DISCLAIMERS: Don't own, don't sue.
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Where was he? This wasn't where he was before, Flik realized dully. But what did that mean? It was hard to process his thoughts; everything was coming to him slowly, like reality was a lazy tide just lapping at his toes. When he tried to remember how he'd ended up here he found that his short term memory had become fuzzy...He remembered entering North Window and meeting Wil, and then... He had no way of knowing that what he was experiencing was a kind of magical backlash, brought on by an unwanted presence in his mind. But even if he had, the information would have been lost on him.
This room was more comfortable than the one before, he thought. Rather spartan in decor, the place contained only a bed, a table, and some chairs. His vision was still too foggy to make out any colors in the room, though Flik imagined that it should be done in varying colors of blue.
Flik picked himself up off the floor with difficulty--his head felt thick and his limbs were unwieldy, refusing to comply with his commands. He pitched forward upon making it to his feet, grabbing the wall just in time to avoid splitting his head open. His white-knuckled hand appeared against the dark surface of the wall like a specter, his pale flesh contrasting with the shadowy surroundings. Somehow the sight of that hand was enough to fling him back into reality; it seemed strange, alien; and yet, totally his own. As if he was looking at himself from far away.
He was confused. Why was his own hand alarming him so? Yet, the longer he stared, the more Flik feared that his knees might completely give way, and he would collapse in on himself--unable to cope with the inner turmoil he was thrown into. Unthinkingly, Flik ran the shaking hand through his hair in an attempt to further calm himself, only to realize why he was so unnerved.
The hand did not move. That was not his hand.
Flik pushed himself away from the wall so quickly and with such force that he barely remained balance as the backs of his knees collided with the bed. The corner where he had only just stood was shrouded in shadows, still, though another's presence was immediately discernable in the room. Flik lacked the voice to call out; whatever it was that had been disabling him earlier was still wreaking havoc on his senses. However, the other entity seemed to hear and obey his unsaid wishes, and stepped fully into the wan light.
This time Flik was unable to catch himself as he fell gracelessly backwards onto his rear, nor was he capable of being grateful that the bed was there to catch him. His mouth fell open in an expression of pure shock as he stared back at the now visible figure. He was incapable of understanding what he clearly saw standing before him.
It was him, exactly as Flik had appeared a few days ago when he'd last seen his reflection. The thing even had the minute scar bisecting the left eyebrow, just as Flik had. For an impossibly long second, Flik wondered if perhaps it wasn't just a mirror. However, that illusion was broken when Flik once again rose to his feet, and the other him failed to mimic his actions.
"What the hell are you?" Flik demanded of the thing that was not him, his voice sounding mute and ineffectual in the small, enclosed room. Weak or not, the sound broke the other of his paralysis; it took one slow, deliberate step towards Flik, then another, and another, until they stood face to identical face. His doppelganger regarded him coolly for a moment before his face broke into what Flik could only describe as a wicked smile.
For the first time Flik actually heard his own voice. Not deep, but mellifluous, the thing spoke using his vocal chords. "'The hell,' indeed," it said. "What do I look like?" It inched closer, and Flik resisted the urge to push it away. He couldn't back away, either, lest he fall in a vulnerable position on the bed. For some reason, he knew that would be an unwise thing to do with the creature nearby. What could he do? He had nothing to attack it with.
"Well, what do I look like?" The demon--for surely that was what this thing must've been--indicated that its previous question wasn't a rhetorical one. Its--his--blue eyes flashed as he leaned away from Flik, as if it was displaying itself. Flik's gaze darted past the other Flik, scanning the room for any possible escapes, and found with a sickening surge of dread that there were none. Not even a window interrupted the dark blankness of the walls. His eyes returned to the double standing before him.
"You're--" he started to say, but his voice caught in his throat, unable to finish the thought. He was him, or at least he looked like him, but his mouth refused to form the words. He balked at the thought of sharing his identity, even if this was all fake, which he expected it was. The whole situation reeked. "You're not real." Flik finished.
"Of course I am," the other returned. "How could I be standing here, if I wasn't?"
"I--" Flik was unable to think of a reasonable explanation, and the thing with his body knew it. However, the look of smug, self-satisfaction growing on the demon's--Flik's--face made him feel less uneasy and more angry. Absently, Flik wondered if he looked as infuriating when he was pleased with himself.
Flik's anger gave him confidence that he didn't have before. He was fed up with all of this; he was tired, and he just wanted to get to Kuskus, or, that failing, he wanted to curl up with Viktor and sleep for days. And this imitation of himself was standing right in his way. He made to shove the double out of his way, had almost brushed past him when the other Flik pushed against him, hard, and cleanly swept his feet from underneath him. He landed on the bed with a grunt; his breath was knocked from him as he felt his own body settle on top of him.
It was...odd. Something so familiar and yet so foreign, the body pressed up against him he knew intimately, but he didn't know it at all. The way it felt--the sharp pressure of hipbones digging into his thigh, the hand twining with his own and pressing it into the mattress--that could have been anyone. But the very fact that he knew that it was his body--that what he felt now was what others felt when they were with him...
"Get off!" Flik fought to free his arms, one trapped under the other's knee and the other held, almost lovingly, by its hand. As he struggled he found, not surprisingly, that its strength was equal to his own. Flik bucked to throw the doppelganger off of him, but realized instantly that it was the wrong thing to do. His own image leered down at him, his face filling his vision like some kind of demented mirror. Flik was sure that he had never worn an expression quite like that one, ever. If this thing was pretending to be him, it was doing a sorry job of it.
What had been anger before quickly grew into fury as Flik realized that the demon had trapped him in such a way that the only way he would be able to get up would be if the demon decided to let him up. "Get off before I tear you apart," he said slowly, forming the words meticulously and with care. He was dangerously close to screaming and he was grasping for calm that he didn't possess.
To his utter shock, it laughed. It threw its head back, baring the smooth, white expanse of its neck, and roared with laughter. Flik could only watch, amazed, as his likeness's face contorted with merriment and blue eyes dancing with mirth once again held him. "Tear me apart?" It said incredulously, a smile gracing its fine features. "Destroy me? I never took you as being self-destructive." It leaned over him, pressing its face close until their noses almost touched.
"You're not--" Flik bit out, but the other Flik didn't give him a chance to finish.
"I am," it broke in. They were so close Flik could feel its hot breath against his face. He resisted the urge to run his tongue over his lips. As it was, eyes that he'd only seen reflected back at him were scouring his features in a way that was not entirely comfortable or pleasant. "And wouldn't it be a shame to destroy something of such beauty...?" It purred, bringing its free hand to smooth the hair back from Flik's forehead.
Flik froze. He desperately wanted to cry out, "Don't touch me!" But for the second time since meeting the double, his voice remained locked in his throat. This could not be happening. His mind shouted reasons why the situation he found himself in--pinned by himself to a bed--simply had to be a dream. Flik shook his head, looking up at what was not him. It wasn't real...but the sword-callused hand that now rested on his cheek felt real enough, and the weight of the body pressing him into the sheets was difficult to deny.
The creature looked amused as he stared down at his likeness. "This is happening," it told him, "you're not dreaming." Flik stopped shaking his head, but turned away from the disturbing image, praying to be woken up.
"I don't see why you're so upset," the other Flik continued, "this is everything you've ever wanted, isn't it? Isn't it true? Why you can never be happy because no one can ever compare to what you see in the mirror..."
"No!" Flik snapped, finding his voice. "I am happy!"
"But you wonder," it returned. "When it's late at night and you might be the only man alive, you wonder. Don't bother lying--I know all your secrets."
The horror apparent in Flik's eyes told the other all that it needed to know. It could have been compassion or desire that captured the creature's face as it said, "You don't have to wonder anymore."
Flik gasped as the short distance between their lips was closed and the demon's tongue slipped inside his mouth. He was too stunned to respond, violently or otherwise. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Flik noted that the other Flik tasted of cinnamon and something else that he couldn't quite place. Is that what I...? No. He wasn't going to complete that thought.
"How you taste, how you feel..." it breathed, breaking away and licking its lips. Flik said and did nothing; the only option left to him was to wait for the other's next move. And it came all at once--the creature covering Flik's mouth with its own once again, and at the same time, pushing his shirt up so its long-fingered hand could explore the pale, toned midsection underneath.
Cringing and sinking into the bed as far as possible, Flik tried his damnedest to be free of the other's touch. It was horrible--the hands he saw and used everyday were suddenly treacherous, violating. The boundaries of what was him and what wasn't were swiftly becoming blurred; he wasn't even sure that it wasn't him anymore.
Flik attempted once again to liberate his hands, if only so he could shield his gaze from the face that was so achingly familiar to him. He couldn't help but feel betrayed--the image in the mirror was suddenly turning traitor. And it wasn't about trust, per se, but rather that he had ever expected a threat from this direction at all. It was this manner of being unprepared that left him feeling like he'd been broadsided.
The creature ended the kiss, but did not let Flik up. It shifted, bringing Flik's arm down so that it could be trapped in the same manner as the other, freeing both of its hands. Taking hold of either side of Flik's face, the double forced Flik to look up. "Give in to me," it said, smiling reassuringly. "You know you're curious, and no one has to know. Not Viktor..."
Hands that Flik had mistaken as his own trailed downward, a path snaking down his neck and chest that almost seemed to burn. Fingers sporting scars that Flik remembered getting when he was young and clumsy with a sword followed the lines of his ribs to his spine, where the feather-light touches there caused him to arch forward against the other's chest.
Flik bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn't meant to respond that way. It was an automatic reaction, to be sure...
The other laughed deep in its throat. "Finally, a response," it said, sounding truly pleased. The hands came away from his back, were gone for a moment, much to Flik's relief.
"Get off of me," Flik growled, defiant now that the creature's hands and mouth weren't on him.
"No," it said, "I don't think I will." The hands returned, settling on the front of his pants this time.
"What?!" Flik exclaimed, though it sounded more like a wordless cry of surprise. Had he had the leverage, he would have jumped away. But as it was, he remained trapped underneath the other's body. It looked pleased as it started picking at his laces. More than ever, Flik struggled to get loose, but it was in vain.
Flik's breath caught in his chest and he was sure that his heart stopped beating as the other's hand disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. His sharp gasp sounded deafeningly loud to his ears as the demon held him, and the soft chuckle in reply was lost on him.
In spite of Flik's struggling, the demon continued, seemingly gaining more from the man's protest than anything else. It was a moment before it leaned over and kissed him again, starting at his mouth, but eventually making its way down his jaw line and to the hollow of his neck. Flik responded as if it were Viktor on top of him. He wanted to die.
He closed his eyes, haunted by the sound of his own laughter.
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If Neclord were capable of sweating, he would have been dripping with perspiration. Creating and maintaining the illusion was taking more out of him than he had originally thought it would. Flik's mind was revolting against the images Neclord was providing for it--not surprisingly--and if he accidentally let a gap be woven in to his tapestry the man's mind could easily slip through it, making all of his work so far for naught. And he'd be damned--oh, wait. Neclord resisted the urge to chuckle at his own joke.
For the countless time this evening, Flik once again almost threw himself completely back into reality. Neclord wished he could have gotten up and hit the man, but doing so would have shattered the effect. For all intents and purposes, what Flik was seeing was real; stepping through the door would have allowed anyone to see exactly what he was seeing. But Neclord himself was hiding, just a phantom in this mini-universe he'd created. It had to be so, otherwise, none of this would even have an effect on Viktor.
Speaking of the dreadful man, Neclord sensed his presence just outside the house. Neclord was shocked that he could have gotten so close without him realizing it sooner. Spinning elaborate illusions like this were really very dangerous. He'd probably not do it again--at least, not with someone as bothersome as Viktor.
Not that Viktor or his man would be making it through this alive. Neclord fully intended on killing them once the full impact of his creation could be felt. And it was going to be so perfect.
Neclord heard Viktor's footfalls as he thundered up the stairs, and watched with growing delight as the door--not visible in his illusion--flew open. Viktor's face was a mask of confusion which swiftly grew into disbelief as he caught sight of the vision on the bed. Neclord smothered a cackle, not wanting to make himself seen or heard just yet. The damning tableau he was witnessing would stay with him the rest of his immortal days.
Part of him wished it could go on forever, but then he wouldn't get to kill them. Oh well. It had been fun. Neclord started unweaving the illusion.
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Viktor swung open the door only to be faced with an utterly puzzling scene. For one thing, he used to live in this house, and he didn't remember this particular room looking this particular way. His mother had despised the color blue, but this room was done up in so many different shades of it, his mother would have had fits. And second, the meager furniture in the room was much nicer than what they could have ever afforded, and it was still in good condition, besides.
And the third factor that made Viktor wonder if perhaps he hadn't gone absolutely insane was the sight of Flik and what appeared to be another Flik in quite a compromising position on the bed. But surely his eyes deceived him; there was just no way that was possible. As he took a staggering step forward, Viktor realized that they were locked in more than what could have been described as "compromising position."
Oh.
Viktor wasn't capable of any other intelligent thought. What the hell was going on? It didn't take a genius to realize that something was very wrong about this whole situation. Before he could stop himself, Viktor's thoughts were vocalized.
"What the hell...?!"
Flik's gaze shot up from where he'd hiding his face in the bedding to regard Viktor with unending relief. Viktor was moved into action. He didn't know what was going on, but he couldn't ignore a look like that one. Moving across the room, he pulled the two apart, lifting the figure on top away by the back of his shirt. The Flik that was not Flik stared at him for a long moment, before smiling widely. The Flik that was Flik sat up on the bed and pulled his shirt down indignantly and slid several feet away from the other him.
Both Flik and Viktor watched, mouths agape, as the double winked. The moment the action was completed, it disappeared, and Viktor was left holding nothing. Flik fell unceremoniously to the floor, because along with the demon, the bed and other fancy furnishings had vanished. It was gone--the room was the way Viktor remembered it.
Except for one thing. Neclord lounged in a relaxed, yet dignified manner in what used to be a window sill, wearing a smiled that threatened to break into laughter at any moment.
Flik suddenly remembered why and how he had gotten there. He doubled over as if he'd been punched in the stomach, because appropriately enough, having memories slam back into one's head is the mental equivalent of receiving such a blow. Viktor spared him a quick, concerned glance, but was unable to go to him. Neclord looked at Flik with mock-pity before turning to Viktor.
"He enjoyed it, you know," the vampire said, not making any move to leave his perch in the window. Viktor didn't need to know that it was because he lacked the power to move with ease. The large man stared at him blankly and Flik, standing to his full height, looked more than ready to kill.
Viktor surprised everyone by laughing. He looked at the vampire with no small amount of amusement in his eyes. "You think I blame him? Hell, if I had Flik attacking me like that, I certainly wouldn't complain."
Flik's expression became unreadable, and Neclord's eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. The vampire seemed unsure of how to react--his plan was beginning to blow up in his face. Flik was still reacting in a way that was satisfactory, but Viktor was not cooperating. Perhaps he had read the situation wrong. Perhaps Viktor was not as possessive as he seemed--or maybe he had underestimated Viktor's hatred for him. Perhaps he would have been better off maiming Flik, after all. In any case, this was not turning out the way that he had hoped.
"But do you realize that the attacker was not chosen by me, but by your man, there?" Neclord scrambled to gain the upper hand once again.
"So he's narcissistic. That's better than being a life-sucking vampire." Viktor refused to let Neclord take command again. The point of Viktor's sword rose, level with the vampire's neck. Flik crossed the short distance to Viktor's side, though he felt useless without a weapon. The large man's words were doing nothing to settle him--indeed, they were making him feel worse. But right now Viktor wasn't his main problem, nor was it what had just been happening a few moments before. Right now he was going to tear Neclord into pieces.
Neclord said nothing--could think of nothing to say--and even though he was still sitting, he managed to look down his nose at both of the men. "Well, you certainly are barbaric, aren't you?"
Viktor smiled humorlessly. "Get up, you thrice-damned son of a bitch." The sword's point was close enough to touch the loose, dry skin of Neclord's jowls. Another step forward and the blade would impale the vampire's throat. He looked neither aware nor concerned about it.
"I would, truly, but I'm afraid holding this little charade has been quite taxing. I'd love to stick around and play, but..."
Viktor, sensing what was about to happen, brought his blade forward and down with enough force to splinter the wooden window sill completely in half. Unfortunately, that was all it had a chance to destroy--the vampire was gone.
Jerking his blade free with a curse, Viktor let it fall to the floor with a deafening clatter. Flik was surprised to find that the intense rage he'd harbored only a moment before had dissipated, leaving him only with an overwhelming weariness. He looked on Viktor's display with tired eyes.
"Forget it," he muttered, turning to the door. "Just forget it." He left without seeing if Viktor would follow.
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Two weeks later they were well way to Radat, however, the somber atmosphere of North Window still continued to haunt them. Things were tense between Flik and Viktor, things that desperately need to be said were left silent; hanging. Traveling as they were, it was easy to ignore their problems. Claiming weariness at night was easier than lying.
The problem was completely on Flik's side, either. Though the guilt he felt was gnawing and eating away at him inside, Viktor wasn't helping matters by completely failing to acknowledge that they had a problem at all. When he wasn't forcing a happy countenance, he was blatantly ignoring Flik, both of which were making him to retreat further and further away from the other man. Flik wasn't sure if Viktor were disgusted or simply made uncomfortable by his presence, or what.
They were in shambles.
For once, Flik wasn't grateful that they'd stopped for a while. Viktor had suggested a break an hour or so ago, and Flik, not wanting to argue with the man, had obliged. There was a small spring nearby, so he took the opportunity to wash himself and his clothes.
The water was clear for the most part, though it wasn't very deep. He could see the blue sky reflected in its glassy surface, the image interrupted only by the occasional falling leaf. It was beautiful. Flik hated it.
Standing naked in the spring, Flik gazed down at his own watery reflection. He despised seeing it anymore--not that it made him uncomfortable, but rather that he resented it. He wished he could say that none of this would have ever happened if not for him--at least there would be someone convenient to blame--but he couldn't. He knew damn well that what had happened would have happened, regardless of whom Viktor was traveling with. But still, to have his faults used in such a humiliating way. Flik dashed the surface of the spring with his hand, obliterating his reflection.
He did not desire himself. He did not wonder what it would be like. He did not wish to meet someone similar to himself so that he could find out. What Neclord had picked up on was his shame, not his desire. Flik knew he was attractive, but he also knew it was prideful to admit it; to flaunt it; especially when those around him were not. Beauty in men was not something to be proud of--or even something to acknowledged. Over time, a stigma grew from his modesty/vanity--he felt guilty that he was attractive when others were not. So when Viktor called him beautiful, it was like he was pointing out something that was vaguely shameful, not complimenting him.
Shame was different than narcissism. Flik would not let himself believe otherwise.
A stir in the bushes alerted Flik to another's presence. He turned just in time to see Viktor's back turn as he retreated.
"Wait," Flik called out, freezing the other man in his tracks. Viktor reluctantly turned, but kept his gaze averted from Flik's unclad body. Inwardly, Flik sighed. It was time to deal with this now. He was tired of dancing around Viktor and feeling guilty. Couldn't he just tell him that he disgusted him?
"We need to talk, I think," said Flik, stepping out of the spring and locating his pants. This conversation was going to be awkward enough as it was, he didn't need to be naked, too. However, Viktor did not lose his uncomfortable expression even after Flik had dressed. Flik became worried--he didn't know that it was that bad. Viktor looked ready to bolt at any moment.
Flik fought down his rising panic. "I'm sorry," he began. "You have to know that I...what happened, back there...I really..." Flik was having trouble deciding how he was going to say what he needed to say. "Viktor, truly, I--" He cut himself off, staring up at Viktor with troubled blue eyes. "I don't know what to say other than 'I'm sorry.'"
The eyes that met Flik's were equally pained. Flik took a tentative step forward. "I know that what happened was horrible, and that it was mostly my fault. You have to believe me when I say--"
Viktor broke in by pulling Flik into a smothering embrace, arms wrapped tight enough around him to squeeze the breath from his lungs. But any discomfort he might have felt was lost in the wave of relief brought on by the man's touch.
"Shut up, Flik," he said, "I'm sorry for letting that happen to you. I--Neclord--it was my--"
"Let's just leave it at that, alright?" It was Flik's turn to interrupt. "We're both sorry." A few long moments pasted, and eventually Viktor released him.
No longer swayed by the man's presence, Flik was dismayed to realize that a few things still weighed heavily on his conscience. He frowned up at the man. "Though I don't understand how you can say that, after what...happened," he said.
For the first time in days Viktor's face was brightened by a smile. "I meant what I said up there--if you attacked me like that, I'd enjoy it too."
"Viktor, that's--"
"I know you don't think of yourself that way," he said. "I can hardly get you to acknowledge a damn compliment, so why would I think that? What makes you think I would let Neclord make me doubt you?"
Flik looked up at Viktor gratefully. It wasn't the end-all to his problems, but it was a start.
"You're beautiful, Flik. Get over it." The younger man looked like he still didn't know what to say. Viktor was more than willing to help him out. "Just say 'thank you.'"
Flik studied him for a long while. Then, with a smile starting to pull at his own lips, he spoke.
"Thanks," he near-whispered. And then suddenly humor was alight in his eyes as well. "But how did you know which one was me?"
Viktor's raucous laughter echoed off the surface of the water. "Well, you certainly weren't the one on top," he said, chuckling.
Flik tried to be angry, but he just didn't have it in him. He hit Viktor anyway.
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THE END
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