Work Text:
One of Stone's favorite fun facts about Doctor Robotnik, one that no one else knew about, is that the Doctor is vain.
When he goes out, there is never a hair out of place. His mustache is always expertly curled and his suits tailored to his exact measurements.
Other people -- lowly, lesser than's, who often didn't appreciate the Doctor for his genius -- saw this and assumed it was a result of perfectionism. Robotnik didn't tolerate imperfection in any other part of his life and work, so why would his appearance be an exemption.
Stone knew the truth though. Because unlike all those other people, Stone knew his doctor. And he knew that Doctor Robotnik always dressed and groomed to the nines because he's incredibly, hilariously, vain.
And the reason why it's Stone's favorite fact about the Doctor is because, despite his almost violent distain for humans and their stupidity and trappings, vanity is one of the most single human traits there is.
Robotnik isn't ruled by his vanity though. He loosens up in the privacy of his labs, especially as the years pass and Stone becomes a permanent fixture there. The Doctor doesn't bother pushing his hair back when it falls over his forehead as he's hunched over a stripped open badnik. Or he'll shed his coat and doesn't smooth out his rumpled clothes during an all-nighter.
Something else that Stone knows that no one else does is that, like clockwork, every six to eight weeks he knows to keep an eye out for ginger and gray hairs that seemingly spring up on the top of the Doctor's head and then just as quickly disappear the next time he sees him.
Stone never brings it up though, never even hints that he knows about it. There's no reason to tempt the Doctor's wrath over it, he reasons. If the Doctor wanted him to know about it, he would. Simple as that. It's just another thing that Stone files away in his internal schedule of the Doctor that runs concurrent to the one on his tablet.
It's never an issue until year five of Stone's employment with Robotnik.
It all happens smack dab in the middle of an unusually stressful week. They're racing towards a tight deadline for a weapon prototype that the government's demanded and everything that can go wrong has. It means that the Doctor is on more of a hair trigger than usual too.
When the intruding hairs creep up overnight like they always do, Stone notices more wiry gray hairs mixed with the rust-colored ones this time.
He doesn't give it much thought, other than he thinks the gray suits Robotnik. They make him look even more handsome. Stone then promptly pushes that thought into the mental box that he's labeled: Inappropriate thoughts about the Doctor and goes about this day.
He answers emails, shoos away any unwanted visitors -- which is all of them. Stone is the only other person beside the Doctor allowed in the lab. It's a point of pride -- and keeps the lattes coming. All in all, his main mission is to keep things as stress free as possible.
When he leaves that night, everything is normal. Well, normal to the standards of Doctor Robotnik, that is.
Everything is still seemingly normal when Stone comes into the lab the next morning. He distantly hears the sounds of the Doctor already hard at work -- or never stopped, more than likely -- and heads immediately to the kitchen. He makes their coffees as usual and steps back into the lab.
It's only years of specialized military training that keeps him from dropping the two mugs.
Because across the room, illuminated under the harsh artificial light and with nowhere to hide, are sprigs of grey and red hair on top of Robotnik's head.
Stone has never, ever, in five years seen two consecutive days of roots.
He plays it cool though. He hasn't been called on of the best agents around for nothing. He just hands the Doctor his coffee and tries to not scurry away too suspiciously when he's waved away.
Stone spends the rest of his day debating whether to say anything about it. The deadline is tomorrow and the presentation for the generals is later that afternoon. Theoretically, they have time to fix it. It'd be cutting it close, but that wasn't an unusual spot for them to be in. In fact, that's where the Doctor seemed to thrive.
The red strands seem to mock him and puts Stone more on edge than the literal bomb that Robotnik was elbow deep in.
The Doctor slaves the day away, with Stone helping where he can and privately fretting where he can’t. He's just thankful that the Doctor is too focused on the task at hand to notice Stone's internal struggles.
He's surprised when he's dismissed for the night. They usually pull all-nighters together the day before a deadline. He doesn't argue though. He takes it as a sign that Robotnik wants him gone so that he can take care of the hair situation in private.
It eases some of the panic inside Stone's chest. He's even optimistic when he lets himself into the lab the next morning. It's promptly shattered as soon as he sees the Doctor.
Not only are there still red and gray hairs there but they seem to have grown an inch overnight.
Stone's brain shuts down and reboots. No great ideas come to him though once he's back online.
This was bad. This was bad. This was --
"Good morning, Doctor." He greets Robotnik in his usually cheerful voice. How he's able to sound normal is beyond him.
He only gets a mumbled response from where the Doctor is leaned over some exposed wires. It doesn't even look like he moved from when Stone left him last night.
Stone rushes to the kitchen before the Doctor had the chance to stop him and starts their lattes. He runs on autopilot, mentally running through calculations. None as sophisticated as what the Doctor deals with but Robotnik was Stone's area of specialty, and he was the best in his field.
Unfortunately for him though, none of his findings were positive. Basically, he's cooked. Even when he ran through the scenarios again --
If the Doctor finishes within the hour --
No, even Stone could tell that it would take longer than that.
If he finishes in two or three hours then maybe --
Also no, because more than likely he hasn't slept in over seventy-two hours and Stone didn't want to clean up a blood bath, then the Doctor need to sleep before the presentation.
Maybe if Stone personally asked Commander Walters to reschedule --
No again. Walters had told them on assignment that this weapon was for some sort of coup and that the deadline would not, could not, be moved.
Even as he walks back into the lab and sits one mug down by the Doctor's elbow, easily accessible but not in the way, Stone still isn't sure what he's going to do. There's no way the Doctor can go to the presentation looking like that but they're simply out of time to do anything about it.
"Your latte, Doctor."
"Thank you, Stone." Robotnik mummers, not looking up at him but still grabbing the offered drink and taking a sip.
That usually was his cue to leave and get on with his morning tasks, but Stone can't move. He stays hovering at his usual spot behind the Doctor's shoulder, half watching him work and half continuing to panic. If Robotnik minds his continued presence, though, he doesn't vocalize it.
"How much longer until it's done, do you think?"
The Doctor blows out an aggravated breath. "If the damn thing doesn't blow up again, then three hours. Two if I push it, which I intend too."
Oh yeah. The explosion had set them back a whole day easily.
"The presentation is today, right, sir?"
Instantly, Stone knows he's made a grave miscalculation. Alarms blare in the back of his mind. He knows the Doctor's schedule better than the man himself does.
"Did you overdose on stupid pills this morning, Stone?"
Yes, quite possibly.
"Sorry, sir." Stone apologizes meekly.
Robotnik shoots him a sharp look over his shoulder and then quickly does a double take. "Stop that." He snaps.
“Stop what, Doctor?”
“Thinking so hard. You’re going to blow a fuse and set off the fire alarms.”
"Sorry, again, sir."
Robotnik heavily rolls his eyes and turns back to the wired guts of the project. Then, almost just as quickly though, he swivels back towards Stone. "Spit it out, sycophant."
"Pardon?"
"Spit out whatever it is that's making you think so hard that you're distracting me and before you give yourself an aneurysm."
Stone has the fleeting, foolish thought of simply not answering. He instantly shuts that down though. The punishment of disobeying a direct order would be a million times worse than one for pointing out a flaw.
Here's the thing though, Stone has killed before. He's killed men in cold blood for the government, for Robotnik, and -- in another life -- a good paycheck.
But right now, at this moment, he can truthfully say that he wasn't a tenth as nervous murdering people then he is saying to Ivo Robotnik, "Your roots are showing, Doctor."
For a millisecond, the Doctor looks shocked. He blinks up at Stone -- god, look at those bags under his eyes, Stone thinks of all things. The Doctor is exhausted -- before his face twists into rage.
"You've really lost it now, Stone. How dare you even insinuate --"
Robotnik cuts himself off, something that he rarely does and that Stone attributes to the roughly seventy-two-hour wake window. The Doctor pushes up out of his chair but instead of round house kicking Stone into another dimension, he stalks across the room to the bathroom. He rants and raves the whole way, brainstorming creative ways to kill and dispose of Stone for the insult of suggesting that he was anything less than absolute perfection.
Stone just stays where he is. He's learned that in these types of situations it's best to wait until the Doctor runs out of steam.
"-- you'll wish I let the badniks do job after I get done with you, you --"
The Doctor stops short again and this time Stone knows it's because he's finally looked in the mirror and has seen what Stone's been looking at for the past two day. Tense silence rolls through the lab like a fog before Robotnik walks out of the bathroom and over to Stone with too calm of strides.
“Pin yourself to the wall.”
Stone bites back a sigh and places a hand to his chest, pushing himself up against the metal wall. The Doctor is up in his face in an instant. He's close enough that his breath ghosts over Stone's face.
"How long have you known?" The fury in the Doctor's eyes betrays his cold tone.
Stone isn't quite sure if he means the hair dying in general or just this instance and gambles. "About three years." Robotnik's brows shoot up. "You had me pack your bags for a conference in DC. I saw it in the cabinet."
“You didn’t say anything.” Robotnik says like an accusation.
Stone keeps his gaze steady. “I assumed it was private. If you wanted me to know, you would have told me.”
The Doctor's eyes drill into Stone's for a long moment before he visibly deflates. He steps away but Stone stays where he is. To his surprise, Robotnik falls back into his chair with a muttered, "Shit", and gets back to work.
Stone waits for a moment to make sure he's in the clear before asking, "What would you like me to do, Doctor?"
"Unless you discover time travel in the next, say, hour," He answers testily, "there's not much to do, Stone."
Just then, like lighting, Stone gets an idea. He kicks himself for not thinking about it two days ago. It's risky, but it'd work as long as the Doctor doesn't kill him on the spot for suggesting it.
He walks over and stands in at his usual spot at Robotnik's side. He tucks his hands behind his back to keep from wringing them. "Doctor, if I may?"
"If you must." He says without looking at him.
"I could dye your hair for you."
Robotnik does look at him then. "What?" He hisses.
Stone rushes to finish his pitch. "I can do it while you're working. That way you'll only have to stop when it's time to rinse."
The Doctor sneers at the idea and opens his mouth but almost just as quickly shuts it. Stone can see him run the numbers in his head, checking Stone's math. A sort of reluctant acceptance finally settles over his face.
"You know how to do it?" He asks, equal parts suspicious and demeaning.
"I've dabbled."
The Doctor's mustache twitches up into a hidden smile. Stone loves those. "Don't tell me you're secretly a blond, Stone."
Stone manages to keep the smile off his own face but lets it color his tone. "I'm afraid that's classified, Doctor."
Robotnik openly smirks then, rolling his eyes. "That'd actually explain a lot, sycophant. Go, go. Permission granted." He waves Stone off. "But if you botch it, just remember, they'll never find your body."
"Understood, sir." Stone beams at him then rushes off to get the box of hair dye that was hidden in the recesses of the bathroom cabinet. It only takes a moment to mix it up and slip on the black rubber gloves. He calls a badnik over as he heads back to the Doctor.
Again, it's only his rigorous military training that keeps Stone from dropping the dye straight to the floor at the sight of Robotnik sitting there, coat and shirt off, only in a white tank top. The sight goes directly into the Inappropriate thoughts about the Doctor box.
The badnik he's summoned bumps into his shoulders, thankfully distracting him. "You want to help?" He asks it and it chirps excitedly at him. "Alright. Stay perfectly still." Stone instructs and carefully balances the bowl on top of it.
The Doctor twists around in his chair and throws a glare over his shoulder at Stone. "Don’t you dare get any of that gunk on my baby."
"She's fine." Stone waves off the concern that's hidden under the snarky comment. He brushes his palm against the badnik's smooth, white side. "She wants to help. Don't you girl?" He coos at the robot who answers with a happy little beep. He ignores the bewildered look that the Doctor shoots him. "Ready when you are, Doctor."
"Just get on with it."
Stone ties a towel around the Doctor's neck, securing it tightly. Robotnik flinches, barely noticeable, under Stone's touch. He doesn't take any offense though. He knows for a fact that he's probably the only person on Earth that the Doctor would allow to do this.
With that privilege in mind, Stone starts. With great care, he applies the dye with even brushes. It's been a while since he's done this. Robotnik's silky hair is a lot different than his sister's thick, course locks.
It doesn't take long considering there isn't much hair to cover. Stone remembers how his wrist used to cramp up when he bleached his sister's waist long hair. The Doctor's shoulders relax in tiny increments as the short minutes tick by. The sight of it makes the risk leading up to it worth it.
Stone finishes and puts the brush back into the bowl that the badnik is holding for him. He runs his fingers through the Doctor's wet hair, making sure the color is spread evenly.
"Alright, Doctor." Stone says, stripping off the gloves. He takes the bowl from the badnik with a soft thanks. "I'll set the timer."
Robotnik only grunts in response and Stone makes himself sparse as the color processes. He rinses out the bowl and then goes to the kitchen to remake the lattes that neither of them got around to drinking.
He sips his own drink and pats himself on the back for a job well done. Cut it a little close to the wire, like how most things operated in Robotnik's lab, but still a success. The Doctor will have time to finish the protype, sleep for a bit, and then knock the presentation out of the part. And Stone wasn't brutally murdered. So high marks all around.
The timer on his phone goes off and Stone heads back into the lab. "Time to rinse, Doctor. Do you need --"
"Do not even think about finishing that question." Robotnik snaps as he pushes up and out of his chair. He goes into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
The sound of the blow dryer turning on is Stone's cue to get the Doctor's fresh latte. He and the drink are standing at attention when Robotnik emerges from the bathroom. He's back to his usual perfect standard, not a menacing black hair out of place.
Although Stone now thinks he prefers the Doctor's natural hair color. Another thought that's violently shoved into the Inappropriate thoughts box. It's been filling up more and more lately, he notes with slight alarm.
The Doctor raises his arms and turns a circle. It's missing some of its usual flair though without his coat trailing behind him. "How do I look, Stone?"
"Perfect as always, Doctor."
"Of course, I do." Robotnik chides as he takes the drink that Stone holds out to him. He takes a sip then smacks his lips in satisfaction. Stone internally beams.
"I don't want a repeat of this nonsense, Stone." The Doctor tells him, broadly gesturing to his head. "You're in charge of it now."
Stone raises a questioning brow. "In charge of dying your hair, sir?"
Robotnik shrugs, calculatedly careless. "You did an okay job. Consider it part of your duties."
Stone pulls his shoulders back, all business, accepting the new task. "Consider it done, Doctor."
He claps his hands tighter, apparently finished with the conversation, and turns on his heels. "Chop, chop, Stone. We have history to make."
"Right behind you, Doctor." Stone tells him, smiling brightly at Robotnik's retreating back, and hurries to follow his doctor.