a way that would render them useful to his agent. God, his poor agent- stuck without him on a planet full of morons, probably exhausted and utterly alone. He’d had a lot of time to think- and he’d finally reasoned that if Stone wasn’t still loyal, he wouldn’t still have the watch. It was still locked onto his signature, which meant it was still reading him.
….he wondered if Stone missed him.
Ivo wouldn’t miss him, he didn’t miss him. He missed Stone’s usefulness. His capable hands and semi-capable mind. His bright attitude in the most hostile of circumstances, always certain things would go their way. His lattes. His smile.
…
Fuck.
Ivo groaned, rolling over onto his side and forcing himself to think of anything else. Don’t think about that, don't think about how he's probably fighting for his life as he hides from other agents with orders to erase him from existence. Don’t think about how he's probably waiting for you to come back even now, don’t think about it, don't think about it just dont….
…don’t think about how that rock looks exactly like his face.
Ivo sat up slowly as his eyes kept trained on the boulder to his left, looking it over and daring his brain to repeat its thought. Perhaps it wasn’t an exact replica, but there were the eyes, there was the mouth and the nose, and there was the beard…yes, it did look like him, if one squinted. He had the sudden urge to grab the damned thing, an absurd emotional attachment to a piece of the scenery. Instead, he forced himself up to his feet, and made the short few steps back to his control panel without another stray thought. If he couldn’t give his agent his orders, he could at least give him an incentive to continue being loyal. Then perhaps, when Ivo found a way home- and he would make it home, he had to do it now- there would still be someone waiting for him.
He could be encouraging. He could promise whatever Stone wanted, couldn't he? All he had to do was be convincing….
Ivo cleared his throat and leaned on the control panel as he powered the satellite back on, giving himself only a moment to pull his mind back together before he was staring down at the blinking recording light. Think Ivo. Encouragement. Reward.
“....Agent stone, if you are listening to this, you have clearly not abandoned your duties. For that I am….grateful. I am unable to transmit detailed instructions at this time, but you are more than aware of my manifesto, and I expect it to be followed to my exact specifications. I have every belief that by now you have established a base of operations, and have gained access to my more obscure creations. Your excellent behavior will be rewarded in time, with…”
With what?
What could Ivo possibly offer to warrant undying loyalty now? Working for the government was different, he had money, power, status. He had it, and clearly Stone wanted a piece- and as long as he did his job and kept his mouth shut, Ivo was happy to fork it over?
Now? Well, he wasn’t entirely ruined…but invoking a claim on any of the three would warrant potential suspicion to the truth of his word.
The silence stretched on for far too long- he knew he had to say something, or he would sound unsure. Stone knew him, he was never unsure.
“...whatever you might desire. You know my word is good Stone, whatever it is you want, I’ll get it for you. But you have to keep in line, you get the drill. I estimate my return to be some within the next eight months, while I find a separate escape plan. In the meantime, no doubt you’ll find some way to keep yourself afloat. Maybe selling those signature lattes, Hm? I’m sure they’ll win the hearts of whatever backwater hicks you feed them to. Keep in mind that blue rodent is still out there, mkay? Don’t be going toe to toe with the bastard while I’m gone, you’ll wind up getting yourself killed- and loath as I am to admit it, I will need you when I find my way off this spore ridden cesspool of a planet. No, you just stay put and man the bunker, and take care of my darling babies. You know how to fix them up, and I’m forced to trust you this time, so don’t fuck them up or I’ll finally make good on my promise of cloning you or fastening an android. Not that I want to; it would take too much time and you’re just fine long as you behave. So, do that. Behave. And we won’t have any problems. Anyways, I uh……….I gotta bounce. Remember, it follows directions or it doesn’t get the prize. Ciao.”
Perfection. Really, Ivo didn’t think he had it in himself to sound even the slightest bit encouraging, but it seems he was sorely mistaken. Boy, he really was a genius.
He wrapped up the recording and let his algorithm estimate the arrival date- and was oddly amused with the outcome. According to it, his little call should arrive approximately February 14th. Valentine’s day, hah! Oh now that was funny- a mushy gushy holiday all about idiots pretending to be in love, and Stone would be getting a message from his cranky boss. Ahaha, hah..hah….hm…
…his chest felt tight. And not in the I’m Being Poisoned By Toxic Spores kind of way. No, it…ached, for some reason.
Stone was probably the kind of moron to put power into a holiday like that. He always was pathetically sentimental- it would be on brand for all the hearts and chocolates and sinus clogging roses to make the bastard swoon.
…and yet, he’d be spending it alone. All alone, hiding away from a government that wanted him dead and civilians that couldn’t possibly understand him. Would it be lonely, Ivo wondered? Would he envy the companionship others seemed to find so easily, when his companion was-...
His fingers found the replay button before his brain had even told them to. His own voice played back almost startled him-...but it certainly wasn’t what made his stomach begin to feel disrupted.
”Agent stone, if you are listening to this, you have clearly not abandoned your duties. For that I am….grateful. I am unable to transmit detailed instructions…..”
Is that what he sounded like? Good lord…it was like a state funded bureaucrat trying to explain budget cuts to his employees. It was empty- calculated. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted? Then, why did hearing that tone make him feel so sick…?
He ran through the entire message a second time…and felt a chill as it finally clicked as to what he was doing. He was acting like Stone was a service. Less than that- like he was an object. One man stands by his side for a decade, and he acts like Stone is a begrudging afterthought he’s been forced to endure for sake of necessity. Stone was a tool to him, he always had been, but he was a living tool. He wasn’t a machine, wasn’t some subscribed service. Although the thought had, for years, irritated Ivo to no end, he now felt pained at the need to treat him like one anyway. Stone was still loyal to him. He had been offered nothing, and he was still loyal, and Ivo acted like he was a corrupt politician to be bribed.
Ivo’s spiral would have continued its descent for an immeasurable time- were it not for a sudden drop of water landing on his nose to interrupt it. On instinct he shelved the feeling- raising his head to the sky with oncoming dread. Another drop hit his face. Another, and another, quickly decreasing in time apart and increasing drastically in velocity, shit-
He reacted on years of field testing procedures, putting his grip onto his control panel and beginning to frantically drag it and himself under the nearest shroom cap. The satellite would survive, it would probably be fine- but the delicate instruments on the controls would be destroyed by the water.
The panic only began to ebb as the last of his equipment was tucked safely underneath the cap, and with no time to spare. The rain began to fall in a violent, roaring downpour, slamming onto the cap above Ivo’s head so hard he thought it might break through. Unreasonable, he knew that, but the concern did not fade as he hoped.
Thankfully, he and his controls remained safe- and more importantly, mostly dry. He ran a quick diagnostic just to be safe of course- and when everything came back positive, the sigh he released felt as though it had escaped from the depths of his soul. Safe. Secure. Not Dead Yet.
His gaze rose from the screens of the panel out to the now drenched outside world…and his eyes once again landed on the Stone-shaped rock. Instantly, the feelings he’d shelved seemed to escape their jar and resume their vice grip around his chest. Stone wouldn’t be out in this kind of weather, would he? Surely he’d found some sort of shelter, a place to lay low and stay dry…but the thought gnawed at Ivo the longer he stared at the boulder.
…
If he went out there he would be soaked to the bone. He could freeze.
….
The water was gathering in the crevices of the rock’s surface. It was pooling, and falling down its face.
It looked almost like tears.
…
Stone didn't have anyone to help him now. If he were stuck out in this kind of weather…
Ivo’s feet moved on their own, something that was becoming increasingly common and increasingly disturbing to him. He didn't just walk this time- he bolted. Even despite his weathered joints, he ran out into the rain without so much as a somewhat coherent thought, making a beeline to the boulder. He could be fast. He could get Stone out of the rain too.
The damn thing was much heavier than expected, he would say that much. The moment the boulder was wrapped in his arms and lifted from the ground, Ivo felt a twinge in his back he was sure would come back to bite him- but he remained steadfast in his endeavor. Something seemed to have seized hold of both his senses and atrophied muscles, because although he was certain he shouldn't have been able to, the image of Stone soaked through his suit and shivering in the cold somehow allowed him to run back to shelter with the rock in his arms. A fascinating feat of adrenaline and anxiety; he would have to study it later.
He tucked the rock carefully against the step of the overgrown mushroom, far away from the wall of rain, and took only a moment to take stock of himself. His mustache was soaked through…but his speed and what remained of his flight suit had protected him from being truly soaked. He wouldn't risk freezing to death or hypothermia, merely a mild chill. Good- he had bigger things to take care of.
He was sure this time, as he deleted his latest message and prepared for his do-over, that this would be the final recording. He had approximately five minutes to get his point across, if this was to make it to Stone and save him the isolation Ivo was feeling so terribly now. Five minutes. He could do that.
There was the blinking light. Go on Ivo.
Be caring.
“Stone, if this message manages to reach you, know that I am alive and as well as I can be surrounded by overgrown fungi. Now, listen carefully…”
He could barely hear his own voice over the pounding of his own heartbeat, over the rush of adrenaline shooting through his body. He had to breathe, he had to relax and breathe, or it wouldn't come out right.
“...I know, that perhaps in our past I have been harsh. For that I cannot apologize- but I am sorry if you never understood why I pushed you. You have to understand I- you….I know, you are capable of so much more than the rest of the human race. Your loyalty and your courage know no bounds, and I wish that perhaps I would have said it to your face when I had the chance to be in your face to begin with. You are…an enigma, to me. Perhaps not my most deadly asset, but my most reliable. Machines break, malfunction…but you never waver. And I hope the same can be said for wherever you are right now.”
Three minutes and fifty-five seconds left Ivo, don’t falter now. Don't pause, don’t waste time, there’s so much left to say and so little to to uncork it from the bottles he's been piling up for so very long now.
“I can’t imagine how things have been for you. You are beyond a doubt intelligent enough to survive without me, but knowing you, survival is far different than thriving. I know you might be frightened right now- or feeling as though you’ve lost your way. I promise you haven't. You couldn’t if you tried. And I need you to be strong-”
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” -because the truth is, I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you to come back to.”
Stone can feel tears beginning to pour down his face again, dripping onto the bedsheets and blurring his vision. He couldn’t help but wipe them away- he felt a desperate need to stare at his watch as the recording played, even if there was nothing to see but a tiny progress bar on the message. It still felt right, like he was giving the doctor his undivided attention once more.
”That sounds cheesy, I know, I feel ready to gag just saying it- but it’s true. What would I do without you, when you’ve been the most caring part of my life? I can’t believe I didn’t see it before- damn you for not informing me Stone.”
That managed to pull a choked laugh from his raw throat- strange, that such a sentimental line could still carry such comedic effect. Only the doctor could drag a chuckle out of him after making him sob his poor eyes out like this.
“Now, this is important-”
Oh, right, focus Stone. Something imperative.
“I don’t know when I’ll be home. But make no mistake, I will come home. I won’t leave you to wither on that godforsaken planet, you got that? If we have to do it, we’ll suffer together, and when we take down that overgrown porcupine we will do it together. You’re too important to just be left there all alone.”
…if Stone hadn’t been crying before, he certainly would be now.
Important. He was important. God he might as well have been told he’d been made a billionaire.
He was only vaguely aware as he listened on of the rain beginning to patter against his bedroom window, then begin to pour like a flood down on the roof of the apartment. No doubt it would ruin countless dates in town, as ridiculous couples ran for cover and abandoned their fancy outdoor picnics to the elements. He couldn’t care if he tried.
He was too important for that.
“I know you’re probably worried about me, you have that habit…but I’ll be okay. Don’t fret your pretty little head about me- focus on staying safe. Don’t let me find you living in a ditch somewhere when I get back or I just might give you a taste of mushroom hell. Ahah…that was a joke. You don’t deserve that.”
….
Stone, I-....
….I miss you. I promise, I’ll be home soon. Keep the milk steamed for me, m’kay…?”
Click.
…Stone felt a wobbly smile spread across his face as he blinked back the newest tears in the corners of his eyes. His chest ached- but it was a good ache.
He lay there for a long time, letting his mind digest and carefully save every word, every tone and every pause to his memory, to call back on for the rest of time.
He felt hope, for the first time since he’d lost the doctor to another world. He felt ready to get back to work, ready to complete what his doctor had set out for him…but not yet.
Soon, but not just yet.
For now, he hunkered further down into the weighted comforter on top of him, shifting to his side with most of the weight behind him. If he focused hard enough, it felt like a warm body pressing into him, keeping him safe. He sighed, and let the feeling sink in…before he flicked his watch screen back on, and hit replay.