As Loyalty Can Be

by kimmyjarl

Summary:

It's peace. Buu is defeated, Goku is back on Earth. Vegeta realizes that there was nothing to fight, and he refuses to be dictated by old ghosts anymore.

Chapter 1

In 700 times Earth's gravity, Vegeta moved through the patterns of combat.

Punches cut the heavy air with hissing sounds. A roundhouse kick, every muscle in his body straining. Sweat dripped from a tapered chin; sweat getting into eyes and stinging his cuts and burns.

It had been at least two weeks since Buu, perhaps more. He had been at it all through the night, losing all track of time, disregarding his bone-deep fatigue, pressing, demanding, and cursing the limit. As always, the drive to get stronger drove him to this point. And yet...something was different. Something had changed.

700 times gravity, seven years of training hadn't gotten him there. Seven years of chasing ghosts, of chasing those two that had always been stronger. Those two. Frieza… and Kakarott.

Bang! Vegeta fell to his hands and knees, landing hard and hurting like hell. In this kind of gravity, every movement had to be completely controlled. One wrong step could twist ankles, tear muscles, or smash bone. The image of his kneecaps popping like hard-boiled eggs, thrown to the floor went through his head. It was sickening. But it was not that bad, not this time. He would get some bruises, though, that was for sure. He snorted, scabbed knees. Whining over scabbed knees. So weak.

It was not fatigue that had made him fall, not entirely. It was a thought, so unwelcome and new. Frieza. Kakarott. Damn. Some sort of realization had felled him to his knees.

Why this introspection, suddenly? It was not like he was in the habit of questioning his own motives. Oh, he avoided going there. But come again. Evasion was not dignified. So what about Kakarott?

How he had wanted to beat him. How he had dreamed about crushing that big, smiling, infuriating dolt under his fists. Hated him, he really hated him. And Frieza? The same. Exactly the same.

A hot exhalation, the air almost scalding his lips.

Too much the same.

He sank down until his forehead rested on his hands. Hot thoughts.

Could it be... no... that didn't make sense. How could... but it did. It felt true. Frieza had... he had... never mind that. Kakarott had filled his place. That was it. In the same spot that Frieza had vacated he had placed Kakarott. The focus point of his hate and anger, the pillar of stone against which he ceaselessly broke the waves of his rage.

A small groan made it through his clenched teeth. How degrading.

Like he needed someone to take Frieza's place. Like he needed someone to hate, to focus the anger, to feed the rage. Like he couldn't live without it.

Like he was hiding.

But he didn't hate Kakarott anymore, did he? The thought came slowly and reluctantly, but he did not push it aside. Seven years of training, and when he finally had come face to face with Kakarott, it had all fallen down to shambles. First it had been the fusion, leaving him with sketchy memories of the time they spent together in that fashion, and yet with the most disconcerting feelings of... brightness... and serenity… peacefulness, of all things.

He had found himself rooting Kakarott on as he was fighting Buu. Openly and without resentment he had acknowledged Kakarott's strength and skill, giving him a nod and a smile. The widening of his eyes and the incredulous fall of the other fighter's chin had been sweet, a sort of victory. In the end they had worked together with a sense of camaraderie.

Camaraderie. It was so strange, so unfamiliar, that he had to struggle to come up with a word for it.

Breathing hard, head spinning, Vegeta got to his feet. With measured steps he walked to the controls, disdaining his smarting knees. With the touch of a button, the pressure disappeared. 1 g. It felt like weightlessness. Breathing and heartbeat had suddenly become effortless.

700 times gravity, seven years of training and hating hadn't gotten him there. No, it was the fighting, the dying, and the way his body healed stronger after every beating.

It was all so strange, really. Everything was new. He had been dead, and so had Kakarott, and Bulma, as well as her motley group of friends. This room, the planet itself, had been nothing but dust, and now everything was resuming as if nothing had happened… just a small interruption, instantly Dragon-fixed. In fact, right now Bulma was having a party, inviting the same motley crowd to share her food and each other's company.

Bulma hadn't been surprised when he said that he wouldn't join them. A distracted nod had been her only response. No one expected him anyway, their lives resuming as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had changed.

But he had been reborn.

Something had changed. He was trying to train, but his usual drive... it was missing… or redirected. Certainly something was different. The confusing thoughts kept rising up to the surface of his consciousness, refusing to be ignored.

Wiping the back of his hand across his upper lip, he admitted to something else: He longed for some company.

Bulma's friends had never been his. Of course he couldn’t just... go out there and be friendly. Those people that he had sneered at and stared at and hadn't shown anything but antagonism. Talk about a turnabout. It would never work.

Kakarott would be there.

Nervous. He was suddenly nervous, and it was then that he knew that he had decided. He would go out there, surprising them all.

Some warmth in company... He was alarmed to notice that the thought of it made his throat tighten. He had been alone for so long.

And yet... he did not belong. The memory of their furtive glances and lowered voices were all too vivid. He scowled at himself. So? He certainly would not try to pretend that he was one of them. But he would... he would make some sort of an effort.

He would not deny that things had changed. Here and now there was nothing to fight, and he refused to let old ghosts dictate him anymore.

Besides, he thought as he opened the door to the Gravity Camber, all that anger was undignified anyway.

 

 

Chapter 2

With a content sigh, Goku leaned back in the garden chair, causing it to creak under his weight. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm sun on his face and breathed in the sweet scent of the grass and the slightly bitter scent of the birch leaves.

Earth. How he had missed it. He hadn’t really realized how much until just now.

“Hey Goku! Are you falling asleep? Hey Goku!”

“Hm, Krillin? Just closing my eyes for a moment.”

Goku’s childhood friend was looking at him with at quizzical expression, his raised eyebrows, obscured under bangs of black hair. Seeing him like that felt kind of weird, and Goku wondered briefly if Krillin had decided to let his hair grow back as a deliberate message, saying ‘fighting is no longer foremost in my life’. As if reading his mind, 18 turned around, breaking up her conversation with Bulma and Chichi, and gave her husband a small, secretive smile. Goku watched how Krillin’s cheeks turned slightly pink.

One of Bulma’s housekeeping droids appeared by his elbow. “More comestibles, sir?” Blinking at the construct’s choice of words, Goku turned around and came to stare straight into a large plate filled to the brim with deliciously smelling mini-sausages, still sizzling from the grill.

“Alright!” Goku grabbed the plate with both hands and placed it on the table in front of him.

“You can’t possibly eat all that by yourself,” Yamcha said doubtfully, looking up from his own plate.

“What? You want some?” Goku asked.

“Never mind.” Yamcha sighed in slight exasperation.

Goku let his gaze travel around the large garden. Tien was standing by the grill, having a discussion bordering on an argument with master Roshi. The green-clad man towered over the old turtle hermit, who smiled toothily, not daunted in the least. Chaozu, Tien’s tiny white-faced friend, floated by his side, staring at the old man with blank, button-like eyes.

Goku looked around for Piccolo and discovered him lying on his back, way off by the trees where the grass was high. He rested his head on his crossed arms and one ankle was comfortably laid over the other. Flowers nodded gently and traced delicate shadows over the Namek’s prone form. Goku felt a sudden longing to join him there.

Happy shrieks drew his eyes to the nearby blanket where Gohan and Videl were being attacked by a laughing Goten, accompanied Trunks. A short chaotic struggle followed, before Goten disentangled himself and bounced away with his prize: a large ham sandwich.

“I wonder where Vegeta is,” Goku said to no one in particular. He hadn’t seen him since the fight with Buu. Why wasn’t he here? It almost felt like the other Saiyan was avoiding him. Goku was pulled from his musings when he noticed that the people around the table had become strangely silent.

“Where do you think he is?” Bulma said cuttingly. “He’s training of course.”

“And keeping away from us all like we had the plague,” Yamcha muttered. “Just as well. Gatherings like this have a tendency to turn sour when Vegeta is around.”

Goku frowned; feeling like he should say something in Vegeta’s defense, but Bulma spoke first.

“That’s ridiculous, Yamcha,” she sighed. “And unfair. Vegeta’s not all that bad.”

“Yeah, right,” Yamcha whispered so low that Goku was sure that he was the only one who had heard him.

A wave of unhappiness and confusion rose up inside him, and Goku looked down at his plate, unsettled by the strength of his own emotions.

Covering his confusion, Goku grabbed a couple of the cute baby sausages and put them in his mouth. Biting down, he closed his eyes in pleasure when spicy juice exploded over his taste buds, once again  he was struck by the subtle difference of being alive. Food with the Kais had been plentiful and savory, and yet the difference was there, intangible but distinctive.

Grabbing another handful of the sausages, his thoughts drifted back to Vegeta. He had used to think of Vegeta as hard. Ruthless. Now... he didn’t know. There had been a moment during their fight with Buu when Vegeta had seemed to take all that bitterness and anger that he had always so violently projected and just... let it go.

And then there had been the fusion. He didn’t remember much, but he remembered the power, the incredible feeling of being whole. Complete, one might say. Afterwards though, a feeling of uneasiness lingered, whispers of screams, echoes of darkness. It was hard to explain.

“Goku!” Chichi’s shout seemed to come from a faraway place. “Don’t chew with your mouth open, it’s disgusting!”

“Huh?” He looked groggily at his wife, who stared back at him, reproach mixed with embarrassment on her face. Realizing that his mouth was hanging wide open, Goku rapidly closed it and swallowed the half-chewed food in one huge gulp.

He noticed the other’s amusement. Krillin gave a snort and Yamcha laughed outright.

“Same old Goku,” he chuckled and reached over to pat him a few times on his shoulder. “You just never change.”

“Aw, give him a break,” Bulma said, herself wearing a wide grin. She took a few sips from her glass filled with sparkling water while giving him a level stare. As so often before, Goku felt slightly uncomfortable under her silent scrutiny. Her blue eyes seemed to be windows to her brilliant, knowing mind, seeing things that no one else could see.

Unexpectedly, Bulma put her glass down and walked around the table to give him a warm hug. “I’m so happy you’re back,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve missed you, Son-kun.”

It felt really nice. But Goku had hardly begun to lean back into her hug, before she let go of him.

“Come on,” she said with a peppy smile. “Let’s go see how the dessert is coming along.”

“Uh... ok.” Goku rose from the chair, which gave another ominous creak. He padded along with her to the long buffet table and the scurrying droids. The table was fast filling up with a wide variety of pastries, each and every one looking like a work of art. Mouth watering scents stood like a cloud around the waiting sweets.

A gust of wind drew through the trees and disturbed two small birds, which flow by with fluttering wings. Goku followed them with his eyes until they disappeared out of sight.

“Bulma... about Vegeta,” he began, not really sure what he wanted to say.

“I’m breaking up with him,” Bulma said abruptly.

“What?” He turned to meet her eyes. She looked calm, and a bit sad. She nodded slightly, as if to say that, yes, he had heard her correctly.

“I have though a lot about it, and I’ll talk with him tonight.”

“But Bulma...” Goku struggled for words before spontaneously settling for his greatest concern, “He will be hurt.”

“I know.” She raised her chin. “That can’t be helped. I’m not staying together with him just to avoid hurting him. I have needs too, you know. Oh, come on, Goku. Don’t look so sad.” She patted him comfortingly on the arm. “This is not easy for me either, but in the long run I know it is better. You see... I realized that this is as good as it gets. Me and Vegeta... I loved him, a part of me still does, but I just don’t see a future together with him. Do you understand?”

Goku nodded. He understood what she was saying, but he was still worried about Vegeta. It seemed so cruel somehow, to do this. Wrong.

“Hey, everybody!” Bulma suddenly shouted. “Cake on the table, if you want it!”

As Krillin, closely followed by Goten, moved in to grab a plate, Bulma leaned over to say in a low voice, “Thank you, Goku, for listening. I just had to talk to a friend.” She left him to get a plate of her own.

---

Goku was playing with his youngest son. They laughed together as Goten dangled from his arm, to suddenly scramble up his back and settle himself on his shoulders. Tiny fists gripped tightly into wild hair. He jumped up and down a few times and Goten whooped excitedly. Reaching up to hold the boy more securely, Goku got ready to jump really high, but he stopped short when he saw who had just entered the garden.

It was Vegeta. Back straight and head held high, he walked towards them. He was dressed in loose gray slacks and a black sweater and his hair appeared slightly soggy as if he had just stepped out of the shower. As he went by, conversations fell silent and smiles faded away.

Goku felt his heart came to a standstill, a pause that was almost painful, before resuming its normal beat. He rubbed slowly at his orange-clad chest. What was that about?

Vegeta stopped by the buffet table and looked around, his eyes dark and his expression guarded. Tien and Chaozu, who had been standing nearby, decided to take their business elsewhere. Standing alone by the table, Vegeta shifted his weight from one foot to the other in a slightly uncertain manner, before crossing his arms over his chest and turning his attention to the pastries as if that was all that interested him.

Reaching above his head, Goku grabbed Goten under his arms and gently lifted him down on the ground. He started walking up to Vegeta, but was interrupted by Krillin, who grabbed his sleeve.

“Wait, Goku,” his short friend said imploringly. “Perhaps it’s best to leave him alone for a bit. He... did try to kill you, remember?”

“Don’t be silly, Krillin,” Goku said, and although his voice was light, he freed his arm free with a little more force than necessary. “I’m just going to say hi.”

Vegeta turned to stare at him as he approached. Goku came to a halt a few steps away, and they eyed each other under silence. Goku searched the other man’s eyes for the hostility, almost frightening in its intensity, which had always used to greet him. He didn’t find it; Vegeta’s eyes were completely unreadable.

“Kakarott,” Vegeta said, in acknowledgment.

“Vegeta,” Goku smiled. “I’m glad you decided to join us.”

“Hmf,” was all the answer he got, but Goku was astonished to see how his words had affected Vegeta, who looked at the side for a moment, biting his lip. Goku hardly noticed Yamcha and Krillin appearing to hover protectively on either side of him, as Vegeta turned towards him again, staring him full in the face.

“Kakarott,” Vegeta said, each word cut short. “Would you like to spar with me sometime?”

“And by that he means fight,” Yamcha broke in. “It doesn’t sound like a very good idea if you ask me.”

“Shhh!” Krillin whispered through the side of his mouth. “Don’t make him mad.”

“Never mind!” Vegeta snapped. “I don’t care either way. I’ll... I’ll go back inside now.”

He turned abruptly and started to walk towards the house. He glanced back, once, his mouth a straight line.

“How about that,” Krillin said wonderingly. “I actually believe we hurt his feelings. I didn’t know that was even possible. You think I should apologize?”

Goku finally got himself to move, and he ran to catch up with Vegeta.

“Vegeta!” He waited until the other man stopped walking and turned to face him. “Of course I like to spar with you. I think it’s a great idea!”

Vegeta stared at him expressionlessly, before the smallest of smiles turned up the corners of his mouth. “Very well, Kakarott. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Ok, Vegeta,” Goku beamed, exuberantly happy suddenly.

Vegeta just scowled at him and turned to walk back into the house.

Chapter 3

Vegeta walked restlessly back and forth in the empty kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, but closed it again when nothing inside managed to catch his interest. Turning around, he saw the water boiler and turned it on, thinking that he could make some tea, in case someone had bothered to fill the thing with water. If it was empty, he could burn some dust. Whatever.

The plastic boiler gave a wet huff and almost immediately he could hear the bubbling of overheated water. He looked into the sink, and sure enough there laid a small tea-strainer filled with soaked leaves. Bulma. She had been drinking a lot of tea lately, and she only did that when she was brooding.

Thinking, she often did that in her lab in front of a screen or with tools in her hands. Brooding, she did that in the lab too, holding a cup of tea. She would just stare at her unfinished projects, and sometimes she would reach out to grab one of the fragile constructions and let it fall on the floor. Broken. A thought tried and rejected. Not all of her inventions ever amounted to anything.

He knew her habits.

Vegeta let his gaze glide over the slick white surfaces of the well-lit room, only pausing when it fell upon the darkened window. Already, it was night. He couldn’t see outside though, only the same room reflected in the glass - its dark twin. He saw his own reflection; his face looked pale in contrast to his dark hair, to the darkness outside.

He wondered how he had looked to the others when he had walked into their party today. Had he looked like a blundering child? Had he looked like he didn’t know what he was doing? Perhaps they had been thinking (still) about the way that he had looked when he first set foot on their planet, dressed in the armour of Frieza, laughing at their weakness, earning the hate of them all.

Or had they just seen the same thing that he did now, studying his own reflection? Those particular lines of his face, that arch of his eyebrow, that angle of his shoulders and that way that his hair cut the air, perhaps this was all they saw.

Guarded and glassy, the eyes of his reflection stared back at him.

To hell with it. Vegeta abruptly turned his back to the window and took a cup from the dish-rack. He poured steaming water over the already used leaves, coloring the water and not much more. The simple task suddenly frustrated him beyond belief. He had no patience for this!

Stupid little sieve, with the small handle that he had to hold between the tip of his thumb and forefinger! Stupid water that he had to pour so annoyingly slow! Stupid idea in the first place. What good was tea, anyway?

He walked out of the kitchen, leaving the cup untouched on the counter. Almost out of habit, he turned in the direction of the gravity chamber, but his steps slowed to a halt. Something inside him was screaming out the negative. He decided to search out Bulma in the lab instead.

He wondered if he could bring himself to talk to her. To actually tell her: ‘Kakarott smiled at me today, and I noticed his kindness where I once only saw my own anger’.

What was happening to him? He doubted he could explain it to her; not when he couldn’t explain it to himself. He couldn’t make sense of the strange new thought that was rising up in him. The impulse to join the others in their celebration, the nearly overwhelming feelings of... gratitude... by Kakarott’s welcome, as well as actual hurt by the others’ rejection. Where had it come from?

He ought to curse himself for this weakness, to lash out in anger and deny it all. But he didn’t. His ever-vigilant anger seemed to have gone to sleep. He shook his head at this realization. It was… weird - deeply unsettling, in fact. Without the anger, without the rage eating inside of him... who was he? He stopped walking, stunned when he heard the question in his own mind.

Who was he?

Once, when he was just a small child, he happened to step into a room with zero gravity by mistake. He was still living on his birth planet, a quick and inquisitive child, who couldn’t leave one door unopened, not one room unexplored. He took a step into the chamber with the unfamiliar symbol on the entrance, one leap... and he didn’t land.

Agonizingly slow, he tumbled to the centre of the room, where he finally came to a stop. Disoriented, he was not able to tell what was up and what was down, and this feeling only increased as time went by and no one came to his help. He had tried to move, only to find that he couldn’t. There was nothing to hold on to, only empty air - up and down had ceased to exist.
For some reason Vegeta was reminded of that incident now, as he was standing in one of the empty corridors of Capsule Corporation. He recalled the sudden and unexpected loss of all direction, the nightmarish sensation of reaching and reaching without finding anything to hold on to, a feeling that had made him scream and holler for help. Of course he had been rescued; he had also been laughed at, but never mind that. The next day he had gone back to the same room, zero gravity just another thing to explore and eventually to master.

Taking the last step to Bulma’s lab, Vegeta pushed open the door without knocking.

“Hey,” he said in way of greeting, and Bulma turned around. She was standing by a large screen, staring into it, although it showed nothing but the CC logo, slowly spinning against the dark background.

“Hey, Vegeta.” She looked a bit startled to see him there, and she tugged at her skirt, nervously smoothing it down.

He joined her by the screen, sidestepping a few tables, all laden with complicated equipment and strange designs. He glanced at the table next to her, on which stood a cup of tea, still full and apparently untouched.

“I burned my tongue,” she said, noticing his glance. Briefly she stuck out her tongue, showing him. It did indeed look slightly reddened.

“Hn.”

“I...” Bulma hesitated, looked almost beseechingly at the screen, before taking a deep breath and turned to face him once again. “There’s something that I had been meaning to talk to you about. It’s really important.”

“Yes?” he said when she fell silent, unhappiness shadowing her features.

“Vegeta,” she paused again before continuing. “I don’t think we should be together anymore.”

He just stared at her, at her earnest, open face. He heard the regret in her voice, as well as the steel, but the words didn’t quite process.

“What?”

“I’m breaking up with you.” She registered his blank look. “Let me put this in layman terms. The idea of us as a couple no longer exists. It is over. I’m sorry if I sound harsh,” she added. “I just want to be perfectly clear about this.”

“But... why?” His voice was hardly more than a dazed whisper. “Is there someone else?”

“That’s so typically male, to ask that question! No, there isn’t someone else. If I’m leaving you for someone, it’s for Trunks.”

”For Trunks,” he echoed his voice the same whisper.

“Yeah. I really want to give him a chance to have a proper father in his life. Let’s face it, Vegeta, you are a lousy boyfriend, and I don’t think you are any better as a father.”

Anger. Hello old friend.

“If that’s what you think, why didn’t you just tell me to get the hell out of here from the beginning?!”

“Because I loved you, you dickhead!” Her voice instantly lowered again, became wistful, “I loved you, but perhaps that wasn’t enough. I think...when you died back there... I let go. I could feel it, you know, like something tearing inside my chest. I grieved - I cried. And then I...” She fell silent for a moment and slowly shook her head. “Perhaps it had been dying for a long time. I don’t know.”

He found he couldn’t be angry with her after all. One blue strand of hair had been caught in her mouth, he saw, and without really thinking about it, he reached out, hooked one finger around the wayward strand and slowly pulled it out.

It was like pulling out her tears at the same time. Hooking them. They fell from her clear eyes, made tiny tracks down her cheeks.

“This is the right thing,” she whispered so low that he almost didn’t hear. She wiped her hands across her cheeks, taking away all signs of tears. “We couldn’t just go on as we had been, it was no real relationship, just two people getting by their lives.” She looked at him and sighed. “You don’t really understand what I’m talking about, do you? But being a couple is so much more then that, it’s about sharing, and talking, and being friends.”
“I could do that,” he muttered.

“Vegeta,” she continued, frank and kind of ruthless, sparing neither of them. “The only time you behaved like we were a couple were when we were making love. You... you used to touch me so tenderly, like you were afraid that I might break. I really think it was those glimpses of tenderness that made me stay with you for so long. But I want more than that. I want the real thing.”

“Bulma...” Surely there was something he could say.

“No, Vegeta. Listen to me. This has been coming for a long time now. I’m tired of your moods and your silences. I’m tired of hoping for something that may never happen. Most of all, I’m tired of always coming in second place. For nearly nine years, I’ve had to deal with your obsession, this all-consuming drive of yours, to be stronger than Goku, than your ‘Kakarott’. In truth...it has always felt like I was the girl on the side, while you in reality were married to your obsession.”

She raised her hand, stopping him when he was about to speak. “There’s no longer any choice. It’s over, it has to be. It’s a matter of pride.”

Pride. She always did use that as a final argument against him. He felt like he was falling. No. Like he had stepped into a room where everything he had really counted on had turned out to be a lie.

Zero gravity. No handholds.

Chapter 4

Vegeta stood straight and unmoving, stiff and still, rooted in the same spot he had been most of the night. The sky was slowly turning grey, putting the stars out one at a time. He could see the silhouettes of the mountains clearly now, a jagged ridge where there had only been black against black sky. He breathed, taking the cool air deep into his lungs.

He could have been anywhere; these mountains under the stars could have been on any planet. But this was where he had stayed, settled, all because of her.

"Vegeta." He was lying in the grass, the well-cut grass in the garden of Capsule Corporation. "Vegeta?" He was watching the clouds twisting and reshaping themselves. Stretching and folding.

She stopped beside him, the sun painting her contours golden. Go away. "Aren't you ever going to change out of that armor? Come on, it's kind of macabre, don't you think, with that hole in the front and all." Shut up, shut up, shut up. But he didn't tell her to leave. She had fallen silent, and the shade was restful on his eyes.

("The idea of us as a couple is over.")

The idea.

In her mind. She had been the one with the standards, the expectations...the rules of the game that she wanted him to play.

("You are a lousy boyfriend.")

He raised his head to take in the stars that were still showing despite the light at the horizon.

("I want to give him a chance to have a proper father in his life.")

A shift in the air, suddenly. He was not alone. He tensed, but didn't turn as he listened to the sound of footsteps slowly approaching, coming to a hesitating halt some distance behind him. Waiting. His shoulders relaxed slightly and that seemed to be enough. A few more steps and the other came to stand next to him there on the edge of the cliff.

Vegeta turned his head to look at Goku's serene profile, at the thick hair that rested against his forehead. The other man glanced to the side, meeting Vegeta's gaze with eyes that appeared almost luminous, bright within dark edges.

"What are you doing?" Goku asked. Getting no answer, he didn't press further, only turned back to study the horizon. Yet Vegeta thought he could see some hesitation, a tentativeness that was explained by the next, faltering question. "Has... Bulma talked to you?"

"Yes." He tone was dry and dismissive. Though he found that the undivided attention he was receiving made the next words softer then intended. "I prefer not to talk about it."

"Okay, Vegeta." The response was readily given, dark head lowered slightly. Hm.

"When I saw you standing here, looking at the stars," Goku resumed carefully, "I got the impression that you were thinking about leaving."
Had he been? "Perhaps. There's nothing special about this precious Earth of yours." On any planet, the same jagged silhouettes.

"Well, I hope you're staying."

There it was again, the same frank statement. And just like yesterday in the garden Vegeta was stunned, hearing the words as the simple truth. Kakarott really wanted him to stay. It was a blow that went past all defences, sending him reeling.

You assume a lot, Kakarott.

Aloud he didn't say anything, just looked down into the valley, still dark, though the tips of the mountains were bathing in sunshine.

"Isn't it great?" Goku spoke up. "I love watching the sunrise, don't you?"

Vegeta's answering glance was filled with incredulity. What possible reason could Kakarott have to ask him something like that? What purpose...? His eyes widened in realization. Kakarott was attempting to be sociable. The question served no other purpose then to form a thread between the two of them.

It was yet another blow that he didn't know how to block. What was with him anyway? He would definitely have to do something about this.

"Hey," Goku said brightly, as if he had just gotten an idea. "Do you want to come with me so I can show you something?"

"What now, Kakarott?" His voice was impatient, but when the other man rose from the cliff, he followed after only a brief moment of hesitation.

----

Goku studied the ground below. There! There was the river and there... He landed neatly in front of the old stone and wooden building. He turned around to see Vegeta take land and sharply studying the green surroundings. Next Vegeta's watchful gaze was nailed to Goku, who shrugged uncomfortably under the direct scrutiny.

"Well, this is the house where I used to live when I was little. With my grandfather." Vegeta's direct stare didn't waver; he looked like he was waiting for some kind of performance. Goku added, rather defensively, "I have been meaning to visit it again."

Vegeta was sure making him nervous. Goku couldn't let go of his earlier statement that there wasn't anything special about Earth. It kept echoing in his mind. Making him wonder what Vegeta was thinking of this place, making him doubt the validity of his own attachments.

If he had come alone, he was sure, it would have been different. He would listen to the birds, and their singing would be exactly the same as it had been all this time ago, when he had sat on this very spot, playing with rounded stones, to young even to walk. Hearing the birds sing. The memories would have been so clear.

"Me and Chichi live over there." He gestured vaguely and Vegeta turned his head to look. There was nothing to see though, the house lay several miles away, deeply obscured by the high green hills. Goku laughed, embarrassed.

It had to be the knowledge of what Bulma had done that made him feel so at a loss. He didn't know how to respond to that. If it had been Krillin instead, if he had known that Krillin was hurting, he would have offered his sympathy together with his smile. He wouldn't say much, letting his friend do most of the talking and even if the actual problem never come up, Goku would still get the impression that he was helping.

Krillin wouldn't make him feel like he didn't know what he was doing.

Goku looked around and tried to gather some of the memories that should surround this place.

"I must have been a handful for the old man. I seem to recall him constantly telling me things like 'stay here' or 'don't go there' and I always found myself doing just what he told me not to. I just couldn't help it. I mean... look." Taking a few steps, he pointed down the slope to the foaming stream. "Doesn't that look like the perfect playground?" He remembered how it had felt to jump from stone to stone, the thrill of the water rushing by. "Sometimes I would fall into the water and that was the most fun of all!" He laughed, feeling the pull of the stream, grabbing him and tossing him as if it had been a living thing. "And look at..."

He fell silent when he became aware that Vegeta had stepped right up to him and that his eyes were fixed, not at the river, but at him. On Vegeta's face was a strange, wistful look, like he was listening to a faraway dream.

"Ah..." Goku backed away a step. "You want to look inside the house?"

Vegeta shrugged noncommittally and followed him to the sturdy, red-painted front door. The doorframe was so low that Goku had to bow down slightly as he stepped inside.

"It even smells the same!" Goku breathed deeply the subtle composition of wood and smoke and something warm and cozy like cotton or wool. He drew his palm over the smooth surface of the low dining table. "My grandfather made this. And here," he laughed, "here are marks from my teeth, all around the edges." He caressed the small incisions with his index finger. Absently he rubbed his palms together, wiping the dust away.

"And look at this." He walked up to a large iron stove, taking up the farthest corner of the room. He patted it, almost expecting it to be warm to the touch. "Grandpa said he remembered this from when he was a kid, so it's really old!"

"Oh yeah? You could have fooled me."

Goku glanced at Vegeta. The other man was leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed, studying him like he presented a most interesting spectacle. When Goku turned towards him, he raised both his eyebrows, as if to say 'impressive'. Funny, he couldn't tell if he had ever seen Vegeta look this relaxed.

"Really, Kakarott. This is what you wanted me to see? Do..." Vegeta fell silent and a thoughtful look crossed his face. Then he laughed, a brief ha-ha sound that made Goku blink. "You brought me here to offer me a place to stay, didn't you?"

"Er... not really." Not really. When Vegeta had made his comment about Earth, Goku had ransacked his mind, trying to come up with something that might make him think differently. Something that might make him want to stay. The one thing that had come to his mind was this house. The greatest place in the world. Right.

"Thank you, Kakarott." Thank you? "But I think I already have somewhere to stay." Vegeta stepped over the threshold, his hair brushing against the low doorpost. He turned around, giving Goku a astonishing half-smile. "I'll let you be alone with your memories."

For a long minute, Goku stared wide-eyed at the empty door where Vegeta had disappeared. Then he smiled, grinned widely as he stepped into the morning sun.

"Oh well," he said in a low voice. "I do think I managed to cheer him up."

---

"God morning, Vegeta."

Vegeta looked up from his breakfast plate to give Bulma a nod. She looked tired, he noticed, like she hadn't slept at all. Pulling out a chair, she sat down opposite him, leaning her elbows on the table, chin in her hands.

"So..." she said slowly, gently.”How are you?"

"Fine." Short and clipped.

"Good... good." She sat silent, watching him eat, before taking a deep breath. "There are some things that we need to discuss."

"Yes?" He pushed the plate away and mimicked her position, chin in hands. He could see her eyes widen with this sudden, almost playful, show of attention.

"Well," she said. "What are your plans?"

"My plans?"

"Yes. For starters, where are you going to live? Not that you aren't welcome here," she said in a rush. "It’s not like we don’t already have separate rooms. What I mean is, you're welcome to stay if you want." She flushed in confusion, squirming under their tight eye contact.

"I know," he said simply. "I'm counting on it."

"You are?" She blinked. He guessed that this conversation didn't go quite as she had expected. "Alright..." she said slowly. She leaned back in her chair, putting one leg across the other. "Are you sure, Vegeta? You know I might find someone I like. Some guy. Don't you think that might be a bit... awkward. Him and me. Here. Together."
Possibly she looked a bit hurt when he just shrugged.

"Listen." He paused to collect his thoughts. In truth, what she was saying was affecting him more then he cared to admit. But at the same time..."You're expecting me to react according to a fabrication that's in the past." He chose the words carefully, not so much explaining to her, as trying to make it clear to himself. "The thing you ended last night was nothing but a structure that you had created. It never really existed, but still it constituted the frames of both our realties."

"Wow, Vegeta." She smiled briefly, eyes sparkling. "It's been some time since I heard you speak so much in one go. But you know...that was just a pile of words." Smart woman. "I take it, though, since you plan to stay, that you want us to be friends. I also assume that this means that you will make some kind of effort to... at least communicate with Trunks. I will not have you hurting him with your neglect."

"Whatever." That too, he might have added, was just a pile of words.

"I'm satisfied with the present arrangements, for now."

"Me too." This time, the smile lingered. "I’m relieved that you still want to play a part in Trunk’s life, even after what I said. This way will be easier on him, I think. Although I hadn't expected you..." She stopped herself, clearly thinking that whatever she was going to say might anger him, but then she chose to continue. Dauntless. It was one of the things he admired about her. "You know we like to give things away in my family. Why, just a few days ago I gave Yamcha a car that probably cost more than all the food you have ever eaten in this house. I was sure, however, since we are no longer together, that your pride wouldn't let you accept what my family and I have to offer."

"No?" He leaned back in the chair, smirking at her, deliberately assuming a superior manner. "I am Vegeta. It is my due."

She smirked right back, recognizing the game. "In that case... your highness... we're honoured to have you with us.”

Chapter 5

“No,” Bulma said slowly. “I don’t know where Vegeta is right now.”

Goku nodded. A part of him was almost relieved, like he was being given an opportunity to take to the easy way out. Not that he was planning on taking it.

“I was going to ask him if he wanted to spar today.” He wasn’t sure what had made him procrastinate for so long. Certainly, sparring with Vegeta seemed like something that he would very much enjoy. Vegeta was cunning and unpredictable, with a strength that approached his own. A fight with him was sure to be challenging. The thought of it, of pushing his limits, of going full out just to keep up... he could feel the edges of his mouth turn up in a tight smile.

His thoughts were interrupted when Bulma resolutely grabbed his sleeve, pulling him inside the house. “I’m glad you stopped by, Goku. You don’t visit nearly often enough.” Before he knew it, he was sitting in the kitchen, a large glass of orange juice in his hand.

“He’s been acting so unlike himself,” Bulma said, pouring a glass of her own. “He hasn’t really given me any reason to worry... but I do. Granted, I haven’t seen much of him lately, but I think there’s something he’s brooding on. He’s so secretive! I wonder what’s going on inside his head.”

“Perhaps he’s mad at you,” Goku fumbled. The situation made him uncomfortable. What was she expecting him to say, anyway? He found he didn’t like to discuss Vegeta like this, as if they were conspiring behind his back.

“He doesn’t act like it, though.” She drank deeply from her glass before putting it down, licking the juice from her lip. “I would understand it if he hated me, if he wanted nothing to do with me, but instead he’s... well, civil! There’s even been a few times when we’ve had these moments of mutual understanding, moments when I realize just how well he’s gotten to know me over the years. In fact...” She glanced at him, taking several seconds before finishing what she had to say. “I’ve been asking myself if I might have been... too rash. I thought him incapable of change, but lately... Oh, I don’t know!” She threw her hands up in the air.

“You regret breaking up with him?” Breaking up. He wasn’t sure he got it, really got it. How could you end the connection, the affection, between two people, with just a word?

“I- No. The reasons I had before are still very much true. But, Goku...!” She leaned forward, putting her hands on the table, getting really close, as she nearly whispered. “He’s not training anymore! At least not in the GR. He hasn’t used it since the garden party, and that was more than two weeks ago. Two weeks!”

“Perhaps he’s getting tired of the room,” Goku offered. “I know it’s good training, and I wouldn’t mind borrowing it sometime, but to be honest I rather prefer the outdoors.”

“Of course you do.” She smiled, in good spirits, suddenly. “Did you say that you wanted to spar with him? That sounds like a really good idea. If it works out.”

“It will.” Since Vegeta was the one who had suggested it, he didn’t really fear a rejection. “I’m sure of it.” But why then did he feel this apprehension? Like there were danger up ahead, like he had something to lose.

Something to lose… there was something inside him that he was almost frantically clinging on to. Goten, this new little son of his, made him mindful of it, so did the old cottage which he had brought Vegeta to visit.

He could feel it. Slipping through his fingers.

He had been spending the days, as Chichi said ‘making up for lost time’. Taking his sons fishing. Picnicking with Chichi on their old place by the lake. The days went by as he remembered that mild summer-days did. Life certainly was great. What was it then that made him feel this deep restlessness, this growing dissatisfaction even?

At least Chichi seemed happy; always fast to anger... but when things went the way she wanted she was perfectly content to lay back and savour the moment. She’d lean her head against his shoulder, smile and say something like ‘isn’t this perfect’ or ‘I should have brought the camera, so I would always remember this’.

“You know what,” he said to Bulma. “I’ll come visit you later, if that’s alright with you. Thanks for the juice.” He put two fingers to his forehead.

---

Vegeta took a few backward steps in order to get some distance from the bustling street. The withered stone arch above his head cast a cooling shadow and allowed him a vantage point from which he could study the chaotic scene in front of him.

Two hand-pulled wagons filled with green bananas collided, causing one of them to break apart, the contents spilling over the dusty ground. An old man sweating on a bike pulling a green carriage had to pause and step down to slowly maneuver his vehicle past the obstacle. The passenger, a large woman in a long embroidered tunic, shouted at the unfortunate banana dealer, who shouted right back.

Everywhere, it was a multitude of movement, smells and noises. A small girl ran by, dressed in a sky-blue uniform, books under her arm. Across the street a man had started frying omelets, handing them out wrapped in thin sheets of bread. Right next to him stood a rickety cart loaded with neon- coloured candy. “Sweets!” a turbaned man kept shouting, while ineffectually waving a fan to keep the swarm of black flies away.

He hadn’t really known that Earth possessed places like this. It was a far cry from the sparkling whiteness of Capsule Corporation or the smooth reaches of West City. This... this was the world outside. This was the glimpses of society that he had caught when he was leaving Frieza’s ship, sent on a mission. A myriad a people. Stationary. Living out their lives in their circle of family, friends and local authorities... so predictably attached to things familiar. Structures, stories, houses of prayer - habit making them special in their eyes.

“Mister, mister.” An insistent voice by his side. “Mister, a dress, a shirt, a shawl for your wife?”

A small up-nosed boy, no more than twelve, pointed at a few racks of clothes that lined the cracked walls, the stone arch serving as a makeshift stall. The young store-tender grinned widely, revealing his teeth, one that was plainly broken in half, leaving a jagged line in the otherwise even raw.

“We have jewellery too, mister,” the boy said. “Rings and necklaces for your wife.” He proceeded to open a small casket, holding up a string of yellow stones. “They’re real, not fake. Bite the stone, mister.”

Vegeta scanned the street again, trying to shut the boy’s shrill voce out of his head. He felt crowded, constrained, cramped, like he hadn’t been able to move his body for weeks.

In the past, he had made streets like this burn. Sometimes they would recognize him as one of Frieza’s soldiers... and sometimes it would be just like this. People going about their daily lives, hardly even noticing him. No challenge, no fear, just the simple act of burning.

He imagined doing it now. The heat. The street empty and silent, scourged by his powers. The thought of it... it made him feel tired. More, it made him feel utterly drained - a bone deep exhaustion that was so strong that there was no use denying it, no use cursing his weakness, if a weakness it was.

“Mister, bite the stone, mister!”

His own reactions fascinated him. Seven years in the shelter of Capsule Corp had not gone by without leaving some mark. He was sure of it.

The boy had stepped right up to him, grabbing his sleeve. Just to get a measure of his own response, he pictured the boy dead, pictured himself killing him. One crushing blow to the head, he wouldn’t even have to power up. A hole through his narrow chest, the wet sound of blood hitting the old pavement. Hell, a controlled explosion from within the frail body, pieces of bone and flesh all over his little stall. Boy on the wall, boy on the ground, boy covering the lines of brightly coloured dresses. The image made him smirk.

Still, at the same time, he knew that he wouldn’t do it. The boy stared back, face open and questioning, and he just knew that he wouldn’t do any of these things. Now, he thought, wasn’t that interesting?

Abruptly deciding to leave, he turned... and walked straight into someone, someone who hadn’t been there before.

“Ompf!” He looked up, already knowing who he would see. What he wasn’t ready for was the look in his eyes, so close up. Goku’s stare was direct and solemn, without a trace of the smiling, almost apologetic air that he always used to assume.

“What do you want?” he asked, straightening and backing away a step. He decided to ignore the embarrassing way that he had walked into the other man, it wasn’t really much to get upset about. Besides, that look in Kakarott’s eyes had worked to nullify him, for what he saw there was respect. He saw a silent regard, a reserved cordiality, in no way intrusive.

“I was wondering if you wanted to spar?” Still Goku didn’t smile, and Vegeta truly appreciated that. It told him that the other man didn’t take lightly on this, neither the question nor his answer.

A spar, training together. This, Vegeta realized, was the consequence of the baffling overture that he had made at Bulma’s party. Could he do it? Could he lay aside his old enmity for this man, not just coexisting, but starting again on something new? He supposed he could, at that, but he was himself surprised by the ease with which the answer came.

“Very well, Kakarott. A spar sounds good to me.”

Chapter 6

Goku coughed, tasting blood. Gee, that last blow to his chest had felt like it had dislocated something. He coughed again and felt a stabbing pain in his side. He suspected several broken ribs.

By silent agreement, he and Vegeta had taken a time out, and they hovered in the air no more than a couple of meters from each other. The air crackled and sizzled with electricity, charged, like the onset of a great thunderstorm.

Breathing heavily, Goku wiped stinging sweat out of his eyes. The hot desert wind tore at his hair and his tattered clothes. Slowly, the dust settled. Below, the ground was pitted and scarred, an empty desolate landscape as far as the eye could see.

There was no other place where he'd rather be.

The feeling of Vegeta's ki, a counterbalance to his own, made the blood sing through his veins in avid challenge. When Vegeta's hair darkened, his eyes abandoning brilliant blue for midnight black, the abrupt shift of power almost sent Goku reeling. Reluctantly he did the same, slowly letting go of his ascended form. He took a deep breath as the thunder stilled, as the world crept back on them.

In the new form he felt naked, unarmed. One minute he was radiant, a sea if power at his disposal, the next it was gone, leaving nothing but blackened ashes behind. For a moment the lack of power was all he felt, then that faded too, and things... fell back in order. He relaxed, letting his shoulders sag. Stillness, peace… there was always such calmness in his true form. With the settling, the injuries he had gained in the fighting hit him full force, the pain almost making him gasp. He ached from bruises everywhere; his knuckles were cut and bleeding, blood dripping freely from a gash in his thigh, from several cuts on his back.

When had...? Oh, it had happened when they smashed into the mountain, pieces of rock flying, grappling each other, using the broken ground itself as a weapon. In a glittering rain, Vegeta had thrown him into a wall of crystal, the razor-sharp edges cutting into his back. The pain had been exquisite, a high note so present and clear as he had drawn deeper from the well of power, triggering his body straight to the second level of transformation. The elements, the very stone that had cut him, trembled and dissolved within the force of his raging aura. He rose from his fallen position, and in the same movement, he spun, sending Vegeta a kick that threw him face first into a solid mountain wall. He felt the ground shake, his energy focusing, as Vegeta followed his example and ascended to the second level.

Shaking off the memories, Goku resisted their temptation, and instead motioned towards the ground. Time to call it a day. Vegeta nodded slightly.

Goku's feet settled on the sandy ground as he surrendered to gravity. He staggered slightly, once again feeling how much the spar had taken out of him. Vegeta couldn't be in a much better shape. He watched as the shorter man took a step forward... only to fall to his knees, slamming heavily into the ground. Ouch. Goku winced in sympathy.

Slowly Vegeta got to his feet, gritting his teeth, holding his left shoulder, the arm dangling as if it couldn't move on its own. Goku took a few steps closer, his legs wobbling absurdly when he tried to keep his footing in the soft sand.

He couldn't stop grinning. Blood was pooling in his boot and the wind felt like it was filled with tiny grains of salt, and still he couldn't stop grinning.

"Now that's what I call a good spar!"

Vegeta didn't answer at first. He kept his head down, his face in shadow, as the silence fell. With a stab of apprehension, Goku wondered if Vegeta would lash out in anger now, calling him a fool and worse. He hoped not, but he HAD seen him fall, and he knew just how little Vegeta cared for that. In anticipation of the spiteful words, Goku felt his amusement evaporate.

Vegeta raised his head, his face set and serious. He looked at Goku, seemed to hesitate, before slowly giving in to a grudging, tight-lipped smile. Tiny lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, which glittered with suppressed mirth.

"Not too shabby, all things considered."

Goku laughed, loud and clear. It burst out of him without any volition of his own, ringing out over the abused landscape. His merriment was momentarily subdued, but in no way diminished, when the wrenching pain deep inside his chest made itself reminded. For some reason, the pain only added to his hilarity.

"HAHAHA...oh, ouch, aw, aw...Bwahahaha! Oh, come ON...Hah, hah...mpfHAHAHA! Make it stop!"

He sank down till he was sitting on the hot sand, clutching his chest and virtually shaking with laughter. Vegeta sat down next to him, his legs crossed, hand still clutching his shoulder. Seeing him only made Goku laugh harder. Vegeta had a nasty cut in his forehead and blood was trickling down the side of his face. Some of the blood gathered above his eyebrow, and Vegeta closed his eyes when a large drop broke free to cover his lashes and make a red track down to the corner of his mouth. The other man was still smiling, though.

"Aw, Vegeta," Goku said, finally able to at least partially silence his laughter. "You don't look so good." He remembered how Vegeta had slammed face first into solid bedrock, the image setting off still another round of hilarity.

Vegeta looked down, letting go of his shoulder to wipe away some blood from the corner of his eye. Goku abruptly fell silent, and in the silence he clearly heard the sound of bone scraping against bone. Vegeta hissed, the last traces of mirth disappearing to be replaced by a pale look of discipline.

"I brought some senzu," Goku said hurriedly, fumbling at his side. Holding the small cloth bag, he faltered when Vegeta gave him a disapproving stare. "I..." Stubbornly he picked out a couple of beans, rolling them across his palm. He quite understood. In a way he wished that the beans didn't exist. Their power to heal all wounds down to the smallest of bruises... it cheapened it somehow. It made a game out of fighting, a mockery of death even, when it could be cheated so easily.

He did find something to say, though, as he offered Vegeta one of the small beans. "I've been thinking. The way that Saiyans get stronger after healing from injuries... Perhaps that works even better if the body does the healing, instead of the magic. What do you say about leaving the beans at home next time?" He was rewarded with another smile, tight and wolfish, a glimpse of white teeth, as Vegeta reached out, his fingers lightly bruising against Goku's palm as he took the bean.

Fascinated, Goku watched how all of Vegeta's visible cuts sealed themselves up, closing before his very eyes. When Vegeta lifted his shoulder, testing it, Goku was suddenly reminded of his own injuries. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he bit down, the familiar bland taste filling his mouth. The healing was painless, but it felt... odd. Like a glitch in time, a shift of reality. The decision to try to get by without the beans was probably a good one, he thought to himself. Simple as they appeared to be, the beans were not to be relied upon lightly. Besides, he found that the idea of walking around with the marks that he had got while sparring with Vegeta... really appealed to him.

---

Vegeta was amazed at himself. Here he was, sitting in the sand, sharing a light-hearted moment with Kakarott! Surely there must be several reasons why he should hate this.

He did not have to search for long. Reasons paraded through his mind, virtually crowding each other in an attempt to make themselves heard. Kakarott had no pride. Kakarott had no respect for the Saiyan heritage, no respect for HIS position as Saiyan royalty. Kakarott was a fool, a traitor, a soft-spoken weakling.

Vegeta frowned. These thoughts were like a tangled web – start pulling at one thread and much more would follow. He wasn't even sure what his own opinion was and what was debris from... somewhere else. The realization from the GR made itself reminded and he felt a slight chill, despite the hot air and the scalding sand underneath his hands. It all came down to one thing: Kakarott was stronger then him.

Well, wasn't that a thing to be resented? Vegeta glanced at the other man, who had a contented, faraway expression on his face. As Vegeta watched, Goku lay down in the sand, flat on his back, clearly enjoying the warmth. Vegeta snorted. Would you look at that? The strongest fighter in the universe, no followers, no worshipers, no throne to call his own, looking for all the world like he had gotten the better end of the deal. Looking like he knew it too.

"Ah, Vegeta," Goku said with at loud sigh. "I feel so much better now. Lately I've been kinda restless... I had to keep stopping myself from smashing stuff to pieces!"

"Really?" Vegeta was intrigued. He had been experiencing something similar actually, since he had stopped spending all days in the Gravity Room. Everything had felt tight and confining, uncomfortable, like one of the human suits that Bulma had once tried to get him to wear. "Saiyans are creatures of strife and challenge," he said gruffly. "Periods spent without battle is bound to make us tense and restless." Thinking about it, he found an explanation for their previous outburst of mirth. It was merely a product of the freedom that used to accompany a release from just that kind of tension.

"Is that all?" Goku said, getting up in a sitting position. He almost sounded sad.

"Is WHAT all?" Vegeta's mood dropped like a stone. He could hear the total lack of patience that had entered his own voice, noted the wave of irritation that washed over him. Defensive, he thought; or simply scared. It truly was pathetic.

"Isn't there anything more than fighting to being a Saiyan?"

"That..." Vegeta discovered that he had trouble meeting Goku's wide questioning eyes. How should I know, he suddenly felt like screaming. Unlike you, battle is all I ever got to know. The enclosure of the ship, the coldness of space and the heat of burning... Don't ask me anything else!

"Are you alright?" Full of concern. Damn him.

"You shut your mouth, Kakarott." There was no force behind the words. 'How should I know?' Such a childish complaint, he thought to himself. He stood up, brushing sand from his hands, noticing that the wind had already dried the blood on his face, making it feel taunt and sticky. "Well, I'm out of here."

Vegeta made the mistake of glancing at Kakarott. The large Saiyan had crossed his arms over his chest and was glowering at him with a mixture of hurt and resentment. Ehr. Vegeta blinked. Funny thing was, he couldn't take off with Kakarott staring at him like that. Not without saying something... what? Something nice? He ransacked his mind, trying to come up with something that would ease his earlier harshness.

He opened his mouth, closed it again. "You need a shower." Okay. That would have to do.

With a quizzical frown, Goku looked down at his ruined clothes, at his sooty knees and bloodstained hands. He grinned, as if seeing all this for the first time. "That I do!" He bounced to his feet, briefly scanning his surroundings, getting a sense of his directions, before giving Vegeta a small wave. "Bye, thanks for the spar." With a whoosh and a cloud of dust, he was gone.

Waving his hand in front of his face to keep the dust away, Vegeta scowled at Goku's quickly disappearing ki signature. "Hmpf," he finally muttered to himself. "That’s what I should have said."

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

He was late for dinner, Goku realized, as he stood outside the house that he shared with Chichi. The others had probably already eaten. He looked down at his clothes, or rather, the lack thereof. He had stopped on the way home to take a bathe in the river, and then decided that the only clothes worth saving were his undergarments. He scratched his head when it occurred to him that he was facing a dilemma.

He could walk through the door the proper way and greet her like this. Or...he could use instant transmission to grab something from his closet, put it on, and THEN walk through the door. He frowned. Perhaps it would be better to avoid all the fuss that his lack of clothing inevitable would lead to? It wasn’t like he had an inexhaustible amount of spare changes after all...

He suddenly felt like growling from sheer irritation. Why did he care about this?! Why was he standing on the porch outside his home, fretting, worrying even, over CLOTHES?! Such things were of no concern! Or at least...that’s what he had used to think.

Turn, and turn again.

It wasn’t just clothes, it was a million little things. Details, getting on his mind. Things that he had used to think were so simple, like washing dishes, or picking up firewood... They had taken a hold on him.

A couple of days ago, for instance, Chichi had asked Gohan to do the dishes after dinner. ‘I’ll do it later, Ma,’ the teen muttered, trying to sneak out, only to get an earful concerning how unappealing and downright obscene it was, dirty dishes lying for hours in the sink, they had to be taken care of, now, now, now! Gohan argued back, his voice sullen and whiny in a way that Goku had never heard it before. ‘I can do it instead,’ he readily volunteered. Apparently, that had been a mistake. ‘You just had to take his side, didn’t you!’ Chichi screamed, upset, almost in tears... over what?

Take sides? He had never wanted to do that. Washing dishes...it was throwing a stone in the lake, it was blowing a leaf off his face...it was nothing!

Resolutely he opened the door.

“Goku,” Chichi said sternly, walking out of the kitchen to meet him. “So now you see it fit to–” She fell silent then, a look of pure surprise settling over her delicate features. “Goku! You’re practically naked!”

“Hehe,” he grinned, the humor of the situation getting to him. The look on her face! Didn’t expect that, did she! “Aw, Chichi. I was sparring with Vegeta and my clothes got ruined, that’s all. I’ll go put something on right now. Hope you saved some food for me,” he casually added over his shoulder, heading for the bedroom with long strides. “I’m really hungry.”

“We haven’t eaten yet,” she said in a clipped voice. “We were waiting for you.”

“Oh.” He gave her an uncertain glance before stepping into his room. They had been waiting for him? He knew she liked to have the whole family gathered around the table, and he hadn’t missed a dinner since he had come home, but surely...

Opening the closet, he pulled out a pair of simple white gi pants and a light blue shirt with a round collar. Surely they could have gone ahead and eaten without him? The leisurely swim he had taken earlier surfaced in his mind, making him feel guilty. Guilty. He felt like slamming the closet door.

Had he hurt her now? What did dinner represent to her? He did not WANT to comprehend her reasoning.

The kitchen was warm, heated from the oven and the southern facing windows. Delicious aromas filled the room, not just from today’s waiting meal. Feasts from other times had settled into the very walls, it seemed, a banquet of memories.

He watched her carry the large pot filled to the brim with mutton stew and carefully place it on the table. Next, the even larger bowl, ceramic, with a lid that had a hole for the spoon. She still served rice in that bowl, one thing that hadn’t changed. He saw her put her whole body behind the lift, her slender back arched and her arms nearly quivering from the strain. He knew better then to try to help without her asking, though. This was so important to her. Her task, her duty, her room, her stronghold.

“Yay, food!” Goten leapt to his seat and Gohan followed, only less enthusiastic. Goku watched how the eager smile slowly left the face of his youngest son, how he looked around, anxiously, noticing the veiled tension around the table.

“You’re welcome to eat,” Chichi said, a signal that they could begin the meal.

“Ah, this is really good, Chichi,” Goku said, bringing the first bite to his mouth. It was, it tasted heavenly, but the fact of the matter was that he had planned to tell her that even before he had started filling up his plate. The boys murmured in agreement. He wondered if they knew that silence right now would have offended her. Perhaps not... perhaps it came easy for them, spontaneous even. Yes, Mom. Really good, Mom.

They ate in silence for a while, Chichi’s displeasure evident only in the unyielding firmness of her expression. Then, with measured movements, she put her fork down, folded her hands, and stared him directly in the eyes. Her voice was low, but it cut the air like a knife.

“Is it such an arduous task, to eat dinner with your family?”

“Of course not,” Goku fumbled, at a loss of what to say. “I... I was busy, I already told you so.”

“You told me? You TOLD me?!” She made it sound like the worst thing he could possible have uttered. “You did not tell me, you didn’t tell me anything! You just LEFT! No goodbye, no time when you would come back... nothing!” She was half on her feet, unbridled anger inflaming her voice.

“That’s not what I meant...” Just be quiet, he wanted to say. Please be quiet, and look at our sons. Gohan kept eating, outwardly ignoring them both, though distress was clear in his stiff posture, in the way he stared fixedly at his plate. Goten was biting his lip, his eyes big and sorrowful. Confused. Goku wanted to take the boy in his arms, hold him there and tell him...tell him something good. Something that would make the sorrow and the confusion go away.

“Not what you meant? That’s right, you never mean it! You never mean to hurt anybody. You just don’t think, do you, Goku?” Her voice was coated in blistering scorn. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

No. Nothing right now, nothing that wouldn’t just serve to prolong this. He lowered his head, shook it slowly, thick black hair obscuring his view. “I’m sorry, Chichi.”

“I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, as if that was all it’d take.” She sat down again, grabbing her fork, neatly spearing her food. Chewing it like it had been tough as leather.

Goku started eating again, not thinking about the taste, just... waiting it out. The minutes dragged by, while nobody said a word. He could swear that the clock on the wall was ticking much louder than before.

“Goku,” Chichi eventually sighed. “Of course I can understand that you occasionally want to spend the whole day training or socializing with your friends. That is perfectly reasonable. All I ask is that you tell me in advance, or at the very least that you call me to say that you will be late.” She leaned over and put her hand over his. Stroked it lightly. “That isn’t to much to ask, is it?”

He thought fleetingly that her outbursts of anger burned just like dry leaves. Bright but brief, swiftly crumbling under the intensity of the heat. From time to time, though, the resulting calmness could be misleading... sparks might still lay there, dormant, ready to burst into flames if they were disturbed. “No.” He cleared his throat. “No, that isn’t to much to ask.”

“Good,” she said, commending him with her tone of voice. “That is very good, Goku.”

Oh, yeah? For the first time since the discussion had started he felt truly provoked, tempted to confront her with some harsh words of his own. Not a sound passed his lips, however, as he studied his half eaten meal, dark bangs once again falling in front of his eyes.

“I’m glad that’s settled,” Chichi said, giving his hand a pat before letting go. She turned to Goten, her expression softening when she met his large troubled eyes. “Aw, don’t worry sweetie.” She tousled his wild mop of hair. “Mommy’s not mad anymore.” She smiled at him, lightly at first, then wide and cheerful, when he answered with at smile of his own. Goku breathed out, feeling his shoulders slightly relax.

“Alright,” Chichi said with bright resolve. “Now let’s just have a nice, normal family dinner, shall we?” She gave Goten another smile. “Tell me, sweetheart,” she said. “How was school today?”

“Fine, Ma,” Goten chirped.

“And what did you learn?” Her voice was a bit amused, prompting him to embellish on his short reply.

Goku recognized the exchange. It was like a ritual.

“The usual,” Goten said, not showing a lot of interest. “Reading from the book, you know... the one about the boy and the tiger. And... and we sang a song!” Goten laughed suddenly, and started to sing, his voice sweet but somewhat loud.

"Charlie the camel has ten humps, ten humps, ten humps. Charlie the camel has ten humps. Run, Charlie, run. Da-da-da-da-daaaa!"

Chichi looked a bit taken aback, but the she smiled good-naturally. Although when the boy launched into the second verse – "Charlie the camel have nine, humps, nine humps, nine, humps" – she held up a hand to silence him. “Alright, sweetie,” she said gently. “That’s very nice, but the dinner table is not a place for singing.”

“But, Ma!” Goten jumped up and down in his chair. “Just the end, it’s really funny, I promise.”

“Well, go ahead then,” she smiled. “Let us all hear the last verse.”

Goten paused, the attention dampening his enthusiasm. He gave his father a glance, brief and shy, before looking at his brother, who nodded reassuringly. Taking a deep breath, he started singing again, confidence growing with each word.

"Charlie the camel has no humps, no humps, no humps. Charlie the camel has no humps. Because Charlie is a... HORSE!"

They all joined Goten in his delighted laughter. “Very good,” Chichi said, bringing her hands together, applauding her son.

For a while they all ate in silence, the mood considerable lighter then it had been before. Goku relaxed completely, enjoying the food. Goten started to talk about his visit to Trunks, and Goku turned his eyes towards him, listening to the bright eager voice as if he was still listening to song.

“Trunks has four rooms full of toys, and he says that they’re just for kids, but I know he likes them, because when I said that he could give them to me he said no.” Goten noticed that his plate was empty, and he held it up for a second helping.

“So,” Chichi said, giving her oldest son her full attention. “How was your day, Gohan?”

---

Goku lay in bed, unable to sleep. He turned over on his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow. Sigh. He turned the pillow next, laying his cheek against the slightly cool surface. His eyes had long since got used to the dark, the dim light from the stars outside the window enough to make out the lines of the furniture in the room, the features of the woman who lay so close beside him.

“Mmh,” Chichi breathed, her eyelids fluttering open before sluggishly closing again, more than half asleep. She moved her hand, it stumbled across his shoulder, brushing against it softly, resting there for a while, before she pulled it back. Her arms close to her, as she always used to lie.

Her brow was relaxed, the mouth soft, lips plump from sleep. He wondered briefly what she would say if he was to lean over and kiss those lips. If she was to wake up with his lips on hers, with his hands on her body.

With Chichi, he thought, some things were endlessly discussed. Food, shores, times, dates, she always let him know what she thought. Some things, though, were never spoken of at all. As if ignoring it could make it invisible. As if pretending it didn’t matter, could mean the same as acceptance.

They didn’t touch each other in bed anymore. Just undressing. Lying down. A few words exchanged. (“I’m so glad you’re back, Goku.”) Sleep.

In their first year together, things had been so different...

He crossed his arms on the pillow, rested his chin on his arms. These were good memories; they should have made him smile. Why couldn’t he smile?

They had been carefree. Everything was new to them both, but still it seemed so simple. He was excited, thrilled even, at this new adventure that life had given him. Chichi, she had come out of nowhere, his fiery partner, his laughing companion. His wife.

What they had shared in bed – and not only in the bed, for that matter – was merely a small part of what they were together. How couldn’t he find it irresistible? The lingering touches, the intimate kisses. So free they had been together, in the forest, on the meadows, the green grass cool against their skin, their skin hot against each other.

She was his laughing companion.

And then... it changed. As everything always do. Her stomach stretched round with child, and she turned her strength inwards... or, at least, that’s the way it had always seemed to him.

She put up walls, for protection, perhaps. They had never used to lock their door before, but now she insisted upon doing it every night. He didn’t understand. What could she possibly fear? What kind of thief did she envision, lurking in the forest, walking on the meadows?

Lifting his chin off his arms, Goku turned to look at the peaceful face of his wife. Strange thoughts. Fit for a sleepless night.

The last time they had touched... He rather didn’t dwell upon that memory, but how could he not? They had been here, in this room, in this bed, just a few weeks ago.

He had been gone... it hadn’t seem like such a long time, but then again, perhaps it was. He had two sons now, two, and one of them was almost an adult.

Maybe she had just thought it the proper thing to do. The newly returned husband, and all that. She was glad that he was back, he didn’t doubt that, yet... when she had turned towards him, insisting hands telling him what to do, it was like she was farther away from him then ever.

Was this what he remembered from their very first year together? Was this all it was to it? This manipulation of caresses, this awkward moving in position, this deliberate rubbing of flesh against flesh?

He was hurting her then, he knew. Not physically, but still she would turn her face away, so she didn’t have to look at him.

Some things were never spoken of at all.

She lay next to him, a warm presence that couldn’t be ignored. What he longed to do was to wake her up, pull her closer, shout at her, kiss her - something, anything that would make her slam the doors open in avid recognition. Yet... she was just sleeping. Her brow was serene. He was the one who was tossing and turning, reaching out and pulling back. Perhaps, he thought, as he tucked the blanket more snugly around her resting form, perhaps it wasn’t a question of pretending.

Maybe the only pretending had been the embarrassed touches they had exchanged those few weeks back. Perhaps it just wasn’t there, the thing they had been trying to imitate.

He turned over on his back again, careful not to disturb Chichi. The words echoed in his mind. Was this the way it was now?

Undressing... Lying down...

He stared at the dark ceiling, not even blinking.

Sleep...

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Bulma was at work and Trunks was in school, leaving Vegeta alone, their joint section of the enormous domed house empty. Empty…much like how he was feeling right now. He lay on the soft leather sofa and stared at the roof. The roof was white, or off-white, an uneven paper material, imitating stone.

He didn't feel like getting up.

He didn't feel like eating breakfast - it was nearly noon, anyway. He didn't even feel like reaching over to the low glass table right next to him and grab the remote. The TV flickered, nagged the corner of his eye. Singers, sparsely clad in garish outfits, paraded the screen, danced to muted music.

The singers might have moved their lips in vain, but still it wasn't silent. The barely detectable hum of the air condition kept bothering his eardrums. Hum, hum, hum. The cool air of CC. Comfort in all rooms. The CC coolness. The constant cool of CC. C, C, C. Hum, hum, hum.

"Fuck." The word was way to mild. What was the matter with him?

Up. Down. He raised his upper body, felt the small strain the movement caused. No direction, just getting up. Bah. Slammed himself back down in the sofa again. No reason, just staying down.

Ouch, by the way. He reached behind his back, pulled out a small, hard object. The figure of the Earth warrior had his plastic mouth wide open, one grossly muscular arm raised, silver painted sword ready to strike. The boy. Getting his toys everywhere.

With a flick of his wrist, Vegeta tossed the tiny soldier over the backrest of the sofa. Crash. Sounded like it broke when it hit the floor.

He should get to the GR and train. Turn up the gravity, this new pinnacle he had reached, and just get to it. What was he doing here, flat on his back, accomplishing nothing?

("I assume you will make some kind of effort to...at least COMMUNICATE with Trunks.")

Stuff he should be doing. He contemplated reaching for the remote. He contemplated the face of his son, the way it had closed off when he had turned down yet another training session with the boy. Weird that the only thing that brought them together had been that room, those hours in the reddish light. His obsession…as Bulma would have said.

"Hey, Vegeta!"

What? He turned his head to the loud greeting and sure enough, there he was. Kakarott, with his hands on the opposite frames of the doorway, a wide smile on his face. Peppy, peppy. Hey Vegeta, indeed.

"Are you ready for another spar?" He sounded so hopeful, too.

Vegeta labored to a sitting position. Labored. The effort was considerable, not in his obedient body, but somewhere within his mind. An easy swing and a down turned face was all he resolved to show, but inside he was in clear dissent, parts of his brain groaning in protest as he gradually, step by grudging step, forced it to attention. Wake up. Sit straight. Speak.

"I don't feel like sparring today." True enough. The thought of a spar made him want to vomit.

"No?" Goku had taken several steps closer, and was standing on the opposite side of the glass table. As Vegeta watched, that cheerful smile faded, became small and anxious. "Well…" Goku seemed to hesitate. "What else do you want to do?"

"Nothing. Go away." Blunt, but it was really the best he could do right now. Vegeta leaned his head on his hand, rubbed his scalp as if he was very sleepy. At the edge of his vision, he saw Goku square his shoulders and shuffle his feel, just standing there.

Out of place, Vegeta thought vaguely. Kakarott seemed too large for the room, for the slim wooden chairs by the wall. His unruly hair was too uncouth for the lace curtains, and his boots made intrusive marks on the polished parquet floor. They were both out of place here…The thought made Vegeta grind his teeth together, and he almost winced when the act was followed by an high pitched squeak. Kakarott was still standing there mutely, staring at him.

"What are you waiting for? I said, leave. Are you deaf as wall as stupid?" Vegeta heard his own voice. It was low and nasty, filled with a hostility that was neither planned not wanted, it just seemed to…seep out.

"Vegeta." Any trace of the smile was definitely gone by now. Goku's face was still and hard, his voice somehow deeper and darker then usual. "Don't talk to me like that."

"What?" It felt like a bucket of freezing water had been upturned over his head. Vegeta stared at Goku, who steadily stared back. Then Goku moved slightly, changed into a position of subtle readiness, the shift of weight enough to serve as a reminder of his superior strength. He did not even have to power up. If the movement was intended as a deliberate message, it came through loud and clear.

"Hmph," Vegeta murmured, as he leaned back into the couch. "Good for you." It was more like a breath, a thought passing his lips. He doubted the other man had heard him.

"Okay," Goku finally said. "Guess I'll be going, then." He turned his back, took a few demonstrative steps towards the door.

"Kakarott, wait." He wasn't even sure what he was going to say until he actually said it. "Do you want to join me for lunch? I haven't eaten since yesterday, and there's a restaurant I've been meaning to visit."

Goku spun around, his eyes wide. He seemed to hesitate before nodding, somewhat standoffish. No wonder, Vegeta wouldn't have believed it either.

"I'll get some money," Vegeta said curtly. He raised himself out of the sofa with such ease, almost eagerly. While leaving the room, he was very conscious of the gaze that burned into his back.

In his sleeping quarters, Vegeta sat down on the bed while he pulled out the top drawer of the nightstand. Inside lay small, neat stacks of paper money, all in different sizes and colors. His hand lingered above them…faded green, yellow, smoky orange, gray and blue, as he had to think for a moment to remember the correct currency.

Money in hand, he slowly shut the drawer, stared at the picture on one of the bills without really seeing it. With the pad of his finger, he outlined the face of a skinny old man in round glasses, felt the detailed irregularity and the slightly oily quality of the paper, though his mind was a hundred miles away.

Kakarott had acted like he really listened. Like his spiteful words had been received and noted. He hadn't pushed them away as if they were nothing, not even worth his response. And he had actually sought confrontation, for once not treating him as just another of his weak friends.

Vegeta felt something that resembled triumph. Yes, that was what this could be compared to. The sweet rush of victory.

My opinion matters to him. Greatly.

He was seen. Or at least…his strength had been acknowledged.

I'm not weak.

The thought wasn't loud or defiant; he wasn't shielding himself from unwanted accusations. It was a confirmation. He was not weak. Whatever changes might come he wouldn't run and he wouldn't hide.

Standing up, he placed the money in his pocket and opened the door.

…

Goku walked down the teeming street, still a little disorientated from the dizzying flight. The all-too narrow pavement was broken and dusty, and he had already been close to falling once when he accidently had stepped into a muddy hole. He kept looking right and left, sidestepping again and again to avoid colliding with someone. Strange that Vegeta could walk so fast, without having to stop or give way once. There must be some trick to it.

Then again, if he had paid better attention to where he was going, instead of trying to meet the gaze of everyone he passed… Goku turned his head, a glimpse of long lashes and smooth brown cheeks left him staring into the narrow back of a retreating youngster – and nearly bumped into a wrinkled old woman who was so short that she could have walked under his elbow without touching it with her hair.

The nasal honking of a horn made him turn his head to a small truck, relentlessly pushing itself forward just a fraction faster then the sluggish pace of the traffic dictated. Barefooted bikers yielded and closed in again like water around a floating log, and a large ox with curved horns and protruding bones were forced up on the sidewalk, the heavy load behind him wavering precariously as the truck honked by.

After leaving Capsule Corp they had flown straight up, so high that the air would have coated their lungs with ice if they hadn't focused their ki for protection. They soared with blinding speed, over what he supposed were mountains and reaches of water, but Vegeta hadn't seemed to need any landmarks to find the way. Unerringly, he had stopped above this city, turned in the air and dived from the great high, dived and dived in a way that Goku would have thought playful, if the drop hadn't been filled with such purpose and direction.

There was something wrong with the air. Goku coughed slightly, as he hurried to catch up with the retreating figure of Vegeta. Why here? Why was he suddenly in the middle of this suffocating street, stumbling and staring like he was a small child again, seeing a city for the very first time?

He glanced at Vegeta out of the corner of his eye, but quickly turned away when his sideways stare met the one of the prince…looking back. He swallowed and felt almost relieved when several large boxes on the pavement forced him to fall behind, follow in his wake once again. Why Vegeta's gaze so unnerved him, he couldn't tell.

Vegeta's eyes were very dark, even darker then the frame of their jet-black coloring dictated. The sun might shine directly into his face, and still the curious darkness was present, as if shadows had made a home in those orbs of coal. It was true. They reflected no light.

It couldn't just be his imagination.

A few days ago, he had caught himself thinking that it was a wonder that Vegeta could see anything at all, that he could see any of the things that Goku was seeing right then…grass, bees and trees, instead of perceiving it all as pitch black. He had tried to vocalize this thought to Gohan, but got nothing but that smile in return. He should have been pretty used to that particular smile by now. It said, 'I love you, Goku/Dad/honey, and I'm listening, but I can't really hear what you're saying'.

Still, it wasn't the riddle so much, Guku thought as he followed Vegeta with long strides. It was the way the other man had studied him right then, assessing, or re-assessing, making him unerringly think of the weird showdown back in Capsule Corp.

When Vegeta had called him stupid he had been angry…and disappointed. Searingly so. Now the whole thing seemed like a strange dream, in which the rules of normalcy had suddenly changed. Why the anger, to start with? Why was it that slights from Chichi were so much easier to bear?

And why, when he bared his displeasure, had Vegeta appeared intrigued, even…pleased?

It was a new thought. With Chichi he could find a compromise of enjoyment on some issues, on others he would usually pull away, not challenging her will. With his friends, with Yamcha and Krillin, it was much the same. Why should he want to hurt them in any way? He would protect them from whatever worries he might cause.

So he held on to the things that made him happy, and with his sons, especially, he could share those feelings.

Goku held his fist in front his mouth as he coughed once again. He looked upwards, squinted as the sky that was somehow dusky and bright all over. Ugly. If it hadn't been for the specks of soot in the air, perhaps it would have been blue.

He looked around, for the first time seeing the crowd on the narrow street as a whole. He saw their colorful clothes, fabrics woven in intricate designs, small shapes augmented by shrieking contrasts. A pink shawl over a green tunic, a yellow dress with orange patterns. A smear of red paint down a stately forehead. Noting the dreary setting, he wondered if they all dressed like this in a sort of compensation.

He briefly scanned the building to his right. Rows of unadorned windows testified of several stories, but the house looked so fragile that it was a wonder that the lowest floor hadn't given in under the weight. If concrete could be rotten, this was surely it.

Goku stopped in his tracks when he noticed that a man was sitting against the wall, watching him with the kind of openness that comes from someone who believes himself invisible. He was quite skinny, with short hair that should have been black, but was strangely bleached and his face was lean and deeply lined, though something told Goku that this man was much younger then he seemed, that he was a boy no older then Gohan. A sort of stunned discomfiture washed over him when it occurred to him that the boy was missing both his legs, that they ended well above his knees, leaving nothing but blunt stumps covered in tattered shreds.

When the boy found himself watched, he moved closer, dragged his thin body across the pavement with a series of well-practiced hops and lurches. One bony hand reached out, and Goku stared at it, at the dirt between the cracked calluses. After a moment that felt way to long, he leaned down and grabbed the outstretched hand, just as Vegeta appeared by his side.

"What are you doing, you moron?" Soft and casual.

What was he doing? "I…I couldn't just ignore him," Goku murmured. He squeezed the small hand between his own large ones, smiled, and got a shy smile in return. "Oh, and Vegeta…" He glanced up for a second and added, in a voice equally soft and casual, "Don't call me a moron, ever again."

The boy crooked his head to the side, for some reason reminding Goku of a bird, a parrot perhaps. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but only half garbled noises came out.

"He's asking for money," Vegeta sighed. He heard a small rustle of paper, and then Goku found a bill being shoved in the line of his vision. Snatching it, he offered it to the boy and watched it disappear somewhere inside the folds of the purple, frayed shirt.

Both of the bony hands pressed his now, as if in gratitude or reward. Much like Vegeta had provided him with the money to offer the young man, paying him for…for whatever. Though catching a glint of the pleased expression that had flitted over Vegeta's face had been reward enough.

Looking up, he discovered that Vegeta had started walking again. "Hey, wait up!" he called out, disentangling the hand gently, but with a haste that tore at his heart. "I'm sorry," he muttered, though he was pretty sure the boy couldn't understand what he was saying. He started walking away, seeing in his mind how the boy dragged himself back across the dusty pavement, blending in with the soft, crumbling wall once again.

A brief touching of hands could never be enough. There was always more he could do.

"What are we doing here, Vegeta?" The question was somewhat less then patient.

"I already told you. Restaurant. Food. Remember?" Vegeta had that air about him sometimes, like he was doing him a favor by simply humor him with words.

"Yeah, well…" Goku stopped in his tracks and glanced back when a tragedy occurred to him: The boy had probably never been outside the city. He had never seen the sun glitter off the surface of a lake.

"What's the matter, Kakarott? Did that beggar bother you?" Vegeta's deep, slightly raspy voice wasn't quite as mocking as it could have been. He added, quite coldly, "I should have taken you here by night, so you could see the people sleeping on the street. It's actually quite crowded, especially in the places where the grass is growing."

"Uhm." Goku wasn't sure what to say. Except…"Doesn't that bother you, Vegeta?" An expressionless stare was his only answer, but Goku pressed on, firm in his newfound resolve not to tiptoe around Vegeta anymore. "What do you feel when you see them like that?"

"Feel?" Vegeta sneered and abruptly resumed the brisk walk. "They are weak," he continued after awhile. He did not look at Goku, but lowered his head and frowned in contemplation, apparently giving the question some thought. "Well…not weak, but powerless. Not hurt and bleeding, but losing a battle nonetheless. How does it feel…" Vegeta slowed his steps and turned around to give Goku a long, enigmatic stare. "How does it feel…to be in a place where human life is so cheap?"

"Life is always important!" He had thought that Vegeta agreed with that by now.

"Whatever, Kakarott." Vegeta came to a complete standstill. "We're here."

"Here?" The house looked no different from the rest, with the exception of a large white sign with red block letters hung across the entire facade. "Don't pass me by," Goku read out loud. "Is that the name of the restaurant? Vegeta?"

Apparently so. Vegeta disappeared through a opening in the building, and after a slight hesitation Goku followed, feeling both flustered and mystified.

…

There was a single poster adorning the wall, Goku noticed as he entered the upstairs room, which was empty except for the two of them. The roof was so low that that Goku had to bend his head in an awkward angle not to bump into it. Six rangy tables, with narrow benches. No windows. Two naked fluorescent tubes cast a sharp light over the gray walls, over the glossy surface of the poster, over the picture of high blue tinted mountains, lush with life.

On the way up, Vegeta had stopped by the kitchen (which constituted of the small space underneath the stairway) and ordered a meal, more with curt gestures and anything else. Though Goku hadn't quite caught the end result, he had a feeling that whatever was coming wouldn't be nearly enough to fill either of their stomachs.

They waited, sitting opposite each other, Goku with his elbows on the rangy table, his feet pushed underneath the low bench. He was openly studying how the light fell on the angels of Vegeta's face, casting some features in shadows and some in ghastly white. He wasn't sure why the image gave him reason for concern, but it did. He wanted…he wanted to get a hint of what was behind. He wanted the planes of light to be broken by a smile or a scowl, or by the motions of adamant speech.

It was remarkable how silent it was, considering the busy street just outside.

The same man that had taken their orders slunk by and, with a few unintelligible words, placed two steaming bowls on the table. The smell was mouthwatering, and Goku dug in at once, munched with relish on the soft chicken bits in the thick red sauce, mixed with crusty pieces of ginger. The bowl was almost empty before it occurred to him to make a comment, "Mmm, this is really good!" He smiled behind the spoon, a certain amount of revelation in the statement.

"Adequate." So often Vegeta was acting like everything was boring him, like he didn't care one way or the other.

Vegeta wasn't looking at him though, or the food, it seemed like he was idly observing something tiny that was moving on the level with the floor. Wha-? Goku turned around and caught sight of a small mouse that, unaware of the attention, was sauntering back and forth like he owned the sandy concrete. Heh. It sure was cute, with its large ears and round little body. Goku smiled softly when it stopped to nibble on something, grabbed the unearthed morsel delicately in its forepaws and lifted it to its tiny mouth.

Still smiling, he looked back at Vegeta…who was pointing his index finger at the tiny mouse. His manner wasn't really obvious, just the elbow on the table, the finger slightly bent, but Goku could feel it. Like a metallic flavor in the air: the lazy gathering of the other man's ki.

"Hey!" Without thinking he shoved Vegeta's hand to the side, smacked it really hard. He didn't realize just how hard until his palm stingingly collided with a resounding slap, and Vegeta had to brace himself on the table, which shrieked briefly against the floor.

"Please don't do that," Goku said through bloodless lips. Vegeta raised his head, and Goku almost winced at the unguarded look of confusion on the smaller man's face. He had hit Vegeta much harder when they were sparring, ruthlessly striking him again and again, but this wasn't like sparring, not at all like sparring.

The disturbing confusion swiftly dispersed, giving way to an unfettered rage, every bit as disturbing. Like windows of thunder Vegeta's eyes bore into his, and it flashed through his mind that this was it. This was when it finally blew up.

Vegeta had not gone from deep, malicious spite to guarded acceptance. Their fight with Buu had not made him cast all that resentment aside; it could never be that simple.

He could have wept from sorrow.

And then, just like that, the tension broke. The suggestions of blue that had threatened in Vegeta's irises sank beneath the surface and the danger left his sneering mouth. The dense clouds of thunder dissolved, as if there hadn't been any power to hold them together.

Goku saw this with a kind of gratitude, like he couldn't believe it. He said shakily, as a bit of an apology, a bit of an explanation, "I was thinking that it was me, the mouse you was aiming at." Vegeta didn't say anything, and Goku pressed on, trying hard to put into words something that was more like a feeling then an articulated thought. "And you, the mouse was you too, on the floor looking for crumbles."

"What?" A definite edge, there in his voice, and Goku swiftly decided to drop that line of discussion.

"I've been so glad lately, about what's been happening between us," he said hurriedly and motioned between them, as if there was any doubt of who he was referring to. "It's like…like you have forgiven me."

Vegeta sat in hesitating silence, and Goku continued, tongue stumbling slightly. This was like nothing he had ever done before. "You've always acted like I've done you a great wrong, like you though I was a really bad person. But…we had fun sparring, right? You don't hate me anymore?" The last was half statement, half hopeful query.

"I don't…" With worry Goku noticed that Vegeta was looking down, apparently unable to meet his eyes. The voice was a hushed whisper that barely reached his ears. "I don't hate you anymore." Vegeta brought his hands together and, seemingly unconsciously, he rubbed at the palm of the hand that Goku had struck, gently, like he was soothing an injury.

Goku wondered if Vegeta knew how he looked right then, so full of doubt and uncertainty, so unlike the reckless confidence he usually portrayed. The way he held his own hand, it was like he was curled up on himself. And still he kept looking away - oh, it was alarming that he wouldn't even look up, surely Vegeta would always meet his eyes full on, weather in defiance or anything else.

It he had taken a moment to think about it, he wouldn't have done what he did right then. But he didn't pause. He reached over the table and gently captured Vegeta's hand. He didn't pause, but pulled it towards him, turned it over, uncurled the fingers from the palm, almost expecting to see it marred with injury. What he did see caused his stomach to lurch and the breath to catch in his throat.

Three long scars formed deep gorges across the exposed flesh of Vegeta's palm. Hardened gorges, Goku sensed as he reached out to touch. He almost recoiled from the unexpected toughness of the scars, the way they should have been soft, but wasn't. Teeth and nails were the only thing on the body that was supposed to feel like that. Yet he kept touching, trailing their entire shape…three straight lines crossing each other on the middle, creating six even points, like the skeleton of a snowflake.

"Veg…" No, Vegeta still wasn't looking at him. He was studying the shadowed wall to the left, as if he had suddenly heard something that had distracted his interest. Abruptly he turned to the right, giving the empty table the same treatment as the wall. "Vegeta?" Goku held his captured hand harder, felt the pulse race beneath his fingertips.

The chair scraped dully against the floor as Vegeta got to his feet. He pulled his hand out of its hold, hardly acknowledging the gesture. "I've had enough." There was something slightly off with Vegeta's voice, pressed, like he was forcing the words through closed vocal cords. "I'm out of here." With that, Vegeta let a handful of crumbled bills fall on the table, one turning in the air to soak in his abandoned bowl.

…

Vegeta wasn't flying very fast, Goku had no trouble catching up. They sped through the freezing air, Goku following the other's arrow-straight lead. The wind drew a hint of tears to his eyes, melting the light into a thousand facets.

It was so bright up here. Below lay the clouds, a sunlit sea of misty white. Above and all around them was the blue, a pale arctic blue where it melted with the clouds, a deep and saturated blue the higher he craned his neck. A brief moment of vertigo. He could fall into that saturated blue, fall, and keep falling forever.

'Silly, silly Goku', they would have said at that, and laughed. But of course he knew, he knew what would happen if he let himself fall. It was just a though, a feeling, kind of sweet and kind of scary, and it was worthy of being spoken in words. One of these days, he would astonish them all.

Vegeta turned towards him, a strand of hair getting in his face, before he pushed it back to whip around his head with the rest of the mass. The gaze in the narrow eyes could have rivaled the air for coldness, and the face was stony, impassive as it usually was. That face made Goku reluctant to ask his question, but he did it anyway.

"Are you alright?"

He could almost hear Vegeta's voice in his mind, arrogance riding the volume, 'Of course I'm alright, why wouldn't I be?'

The answer didn't come, though. Vegeta just looked away again, resuming his arrow-straight course.

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Vegeta sat on the side of the bed, leaning his face in his hands and tiredly rubbing at his eyes.

And how are you this morning, Vegeta?

“Why, I don’t know,” he muttered in answer to his own question. He considered taking a shower, but ended up just pulling some old training clothes out of the closet.

He vaguely felt like he had made a fool out of himself.

Would you like to join me for lunch, Kakarott. Ugh. A wave of shame, he wasn’t sure where it came from.

I’m so weak.

No, he wasn’t.

A memory of Bulma, smiling teasingly, holding a flower and tearing away the petals one at a time. (“You love me, you love me not, you love me, you love me not…)

“Feh.” He had better things to do. He did. Soon. The clothes he wore were for training, but he didn’t feel like going to the gravity room, not right now.

Just do it.

Why should it be so bloody difficult? It shouldn’t, and if it was, it was something to defy, some failing to overcome. Just do it.

His feet were carrying him down the corridor, in a steady, purposeful walk. It wasn’t difficult, he was just going to the gravity room.

The doors slid open and the light automatically came on. The air was slightly stale, otherwise it was the same as always.

A circular room with a dome-like roof, the floor was thick and massive, armoured to withstand tremendous pressure. There, on the floor, was the exact place where he had fallen, where he had laid on his knees and groaned under the weight of his thoughts. He walked up to the spot and stared at it. So?

He raised himself up into the air, slow and smooth like a swimmer; diving. He didn’t touch the roof, but turned so he was lying horizontal with it like an upturned bowl. He looked down. Nothing had changed, it looked the same. Stupid room.

He could start training right now, just do it, it wouldn’t be hard. A press of a button, and he would be set. Be safe. No matter, it was of no matter.

The problem was… the problem was… something was the problem. He had been going to Bulma, right before she had said her piece. He had wanted to tell her something. He had something to say. Him… Me.

He felt… detached. Like the room below existed in another reality. It was nothing but a shell, something muffled, cushioned and adjusted. It was the same, but it had never been more than this.

His feet touched the floor. The door was still open, and he walked through it, the corridor felt narrow and steep. He made the turns without thinking, paper corners, sketchy furniture. He felt a whiff from the kitchen, but it failed to entice him. It was thin, without substance… the smell of a concept. The idea of food.

The street outside Capsule Corp was bright; it almost appeared white in the sunlight. The air was still cool from the night, and stray birds flew overhead. He stood still, watching the people walk by. Yes. Slowly, it was easing, the feeling that he had. That nothing was real.

Pride, she had said. She had been giving herself, sacrificed something for his sake. He should tell her that he, in spite of it all, was… glad that she wouldn’t compromise her pride.

So he had been going to ask for help. To lean his head just a little bit. Tell her “thank you” perhaps, and perhaps dare to tell her how hard it was. How hard it was to trust in a place where he could rest, to simply allow himself to get wrapped in a cocoon of time.

Vegeta scowled. This standing still was no good. He wanted to do something, wanted to feel the effort of being in motion. That was the thing he liked about the gravity room, the way it made him feel every muscle of his body, the way he could stay in there for hours and come out exhausted and somehow cleansed. There was no need for doubt or questions in the gravity room.

“Go to hell.” The words fell from his lips, sounding taut and harsh.

He opened himself to the power, it was as easy as breathing. He lifted his arms over his head, felt the muscles of his back tighten as he reached upwards in a slow stretch. The muscles of his thighs bounced and energy danced around bent fingers. He yawned, a yawn that made his eyes tear up and his head feel considerably lighter.

Good morning, Vegeta.

Eyes on the sky, he flew straight up, through the clouds and higher, opening himself to more and more of the power. He saw the air in front of him shimmer and change, altered by the energy of his own aura. He looked downwards and felt a tightening in his groin, a heat at the pit of his stomach. Whoa, far to the ground.

From this high, the city didn’t look white, it was a light shade of blue. It rested on the reaches of land like a toy dropped on the grass. In one direction was the sea, in the other mountains and forests. It went on and on, a serene warmth emitting from it all.

For once he knew he was coming. With his senses effortlessly reaching along the land, he felt a shifting and a movement, and he had his gaze fastened on the place where he knew the other Saiyan would appear. His fingers on his forehead, Kakarott actually looked startled when he found himself closely watched.

“Vegeta,” he said, hesitation in his voice. “Why have you powered up?”

Vegeta shrugged, decided to ignore the bout of irritation that rose up in him. The tone and the question spoke of distrust. “Well,” he said. “In part… I was calling for you.”

“You were?” Kakarott’s eyes grew wide, and he stared at Vegeta with undivided attention. It was remarkable, really, and it occurred to Vegeta that if he said something cold right now, he would in all likelihood get to see the effect it had on that open face.

Kakarott had always seemed soft, too soft, when it came to dealing with him. Even when they were fighting, there had been that implied offer, that questioning generosity. At the same time, the other man had had been infuriatingly well-guarded, seemingly letting anything he said run off him like water. It wasn’t like that anymore, Vegeta thought. He didn’t know when the shift had come exactly, but somewhere along the line Kakarott had placed him in a position where he would actually be able to hurt him.

(“I've been so glad lately, about what's been happening between us.”)

Vegeta spoke, breaking the brief silence. “How does a spar sound to you?”

The answering smile was instantaneous. It spoke of joy and simple delight, and Vegeta noticed, with real wonderment, that it warmed him to see it.

----

The pace of the spar was easy, nothing like their last raging powers and crushing punches. They kept on the ground, the punches were felt, but they didn’t injure. Well, they didn’t injure much, Vegeta thought as his fist collided with Kakarott’s mouth. The hit was short and fast, and he smirked when he felt the taller man’s teeth against his knuckles, when he saw a thin line of red appear between his lips. Goku smoothly ducked a kick, which was blocked and redirected, and Vegeta vaulted twice before he landed on his hands and his feet in the tall grass, the smirk never leaving his face.

The sun was high when they finally decided to take a break. They stood in the shadow of a large oak, their breath slowly returning to normal. Vegeta enjoyed the breeze that shook the leaves of the tree and cooled his skin where the shirt clung to his back. He wiped the hands on the sides of his trousers and crossed the arms over his chest.

“Well…” Vegeta said, staring at a line of wispy clouds. “All things considered, your technique is amazingly good.”

“Thanks,” Goku laughed. Without warning he flung himself down on the ground, Vegeta could actually feel it reverberate through the soles of his boots. Goku moved around a bit, burying his face in his crossed arms. An amused chuckle rose up from his prone form.

Vegeta slowly shook his head. The way Kakarott was behaving reminded him of the time when the other man had showed off that little cottage of his; when Vegeta had got to see him in his… habitat, as it was.

“What are you doing?”

“Huh?” Kakarott turned his head to the side, glancing up at him. “I felt like lying down. It’s very nice.”

Vegeta found himself wondering if the rivers and the mountains and that little cottage weren’t the reason that Kakarott acted so… different, so unlike his heritage and his people. It made him wonder what was most valid; that little cottage… or the ship of Frieza.

Alright. That was enough, quite enough of prying questions and self-examination. He sat down on the ground, laid one leg across the other and leaned back against the trunk of the tree.

Listening to the surrounding silence, he could feel some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He could feel the warmth of the bark through his shirt.

It was, indeed, nice.

---

Goku thought to himself that he liked the smell of grass. He lay on his stomach, resting his head on one outstretched arm. His other arm was curled in front of his face, creating a small, darkened cave. Blades of grass tickled his nose.

He sensed Vegeta sitting down on the ground next to him, and he saw in his mind’s eye how the other man leaned back against the tree. He sat so still that Goku was sure that he had closed his eyes. He smiled drowsily behind his arm. There was a good feeling that came after sparring, and the best way to sense it was to be still and to close the eyes.

He thought that Vegeta should lie down too, because to felt so good and it was a feeling he wanted to share. Vegeta should feel how the grass was warm on the surface but cool underneath, feel the water and the life in the soft little blades.

It would be nice to have Vegeta lying next to him. That would be very nice. Vegeta would lie just like he did now, and he would lift his arm and lay it around Vegeta’s back. His head would be resting right next to Vegeta’s shoulder; skin that was warm from the sunlight would touch his forehead and his cheek. And he would move closer to Vegeta, because it felt good to be so close, to tighten his arm around his back, to feel his presence like he could feel the grass and the sun.

“Hm…” Goku murmured. His arm started to reach out, it paused in the air for one instant. Then he let it fell, through the place where Vegeta would have been, and his eyes sprang open, blinking sleepily in the light.

He froze, covering his eyes as if covering his confusion. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, slow and hard. Why did…? Why should…? Goku took a deep breath, deliberately stilling his heart. Confusion wasn’t something he was used to; it was uncanny, like he had suddenly lost the balance of his body in the middle of a spar.

Yet he would deny nothing, disprove nothing, and keep nothing from himself. His feelings were his own.

Goku lay in the grass. He was no longer resting, his eyes were open, his expression thoughtful and grave.

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Goku stepped up on the broken pavement. This was the place where that boy had sat, the boy with the missing legs. He wasn’t there anymore. Goku looked at the people on the street, half expecting someone he recognized to show up at any moment. That boy. Or Vegeta.

He hadn’t seen Vegeta for awhile. He’d been waiting for an invitation to spar, but never gotten one. He guessed he might have gone looking for Vegeta himself, but he hadn’t. Had been staying away, really, for longer than a week.

The wall that the boy had sat next to looked as dull as he remembered. He stuck his fingers into one of the cracks, and crumbs fell down to the pavement. Crumbling walls, he thought. Chichi would have disapproved. Goku wiped the dust off his fingers. He wondered where that boy had gone, wondered where he slept during the night. Maybe he was one of those people Vegeta had talked about, the ones who slept on the street.

“Kakarott.”

Eh?Goku turned around, his mouth open. Vegeta stood there, his arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

“W-when did you get here?” He stuttered a bit. In surprise, he thought.

“W-why, I’ve been here for awhile,” Vegeta said, imitating his stutter. Somehow, the mockery didn’t bother Goku. It was light, teasing… private.

“I was looking for you,” Goku said, and he smiled. A big grin. Couldn’t have stopped it if he’d wanted to.

“And?” Vegeta didn’t return the smile, but there was something about his face, something about the way he leaned his head back against the wall. He was in an unusually good mood.

“And what?”

“And what else were you doing?”

“I…” Goku looked down the street. He paused, frowning slightly. “I was remembering the boy who was sitting here before.”

“The one you gave the money?” A sardonic tone in Vegeta’s voice, as if he was reminding him of something embarrassing.

“Yes, the one I gave the money.” He had forgotten about the money. It was the touch he remembered, the boy’s callused hands holding on to his own. “I hope he’s alright.”

“Heh.” Vegeta looked away, as if to demonstrate his lack of interest.

“But what are you doing here?” Goku said. It had occurred to him to wonder. “Since when did the gravity room stop being your favourite place?”

“Well…” Vegeta looked at him, looked straight at him with an calm, unguarded expression that made Goku realize just how much things had changed between them if Vegeta could look at him like that. “This place makes me think. I’ve been thinking lately…” His voice tapered off and he gave a minuscule shrug. “It’s hard to explain.”

“No matter.” Goku grinned, feeling like he had gotten some of the answer already. “Let’s go beat the crap out of each other.”

“Fine by me.”

---

There was a fine line, Goku thought, between pain and injury. They hadn’t discussed it beforehand, but he knew that Vegeta saw this line too, and had decided not to cross it. His attacks hurt, sure, but they lacked that special element of grimness that accompanied a real fight. And while a real fight had its charms, it was also quite limited. If he and Vegeta had been fighting for real right now, he couldn’t have laughed like he did now when he managed to get a perfect hit or when both his feet collided with Vegeta’s chest and knocked him into the ground. If they had been fighting for real, he would have had to harden himself to be ready to injure. No, he thought, a real fight was something better had with a stranger.

Wham! Crack!That’s what he got for being distracted. Vegeta’s fist slammed into his chin, the kind of hit that stunned the body and made it impossible to think for awhile. The back of his head knocked down something hard – a tree – and he landed among the branches, leaves falling everywhere.

“Pitiful,” Vegeta said, standing by his shoulder, mocking him by coming within his reach. Goku’s hands shoot out, but the other man was already in the air. Not flying, but jumping, turning over and over to land several metres away. Goku was ready. He was there when Vegeta landed, grabbing his throat and throwing him off balance. Before Vegeta’s back hit the ground, Goku moved them. The grass disappeared, replaced by the waves of the ocean. Ocean air rushed in, intruding upon his senses, and Goku laughed. One hand on Vegeta’s throat, he pressed him under the water.

Whoosh!Vegeta ascended, his golden aura pushing the water away. Goku struck, his fist connected, and they circled, parried, both ascended. The water roared, white foaming walls surrounding them. The blows were lightening fast, and Goku’s heart pounded. He lost track of everything except for the fight and the roaring of the waves.

Goku didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was getting tired, finally. His arms was heavy, he was sweating, burning, as the water rained down around them. Vegeta’s boot hit him, struck him down and pushed the air from his lungs. He let go of the power and closed his eyes, enjoying the freefall. He sank below the surface of the water, and was tossed and turned by the waves and the currents. Reaching the surface again, he saw no trace of Vegeta, but searching for nearby kis, he found him far above, hidden by the clouds.

Goku entered the clouds, where everything was white and muted. The air was cool, and he stood still for awhile, feeling his heart slow down to its normal rhythm. Catching a movement at the edge of his vision, he blinked and turned around. Vegeta had sneaked up on him – again, he thought. The other man smiled, harsh and tight-lipped. Goku saw a hint of elation in that smile, an elation that was similar to his own. And he flew in close and wrapped his arms around Vegeta’s shoulders – not a fighting hold, but something along those lines. A punch to his ribs was his reward, and Goku spun 360 degrees before he let go, laughing and holding his side.

“Ouch, Vegeta. You might have cracked something with that one.” Punches always hurt so much more when he wasn’t ready for them. “Truce, alright?”

“Alright.” Vegeta slammed his fist in Goku’s jaw. Hard.

Ow!He backed away, frowning at Vegeta.

“Truce,” Vegeta smirked. “Starting now.”

---

It became a routine, a routine less and less hard to follow. They met, they fought, and they rested. It was the way it was. Vegeta didn’t question it anymore.

Except this morning he didn’t feel like sparring straight away. He watched Trunks leave for school, and he exchanged a nod with Bulma as she disappeared down to her lab. He went outside and found Kakarott waiting, like he sometimes did, outside the door. Kakarott smiled, and turned to walk away, clearly expecting Vegeta to follow. On his way to the sparring ground, Vegeta thought. In his mind he was probably there already. Vegeta felt a spark of annoyance.

Training alone had its advantages.

Next to the entrance stood a low bench. Wines grew up the slim iron legs and the wooden seat still showed traces of dampness from the night before. Vegeta sat down, stretched his legs in front of him and leaned his back against the white, curved wall of the Capsule building.

Kakarott glanced back at Vegeta with a bewildered look on his face. Vegeta shrugged, seeing no need to explain himself. He didn’t feel like going straight away, that was all. Kakarott walked up to the bench and sat down next to Vegeta, and Vegeta waited for him to say something, but the other man seemed content to sit in silence.

Well, points for Kakarott.

Vegeta folded his arms behind his head. He watched a vapour trail from an airplane, I thin line in the empty sky. The only sounds he could hear was the wind and the birds in the trees.

Bulma had said something this morning while they were eating breakfast, something about Trunks. She… was glad that the boy was spending so much time with Goten – he had seemed so much happier lately, she had said. Vegeta had just shrugged. Sure, whatever. Trunks was happier, you say? Good.

Thinking about it, though, Vegeta wasn’t sure anymore. What about all the times he and Trunks had trained together in the Gravity Room? What about all those hours of effort and restraint? What about it? Did it count for nothing?

Huh, Bulma? Did it count for nothing?

Goku cleared his throat. “Are you meditating?”

“No.” Never had, never would.

“Then what are you thinking about?”

Vegeta straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. He let the silence linger – let it stretch out – before he decided to answer. “Trunks.”

“Ah.” Kakarott moved closer, causing Vegeta to move away, annoyed by the invasion on his personal space. “Are you mad at Trunks?”

“No.”

Kakarott paused. “Um… is Trunks mad at you?”

“No, but I will be mad at you if you don’t shut up right now. Just so you know.” His voice was calm.

“Okay. Thanks, Vegeta.”

Thanks? Everything was a bloody mystery lately. And it was all Bulma’s fault – no wait…

Funny, this now habit of his, of caching himself whenever his thought turned to anger. But then again, it would be so easy – too easy – to look at everything as if it had been a battle. Like this morning. Why should it bother him that Trunks was… happier? Why? Did a happy Trunks give Bulma right in everything she had said and done?

Give me a fucking break.

But why couldn’t he just dismiss it? He thought about Bulma, how she took a bite of her corn bread sandwich, a sip from her glass of milk, saying: Trunks seems so much happier lately. Bulma had seemed happy too, as she said it. No anger or challenge in her tone or in her face. She had seemed… soft.

No, Vegeta though. There hadn’t been any accusations from her, not this morning. And yet he heard them, unspoken, reminding him of all those school meetings he’d never attended, all those birthday parties and dinner appointments. Bulma had wanted him to go shopping, he remembered, buying toys and clothes for Trunks. He never had.

Vegeta frowned, wondering exactly how much of Bulma’s thinking that had rubbed off on him over the years.

‘I’m a Saiyan,’ he had said to her. Whatever that meant.

“Kakarott,” Vegeta said, some accusation in his voice. “Did you ever go to a store to buy a birthday present for your son?”

“Which one? I have two sons,” Kakarott explained, as if Vegeta wouldn’t know.

“The older one. Gohan.” Patience was something good, Vegeta reminded himself.

“Oh. No, Chichi took care of the presents. She made a cake and everything – that’s how I knew it was his birthday.”

Vegeta laughed, for some reason caught completely off guard. “Isn’t a father supposed to remember his son’s birthday?” he said. “Or so Bulma always told me.”

“Yes.” Kakarott scratched his head. “It doesn’t matter, Vegeta,” he said quietly. “Things were good that way.”

“Were they now?” The sarcastic response left Vegeta’s mouth on its own volition. He didn’t know what to think. He was a bit taken aback by the wistfulness he heard in Kakarott’s voice, as if the other man was remembering something from the far past. It made sense though, it didn’t seem like something Kakarott would do, caring about any particular date. He’d never seemed of have offered much regard for such human considerations.

Ok. Exactly when had he started turning to Kakarott to confirm his ideas about what it meant to be a Saiyan?

“You ever killed anyone, Kakarott?” Sharp and sudden.

“It’s happened.”

“Really?” Vegeta was surprised. He looked at Kakarott, but the other man was staring straight ahead and his profile revealed nothing.

A slight shrug “I was a kid, and I was fighting. I didn’t think much about it then.”

“Who did you kill? Humans?”

“Yes, soldiers. And Piccolo’s father.”

Vegeta felt a slow smile graze his lips. “Were you angry?”

“Yes.”

“Were you having fun?” Vegeta’s smile grew wider.

“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation.

Vegeta rose to his feet. He felt lighter, like something within him had lifted, allowing him to move about more freely. He took a deep breath of the damp morning air, making a mental note to talk to Trunks sometime soon. Nothing wrong about playing with Kakarott’s brat, but the kid should also make the time to train with his father.

However, first things first… Vegeta rolled his shoulders, anticipating the punches he were about to deal out.

“Enough sitting around. Let’s get that spar going.” He started walking, no doubt in his mind that Kakarott would get up and follow.

And of course he did.

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Vegeta was nervous.

Nervous.

Trunks was opening his presents, paper flying everywhere. Happy shrieks from the children blended into the more sedate murmur of the adults. The growing pile of opened presents was placed to the side. Trophies for Trunks, boxes with colourful designs and flashy writing.

Bulma had been planning for days, making the Capsule garden into “a perfect playground” for Trunks and his classmates. Carousels jingled around, making happy music, and the trees were filled with little houses, connected to each other with a maze of ropes and ladders. Apparently the food was being served in some new and novel way. Vegeta didn’t really care, all his attention was focused on what appeared to be the highlight of the party: the opening of the presents.

Next to the others his own present to Trunks was plain. Easy to overlook. Vegeta found himself wishing that it would be overlooked. He had envisioned giving it to Trunks, but he had not envisioned all those people, the shrieking children cheering Trunks on, making him just as excited as they were. Bulma’s friends – and Kakarott – were standing to the side with some of the children’s parents, watching everything. Vegeta’s present was wrapped in plain blue paper, wrapped over and over since he hadn’t bothered with scissors. No bow, no card. The other presents had cards.

What if Trunks didn’t like it?

What if Trunks didn’t like it? Vegeta mentally slapped himself. He was being silly. Nervous and silly. It was strange. It was… different. And enlightening.

Just one present left now. Trunks picked it up and turned it over. “Who’s it from?” Trunks asked, looking puzzled.

“Me,” Vegeta said.

The children seemed to pick something up of Trunks, some mood, because they shut their mouths and backed away, giving Trunks his space. The boy opened the present slowly, hardly tearing the paper at all. He shot short glances at Vegeta, glances that made Vegeta feel that it probably didn’t matter if Trunks liked the present or not. It was the gift-giving that signified. Seemed Bulma had been right all those times.

Vegeta glanced at Bulma and found her beaming at him. Vegeta gave her a slight nod and her smile turned soft, just for him.

“Cool.” Trunks was holding his gift, a large curved knife in his hands. Vegeta had haggled for it in a small human store, a tent close to a desert. The knife was old and unadorned, but Vegeta had liked the thick blade, the curve of it, making the knife feel heavy and powerful. Not very useful maybe, but still an object of some worth. It seemed like Trunks could feel it too, judging by his laughter and the way he was swinging it around.

“Um… Vegeta?”

Bulma was standing right next to him now, frowning and looking like she was trying to choose her words carefully. Vegeta found that he already knew what she had on her mind.

“Trunks!” No need to make her say it.

“Yes, dad?”

“Give it here.”

Vegeta held out his hand. Trunks lowered the knife, and slowly walked up to place it hilt first in Vegeta’s outreached palm. His eyes were large and disappointed.

“We’ll keep it in the Gravity Room.” Vegeta said. “It’s not a toy, and it isn’t proper to play with it in front of other children.” Trunks frowned at him, and Vegeta reached out to give his hair a brief ruffle. “I’ll show you how to use it, next time we train.” And Trunks face transformed into happiness.

“You handled that well,” Bulma said, as the flock of children started to scatter. She sounded surprised.

Vegeta looked at her and raised an eyebrow. She raised her own eyebrow, his mirror, and whispered, “Can’t say I loved seeing him with it, but I guess it’s alright. Not like he isn’t just as dangerous without it.” She smirked, and poked him in the side with her elbow. “But hey, he really liked his present.”

Vegeta nodded. It did seem like it. He looked at Trunks, who was facing Goten, stabbing with his hand, imagining a knife, and Goten parrying, an invisible knife of his own. Both laughing.

“So you’re going to train him again?”

“Yes. And about time too.” Vegeta suspected Trunks was happier about that than the gift. It made him aware of how long it had been since he and Trunks had trained together. “I have been selfish,” Vegeta muttered, mostly to himself, and he was amused when Bulma’s mouth fell open.

He had surprised her, as he had surprised her with the present. And not only her. Vegeta glanced behind him, and Krillin and Yamcha fell silent under his gaze. They didn’t look unfriendly though, they looked… surprised. Krillin took a few tentative steps closer.

“Cool knife,” Krillin said. “Is it some kind of Saiyan relic?”

“Made and bought on Earth,” Vegeta said, oddly flattered that the short fighter would assume that he had Saiyan relics in his possession.

Krillin held out his hand and Vegeta offered him the knife, handle first. Yamcha walked in for a closer look. After moments of consideration, Yamcha lifted his gaze and gave Vegeta a casual nod, as if saying, “not bad”.

It was strange, Vegeta thought, to stand there surrounded by the humans and having them look at him with approval. He hadn’t even fought for it – all he’d done was to follow one of their customs. And he’d made Trunks happy. He supposed that counted for a lot.

Kakarott had never bought a birthday present for his son. Vegeta looked to the left, behind Bulma, where the other Saiyan was standing. Kakarott looked grave. There was a stillness about him, but it was a stillness that seemed to hide something. He sees it too, Vegeta thought.

In this particular topic, Kakarott, I have bested you.

---

Krillin left with Yamcha, and Goku watched Vegeta cross his arms, Trunk’s birthday present held loosely in his hand. He could tell that Vegeta was pleased about something. He had shoot Goku a look of triumph, but Goku was sure that it had very little to do with him. No, Vegeta had done something, something more than just stand there while Trunks opened his gift. Whatever it was, it had made Vegeta calm and content in a way that Goku hadn’t seen before. Goku watched him talk to Bulma, watched him smile. Watched him.

He’d been thinking about kissing Vegeta.

He would be at home, eating, or sitting in the sun doing nothing. Might lie in bed, not sleeping, and the thought would come to him that he’d rather be kissing Vegeta.

Watching him smile like this, it was hard to look away. Goku felt his eyes darting over Vegeta, his face and his body, committing every part of him to his memory, the way he was now. This was how Vegeta should be when they were alone. This ease. He wanted Vegeta right up close, smiling like this.

“Goku!”

Goku blinked at Bulma. She was waving him closer, her slim fingers making beckoning motions.

“So,” she smiled when Goku came up to her. “Did you like the tables? I know it’s not terrible practical, but I still think the idea could work. It only needs some… work.”

Goku hadn’t noticed any tables, but he looked over at the large buffet underneath the trees and saw the round discs that some of the people was pushing in front of them as they steered between the dishes. It looked like large trays, except they were floating in the air. He watched a man sitting down, the floating tray in front of him. Heard the “oh!” as the tray was bumped by another guest and a glass turned over.

“I understand what you mean,” Goku said, and looked away. He didn’t seem able to summon up any enthusiasm over the floating table invention.

Vegeta looked thoughtful and – and benign. Like someone who wasn’t angry at all. It was remarkably.

“Are you alright?” Bulma asked, touching Goku’s shoulder.

“Yes, it’s just – I’m hungry.” Maybe he was.

Goku had fully intended to walk over to the buffet, but he changed his direction and turned to a more secluded part of the garden. He sat down, cross-legged, where the grass was high, and leaned his elbows on his knees. He felt lost, like he had somehow walked into a dead end, but he couldn’t see the road, and couldn’t see what was blocking it. Couldn’t see, he thought, and leaned his brow on his fists. His eyes were tightly closed.

“Goku?”

Goku opened he eyes, disoriented – momentarily – by the difference between this, the real world, and the one behind his eyelids. Krillin was standing on the green grass, bright red clothes, ruffled hair, a concerned look on his face. One of his fingers were lightly perched on a floating table, where two Sundae ice creams stood, laced with chocolate sauce and two cherries on top.

“Are you alright?” Krillin sounded hesitant, like it was unthinkable that he wouldn’t be. “Does your head hurt?”

“Maybe a little.” Goku straightened, and raked his fingers through his hair.

“It looked like a killer headache.” Krillin seemed worried. Alarmed. “Did you take a really big hit recently?”

“No,” Goku said. “It’s not that. My head is fine.” He smiled, thinking about all the times he’d taken a hit to his head. “When is it not?”

“What’s the matter then?” Krillin sat down in front of him and pulled the table down between them. He pushed one of the Sundaes closer to Goku.

Goku didn’t answer right away. He picked up a spoon and fiddled with it. Pressed the cool metal against his lips. He should talk to Krillin. Krillin had always been more knowledgably than him about… about a lot of things. And, Goku thought, he just wanted to talk. Wanted Krillin to know what he was thinking. Problem was he didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. He finally settled on a phrase he had never uttered before.

“I’m in love.”

Goku scooped up a big spoonful of ice cream and chocolate sauce. Put it in his mouth and swallowed, hardly tasting it. In love. It meant something significant, he knew, but he didn’t like it. Didn’t like the words. They didn’t fit the way he was feeling – no words fit the way he was feeling, but when he said it, I’m in love, he felt his feelings change. Define. The words defined his thoughts and his feelings. He didn’t like it.

“In love?” Krillin blinked several times. “With… with Chichi, right?”

“No, not Chichi.” Goku froze at what he had promptly admitted. Not Chichi. It echoed within him: not Chichi. It was the words, the way they excluded. Maybe talking about it had been a bad idea.

“You met someone else?” Krillin’s voice was very kind. He leaned closer over the table.

“No,” Goku murmured. “I’ve known him for a long time.”

“It’s a… a him?” A whisper.

“Yes, and I’m not sure if it’s love, it’s just every time I see him I feel…” Goku glanced at Krillin, seeking guidance. “I feel… that I love him.” He couldn’t stop saying love.

Krillin laughed, a short nervous laugh. He backed away, where he sat. “You mean to say you love him like a friend, right. Right, Goku?”

“Yes,” Goku said. “He’s my friend. I want to kiss him.”

Krillin blushed. “Whoa!” He backed away further, and waved his hands in the space between them. “You can’t kiss him, he’s already taken!”

“No, he’s not.” Goku frowned. “Bulma broke up with him.”

“Oh.” Krillin brought his palms to his face. “Oh! You’re talking about Vegeta.”

“Yes,” Goku said. “Vegeta.”

“Oh. That’s…” Krillin stared. ”Vegeta?” He took a deep breath. “You and Vegeta?”

“Yes.” Goku turned the spoon over in his fingers. Right way. Upside down. Right way. Upside down. He looked at Krillin. “You thought I meant you, didn’t you?”

“A little bit, yes.” Krillin waved his hand. “But never mind that. This is crazy! This is you. Goku! And you can’t! That is… give me a minute.”

Krillin bowed down, leaning his forehead on his hands – his fists, much as Goku had done, and it did look like his head was hurting. Goku felt sorry, for worrying him so.

“Hey,” Krillin said, his head still bowed. “You’re not kidding with me, are you?”

“No,” Goku said. A rueful smile that Krillin didn’t see.

“Didn’t think so.”

Krillin was thinking, and Goku was waiting for what he had to say. Except he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. Because it was easier without the words.

Krillin raised his head. “Goku,” he said. And his voice was gentle. Careful. “You do see the problem here? This is a real, serious problem.”

“I know.” Goku frowned. “You don’t have to explain it to me.” Words. They made things wrong. Made them not fit.

“Have you and Vegeta actually…” Krillin made a vague gesture.

“What?” Goku knew what he meant. He asked anyway.

“Had sex. Have you been sleeping together?”

“No.” Goku shook his head. “I don’t know if Vegeta want to do that with me.”

“Okay.” Krillin took a deep, quick breath. “Goku, listen – listen.” He leaned closer, beseeching. “Don’t. Just… it’s a bad idea. I know it’s none of my business, but… Don’t.”

A sullen stare. Goku knew he looked sullen.

“You have Chichi and Gohan and Goten. And Vegeta has… has Trunks.”

Krillin paused because he didn’t say Bulma. But Vegeta still had Bulma, didn’t he? And being with Vegeta didn’t have to mean that he would lose Gohan and Goten, or even Chichi. Did it?

Goku’s head hurt.

“And listen…” Krillin brought his palms together, like he was praying. “Vegeta doesn’t even like you. He’s always had this thing – this thing about wanting to kill you, remember?”

“He does not! Maybe once, but that was a long time ago. Let it go, Krillin!”

Yes, and that was shouting. He was shouting at Krillin. Had he ever done that before? Ever?

“Goku…”

“I’m not happy with Chichi.”

He didn’t know he was going to say that. He had never wanted to say that.

There was silence. Goku looked down. The table between them moved as Krillin pushed it aside, and reached over to touch his arm. A warm touch on his arm.

“Goku… I’m sorry.”

Goku nodded.

“And I’m sorry about Vegeta. I shouldn’t have said that. People change, I know that. I’ve seen Vegeta change.”

Goku shrugged. “Maybe. He’s still Vegeta.”

”Yeah.” Krillin took his hand from Goku’s arm. “Goku…” He hesitated, took a deep breath. ”What do you want?”

“I want Vegeta.”

Finally he felt the road clear. He could see ahead. He wanted Vegeta. Want. That was right, a good word. It fit.

Goku looked at Krillin and grinned.

Krillin groaned, and leaned his forehead on his hands.

Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Goku filled his hand with water and brought it to his mouth. It was cold, and tasted of glaciers, of melted ice. The little stream next to him rushed over the rocks in swirls and falls. Young, he thought, because this was new water. The air tasted of glaciers too. There was a cold wind from the mountains.

Vegeta was sitting a bit off, gazing at the clouds. Dark blue ones paraded across the sky, little baby clouds, not big enough to block out the sun. It rained often in this place, but the rains were brief and cleared right up. Three times they had come here to train. It seemed Vegeta liked it, liked the mountains and the rocks, the winds and the heather. He hadn’t used ki-blasts once.

Goku looked at Vegeta, looked away. Took a step closer, took a step to the side.

Circling Vegeta.

Seemed lately all he’d done was to try to get closer to Vegeta. Sit closer to him, stand closer to him, touch him more often. And watching. Watching him for his reaction. And it was strange how he didn’t seem to notice, how he might get impatient sometimes and move away, but Vegeta often got impatient. Less often now. Vegeta was calmer, more patient. But still… Still Goku was careful, and he couldn’t explain why that was. He circled Vegeta like he couldn’t make up his mind, like he didn’t know what he wanted. But Goku knew what he wanted, he knew it better and better each time they met. He wanted this, sparring and talking and meeting with Vegeta. And he wanted more, wanted the touches and the kisses and the nakedness and the closeness. He would sit next to Vegeta and lean closer so their shoulders bumped, watching for his reaction, and Vegeta didn’t seem to notice. A curious blind spot that made Goku cautious.

“Good spar,” Goku said, just to say something.

Vegeta nodded, and he transferred his gaze to Goku.

Goku found himself studied. Vegeta’s gaze was unwavering and impersonal, like he didn’t see any reason to look away. Like he had looked at the clouds. It was nice – maybe it was nice – to be like the clouds. To be accepted in Vegeta’s presence as if he were a natural part of it. At one time he would have marvelled. Now he wanted more.

“Vegeta,” Goku said.

”Yes?” Vegeta smiled – a small, questioning smile. Interested, in a distant cloud-gazing kind of way.

Goku felt his heart, it was beating harder.

“Just…” He walked closer, and Vegeta rose to his feet to meet him, still that small, questioning smile on his face.

Goku bent down and kissed him, a quick press of his lips against Vegeta’s lips. He met Vegeta’s eyes, and he did it again. Kissed him. Placed his hands on Vegeta’s shoulders as if to keep him from leaving. Felt Vegeta’s hands on his arms, a strong grip, not pushing him away and not pulling him closer. Strange kisses. Fast and close-mouthed. Holding on to each other, but not pulling any closer. Looking at Vegeta, quick, and not seeing much except a set face and wide eyes. Vegeta meeting his kisses – warm lips, warm breath, hard fingers on his arms. Fingers likely to leave marks.

Goku pulled Vegeta against him, hugged him, his arms around his back. Vegeta resisted the hug, his body set like his face, but slowly he gave in, leaned his head on Goku’s shoulder, his hands loose and light on Goku’s arms.

---

Kakarott was kissing him. He. Was kissing Kakarott. Strange kisses, that were wholly different from the ones he had shared with Bulma. Bulma, from the start, had been surprisingly simple. She’d been his haven. This was… it was something new. Kakarott stared at him, between the kisses, his eyes wide and wary, expecting what? A punch? They held on to each other, and it was nothing easy about it. It was a struggle, with harsh hands and stiff poses. And Kakarott’s mouth on his. Kakarott’s mouth. On his.

He wasn’t sure what happened, when Kakarott pulled him into a hug. He felt caught. Kakarott had him, strong arms around his back. He didn’t know if it was a good thing. But… it might be a good thing. He abandoned the struggle, and let Kakarott hold him. He let Kakarott hold him until he couldn’t do it anymore, and then he pushed him away.

---

Holding Vegeta was what he wanted. Vegeta rested against him, and Goku felt his throat tighten, filled with gratitude and relief, and he held Vegeta tighter. He felt Vegeta’s hands on his arms, pushing at him, but with no great emphasis. It was easy not to let go, to hold him tight with and urgency that hadn’t been there before.

Vegeta fit so well against his body, more solid somehow than Goku had expected. Looking at Vegeta, he might seem small, compared to Goku. A slender waist in tight clothes, narrow hips and narrow hands. But Vegeta wasn’t small, he filled his arms all up, and he was strong and solid and there. He was stronger than anything Goku had ever held in his arms.

He had this image then, about the two of them, naked limbs entwined, rocking together like lovers.

Goku’s arms tightened on their own volition, with enough force to press the air out of their lungs. He kissed Vegeta again, a pant caught between their lips. Kissed him like he couldn’t get enough, like he was thirsty and Vegeta was water, and Goku was drinking his mouth in huge gulps. Vegeta was malleable, soft in his arms, opening and closing his mouth, letting him drink. Letting him.

A prickle of worry, and Goku wrenched his head away, dizzy and off-balance. He had to look at Vegeta, but Vegeta didn’t look back. Vegeta was staring at something else, or just not meeting Goku’s eyes. He seemed distracted, occupied with something off to the side, something not particularly interesting, maybe even a bit boring. Vegeta was pretending that Goku wasn’t there.

Goku let go of him, and backed away. He raised his hand, but stopped before touching, his fingers centimetres from Vegeta’s arm.

“Are… are you alright?” Goku said.

A shrug. “I’m fine.” Short and clipped. Vegeta still wasn’t looking at him.

Goku lowered his hand, a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was bad. He had done something wrong, he was sure of it.

“Vegeta, I didn’t mean…  I’m sorry if I… I hurt you, or...”

“Shut up!”

Oh, Vegeta was looking at him now, making him stagger under the full blast of his rage. The fist was unexpected, registered only as a screaming hot pain in Goku’s face.

“Ow!” He held his cheek, cradling it. “Vegeta!” Accusation in his voice.

Normally this would be funny – the perfect punch that Goku didn’t even attempt to block, the shock, the surprise. Vegeta would have laughed, and so would Goku, and tried to retaliate.

Vegeta didn’t laugh now. Vegeta pushed him, a push on his chest that had hardly anything to do with technique, but more with anger, close up on Vegeta’s face. More anger than Goku had ever wanted to see.

“I’m not weak!”

“I never said you were!”

He’d never thought so either, though everyone had weaknesses. He might be looking at Vegeta’s right now.

 

“Vegeta…”

“I’m leaving,” Vegeta snapped. He turned abruptly and walked away, almost like he had forgotten that he could fly.

Goku stood stunned, watching Vegeta go. How had this happened? He had kissed Vegeta, and Vegeta had kissed him back – he had! – but then Vegeta was angry and now he was leaving.

“Wait!”

Vegeta stopped, but didn’t turn around. His back was tense, and his hand’s were clenched into tight fists.

“Don’t follow,” Vegeta said. His voice had a ring of cold authority, that only served to further convince Goku that something was wrong. “I’ll talk to you later.”

And Vegeta left, one minute there, one minute gone.

---

Later.

Vegeta had said they would talk later, and Goku spent hours and hours above the clouds, waiting, waiting, for the time to pass. The things that had happened kept playing in his head, over and over. He heard Vegeta

(“Shut up!”)

telling him to shut up when he’d said he was sorry. He remembered holding Vegeta and Vegeta pushing him away, and Vegeta pretending he wasn’t there. It was that blind spot, that blind spot that wasn’t a blind spot, when Goku came too close.

(“I’m not weak!”)

He had to be careful, had to be careful, because Vegeta had some injury, some vulnerability that Goku hadn’t known was there. Not like that. But, Goku thought – and he was absolutely certain about this – he couldn’t tip-toe around Vegeta either, couldn’t treat him like he was weak.

The time passed so slowly. He needed to get back to Vegeta, but he knew the other man wanted to be alone. I’ll wait, Goku thought, for the sun to disappear underneath the clouds.

Goku waited, and when the last rays disappeared underneath the clouds he put two fingers to his forehead.

---

Vegeta was standing, arms crossed, in the same spot Goku had found him that day when Bulma had broken up with him. A low hill on a plain, jagged mountain lines along the horizon. Goku remembered how he had been stuck with worry, thinking Vegeta might leave, just leave Earth and everything behind. It didn’t seem like that anymore. Now… now Vegeta seemed to be at home. It was indefinable, but it was there. It might be the stillness, but Vegeta didn’t seem restless anymore. He had travelled the Earth, had been to more places than Goku had, knew more about the cities and the streets.

Vegeta, you’re more at home than I am.

“I know you’re there, Kakarott.”

Goku landed next to Vegeta, and they were standing side by side, watching the long shadows across the plain. He had been worried that Vegeta would shout at him, would push him away, but standing next to Vegeta he felt that he was welcome. It calmed him down. Whatever had changed between them, Vegeta was still his friend. Goku said it, letting the words drift into the dusk.

“You’re my friend.”

Goku waited in silence for Vegeta’s words, drifting back, echoing the sentiment.

“You’re my friend.”

Slowly, Goku exhaled. He felt… happy. Not the kind of happy that made him laugh and grin, but the kind that felt so contained, and so much a part of everything. The plain, the mountains, the warm air. It was all part of his happiness, standing next to Vegeta.

“Frieza.”

Goku heard the name float into the air, and he kept breathing, waiting without impatience for what Vegeta would say next.

“He used to own me.”

Vegeta said it calmly. It was very intimate, this sharing, almost like they weren’t two different persons. They were the same, but separate, and Vegeta’s voice vibrated in Goku’s chest.

“Everything I did, I did for Frieza. Everything.”

Vegeta lifted his hand, palm towards them, and for a short while Goku looked at the snow-flake scar he had almost forgotten, but now remembered so clearly he could almost feel the calloused edges under his fingertips. Vegeta let his hand fall, but the scar, white in the dim light, seemed to have summoned up the ghost of Frieza. The cold ruler, he was there, smiling like he had on Namek. And Goku felt cold, remembering how Frieza had beaten Vegeta and killed him with a beam from one finger, casually lifted. Killed him and smiled.

“He defeated me. Utterly,” Vegeta said. “And that’s how he owned me even after he was dead and gone.”

Goku had never heard Vegeta talk like this before. He listened, spellbound, while Vegeta inhaled and said with simple dignity:

“He doesn’t own me anymore.”

---

Vegeta pressed his lips together, kind of nodded to himself. It was true. He was free from Frieza. That was the thing. He had walked this Earth, reinvented.

Kakarott took his hand.

Vegeta made himself do it, made himself stand there in the near dark and hold hands with Kakarott. The taller man was so silent, so subdued, Vegeta could almost hear the buzzing of his thoughts. He had confused Kakarott, Vegeta knew – scared him – with his performance today. He had tried to explain, but it was hard to explain something that he could hardly understand himself. Kakarott, so close, it filled him with equal parts anticipation and dread. Filled him all up.

“Vegeta,” Kakarott said. ”Do you want to have sex with me?”

Vegeta glanced at Kakarott. From the tone of his voice, he would have thought the question was effortless, driven by nothing but innocent curiosity. But Vegeta felt the tightening of Kakarott’s hand, the brief tremor that went through the other man’s body. And Vegeta felt a surge of affection so strong he couldn’t help the smile that crept up on his face.

You are precious, Kakarott.

Vegeta let go of his hand and turned to face him. Kakarott stood still, broad and silent and waiting. Hair every which way. So easy it would be to hurt him now.

Before he could stop himself, Vegeta stepped closer, so close that their clothes brushed together. Kakarott stood still, though he seemed divided, or hesitant. His hands briefly grazed Vegeta’s back before falling back along his sides. Vegeta let him hesitate. He was too busy with his own sensations, leaning into the larger man. Anticipation and dread. This was Kakarott!

Vegeta’s nose touched the side of Kakarott’s neck, and he inhaled, taking in the nearness, the warmth, the broad chest and the wide shoulders. The presence of Kakarott. Vegeta sank his fingers into course hair, and Kakarott bent his neck, yielding under Vegeta’s light touch on the back of his head. “Yes,” Vegeta whispered, his lips against Kakarott’s ear. “Yes, I want you.” And he did.

Kakarott laughed, silent and breathless, and Vegeta felt the other man’s lips on his face, his neck, his throat. Kakarott’s hands were on his shoulders, squeezing and caressing, and then on his backside, pressing their lower bodies together.

“But not now!” Vegeta pushed against Kakarott, who immediately let him go. “Idiot,” Vegeta added, a short smile, and the insult sounded a lot more indulgent and affectionate than he had expected.

Kakarott smiled back, but there was a crinkling of his brow. He looked worried.

“We have time, Kakarott.”

He told himself he was calm, in control, but the fact of it was, he felt dizzy and unsettled. Not quite himself.

Kakarott still looked worried, and Vegeta was suddenly impatient, balking inside at the thought of more talk and more explanations.

“Go home, Kakarott.”

“Go home?” Kakarott sounded like he didn’t quite know what that meant.

“Yes, home.” Vegeta took a deep breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Kakarott looked down at the ground.

“We’ll go to a restaurant again,” Vegeta said, feeling awkward. “I know of a place you’ll like.”

“Sounds good.” Kakarott looked up and smiled shyly. Remarkable, such a shy smile on Kakarott’s face.

Vegeta nodded, and took off, the wind roaring in his ears. He could hear Kakarott’s voice shouting after him, loud and exuberant, nothing shy about it at all.

“See you tomorrow, Vegeta!”

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

The dials showed 750 times gravity. It was more than Vegeta had ever been able to stand before. He was none to sure that he could stand it now.

He was doing pushups–simple two-handed pushups–and it felt like his back would break. Hm. Interesting problem. What would give first? His back? Or his arms?

Once, he had fought a warrior and he had broken nearly every bone in that warrior’s body.

He pushed himself to his feet, from crouching to standing in several laborious heartbeats. Getting his neck straight was the hardest. 750 G, pulling him down. The sound of his blood roaring in his ears, his eyes blinded by the chaotic light of his own transformation. It was easy not to think. It was hard to stop the thoughts.

Kakarott, breaking under his feet.

Kakarott, kissing him on the mouth.

And Vegeta not stopping him, not angry, not surprised.

He had expected it, hadn’t he? The way Kakarott had tested him, tasted him. Taking every opportunity to get close, to touch him, to sit right next to him and let their shoulders brush together. And those looks – at him.

Vegeta’s feet slowly left the floor. He levitated, and it took all his concentration, all his strength. He was shaking, his breath coming in ragged draws. Light flashed in front of his eyes. He felt it now, the limit. The line to cross.

Vegeta wondered if he would survive a fall. Probably yes, if he controlled it. He was strong.

No he wasn’t.

Kakarott had asked him a question every time he brushed up against him, every time he looked at him like that. And Vegeta, he had refused them both an answer.

Because he was scared.

No he wasn’t.

Because when he had been going to kill that mouse that time in the restaurant, Kakarott had slapped his hand away and stopped him. And Vegeta had let him. Yes. It was like that.

Because he wasn’t fighting. It was too late for that. Too late. What power Kakarott had over him now because Vegeta didn’t fight. Didn’t want to. He had allowed Kakarott – the sneak – to get too close. To build his little houses all over Vegeta’s territory.

He had… given up.

No.

Kakarott had slapped his hand away and Vegeta had just sat there, not fighting, not knowing what to do, without the fight. Weak, without the fight.

(“I want you, Kakarott.”)

He did, but he was. Fucking weak.

He felt it, like a tear in his gut, when he was wrenched out of his Super Saiyan transformation and the floor came rushing up to meet him. Fighting it, and he felt that limit slide within him (yes) and bam! landing on his feet with bended knees. He caught some of the fall on his hands and he was down, curled up on the floor when he knew that nothing was broken, just jarred. His head was aching and he could not –could not – get up off the floor.

“Gravity… off.”

Speaking was difficult, his voice so low he didn’t think the sensors could hear him. Then suddenly it was gone, all that pressure bearing down on him.

Stillness. Silence. He raised his head. His heart was beating fast and the only testimony that the room wasn’t spinning was his hands against the floor. Stupid, stupid. He hadn’t listened to the warnings, hadn’t realized how quickly his power was draining. Good thing Bulma had put those voice activated sensors in. He closed his eyes and took slow breaths, waiting for his body to recover. It didn’t take long. Like pieces in a puzzle his functions were snapping back into their proper place. His head ached and then – snap – it didn’t. The last thing to come back was his sense of balance. He sat up, leaning on his hands. The muscles in his arms were trembling. Back to normal, but exhausted.

“Stupid.” A low whisper.

Yet he was smirking in silent triumph, remembering how he had fought against the fall and felt a burst of power beyond his limits. Fear, justified fear, had allowed him that one step further. And yes, not too long ago he had been dead, and now he lived again. He could afford to feel triumphal over the small steps forward.

After all, in ten or twenty years 750 G might seem like nothing.

He was yanked out of his thoughts when he heard Bulma’s voice over the speakers. She must have been waiting for him to turn off the gravity.

“Hey, Vegeta. Can I come in?”

“Yes. Come in.”

Vegeta stood up to greet her, pleased to note that he didn’t stagger. It took a lot of control though, not to give in to exhaustion.

Bulma came in, a small smile on her face. She stepped onto the thick armored floor cautiously, almost like she wasn’t sure that she was invited. She was dressed in a white coverall with oil-stains on the knees. A small towel dangled from her hand.

“You’re training late.”

“And you’re working late.”

“Here.” She handed him the towel.

“Thanks.” He wiped his face and swung the towel to hang over his shoulders. Felt faintly amused at her surprised look. Yes, he knew how to say thank you. It had been easy, matter of fact.

He waited for Bulma to say something, but she just stood there, looking at him. He raised him eyebrows and she smiled.

“How much is it now?” She asked, the words full of memories.

There was a time, when he was new on Earth and closer to killing anyone who spoke to him or looked him than they ever knew, when that question had been the only thing he cared about. The only question he cared to answer. How much is it now? How far, Vegeta? How far have you come?

How far?

“Seven-thirty,” he stated, not taking credit for something he didn’t completely master.

“Wow, Vegeta.” She sounded genuinely impressed, even as she continued in the pattern of their old exchange.

“So,” Vegeta started, when she didn’t say anything for a while. It wasn’t like Bulma to hesitate, to be so silent. He could tell that she had something on her mind. “How goes the inventing?”

“Inventing… goes fine.”

He nodded.

“Ah…” Bulma looked to the side. She put her hands in her pockets and spun back to face him. “I never told Trunks,” she said. “I never told him that we had broken up.”

“You didn’t?” He wasn’t sure how to take that.

“Did you tell him?”

“No.”

“Good,” Bulma said. “That’s good. It would only hurt him. Especially now when…” She gave him a long thoughtful look and smiled, shaking her head in wonderment. “You’ve done everything I’ve always wanted, haven’t you? And none of it is because I asked.”

He frowned, uncomfortable. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you do.” She stepped right in front of him. “The birthday present, the time you spend with Trunks…” She raised one finger, pointing at him. “You, Vegeta, act like a man who cares about his family.”

“I always… did that.” He edged backward, filled with a strong urge to get out of this conversation.

Bulma just shook her head. She didn’t look angry though.

Vegeta thought about it. He’d cared, hadn’t he, about Bulma and Trunks? Had fought for them. It was just…

(“I wanted to go back to the way I was before!”)

Well, there was that.

“How about,” Bulma took a deep breath. “How about we don’t tell Trunks?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t tell Trunks.” Bulma waved her hands in the air, visible flustered. “We’re his parents, of course he wants us to be together. Of course he wants you as his father. I know I said… all kinds of things, but Vegeta, I had to break up with you, had to. Now…” She stepped closer, reached out like she wanted to touch him. “Now I don’t have to do anything anymore.”

Vegeta backed away and Bulma blinked, letting her hands fall down along her sides.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?” He frowned.

“I… I don’t know. Vegeta, let’s be a family, for real this time.”

“It’s already real.”

“Oh, whatever.” Unexpectedly, Bulma gave him a shove and he almost toppled over. “Let’s just say we’re back together again, ok?”

Vegeta blinked, staring at her. At Bulma. She had lost her uncertainty. He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“I need to think about it,” he finally said.

Bulma smiled, nodding as if they were on the exact same page. As if they both knew that this was his way of going along with what she said. She looked… happy. Excited.

“I’ll go, leave you to take a shower.” Another quick grin, over her shoulder. “Talk to you later.” He watched her leave. Her hair swung with every step. The door closed behind her.

He should be angry at her. For her assumptions, for her bossiness, for her… He should be angry, but how could he, when all she had done was to choose him. Twice.

Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Vegeta was right, Goku did like the restaurant. It was old and large and wooden all over. There were other people there, but the tables were separated from each other with low beams and hanging plants. The lights were dim and muted. It felt like he and Vegeta were in a small cave.

Vegeta was talking while they sipped water from rough hand-made glasses andwaited for the food. Vegeta was wearing a soft blue sweater and around his wrist was a golden watch. He looked calm, determined and different somehow. And he was saying strange things. Things about family, and about priorities.

“Priorities,” Goku repeated. He knew that word. It was a Chichi kind of word. He felt like he had had this conversation before. With Krillin. “Us being together doesn’t mean we have to leave our families. ”Goku said. ”We can have both.”

“And be one happy family,” Vegeta said. He was clearly mocking, but then he met Goku’s eyes and shrugged apologetically.

“Vegeta…”

“I want to be a father now,” Vegeta said. “Now that…” He pressed his lips together and said with finality, “I can be a father now.” He leaned forward, closer to Goku. “Bulma want us to get back together again.”

Goku grabbed Vegeta’s wrist, across the table.

“I think,” Vegeta said. “I think she might want another baby.” He smiled. A smile that was small and fleeting and kind of silly.

Goku felt dizzy. He didn’t know how to argue, not against that silly smile.

“You said you wanted me.” He hadn’t meant to say that, it just slipped out.

“I do. As much as I want Bulma.” Vegeta looked down, where Goku’s hand was clutching his wrist. He raised his gaze. “More.”

Something within Goku soured, elated by what he saw in Vegeta’s eyes. Saw for just a moment, and then Vegeta blinked and it was gone. Vegeta looked back at him, dark and inscrutable.

“I don’t understand.” Goku heard the plaintive note in his own voice.

---

Kakarott looked miserable. Vegeta wished he could say something to reassure him, but really, he didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. As usual it was all bunched up with Frieza. This time, the absence of Frieza. Who would have thought that being free of Frieza would have left him so bereft?

“It’s all about priorities,” he repeated. “Trunks and Bulma… the baby – if we have one – they have to come first.”

Goku nodded, a single firm nod, as if that part was easy to understand.

“But Vegeta,” Goku frowned. “Can we still spar together?”

“Of course!”

Of course. Try to stop them.

Goku’s frown lifted. He gazed at Vegeta behind lowered eyelids, a smile slowly growing on his face.

“Can we still eat together?”

Kakarott’s grip had slipped from his wrist and was resting on top of Vegeta’s hand, fingers lightly curling. What was it with Kakarott and holding hands?

“Sometimes…” Vegeta said, the word trailing off into silence. This was no good. He was losing… He was losing his focus.

“Can I kiss you?” Kakarott said. “Sometimes?”

---

Goku lost his smile when Vegeta looked away, when he wouldn’t meet Goku’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” Vegeta said.

“Because of Bulma?”

Vegeta pulled his hand out of Goku’s grip. Still he wouldn’t meet Goku’s eyes. Ignoring him, avoiding him. Goku could feel it, how close Vegeta was to leaving. Leaving, or punching Goku in the face. Soon, he thought, Vegeta would get angry and call him a fool.

“Once, on Namek…” Goku spoke at the same time as he remembered. “I put my hand on Krillin’s head and I could see what he was thinking, what he was feeling, all his memories…”

Vegeta looked at Goku then, a look of horror.

“I wasn’t going to do it to you,” Goku said hurriedly. He wasn’t. “I don’t even think it would work. I could only do it with Krillin because he let me. He didn’t mind me looking around in his brain.” He shrugged, and gave a little laugh.

Vegeta was silent, looking thoughtful. He raised his chin, strangely soft, very present suddenly. “You’d be surprised,” Vegeta said. “At what I’d let you do.”

Goku blinked. This was… he’d never imagined Vegeta saying something like that. He had been afraid that Vegeta would draw away, like he had done yesterday after… after the kiss. Goku had been so sure he had done a mistake, kissing Vegeta like that, not even asking first. And now Bulma had said that she didn’t want to be broken up with Vegeta anymore. And a baby! Goku had started to suspect that Vegeta was saying that they couldn’t be friends anymore, but that wasn’t what Vegeta was saying.

Maybe Vegeta was saying that they shouldn’t sleep together yet?

“I’m not going to sleep with you, Kakarott.”

Yes, that did seem to be what Vegeta was saying.

“Not in a good long while,” Vegeta added, low, and still strangely present.

“But...”

“And you’re not going to scan my mind.”

“But…”

“Probably never.”

“But Vegeta…”

“Were you planning on cheating on your wife, Kakarott?”

Again he was back to the talk he had had with Krillin. Cheat? Goku didn’t like that word. It didn’t feel real, not like a word that he could ever use. It made him feel irritated. And uneasy, deep inside.

“I just want to be close to you, Vegeta.”

Close. Yes, and close in that sex way too. More and more he’d been thinking about Vegeta that way. He’d been thinking about Vegeta’s skin, about his chest, about the curve of his hipbone and how soft the skin would be right there. He wanted to be close to Vegeta with his mouth.

“Answer me, Kakarott. Have you forgotten about your woman?”

“I fought for Chichi,” Goku said, and he was sure he saw recognition in Vegeta’s eyes.

Fighting, that was valid. He could remember, with a force that went straight to his gut, how he had fought for Chichi. How the thought of her hurt, of her being dead, was the thought that had driven him beyond – above – his limits and made him that much stronger, that much more determined.

“Of course I haven’t forgotten about Chichi.”

He remembered what he had said to Krillin

(“I’m not happy with Chichi.”)

And it occurred to him, for the first time, that maybe he’d been asking too much of her. It wasn’t Chichi’s job, was it, to make him happy?

And why would that thought make him feel so guilty?

“I’ll always fight for Chichi.”

Vegeta had started to look amused.

“That’s a yes then, about the cheating?”

“Will you stop using that word!”

Vegeta laughed. Oh yes, that was old and familiar, Vegeta laughing at him.

“Cheating is a stupid word,” Goku said. A stupid word. Goku didn’t know how to express the irritation he felt, but it was there and real and very large.

Vegeta laughed again, with evident amusement this time.

“We’re Saiyans,” Goku said, angry and loud. “Why should we care?”

“Oh,” Vegeta smiled. “Because we do.”

The world had spun and tilted and he and Vegeta had switched places. Goku was using Vegeta’s words and Vegeta was looking at him, smiling like he was delighted and maybe smug and what was so very funny anyway?

“I want to fuck you,” Goku said, and watched Vegeta flinch. Goku leaned closer, hands on the table. “I want it to be good, and I want you to be happy. It could be simple, but you’re making it hard! You’re making it hard because you’re scared. I don’t need to put my hand on your head to see it. You’re scared!”

Goku closed his mouth. Oh. He was on his feet and he was loud too. Heads turned from the other tables, but Goku paid them no mind. He sat down, not taking his eyes off Vegeta, not backing down. This was a fight. He’d rather be fighting with his fists.

Vegeta was silent for a long moment. Goku felt some of the fight drain away, and he got more and more apprehensive. Sometimes – often – Vegeta was… he was a pool of black water, black like ink, and Goku had tossed a rock right down there. He had no idea the things that might surface.

“You’re wrong,” Vegeta said, voice low and hoarse. It was hard to listen to him, because Vegeta had made himself defenseless somehow, like he had done yesterday when he had said those astonishing things about Frieza. “I’m not scared. Nothing about you scares me, Kakarott.”

Nothing about you scares me. Once, Vegeta might have said that as an insult. Now Goku heard something else. “You trust me, Vegeta?” He had to whisper.

A brief nod. “It…” Vegeta struggled to speak. “This,” he gestured between them. “It doesn’t scare me. It makes me weak!” He hissed the last word, forced it out, it seemed, between his teeth.

“Vegeta…”

“Do you wish to own me, Kakarott?”

(“He used to own me.”)

“No!”

“It could happen.”

Goku shook his head.

“You have always defeated me,” Vegeta said.

“Come on. Come on, Vegeta. Stop being silly.”

“I will.” A huff, like a laugh, though Vegeta’s mouth turned down at the edges, like he was really sad. “As soon as you give me what I’m asking for.”

“Time.”

Vegeta nodded, his face tense.

“A long time.”

“I guess.”

“Yes. Fine,” Goku said. “If that’s what you need.” Maybe he was back to fighting with words.

“That’s what I need, Vegeta said, sharply. “And I won’t cheat. It’s not honorably and not dignified. I won’t do it.”

“Got it, Vegeta.”

The food came then, plates with little dishes sprinkled with sauces like lace. It tasted very good and it was different from the food in any restaurant that Goku had ever been to before. It was, he thought, the kind of restaurant that Bulma might visit sometimes.

Goku slowly relaxed. Vegeta, he was the one that made him relax, by losing that strange defenselessness, by just sitting there in front of Goku, occasionally casting a glance his way that was friendly and not much else. Vegeta seemed peaceful now. Goku could understand that, because Goku felt it too. He’d been worried, hadn’t he, about overreaching, about doing something very wrong. But now they had established the limits, and that made things clear and easy to see.

By the time the waiter came with dessert, Goku felt everything settle.

(“We have time, Kakarott.”)

Goku never did count on the future. Whatever he had now, that was all there was. And this… it was pretty good. A large slice of chocolate cake on a square, white plate, getting to know Vegeta more and more and neither of them fighting. And the guilt he had felt – it was gone. This was all it took. Things were simple again. Goku smiled. He hadn’t realized how out of balance he had been, not knowing the limits.

Not knowing the right amount of force to use.

“Vegeta,” he said, finishing off the last of his cake. “Is kissing cheating? Just… that once?”

Vegeta fell still, the spoon with a piece of chocolate cake halfway to his mouth. He seemed to consider the question for a moment, and then he shrugged.

“Not for Saiyans,”Vegeta said. He put the spoon in his mouth, upside down, and grinned with closed lips. Grinned like they were sharing a joke.

Goku laughed.

Vegeta paid for the food with a card, and then they left.

 

 

The end

AN: Yes, this is seriously where I’m ending this story. Except…you know my fic A Taste of Salt? You can read that one as a continuation. (Because it actually IS a continuation. I wrote it back when I first realized how this fic was probably going to end, and I’ve always thought those fics belonged together. And now I can say that they do.)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of As Loyalty Can Be