-1Title: The Library - Sequel
Date: 9. Feb. 2007
Disclaimer: DBZ and all of its characters and affiliates are owned by Akira Toriyama
- - - -
She stirred under the covers until she gave up on retaining sleep and sat up, still weary.
"Finally -"
She knew that voice, that persistent damning voice. She cocked her head to the side and looked at Trunks,
"It wasn't a dream."
He kept his head down, his nose stuck in a book,
"Nope."
She kicked the covers off of her and stood up, only to fall right back onto the bed. He looked up for a moment, then returned to his book,
"You've been laying there for a few days; maybe you shouldn't try to get up so soon."
She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and snickered,
"You could've said so before I tried to get up."
Trunks closed the book and smiled,
"I said I'd fix you up - not help you out."
18 yelled back, "Asshole."
Trunks stood up and walked into the adjoining kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out some lunch meat and lettuce,
"Hungry?"
18 eyed him carefully, "no-" she almost whispered. Instead she watched him as he stumbled around the kitchen looking for bread and a knife,
"Has it been too long for you that you can't remember where you stuff is?"
He kept on searching, "no-"
And that's how the first day went after she had woken up.
- - - -
A few days later, she had gathered enough strength to begin sparring with him. It had brought up some old emotions for both of them. Trunks tried hard not to focus on the past and just getting her in shape so he could kill her fair and square. But it was all to tempting for 18. Even though her plan was to "pretend" to be fighting and let him kill her; she found herself actually trying to fight him back,
"Is that best you got?!"
She flung herself to the side and kicked up her leg to hit him in the stomach; but instead he flew behind her and grabbed her around the waist, locking her arms to her small frame,
"Now who's winning?"
18 screamed and wrestled her way out of his arms. She was still weak and they both knew it. A few months ago there would've been no way that he could've gotten that close to her. So close that she could still feel that grip around her waist . . .
"Shut up and continue!"
He smirked and got into a fighting stance,
"After you - "
He waved, motioning her on.
- - - -
In the night, he tossed and turned. He had made her dinner, not knowing that androids didn't eat . . . he should've known that one. Who was he kidding? That's not what was keeping him up at night. It wasn't his grief or his sorrow, it was her. That intense anger that raged within her.
He knew exactly what her plan was. He understood her need to die. He had felt it before too, and no one or nothing could end that pain. But somehow he had actually managed to numb it today - while he was fighting her, letting it out on her.
She distracted him long enough to focus on something else besides grief.
What would happen after he killed her? He'd be all alone - with his grief as his only companion. He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Fuck it.
She'd be dead within the next few weeks and he could finally move on - he had no idea to what - but he'd move on to something.
- - - -
The next week passed on the same as the first few days had: uneventful.
18 grew accustomed to Trunks' snoring and to his ability, every night, to forget that she didn't eat,
One day I'll just say: 'yes, I'll take spaghetti and meatballs if you don't mind,' just to see his reaction.
And Trunks grew more and more accustomed to her attitude and her surprising habit of making sure she covered herself with every inch of cover she could gather herself in. Did she just really enjoy looking like a big snowball?
One day I'll have to ask her about that-
He stopped himself; what the hell was he thinking? Making future plans here? That was worse than actually letting her distract him; now he was making plans.
Fantastic.
But right now it didn't matter. Right now, they were taking a break from sparring.
Trunks was sitting under a tree enjoying its shade while 18 stood in the middle of the field; arms crossed over her chest,
"How much longer do you need?," she barked.
Trunks sighed almost sarcastically and lifted his arms behind his head and relaxed his palms against his neck,
"Maybe I need an extra five minutes."
18's brow wrinkled together and she gave a feminine "hymph,"
"You're a prick."
Trunks pulled up a leg and placed his elbow on his knee, leaning forward,
"And you're a bitch, but what can you do?"
He noticed a little twitch just beneath her eye and he couldn't help but smirk, which didn't help the situation . . . at all.
18 clenched her fists together and yelled,
"Enough of this bullshit! I'm feeling much better - let's do this!"
Trunks just waved her off and inadvertently hit the last nerve she had left.
She screamed and ran towards him with all her might, and it wasn't until the very last moment that Trunks moved out of the way and she hit the tree instead; snapping it in half. Trunks landed hard on the grass and watched as the top of the tree landed on top of her, covering her with a thick set of green leaf covered branches,
" . . . 18-"
He crawled a few feet to the damage and pushed some branches aside, but he couldn't find her. He powered up, grabbed the snapped half of the tree and threw it several yards behind him.
There she was, laying there, half alive -
After all that, she ends up dying because of a tree?!
He wouldn't except that; he would be the one to give the fatal blow, not some predestined bullshit. He leaned down and swooped her up and felt her neck for a pulse; a faint beat met his fingers and he sighed with relief,
"18 - shit - "
He quickly flew back to the house and laid her on her bed, covering her up with the blanket. He ran into the kitchen and grabbed some water and cloth to clean her up.
When he returned he sat on the side of the bed and wrung the piece of cloth, getting rid of the excess water. Then he gently began to clean the scratches on her face that the branches made . . . the forehead . . . the cheeks . . . then her neck. It was then that she responded - her chest heaved and color began to return to her face. But when she had moved, he noticed a deep scratch that was running from her sternum to underneath her shirt. Trunks closed his eyes and shook his head,
I am only taking care of her - I am not doing anything wrong here . . .
And so he kept his eyes closed as he felt for the collar of her shirt. He placed the cloth aside for a moment as he used both hands to quickly rip the shirt in half with ease along it's seam on the side. He gulped and tried to keep his hand steady as he blindly (literatly) felt for the scratch that began on her sternum. After finding it he grabbed the wet cloth and using his fingers as guide, slowly went down the fleshy, wounded line until it ended a few inches above her naval.
Trunks reached for the covers again and pulled her above her shoulders, and only then did he open his eyes -
"I was wondering when you'd finally look."
Trunks almost wearily looked up at her face, only to see her smiling,
"You were awake?"
18 nodded slyly and actually had to try holding back her laughter at his shyness,
"What's the matter? Never seen a pair of tits?"
His cheeks blushed and grabbed the bowl of water and the cloth and made his way back to the kitchen,
"Your welcome 18 -"
- - - -
They hadn't sparred in days and kept responses to each other at a minium. And whether it was because he was embarrassed or she felt weak for letting a tree get the better of her; neither of them knew. So they walked around one another until finally Trunks spoke up,
"Want some dinner?"
How many more times do I have to ask that before I remember?
She on the other hand just smiled - and he noticed it. For a second he was taken aback by the sincerity of it; he was pretty sure he had never seen her smile in his life - not so genuinely at least,
"Why 18 - are you smiling?"
She turned away from him and he it was his turn to smile,
"You are aren't you?!"
He let out hearty laugh, "The cold hearted android can smil-"
He heard a whimper coming from her and quickly silenced himself. After a few moments passed he heard another small, almost whispered whimper coming from her, which seemed to beg him to comfort her.
Pushing, no, shoving his pride away, he walked towards her. The whimper grew louder and more consistent and finally he realized that she crying; softly and gently - not like anything he thought her crying would sound like.
And against his better judgement, he placed a hand on her shoulder, silently urging her to let it out. She turned around and fell into his arms. He rested his head on top of hers and closed her eyes; just listening to her quite yelps. He understood her contempment and isolation; she understood his grief and sarcasm. They understood each other and thus found themselves helping each other.
They remained like that for awhile before finally her tears stopped flowing and Trunks opened his eyes, half wearily looking down at her,
"Do you feel better now?"
She looked away for a moment but then returned her gaze to his,
"Thank you for letting me get that out."
His grip on her tightened and she let out a quick breath of surprise; what was he about to do? Kill her right there? But he didn't. He didn't know what the hell changed but something did. Something in their eyes changed and he found himself brushing strands of tear soaked hair out of her face. He pulled it behind her head and wrapped it within his new formed fist; titling her head back, and pushing her Adam's apple forward. Trunks made her look up at him, but she didn't fight it, she didn't fight him.
She parted her lips briefly and he found himself leaning into her.
There was no point in denying it, they had fallen for each other in these past few weeks. And whether it was because of their shared grief or just sheer lustful loniness, neither of them could answer for it or deny it.
So they gave in to their feelings and spent the rest of the night making up for years of denial.