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suddencolds · 8 days

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Atypical Occurrence [1/?]

Happy birthday to my dear friend, @caughtintherain!! I wanted to give you some Vincent suffering to chew on for the occasion, so please take this fic (or, first part of a fic) as a gift <3

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! chronologically, this fic takes place a month or so after the last installment leaves off :)

Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit)

—

Vincent is late.

Yves tries not to stare at the empty seat across from him. The meeting—their first meeting of the day—started five minutes ago. If there’s anything Yves knows, it’s that Vincent always comes in early.

In stumbles Cara, handling a morning coffee with probably more espresso shots than anyone should have at 8am. Then Laurent, briefcase in one hand, paging through a folder of files in his other. Then Angelie, Isaac, Garrett, Ray, Sienna. Then they get started, and Yves turns his attention towards the graphs projected onscreen at the front of the room, and tries very hard not to think about Vincent.

It’s five minutes later that the door swings open, near-silent.

Sienna—who’s presenting—stops, for a moment, to look back at Vincent from where he’s standing in the doorway, which means that of course, everyone looks.

Cara turns around in her seat, raising an eyebrow. Angelie frowns at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Vincent says, quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Isaac shrugs. Angelie looks a little concerned, but she turns back to her work, anyways. Sienna resumes her presentation. All in all, it’s nothing—or it should be nothing. Probably traffic, on the way here; a particularly unlucky commute. An unlikely occurrence, but—to anyone else—not anything worth dwelling over.

It might be a sufficient explanation, if Yves didn’t know better.

Vincent takes care to close the door quietly behind him, then heads over to the only open seat, across from Yves. He unzips his briefcase, quietly, unobtrusively, and takes out his laptop. Yves tries to focus on what Sienna is saying—she’s giving a review of a client’s current investment strategies; he’d reviewed her work on this just a couple days ago.

Vincent asks good questions throughout—he always has a good sense of what areas still lack clarity, Yves has found. Today is no exception. He takes part in the meeting with such calculated precision that Yves almost misses it.

Almost misses: the slight stiffness to his shoulders, as if it’s taking more than the usual amount of effort to keep himself upright. The way in which he clears his throat before speaking, like it might actually hurt. The way he rests his head on one hand, halfway into the meeting—as if even now, barely forty minutes into the workday, he’s already exhausted.

It’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, subtle enough that Yves wonders if he’s just reading too much into it—if, perhaps, Vincent is fine, after all.

—

He doesn’t see Vincent again until lunch.

Or, more accurately, he doesn’t see Vincent again until he’s headed down for lunch with Cara and Laurent. Vincent is already on his way out of the cafeteria, a takeout container in hand.

“You’re not going to eat here?” Yves asks.

Vincent doesn’t look at him. “I have some work to get done at my desk,” he says. He clears his throat again, like it’s irritating him.

“Okay,” Yves says. Vincent turns to leave, and Yves thinks of a hundred ways in which he could possibly prolong this conversation, and then decides against it. Vincent is already so busy.

“You look tired,” he settles on, instead.

He expects Vincent to dismiss this, to reassure him that it isn’t true. But Vincent looks up at him at last, blinking, as if he’s surprised that Yves noticed at all. His eyes are a little dark-rimmed underneath his glasses.

He doesn’t deny it, which is as much of a confirmation as Yves needs.

“The sooner I can get this work done, the sooner I can go home,” he says. Yves supposes he can’t argue with that.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Yves says, even though he wants to say more, even though he feels like there’s more that he should be saying. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent nods, at this, and resumes walking.

—

Yves is probably overthinking it. There isn’t anything concrete, really, to justify his concern.

Vincent’s lateness to the meeting could just as easily be the consequence of an alarm he’d forgotten to set, his exhaustion just as easily a side effect—of recent late nights in the office, of arbitrary changes to the projects he’s on, of last-minute demands from clients.

The next time he sees Vincent is at the end of the work day. Yves always takes the elevators on the north end of the building—they’re ones that lead directly out into the parking garage. When he gets out to the hallway, Vincent is already standing there, waiting for the elevator.

Yves watches Vincent stiffen, slightly. Watches him raise one hand up to his face to shudder into it with a harsh, “HHihH’iKKTSh-hUH!”

A thin tremor runs through the line of his shoulders, as if he’s too cold, even though the office air conditioning is no colder than usual. His hand, cupped to his face, remains there for a moment more before he lowers it.

He sniffles, then, rummaging through his pocket for—something. When he doesn’t find it, he just frowns a little, sniffling again.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

“Yves,” Vincent says, his shoulders stiffening a little. He clears his throat, turning around so that he can address Yves properly.

It’s only a few seconds later that he’s turning sharply away, tenting both hands over his nose and mouth for—

“Hh-! hHiH—HIHh’DZSSschh-uhh! snf-!”

“Bless you again.”

Vincent sighs. “Don’t bother.” He really looks exhausted, Yves realizes. During their brief interaction at lunch, he’d already sensed as much, but the harsh white glare of the bright corporate lighting only makes it more evident.

Vincent looks a little paler than usual, if only slightly, and there’s a slight flush that spreads itself over his cheekbones. He looks—well, nearly as put together as always, distilled only by the slight crookedness of his tie, as if it’s been on too tight; the near-invisible sheen of sweat over his forehead. The slight redness to the bridge of his nose, the slight shiver to his hand as he reaches up to adjust his collar.

Yves frowns, taking this all in. “You look kind of…”

“Terrible?” Vincent finishes for him.

Yves winces. “...Well, terrible is a strong word. I was going to say, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“I’m… feeling a little off,” Vincent says, staring straight ahead, as if it’s not an admission at all. But Yves suspects, from the way he avoids eye contact, that perhaps it was something he was intending on keeping private. “You should keep your distance.”

The elevator dings. The sliding doors part, and he steps inside.

“First floor?” Yves asks, hesitating next to the panel of buttons.

“Yes,” Vincent says. Then, quietly: “Thanks.”

“You know, now that busy season is over, the world is not going to end if you take a sick day,” Yves tells him. “Even if you do like, twice the amount of work as everyone else on the team, if you needed to call out, I’m sure something could be arranged.”

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly. “I must look pretty bad if you’re saying this to me.”

“Yes, I was lying,” Yves says. “Clearly, you look terrible.”

It isn’t true at all—even here, even like this, Vincent doesn’t look terrible, not even in the least. But Vincent still smiles, at this—a tired smile.

The elevator doors slide open.

“Text me if you need anything,” Yves says, impulsively. “Seriously. Tissues, soup, medicine—whatever. It’s not far of a drive.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Vincent says. “I will see you tomorrow.” And then he steps out of the elevator, and Yves is left with an inexplicable sinking feeling in his stomach. As far as he knows, it has no place there. Obviously, Vincent can take care of himself. Obviously, Vincent can handle a cold. Yves has nothing to be concerned about.

—

The next day is rainy—a constant, torrential downpour, which makes his commute to work take almost twice as long as it usually does. It wouldn’t be spring here, Yves supposes, without dreary weather like this.

Back in uni, when he rowed crew, they’d practice out for hours out in the rain. Now that he spends the majority of his day inside, he supposes he can’t complain. The shelter of the office building is a reprieve.

Vincent doesn’t show up.

“I think he’s out sick,” Cara says, when Yves asks. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t think I’ve actually seen him take a sick day before.”

“For how hard he works, he definitely deserves one,” Garrett says.

“He seemed fine yesterday, when I saw him,” Cara says, with a shrug. “Probably came on quickly.” Yves nods.

But that isn’t quite right, is it? Vincent hadn’t seemed fine, had he? Yves thinks back to the things he’d noticed—Vincent, uncharacteristically exhausted during the meeting, though it was clear he’d been just as engaged as usual. Vincent, shivering in the elevator, telling Yves to keep his distance. How poorly had he been feeling already, yesterday? How poorly does he have to be feeling today to have called off of work for it?

He finds some time just before lunch to text.

Y: how are you holding up? Y: yesterday’s offer stands if you need me to bring you anything!

He doesn’t get a response from Vincent, which is a little concerning. He checks his phone halfway through lunch, and then twice more, in between his afternoon meetings, just in case he’s missed a notification.

“Are you expecting a text from someone?” Cara says, looking a little curious.

“Just a friend,” Yves says, which is and isn’t true.

To make a point—to Cara, and possibly to himself—he shuts his phone off. He very pointedly does not look at it again for the remainder of the hour.

It’s not until mid-afternoon that he finally gets a response.

V: Sorry to get back to you so late.

Yves sits upright, fumbling with his phone to get it unlocked. The text bubble pops up again, somewhat intermittently, to show that Vincent is typing.

V: If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a blue folder on my desk labeled 2-A.

Yves blinks at this, a little disbelieving.

Y: you’re asking me to bring you work files? Y: arent you supposed to be resting 🤨 Y: paid sick leave, remember? as in, leave your work at work??

V: I meant to pack them yesterday.

Y: that’s like a genie grants you 3 wishes and you ask for an extra day of assignments Y: terrible waste of a wish if you ask me

V: As a genie, you’re quite judgmental

Y: ok ok Y: as your loyal lamp dweller i’ll be over around 8pm with folder 2-A Y: you need anything else?

V: Nothing else V: You can just leave them outside my door

A beat. Then Vincent sends:

V: Sorry to trouble you

Yves thinks of twenty responses he wants to send to that text. Then, thinking better of himself, he shuts his phone off and gets back to work.

—

It’s a little past seven when he finally checks out of the office.

Outside, the rain hasn’t even begun to let up—it falls, straight and heavy, in large, globular droplets. The streets gleam with water. Yves leaves his umbrella in the trunk, tunes out everything but the static of the rainfall, and drives.

Yves has only ever been to Vincent’s apartment once—to pick him up for the New Years’ party Margot hosted—and even then, Vincent had met him at the door. But he recognizes the unit, nonetheless.

For a moment, he considers leaving the folder of files outside of Vincent’s door and taking his leave.

But it’s windy, and he’s afraid the papers might fly away, torn up by the biting wind, and get lost face down in a puddle somewhere, which would defeat the purpose of him coming here in the first place, and would probably also breach some employee confidentiality policy. So instead, he knocks.

It’s silent for a moment. Rain beats down on the slanted rooftops, a constant thrum.

Yves is about to reach out to knock again, when the door swings open.

There stands Vincent, in a pale blue hoodie and loose-fitting pajama pants, with neat rectangular cuffs.

He looks tired. It’s the first thing Yves registers—the unusual fatigue to his expression, which he can’t quite seem to blink away; the flush high on his cheekbones. The way he holds himself, his shoulders stiff, carefully, defensively; as if despite his exhaustion, there’s a part of him which wishes to appear presentable still.

It’s only a moment later that he’s taking a halting step back, ducking into a hoodie sleeve. Yves catches the shiver of his expression, his eyebrows pulling together, before it crumples, and his head jerks forward with a harsh—

“hHihh’GKkTT—! Hh-!! iHH-’DZZSCHh-uuUh!”

The second sneeze sounds louder and harsher than usual, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve. It betrays his congestion all at once.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent emerges, sniffling a little. When he speaks, he sounds a little hoarser than he did yesterday. “I thought I said you - snf-! - could leave them on the front step.”

“You did,” Yves says, glancing down at the folder in his hands. “But it’s windy, and it’s raining. I figured you’d prefer to have your files intact. How are you feeling?”

Vincent blinks at him. He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, Yves realizes, one hand gripped tightly around the frame, his knuckles white from the pressure, as if it would take him too much effort to stay upright otherwise.

“Alright,” he answers. “Thanks for making the trip here. I… it must’ve taken longer, in the rain.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if his head hurts, as if the light coming from outside is exacerbating his headache. “If you ever need me to pick something up for you, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Yves says. Despite himself, he reaches up to press his hand against Vincent’s forehead.

The heat under his fingertips is alarming, to say the least. Yves blinks, lowering his hand, and tries to keep the worry out of his voice. “Have you taken your temperature?”

Vincent shakes his head. “I don’t think I have a thermometer.”

“Have you eaten, then?”

Vincent averts his glance, looking sheepish. “I… was planning to stop for groceries, yesterday,” he says. Planning to.

Yves thinks back to the elevator ride yesterday. Vincent had probably already been feeling very unwell, then. And yet, he’d talked with Yves as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m feeling a little off, he’d said, as if anything about his current affliction could possibly be characterized as “little.” I will see you tomorrow—as if he had really, genuinely been intending on showing up at work.

“So I take it that there’s nothing in the fridge, either,” Yves says.

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll be pleased to know that I slept,” Vincent says, in lieu of answering.

Then he shivers—the sort of concerning, full-body shiver that is a little concerning, coming from someone who is usually unaffected by the cold—and Yves is immediately reminded that the door they’re speaking through is open.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“You probably shouldn’t,” Vincent says, before his expression scrunches up, and he’s ducking away with a— “hh—! hHih-II—TSSCHHh-UH! snf-!”, smothered hurriedly into the palm of his hand. He sniffles, emerging with a slight wince. “This came on pretty quickly. It might be the flu.”

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I got my flu shot in the winter. And anyways, I’ll be careful.”

Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Then, frowning, he says, “I’d feel terrible if you caught this.”

That’s the least of Yves’s worries—he doubts he’s going to catch this. Even if he does, it will just mean a few days off of work. Not the end of the world, by any means. Nothing to warrant the expression on Vincent’s face—Vincent looks upset, as if he’ll really can’t think of anything worse than Yves catching this. Like even the thought of it is worth being upset over.

Yves shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” He pushes past Vincent to step inside and shuts the door behind him. “Here, I’ll set these down on your desk. Where is it?”

“Down the hallway, to the left,” Vincent says.

Yves takes the folder, leaves his shoes at the door, and heads inside.

Vincent’s bedroom is small and organized—it’s the kind of bedroom that’s tastefully minimal, in the sort of unified manner that implies that everything in it has been carefully arranged. There’s a small white desk in the corner, a stack of files arranged neatly next to Vincent’s laptop, its lid halfway to shut. There’s a bookshelf, leaned up against the wall far; the bottom shelf looks to be filled with textbooks; the top shelf lined with books, both in Korean and in English. The walls are painted slate gray, the carpets lining the floorboards picked out to match, and there are pale blue curtains hanging from the windows, pulled tightly shut.

There are signs here, too, of his illness, but they are subtle. A tissue box, nestled between his pillow and the headboard, half empty. A waste bin at the foot of the bed, conveniently in reach. A small bottle of aspirin on the bedside counter; an empty packet of cough drops sitting at the edge of his nightstand.

Yves sets the folder at the end of Vincent’s desk, next to the rest of his files, and turns to face him.

“You’re not going to work on these until you’re feeling better, right?” he asks.

“Only if I can’t sleep,” Vincent says, which Yves supposes is a satisfactory answer. Then he twists away, his eyebrows furrowing, lifting a loosely clenched fist to his face to cough, and cough.

The cough is harsh and grating—his entire frame shudders with the force of it, his breaths shallow and raspy. He really sounds awful. This must have come on quickly, Yves thinks.

If it’s upsetting, seeing Vincent like this, it’s even worse to be standing here, in his room, doing nothing. So—if only to make himself useful, if only to convince himself that there’s something he can do—Yves ducks out into the kitchen.

The pantry is meticulously organized—glasses lined up in neat rows; stacks of bowls sorted by size. He fills a glass with water, shuts the cabinets, and takes it back to the bedroom.

By the time he gets back, Vincent is sitting at the edge of his bed. His glasses are folded neatly, left at the very edge of the countertop.

“Here,” Yves says, crossing the room, holding out the glass for him to take.

“Thanks,” Vincent says, taking it gingerly from him. He takes a small, tentative sip, and then another—his hands are a little shaky, Yves notices. “You - snf-! - should really go.”

“I’m not entirely convinced you’ll be fine on your own,” Yves says.

“Of course I will be,” Vincent says, with all of his usual certainty. He lays down, pulling the covers over his body. “I have been fine on my own for years.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, Yves supposes. But he doesn’t feel reassured in the least.

“Thank you again for bringing me the files,” Vincent says, at last, shutting his eyes.

“You could’ve asked me to get you groceries,” Yves says. “There’s a supermarket not far from here, right? And you’re out of cough drops.” He takes a few steps over, towards the desk in the corner of the room. “These—” He examines the bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “—are expired.”

“Just because you’ve extended this kindness to me,” Vincent tells him, “doesn’t mean I should take advantage of it.”

Yves blinks, a little taken aback. “It’s only groceries. I wouldn’t have minded, really.”

“See,” Vincent says, with a note of—something in his voice. It sounds a bit like resignation. “That’s just the kind of person you are.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say, to that.

Before he can think up a fitting response, Vincent’s breathing evens out. Yves lets himself listen to the shallow, steady cadence of it. Lets himself acknowledge the heavy, painful feeling in his chest for just a moment. Then he shuts the lights off and heads back out into the hallway.

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #i wanted to end somewhere more conclusive but i was falling asleep at my keyboard trying to end this so #please take this for now 🙏#my fic #it is very late rn so i am scheduling this for the middle of my work day tomorrow... now i need to run to sleep T.T #i will finish off the latter half of the house visit in the not too distant future!#yvverse #ps caughtintherain if you are reading this ily and i am so grateful to you for letting me consult you abt these two 😭😭 and i hope it's #okay for me to post this as a gift jafkhjfslk ANYWAYS pls read this at your leisure and happy birthday again!!!

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bimboamyrose · 11 months

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Unfamiliar - Ch. 15: Invitations

Art: @mmm-asbestos ☆ First 2 chapters ☆ Prev. (Ch. 14) ☆ AO3

It was a quick run to the future site of Magic City at the edge of town; Amy was disappointed she couldn’t convince Sonic to slow down and chat for a bit. They’d zoomed off from her house and zipped up and around the hills and through town in no time. But there was always after the mission- maybe he’d be more receptive to taking a break then, Amy mused. She could sense that he was still on edge for now.

Letting Amy down from his grasp, Sonic looked into the construction site. Enormous foundations had been laid over several acres since the last time he’d visited. But now, instead of a bustling job site he and Amy found themselves in a comparatively calm environment. No heavy machinery in operation or foreman barking commands. Just dusty concrete floors and towering piles of materials- mostly sheet-metal- dotted with a few temporary trailers probably housing small offices and equipment. The pair looked at one another in confusion, unsure what to make of the unexpected silence.

Amy tiptoed over the dusty ground in a vain effort to prevent her shoes from being covered in construction debris. “Are they on a lunch break or something?” she asked as the pair approached a large trailer.

“Maybe…” Sonic flung himself ahead to the trailer, leaving a dusty cloud in his trail.

He pressed his face to one of its windows. The structure served as a break room for the workers on site, but the tables and chairs inside sat empty. “If they were, they’d be here, but the place is abandoned!” Sonic turned back to a wheezing Amy, who was waving an irate hand through the dust cloud in front of her face. “Oops- sorry,” he chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” she responded, holding back a sneeze. Now’s not the time to complain, she told herself. Things had to go as smoothly as possible.

The two walked around a while in silence. The dusty sound crunched beneath their steps. It was desolate.

As the silence grew more awkward, Amy rattled her brain for conversation topics. What could she bring up to convince Sonic to stay alone with her after they were finished here? She was about to blurt out the first thing she could think of.

That’s when a low rumbling cut through. Amy raised a brow at Sonic.

“Did you skip breakfast?”

He looked away in embarrassment. “Yeah… heh. Sorry.”

She shook her head smugly. “I’ve told you not to do that.”

“You know I don’t like to eat first thing in the morning,” he groaned. His stomach followed again.

Amy laughed. “So you woke up minutes before picking me up, huh?”

“So I might’ve been up late..” Sonic smiled, mildly embarrassed. “But I found that picture while I was cleaning up, so it was worth it!”

Her laughter slowed to an amused giggle. “Yeah, it’s probably the only picture we all have together when we were kids.”

“We’re busy people,” he shrugged . “Can’t exactly sit down for cake when we’re saving the planet.” His smile only widened at the thought, as if reminiscing about past adventures.

“Well, maybe this year we’ll have a chance. Oh! We should totally recreate that photo! Wouldn’t that be cute?” she beamed.

As little as he enjoyed having his photo taken, Sonic did like the idea. But it wouldn’t stop him from teasing her about it.

“We could… but I thought you’d want something more exciting for your party this year. You’re gonna be an adult! Can’t be acting childish anymore,” he joked.

“Oh, yeah, gonna be 18. I’m practically middle aged,” she ribbed back. “And you’ll be 21 this summer. What does that make you?”

“Ancient. One foot in the grave.”

They burst out laughing in unison. When their voices echoed back at them in the empty landscape, the pair both covered their mouths, doing their best to hold back their snickers. But watching your friend try not to laugh is one of the funniest things you could see. They both had to stop walking until they caught their breath.

Wiping a hysterical tear from her eye, Amy finally took a deep enough breath to recover. There probably wouldn’t be a better opportunity to ask.

She looked to him confidently. “Hey, let’s go to lunch after this.”

“Sure,” Sonic responded between breaths. “I’m starving. We’ll let Tails know-”

“Oh! Look!” she quickly changed the subject. “Uh… Are those people over there?”

Sonic looked toward the horizon. From there, it seemed like the flattened landscape went on forever. He squinted into the distance.

“Hey, you’re right!”

I am? Amy was just as surprised as he was to finally spot some people a couple hundred yards down the way.

A pair of stern-looking men lolled around with clipboards, wearing hardhats but otherwise in business attire. They were being led around by a woman in coveralls- the only person for what seemed like miles that looked to be part of any kind of construction team.

“Hey!” Sonic called out to them excitedly, “are you guys with the construction crew?”

The strangers all turned back in their direction. Amy noticed the woman immediately bring her palm to her face in annoyance as the men looked on in confusion.

“Oh, hey, it’s you!” Sonic lit up. “Wait there!” His voice echoed through the sparse landscape as he got ready to run in their direction- but stopped himself as he remembered the dust cloud he’d kicked up. He turned back to Amy. “Hey- I talked to that lady last time I was here, I bet she’ll help us.”

“Yeah... she seems to remember you.” Amy took notice of Sonic’s quick change of pace. She couldn’t keep a small smile from forming across her lips as he walked just barely ahead, slowing down with her in mind. Before she could overthink the gesture any further, Sonic reached back for her hand.

“Come on, don’t wanna keep her waiting,” he winked playfully.

As he ushered her along, the subtle smirk on Amy’s face spread into a lovestruck grin. There was a lot of good to be said about Sonic, but to say he could be brash was an understatement. They joked about growing up, but maybe this small, mindful act was a demonstration of his growing maturity after all.

The woman groaned an apology to the two men before stepping out of their earshot.

Sonic approached with a wave and Amy in tow.

“You’re back,” she said to him plainly. “And there’s two of you now.”

“Glad you remember- though I can’t say I’m surprised,” Sonic smirked confidently.

There was no sign of amusement in her expression. “I have very important people here today, so you need to leave. Now.”

“Aw, come on! We’re just looking for Eggman. Help us out!”

“That’s- ugh.” The woman let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, that’s not my department. Call his assistant or something.”

“Does Eggman have an assistant?” Amy whispered to Sonic. He offered a shrug before turning back to the lady.

“We’re sorta in a hurry. Just point us in his direction and we’ll get out of your hair,” he told the woman.

“No. You’re trespassing, we’re behind schedule, our investors are irate- just leave before I have to call security.”

“Behind schedule?” Amy chimed in. “Didn’t you guys just break ground a few weeks ago? Why isn’t there anyone here if you’re behind?”

If the poor woman had any patience to begin with, it ran out then and there. “Well, most of the staff’s contracts were cut short like 3 days ago. Doctor Eggman said he’d take care of the rest of the building himself but apparently his ‘equipment’ isn’t in yet for some reason, so he has us stalling, and I’m here with two very upset investors who are ready to pull out of this project if we don’t get things moving, and somehow opening date is in a matter of weeks, and-”

Amy interrupted. “Oh, that’s what we’re here to talk to him about,” she bluffed.

The woman looked skeptical, but it was plain to see that stress was getting the better of her. “About… opening date?”

“About… why his equipment is missing. We took it. Hostage.” Amy’s eyes shot back at Sonic’s momentarily. He stood wide-eyed but let her continue.

A momentary, stunned silence followed.

“Are you serious?”

“Yep,” Sonic cut in. “That’s what we do! Live to be a thorn in Egghead’s side; Mortal enemies and all.”

In her desperation, the woman turned back to see her clients studying their wrists impatiently. One of the men pointed to his watch irritably. She returned her attention to the nuisance at hand, lowering her voice. “I know you two have some ancient beef I don’t care about, but I’ve just been hired to do an honest job, ok? I’ll tell you where to find him- but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Totally!” Amy responded, louder than she intended. “Our lips are sealed!”

“Quiet down! Ugh- I’m so fired…”

She instructed Sonic and Amy on how to reach The Doctor in hushed tones and subtle gestures. He was evidently on sight in a freshly-built underground lab. The entrance was hidden but accessible via key-card.

“So, any chance we could borrow your ID?” Sonic chuckled.

The woman responded only with an eye roll before quickly going back to her work.

“Thanks, anyway,” he called out to her with a wave. “Well, guess we’re on our own from there.” He turned to Amy with a grin. “Nice bluff!”

“Thanks,” she returned. “But, what do you think she meant by missing equipment?”

“Well, maybe…” Sonic trailed off without finishing. “Ah- who knows. Let’s get moving.”

The entrance wasn’t hard to find for those who knew where to look. A series of square steel support columns lined a freshly laid concrete slab, one of many around the acres-wide construction site. There was the faint shape of a doorway outlined on the otherwise smooth surface of the pillars, just where Sonic and Amy were told they’d find the entrance.

“I bet this is it,” Amy remarked, running her fingertips over the shallow mark on one of the column’s facets. “It’s… subtle.”

“Bit outta character for Eggman.” Sonic’s fist met his hip as he leaned back in observation. “We’d usually just break in, but…”

A flick of her wrist surrounded Amy’s hand in a sudden cloud of pink. “Well, it’s worked so far.” She brandished her hammer with a giggle. “Been a little bit since I got to use this.”

“After you, then.”

Amy curtseyed playfully before taking her stance. A moment later, her hammer made contact with the hard surface, denting it considerably to reveal the clear shape of a doorway. A screeching alarm rang out from the door upon contact. Ignoring it, Amy pulled back her hammer a second time, the door well off its hinges after another swing. The high-pitch whine grew louder, emitting from an alarm panel just beyond the destroyed entrance.

Sonic scratched at his ear with a grimace. “Gotta love an alarm. Let’s-”

A third bash of Amy’s hammer interrupted him. The heavy door smashed against the control panel and cut off the screeching alarm in an instant as the dented steel slab fell off the frame to the floor beyond the entrance. “Better?”

“You bet,” he snickered. “Good work. Let’s get in there!” As he took a step forward, Sonic left a pat on Amy’s shoulder.

A sweet chill tickled Amy’s spine when he did. She couldn’t hold back a soft giggle as they stepped into the dark inside the structure.

Just beyond the entrance sat a short level, leading directly to a winding underground staircase, deep past the concrete foundation they were standing on a moment ago. The ceilings were fairly low, the top of the column no doubt built with sturdier materials to support the eventual building it would be housed in. Dim lights lined the walls, the only indication that there was anything beyond a few feet in front of them. Amy and Sonic moved forward cautiously. The eerie, quiet stairwell echoed with their steps and grew darker as they descended. It was a far cry from the audacious design they had come to expect from Dr. Eggman.

The pair were just a few steps down when they were greeted by a line of unfriendly security bots floating their way up the stairs in their direction.

“Right on cue,” Sonic sneered.

He jumped into action instantly, making quick work of the first two robots in front of them as Amy smashed her way through a third. Sonic spun out a good way down the staircase, knocking around several more. Amy swung at each of the disoriented guards before they could regain their balance, finishing them off as she caught up. When she reached the next level, however, she stopped in her tracks behind Sonic’s outstretched arm.

Two much larger robots with hammers of their own stood in front of them, a doorway just beyond their guard. They each took a step toward Amy and Sonic as the latter got ready to spring back into battle. Suddenly, a shrill voice could be heard from a nearby speaker mounted to the ceiling.

“Stand down boys, these two little rodents are guests,” Eggman commanded.

Sonic’s ears perked up. “Could’ve told that to the unlucky bunch back there,” he smirked.

“You could’ve waited for your invitation instead of knocking down my door, you pest,” Eggman retorted harshly. “But since you’re here…”

“Invitation?” Amy whispered to Sonic. He looked just as perplexed.

The doorway behind the guard bots split apart. The room beyond was bright- blindingly so- revealing an office suite fit for a business executive, complete with a robotic secretary sitting at a front desk. Stylishly decorated, it was hardly one of Eggman’s usual lab setups.

Sonic and Amy squinted as they walked past the robots cautiously. Amy held her hammer up close to her chest defensively.

“I’m afraid there are no weapons allowed in the executive suite,” a feminine robotic voice rang out from behind the desk. “I can take that for you if you’d like, miss.”

Amy’s head whipped around to meet the secretary’s gaze. It looked on at her stiffly with an eerie “smile” and coldly lit blue eyes. Amy thought she’d be used to being stared at by a robot by now, but this creepy computer was nothing like Metal. She couldn’t help but think of him as “alive” now. But the secretary in front of her was just a machine.

“I can take that for you if you’d like, miss,” the robot repeated.

“Oh- no- thank you.” Amy responded finally, her hammer disappearing from her grasp in a rosy puff.

The robot did not react. “Can I get you a drink?”

Sonic ignored her. “Yo, Eggman! You gonna leave us waiting?”

“The Doctor will be with you shortly. Can I get you a drink?” the secretary asked again.

“These robots are getting creepier, huh Ames?” Sonic said as he peered directly at its icy eyes.

Eggman’s voice interrupted once again, this time from a speaker on the secretary’s desk. “It’s alright- let them in.”

“The Doctor will see you now.” The light in the robot’s eyes blinked green momentarily as another door opened behind its desk.

It remained unmoving, facing straight ahead as Amy and Sonic walked past it. Definitely creepier, Amy thought.

“So glad you could make it,” Eggman remarked sarcastically from behind an executive desk. “Sit.”

“Swanky place you got here,” Sonic commented as he peered around the room. “Unlike you to be this tasteful.”

“You’re a delight as always,” he grumbled back. “Harassing my staff and destroying my security just weeks before opening. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, I keep hearing that- no offense but this place is pretty far from opening date,” Sonic snickered.

“Of course you would think that. I said sit!”

Sonic shrugged and sat back in a stiff chair opposite Eggman’s desk. Amy did the same, still taking in her surroundings tentatively. She looked for a spot to leave the surveillance microphone.

“Alright,” Sonic said impatiently, “I’ll get to the point- what evil scheme are you up to this time?”

Eggman cackled in response. “I’ll tell you all about my ‘scheme’ if you tell me what you’re doing with my ‘equipment’.”

“You heard that, huh?” Sonic shrugged. “It was just a bluff.”

“Well, since you’re here…” Eggman slapped four glossy tickets on the desk in front of him. “You and the other two pests are invited to the grand opening of Magic City.”

Sonic blinked. “Very funny. Are you gonna tell us what you’re really up to?”

“Are you going to tell me what you think you’re doing with Metal Sonic?”

Amy stiffened at the mention of the name. Sonic couldn’t keep his brows from rising in surprise.

“And why would we be harboring that creepy thing?” Sonic responded after a pause.

Eggman grumbled. “He’s been missing for weeks. You were the last ones to see him.”

“Sounds like you need to keep better track of your property.”

Amy didn’t like the idea of calling Metal “property,” but she stopped herself from saying anything. She could feel Eggman’s eyes on her from behind his dark shades. She turned her face away without a word in the silent moments that followed.

“Hm.” Eggman leaned back in his chair, pensively folding his hands over his chest. “You know, Metal wasn’t thrilled about this idea. I suppose it’s my fault- all Metal’s ever done is go after you.”

“Can’t blame my copy for being obsessed,” Sonic interrupted smugly.

“Humph. You could call it that- if you’re ignorant. But, it was a prime objective for many years…” Eggman scrunched his brow. “Bah- anyway, my goals are different now. Perhaps he was a bit conflicted. We all know he has a tendency to be… rebellious, despite my best efforts…”

Sonic rolled his eyes at the long-winded response. “Why wouldn’t you just reprogram him?”

“Don’t act like a fool. You know as well as I that Metal’s AI makes him more than a machine!” Eggman paused with a sigh. “Not that I haven’t tried,” he mumbled under his breath. “Well, given his unique ‘programming,’ I thought a bit more freedom could be beneficial at this stage in Metal’s development. So, I let him have it,” he shrugged. “That’s why I didn’t go back for him. However, I did expect him back by now…”

Amy couldn’t help but scoff at his last remark. “Did you even try to look for him?”

Eggman raised a brow at her. “Of course I did,” he grumbled. “Metal wasn’t where I left him and all systems have been offline. Why would you even care?”

“I don’t!” Amy huffed. Getting his attention was a mistake. She fidgeted uncomfortably in the stiff chair, waiting for his focus to shift away from her.

“If you’re so sure we have your robot,” Sonic chimed in, “why don’t you just come looking?”

“Because,” Eggman gestured with both hands to the wall behind him, which immediately lit up with concept images of the upcoming Magic City. “You saw my investors, you’ve harassed my staff. This is my life now. The time for barging into your pathetic little hideouts is behind me.” He grinned sardonically. “I need to be on my best behavior, don’t you think?”

A brief, stunned silence followed as Amy and Sonic squinted at the intricately rendered images and plans rotating on the screen behind Eggman.

“You expect us to believe that your so-called investors trust you to build a whole luxury resort with your track record?” Sonic shrugged arrogantly. “Every casino and theme park you’ve built has been a deathtrap.”

“My experience is unmatched. Why do you think they trust me to be the one to build it?” Eggman grinned.

“I don’t know,” Sonic continued, “they didn’t seem too happy with your progress.”

“I have my ways.” Eggman lowered his arms, folding his hands on the desk in front of him as the massive screens dimmed once again. “If you would just return my ‘equipment’.”

Now Amy and Sonic realized how accurate their earlier bluff really was. They exchanged a quick glance in realization.

Uneasy, Sonic pressed himself up in his chair. “What’s Metal Sonic gonna do for this dump?”

“Trade secret.” A beam of light flashed across Eggman’s eyes, reflecting off his shaded glasses as he turned his gaze down. His hands folded over his rumpled mustache. “Consider this a truce. Send back Metal Sonic, and we’ll just stay out of each other’s hair from now on, hm?”

“Why would we do that when we could take out your whole operation now?” Sonic grew serious, drawing all of The Doctor’s attention.

Amy saw her opportunity and gripped the bottom of her chair to plant the device. She sat bolt upright when it made a tiny click. Neither Sonic nor Eggman seemed to notice.

“So you do have him.” An irritated scowl twisted The Doctor’s mouth.

“Yeah, right.” Sonic leaned back into his chair with crossed arms, challenging Eggman with a defiant stare.

“So aggressive,” Eggman shook his head. His elbows made their way onto the arms of his chair as he sat relaxed into it, uninterested in participating in a staring contest with the pest in front of him. “Just come to the opening and see for yourself that there’s nothing nefarious going on. You little rats will get to have the night of your lives, and everyone will see that there are no hard feelings between us. Good for branding, as it were.”

Sonic only raised a brow, peering into Eggman’s obscured eyes.

“Are you scared?” The corners of Eggman’s mouth lifted smugly.

Sonic scoffed. “What?”

“Never thought I’d see you so apprehensive to come to a party! Why else would you refuse?”

“I’m not-” Sonic huffed indignantly. “How do we know this isn’t one of your traps?”

“You don’t. But it’s never stopped you before,” Eggman cackled.

The phone on Eggman’s desk chimed, followed by a robotic voice. “Doctor, your next appointment is here.”

“Thanks, we’re almost finished here.” Eggman turned his attention back to the pair in front of him. “I do hope you can all make it. However, I’m a very busy man with many meetings, so if you’ll see yourselves out…” he gestured again, this time to his right. The wall behind him opened to reveal an elevator a few feet away.

“Right. More investors, I bet,” Sonic said sarcastically, standing up from his seat. “We’ll be there. If we don’t bust you first.”

Amy followed behind him, glancing back at her seat apprehensively. She was relieved to see the device wasn’t visible from the side.

Eggman stood up, ushering the pair into the lift.

“Oh, and Sonic,” as they were both stepping in, Eggman took Sonic by the shoulder to get his attention. “I trust you’ll make the right decision about returning my… ‘equipment’.”

Sonic turned back to The Doctor. He paused at the uncharacteristic gesture. “Uh- I don’t know what you mean?” He stumbled on his words.

Eggman stepped back, waving them off. “Sure, sure. And clean Metal up before you reactivate him or I’m sending you a bill for damages.”

“We don’t have your-” Sonic began to shoot back before the elevator’s rounded doors snapped shut between them.

“Can you believe him?!” he turned back to Amy irately.

“Shh!” Amy scolded faintly as the lift made its way back up to the surface. She shifted her eyes around the compact tube, sure they were being watched.

Sonic caught on, clicking his tongue. He crossed his arms with a grumble as they made their way back to the surface.

They both stepped out warily once there. The tube opened from another towering column, diagonal from the one they had entered. Its doors abruptly clamped together behind them. Amy and Sonic could see the towering structure they’d entered from hundreds of yards away

Amy and Sonic gave each other a knowing look. He reached a hand out to her.

“Let’s go.”

----

hiiiii thank you so much for reading if you’ve gotten this far esp after all the hiatuses. ily. i’d love to talk abt the fic or metamy in general so feel free to send me asks/msgs! i love seeing your tags also they make me very happy!

btw work slowed down a lot thankfully but i’m taking this figure drawing class that’s 6 hours 2x per week and my shoulder is so so sore. did not know drawing could be this physically taxing. but it’s fun i’m having fun (or so i tell myself). shout out to my boss for letting me just take class during work time. #1 mvp

#my wife is killing it with this art you better rb #(please)#thank you for reading!!#unfamiliar #metal sonic #amy rose #metamy #sth #sth fanfiction #ch 17 #i'm scheduling this to post bc i keep meaning to post it but i finish work/school late acsjddj it's been ready for a few days oops

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