Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts does not belong to me. I'm just borrowing its characters.
Through A Mirror Darkly
He whispered the name again, listening to the sibilant hiss of the 's' fade away into a resigned 'ah', before the sound was swallowed into silence in the near darkness of his room. Sora did not turn towards him, his face set in a determined expression as he swung his Keyblade, movements still a little clumsy. In spite of those movements, he noted that Sora's actions had become sharper and more confident with each consequent fight. A black glove rose to touch Sora's check, but the image would never feel the warmth of the leather. Riku repeated the name, watching his breath fog up the part of the mirror that bore Sora's neck, and closed his eyes.
How Maleficent, the witch of Hollow Bastion, ever managed to capture the image of Sora so clearly, turning the vast mirror in his room into some kind of transmitter that focused solely on Sora was beyond him, but he didn't complain. At least there was Sora's image to look at. A living (almost breathing, if he just closed his eyes and pretend) person to let his insatiable appetite for a familiar face feast on. In the times when he was tired and alone and helpless, he always sat at the foot of the mirror, conscientiously observing Sora's every emotion. Every tear. Every smile.
The smiles hurt so badly.
He never imagined that they would hurt. Later, he reflected that it must have been homesickness, that the boy, laughing and crying and real, even though he was trapped behind the cold glass of the mirror, was a hundred, a thousand times more attractive than the girl, whom although he could touch and smell and talk to, was only a vegetative doll of a person, her eyes eternally closed, never able to respond at all.
Sora symbolized life, as he should, with his face, his actions and his eyes. Kairi, on the other hand, appeared more to be a candidate for the living dead than anything resembling the light she was supposed to represent at the moment.
Groaning softly, Riku opened his eyes, pressing his face to the cold glass. The mirror did not reveal Sora's location; somehow, a kind of blank space surrounded the younger teen, showing nothing. But Sora was there, laughing now, as if with relief, one hand clutched around his stomach, and inside, the feeling of envy and jealousy hit.
How dare he? How dare he…be happy and laugh when Kairi and I are not there? When I am not there? How dare he?
Maleficent's castle, vast and generous in all things except the idea of warmth, only held his interest for the first few days before he grew bored of the endless wandering. Sometimes, the witch sent him out of the castle to do messenger work; he suspected it was just to get him out of his pacing and incessant complaints of boredom. But when the 'work' led him to Traverse Town, and then Agrabah, two places where he saw Sora up close, the loneliness and hatred burned anew.
Sora, he decided, didn't deserve him or Kairi. If he could get on so well with the strange, anthromorphic creatures, just days after they were separated, well, it certainly said a lot about the 'everlasting' friendship they were supposed to have. The rejection stung when he saw Sora with his new companions in Traverse Town, and like an injured animal he couldn't help but run back into the only refuge that he knew was offered to him. Riku's mouth twisted upwards bitterly, remembering the destruction he left in his wake after leaving his room.
Even now, he felt almost afraid of his rage.
Not that his mood was ever at its best, because it was difficult to be happy in a large castle empty of any normal, human inhabitations, and it felt ridiculous trying to tell jokes to a comatose Kairi after the first few desperate tries. Now, he just sat by her side and brooded, but it only reminded him more of his loneliness.
Maleficent, despite her self-proclaimed status that she was his benefactor after 'rescuing' him from the pit that was her own dungeon after all, never deigned herself to conduct any small talk with him. Soon, even his desire to talk to someone faded when it came to her, what with her bored words and impatience when she was occupied with something else that clearly bode a higher importance than him. He didn't know what was worse, her casual (if at all) indifference to him, or the almost vindictive attention she paid him when she needed something to be done.
Which was why he become wary of anything she did with him in mind.
"Boy."
"Get out of my room."
He knew that it was useless, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them. Almost instinctively, he braced himself for the typical cuff of her staff for being so 'insolent', as she put it, but when it didn't come, he stared defiantly at her. She was smiling, a thin cunning smile that made him feel sick.
"But I have a present for you."
"Thank you, but I don't want it."
"But I think you will."
The rustle of cloth behind him made him turn, and he saw a reflection of himself, green eyes wide and tired-looking, his face pale from the lack of sun, expression unhappy. He flinched.
"Take it away! I didn't destroy the previous mirror for nothing!"
"Look again, boy. You might see something else." Her voice was dripping syrup, sweet for the incredulous moment. When he refused, this time, she did hit him, forcefully turning his face towards the hated mirror.
However, all thoughts of rebelling vanished when he saw Sora's surprised look, quickly turning into a frown that made him smile unexpectedly, so ordinary and familiar was he with the expression.
"Sora…?" His hands had reached out almost involuntarily to his friend, palms hitting cruelly on the glass. Behind him, he heard the witch laugh, but he didn't care. Sora was here, or at least, he could see Sora. The mirror was just a larger version of the crystal ball the witch kept in her viewing room, but for a moment, he felt almost grateful to her for giving him this opportunity to watch Sora.
Yet, when he turned to her, mouth opening into a word of thanks, she backhanded him, sneering, "It's not only for you to gaze senselessly at, boy. Watch him. Learn everything he learns. And learn how to counter them. Don't forget, he turned his back on you.
"He's not your friend anymore."
"I know." He replied sullenly, hating her again. His hands curled into fists, "I understand."
Maybe she was the one who knew what the mirror would have brought out of him. Watching Sora, day after day after day, he learned that Sora sleeps with his stomach exposed, that Sora tends to eat too fast and chokes himself, coughing and nearly turning purple with the lack of air, that sometimes, Sora hugs himself when he thinks no one is watching (the sad, surreptitious looks he shoots around him) and cries, and that Sora gives the most endearing grin to the people outside of the mirror's reach, one hand typically rubbing the back of his neck in an old habit.
He observed Sora's fighting style, yes, but he focused on Sora's daily movements more. And each time, he learnt more and more about the boy than he ever wanted to. Than he ever dreamed. Something in his chest swelled and throbbed and hurt even as he watched Sora turn on a bed. Riku crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the image of Sora sleeping peacefully, and tried not to cry at the pain.
He didn't notice in his misery, that a pair of green eyes gleamed and a thin, pleased smile flashed in the darkness before both vanished. Perhaps it would have been wiser of him to pay attention, but even then, he had given all of his thoughts towards Sora.
In the morning, the witch surprised him again when she suddenly loomed into his room, a few old, tattered-looking notebooks floating behind her. The stationary fluttered almost like birds, but they smelt musty, as if they had not seen the light of day, and he snorted softly at the irony of that thought.
"I thought," Maleficent began; ignoring the rather mutinous looks he was shooting her, "that you may want to study some of Ansem's work. If you're not going to train and fight the Keyblade Master, perhaps one of the Heartless may be able to succeed. Provided, of course, that you teach it to fight. One might imagine after all that mooning, you'll be more than able to understand and counter his attacks." She paused, watching in sick pleasure at the colouring of his face.
"This," she indicated the books, "is all of the known the research Ansem had recorded in…manipulating the Heartless. While I don't think you fancy the idea of taking someone else's heart as an exchange for a Heartless' will, Ansem had attempted to create a new Heartless without the aid of a heart. The project was nearly a success. But he never completed it." The witch turned away, robes trailing behind her. "From what I read of the reports, it appeared that he was too cowardly and weak to take the last step."
"Why should I? I know Sor – the Keyblade Master the best, I don't need a heartless to do my work for me." He retorted, looking at the books that settled themselves nicely on the sole desk in the room. They were unmarked except for a bold roman numeral on the cover, looking almost ordinary.
The witch smirked, touching one finger to her chin. "Really?"
Riku looked away. "I can do it."
"At any rate, it wouldn't hurt if you test the Keyblade Master to judge his strength. Perhaps you should. Perhaps, for her."
The silver haired teen knew whom she referred to. "Perhaps." He replied to the air.
He didn't touch the books until days later, when boredom threatened to overwhelm him again. The book he selected weighed light in his hand, and he fingered the well-worn cover, turning it, glancing over the neat script in black ink. "Day One," it read. "It's her one-year anniversary. In memory of her, I'm embarking on a new project. A Heartless, in her image."There were some heavily crossed out words, then the intelligible writing continued. "I wonder if it would work."
Day Two
My progress with the new Heartless has shown me that a heart would only result in a new type of Heartless. Its form would be unexpected, not what I have been looking for. I know that they can think, I know that they can communicate, and that they are pliable in their shape should they wish to change it.
But how can I get one to turn into her?
A Heartless must come to me of its own will. It must submit its will to me, but how? How…
Riku frowned, quickly turning the pages over. Most of the pages recorded failures, whole passages crossed out, and the comprehensible ones, at best, were notes on the failures and theories to try out. Impatiently, he took the last notebook, turning to the last written page in an attempt to find a shortcut for the answer he wanted.
The Sixth Day
She's nearly finished.
But something is wrong. She can't hold her form, and I hear voices. I hear her voice. She's calling for a heart. She calls for an identity.
I want to give it to her.
But I'm afraid. This isn't….
Perhaps it never was.
He flipped back a few pages, but was faced with the same angry black streaks that Ansem appeared to love using when he was aggravated with things gone wrong. With a low cry, he flung the notebook away, the pages slipping out of the binding glue's grasp to scatter on the floor. For a moment Riku stared at the scattered sheets, then making a noise of disgust, he got up from the bed.
The books had looked deceptively thin, but there was a surprisingly large amount of notes the man had managed to squeeze in his neat handwriting. Still, the tiny script had tried most of Riku's limited patience, and while he attempted to convince himself that a Sora Heartless really wouldn't work out, the idea had been tempting.
He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. "I need to clear my head," he grumbled to himself. "Maybe…I need to talk to Kairi."
The girl's room was a copy of his, except that she didn't have a large mirror with Sora running to and fro in it. He dragged the only chair in the room to her bedside, taking her cold hand and stroking it in an effort to make it warm. Kairi's body had not moved at all, and only the slight rise and fall of her chest justified that she was still alive. But barely.
"Kairi," he called gently. The girl did not stir, but he continued talking, ignoring the fact that the witch might be watching and laughing at him and Kairi would not respond and Sora was just not there and that made his chest ache.
I must be crazy. First I'm talking to a girl who can't react for some reason, then I obsess over a mirror image, and then I'm back to talking to the girl again.
Kairi, his mind argued. Her name is Kairi. Not just any girl. You'll need all the friends you can get.
"Yeah," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Kairi, talk to me." He clasped her hand between his, touching her ice-cold fingers to his lips. "Someone, talk to me." His grip tightened almost desperately. "Anyone."
"Please."
His voice echoed emptily in the room, mocking him.
Author's Note: I accidentally erased the fic when I meant to edit it, because I realised that there were some very minor plot mistakes that I made, given that I never got to play the game. It doesn't really affect the fiction itself, but the timeline got a bit screwed. So, erm, sorry to anyone who reviewed. I also took several liberties with Ansem's character, so if anyone wants to talk about it, yeah, comment and hopefully I'll email back.
By the way, this is a result of reading angst, then humor, then slapstick and then vainly trying to get back angst. So, yes, it is wonky, it is strange, and man, it ain't good. The only reason I wrote it was that the idea is good, but, heh, I don't do it justice.
And don't try talking me out of it.
Cheerios, then.