Title: Hello to Oblivion
Fandom: Rocky Horror Picture Show
Pairing: Frank/Rocky

Disclaimer: Rocky Horror belongs to the wonderful Richard O'Brien, not me.
Note: This fic is based on the assumption that Frank and Rocky both go to the same place when they die. Not meaning any offense to anyone who thinks differently, but just thought I'd warn you.

Dr. Frank N. Furter, commonly known as Frank, Master, and any other names that could be purred into the ear beneath a full moon, was finally awake. And it was not a pleasant feeling. The sinking in his stomach immediately implied that something horrible had happened, but he hadn't quite managed to grasp what it was yet.

He did comprehend that his back was on something flat and hard, and his hair was undoubtedly a fright. Good moring, sunhine. But there was no sun, and he was cold. No wonder—he was dressed to impress, which meant that he was freezing. The memories all came rushing back at once.

"I'll take assertiveness over whimpering submission any day of the week, but from my own servants? I think not!" Wetly crimson lips curved into a contemptuous grimace, "Why did he choose tonight of all nights to do it, I wonder...But, then again, who am I to judge the motives of a murderer?"

"Takes one to know one, doctor," Frank sat up, turning toward this new, relatively unfamiliar voice. "Rocky! You're talking!"

The blonde blinked. "Rocky...I suppose that's what you called me, isn't it?" He sounded tired, "And yes, I can speak...Could speak all along, you know, but I realized that those who could talk to you didn't have much of an advantage anyway, and I thought it was best if I just played dumb, if you'll excuse the pun. But what am I to call you, who created me? Father, perhaps?" Frank flinched at that word, and hastily banishing the memories it brought forth, replied, "No, no…I wouldn't think names were so important now that we're dead, but I suppose Frank will do in a crisis."

"Dead," the word was spoken bitterly, without emotion. "We're dead, Frank, and do you want to know why? I died trying to save you, which I now realize was a mistake, and you died because of how you treated your servants. They had been your equals, I suppose, on whatever distant planet you inhabited, but you wouldn't treat them that way, would you?"

Now it was Frank's turn to sound tired. "Rocky, Rocky, you wouldn't understand...Riff Raff was just an assistant to me, in the beginning. We were going to share all of the profits--we were in it together. He and his sister couldn't be separated, so I brought her along as well, not thinking much of it. But Riff Raff got more ambitious, wanting to be where I was, the brains in the operation. You see, I had always unwittingly been pushing him toward the menial side of things, giving him jobs that I thought suited him, wanting to keep all of the important work for myself." He gave a short laugh at this, "I might have at one time wondered about whether what I was doing was right, but I couldn't take back what I had already done...And I don't know if I'm sorry or not. Riff was always ambitious, taking power wherever he could get it, and he hated me, because Magenta had been infatuated with me for a while, at first—I was mad to think that the two of us could get along at all."

Rocky was silent for several moments, digesting this information. "Well, at least now I know the reasoning behind some of your more heartless acts...But why did you even create me? It seemed like all you wanted to do was hurt me, hold me down."

Frank was at his side in an instant, for a moment at a loss for words. "No, no, Rocky, love, that's not it at all...I wanted you to like me, perhaps love me, but things just got...a little out of hand."

"Of course." there was no mistaking the venom in Rocky's voice. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, if you expect me to believe that."