Chapter Two: Frozen Reflection

It was the cold that woke him. The chill had seeped through his thick coat and shirt, settling upon his skin before slipping through his blood and tissue and coiling within his bones. He rolled over, shivering. The marble was cold beneath his cheek. His hair pooled around his face, screening his view, but out of the corner of an eye he noticed the icy walls were steaming faintly.

Wait a moment…marble? Icy walls?

Amon leapt to his feet. Or, rather, he tried to. In his severely weakened state all he managed was a feeble shuffle. The outpouring of his Craft had sapped his strength, and it nearly beyond him to even stand. He raised a shaky hand to his aching head, recalling his unwilling initiation to power. Something had writhed and twisted inside his gut, squirming as if to break free. And it had, he thought in horror.

Robin!

Ignoring his various aches and pains, he pushed himself determinedly upright, taking in his surrounds. He didn't know where he was, or what had happened, but that could wait. Only one thing mattered – getting out. And that, it appeared, was going to be difficult. He was at the end of what looked to be a long tunnel, judging by the depth of its reach into the distant shadows. Beneath his boots the inky marble was flecked with quartz, gleaming in the glow of the icy walls. The tunnel was narrow and stifling, coming to an apex barely a foot above his head. Amon turned, seeking a possible exit behind him, but found only a solid block of ice. He sighed, breath misting, then, gritting his teeth, trudged off down the gloomy corridor, to a destination unknown.

He had plenty of time on his shambling journey to consider his whereabouts, but nothing his mind offered made any sense. Astral projection or the like was out of the question – despite his occupation, he had no patience with new age dogma. He considered it merely a money market, with the weak and gullible searching hopefully, helplessly for justification of their existence. They pursued this via self-help books, affirmation tapes and phony mediums, paying every step of the way. What they did with their own money was their own business, but Amon did not tolerate fools, and that was what he judged them to be. He had no intention of adding to their ranks.

What then? If not for the pervasive chill, he'd consider it a dream – a strange and vivid one to be sure, but still, just a dream. Unfortunately there was a certain clarity not present in the hazy reaches of the mind that nipped that idea in the bud. Time travel? No, now he was just getting ridiculous. He was obviously lightheaded from fatigue, entertaining all sorts of idiotic ideas. Unless –

Unless, he was –

The sudden light near blinded him. He wasn't expecting it. His steps had become a plodding monotony allowing him to get caught up in his thoughts – nonsensical as they were – and so he was forced to stop, blinking at the invasive brightness. As his vision gradually cleared he was able to ascertain a shadowed figure, moving closer. Adjusting to the light, he could see a man

No, it can't be

his dark hair pulled negligently into a loose ponytail, the ends of his white coat

I won't believe it

snapping in the brisk wind. His gray eyes crinkled at the corners, and the edges of his mouth

Impossible

turned up in a welcoming smile. The man stopped, a pace away. "Hello, Amon," he said, his voice

My voice

a low rumble. They stood, staring, one light, one dark, each a mirror image of the other. Incredibly, shockingly, Amon had just happened upon himself.

They remained, at an impasse, for several long moments, before Amon, dark Amon, the real Amon, recovered his wits enough to ask, "Who are you?"

The other Amon's smile widened. "I'm you, of course. Just look at us! I can assure you, we're positively identical, even down to the scar on our –"

Amon made a chopping motion with one hand. He stepped forward, grabbing his twin's snowy coat, all exhaustion forgotten. Their faces, disturbingly identical, were now inches apart. "What," he ground out, "is going on?"

The other nodded sagely. "Yes, hmm. I suppose you would want to know. I would were I in your shoes. And just think, they'd fit perfectly!" Amon pushed him away, disgusted. Idiot. Please tell me our personalities are polar opposites.

His cheerful double straightened his jacket, then motioned for Amon to follow as he led the way through the room. Ignoring his confusion, he looked around. The walls had the same icy covering as the tunnels, but they'd widened, creating a cavern the size of a playing field. It was empty, save for a slab of ice, hovering vertical in the centre of the space. Roughly six feet tall and three feet wide, it reminded Amon of nothing more than a mirror, and as he got closer he found it did indeed show his reflection. I look awful, he thought, noting his haggard appearance. His face was pinched and turning blue, while his jacket had seen better days. The sleeves had been torn, no doubt by the broken window. Those shards had flown past him, straight towards Robin –

He'd been careful not to dwell on his ward or her injuries, knowing the guilt would rob him of his final reserve of strength, so he was unprepared for her image to appear in the ice before him. A slight gasp escaped his lips, causing the other Amon to smirk knowingly.

"You know," he began, almost casually, "she's pretty worried about you. I don't know if I would be," pausing to eye his nails critically, "if you'd torn a big chunk out of my – our- face with your Cr-" The sentence remained unfinished due to lack of breath, it having been knocked out by a swift punch to the belly. Amon's likeness lay panting on the cavern floor, while the original watched him impassively.

"How do I get back to Robin?" He asked abruptly. His double got to his feet, resting his hands on his knees for a moment. Presently he looked up.

"That's going to be difficult." Amon's temper was very close to exploding. He'd attacked Robin, passed out, woken up in a strange place, walked for who knows how long, was tired to the point of exhaustion and now this ingrate, this idiot was telling him it was going to be difficult to get back to the person that mattered the mo-

"Why is that?" The curt tone would have sent anyone else running, but the other Amon was unfazed. In fact, he was probably familiar with it. He stretched, smiling mysteriously.

"Because you're dead."

A tic appeared in Amon's right cheek. This was new. He'd never had a tic before. He felt it twitch, once, twice, before settling down. He counted to ten – in three languages – before he considered himself calm enough to respond.

"Dead?" he managed.

His counterpart nodded. "Well, yes, I mean, to a degree."

The tic reappeared.

"To a degree?"

The other Amon sighed. "I'm not sure how to explain it. Do you want me to try?"

"Please do."

"You are currently deep within your subconscious. For you to be here, it means you have undergone severe trauma and suffered enough physical damage to be close to death. Why are there two of us? You are you, your conscious, the image you show to the world. That is comprised of your outward appearance and your shallowest emotions, those which are kept closest to the surface. I am also you. I am your subconscious, at your deepest level. I am the man you are, the man you aren't and the man you desire to be. I am everything that is hidden and nothing that is revealed."

Amon took a moment to digest the information. "So you're me, and I'm you."

A nod.

"That means, your sense of humour is also mine?"

This time his – other half? – smiled, showing teeth. "You better believe it."

Amon sighed. Damn. Suddenly realization hit. "Close to death? I'm close to death? That means I'm not dead."

Subconscious Amon cocked his head to one side, considering. "Yes, that's right. I was about to tell you. Hmm, where was I?"

"Not dead," Amon prompted.

"Oh yes! That's right. Yes, well to get back, you know, to your body, your cold, lifeless form, the house of your so-"

"Get on with it." He supposed it was to be expected his inner self was so similar to Nagira. In many ways, they were two sides of the same coin.

"As I was saying, you have to have a reason to go back."

"Is that all? I can think of several."

"No, not just any reason. An ironclad justification of your existence, the very cause of the breath in your lungs. And, for safety's sake, you have to learn to control your Craft."

He started. His Craft…How would he do it? He'd only used it the once, and with disastrous consequences. And a reason for living…

He looked up, jaw set. "Teach me."

They worked at it, time oozing around them, until Amon couldn't tell if he'd been there a minute or a year. He fought to master the destructive splinter of ice that was concealed within, and learnt basic principles of control. Soon/after an eternity he could call and banish his element to the satisfaction of a most exacting teacher – himself.

His subconscious self bent over, panting slightly, ponytail resting on one shoulder. "I'd ask your reason, but, of course, I already know. After all, she's mine, too."

Amon looked over. Gray eyes locked and understanding moved between them. His twin beckoned. "To get back, you have to pass through the ice." He surveyed the clear pane of frozen water. "Through the looking glass, then, Alice!"

Concentrating on the power within, Amon directed it at the sheet of ice. A crack appeared in the top corner, another at the bottom. Threads moved and grew until the surface was traced with spider webs, crackling and splintering until he broke through, the frosted remains of the panel sloughing around his feet, revealing a long rectangle of void. He peered into the darkness.

A comforting hand slapped onto his shoulder, and he winced as it landed on a scabbing cut, opening it again. He looked back.

"You know, I'd say 'come back soon' but it probably wouldn't be in the best of taste," his double quipped. For a second, just for an instant, both men smiled. One did so easily, the other with difficulty, as if the skill was rusty from disuse. Then Amon stepped from the light and hurtled back to life, his body, and Robin.

She was sobbing quietly, cradling Amon's pale face to her chest. "Amon," he heard her whisper, soft voice despairing. He spent a moment – breathing – inhaling her scent, savoring her closeness, appreciating her warmth. He opened his eyes.

Thanks for the reviews, guys! I'd like to email you all personally but I haven't gotten around to it. Hmm, again with the dark. I actually planned a warm and fuzzy romance, dammit! Anyway, please review, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!