Empathy

Disclaimer: Not mine.  But you can give me money, though.  I won't object to that.

Archive: PLEASE!!!  Just email me first, please, so I know where it is, and if there's any new chappies or anything like that I know where to send it.  At gelfling8604@yahoo.com.

Warning:  May contain material some people find offensive later.

A/N:  Namek dragon balls do not exist here.

                Minimalism Style

A boy sits alone at the table, adolescence making his limbs seem even more awkward and gangly than reality.

He twirls and rolls a half empty glass between his hands. 

The liquid is gin.  The boy isn't old enough to drink.

He looks out the window and scans the street, keeping his face out of the light.  He switches to check the door, shifts in his chair and looks askingly at the drink in his hand before taking a sip, then makes a face.

He carefully puts the glass down again, where it lands with a clatter.  He gulps, eyes darting around the shadowy room while his cheeks flame, before he looks out the window, cheeks still bright.

It's very early in the morning.  The sun is just rising.  He wipes his hands on his pants and shifts.  His breathing is jumpy.

'Who are you hiding from boy?'

A yelp, a knee bangs the bottom of the table, the glass jumping up and a tanned hand caught the glass by the rim.

The boy stares at the darker hand in front of him, the arm extending over his shoulder and against his cheek, the skin tickling his ear.

The arm is held there for a second too long, ending with a snort and a clatter as the glass hits the table.

'Uh, hey!  Hello.  Uh.  You made it.  Yeah.  Wow.  Thanks for coming, I wasn't-'

'What the hell do you want?'

'Uh, um, sit down, please, uh, do you anything to-'

'What…do you want?'

The older man's voice shifts to a deeper tone, commanding an air of authority and conspiracy.  The younger man pales and he twitches in his seat, never looking directly up at his guest or the fellow room members.

'Well, right now I want you to sit down.'

'I don't want to sit.  You had better have a good excuse for calling me here boy at this time in the morning.  I've got better things to do than chat with you.'

'Yeah, I know.  Thank you, by the way.  Um, actually I do have something important to ask.  I really need help, Vegeta-san.  Um.  Would you mind sitting down?  I'll try to keep it short.'

The man waits, then the chair legs scrape shrilly against the floor.  The man sits.

The boy speaks quickly, frantically, as if afraid the words will run away from him if he doesn't spit them out.  He his hands and smoothes his pants, looking in jerks at his guest to the table to the door.

'I'm… doing things, and I don't know why I did them.'

'Like breathing?'

'No, not like that.  I mean, like the other day I-I killed someone.'

The darker man's face doesn't change, but his eyes focus.  His paler counter part doesn't notice.  He's too confused.

'I mean, I didn't quite plan on it, but the opportunity was there, and I wasn't thinking, I must've not been thinking, and I did.  I just did it.  I wanted to do it, I think.  I'm not sure why.  I can't imagine why.  I mean, I don't--'

The boy rubs the back of his neck with his palm and looks over at his guest.  The darker man says nothing, and his face is chiseled.

'And, and now I look back, and I don't feel guilty.  I'm…remorseful I guess, regretful, but I don't feel bad bad, and that's not right.  I mean, I wished I hadn't done it, but if I could repeat the,' the boy licks his top lip, 'the, um, situation, I guess, and even if I knew it and I could still retain the knowledge I have now I don't believe I would have altered anything.  Anything.  I might have…I might…'

The darker man watches the boy as he thinks, head bent and shoulder rolling a bit, hands always in motion, either repeatedly smoothing down his slacks or rubbing against each other.  The boy's voice drops in timbre, rumbling low over the floor.

'About two nights ago I woke up a few miles from home in the woods.  I'm not sure how I got there.  I was covered in blood, but I wasn't even bruised.  When I got home I was sick, and threw up.  There were pieces of bone.  Um…there was blood there too.  Inside me.  And it didn't…it didn't smell like mine.'

The darker man watches the boy as he thinks, head bent and shoulder rolling a bit, hands always in motion, either repeatedly smoothing down his slacks or rubbing against each other.

'And I don't feel bad.  I don't feel a thing.'

'So?'

'But I should feel guilty.  I should.  But I just feel…a little sick.  And jumpy.  Like something's going to happen, but I'm not sure what.'

The boy rubs his arm, looks at the door, breathes in deep and seems to choke, then coughs, and continues.

'Lately it's been like that, little things.  Making the coffee machine in the teacher's lounge explode, scalding the front of Mr Harris, pulling fuses…there was an article in the news yesterday, about a district losing all electrical power?  Well, that was me.  I, uh, I crashed the Sony network in the Yukata district too, there'll be really nice internet virus coming out of that one, and a crash on a freeway.  Three people died.  I lit some cats on fire last Friday, and I'm not sure why.  I go in the woods and I…I don't know why.  I'm hurting things.  I don't know why.'

'You want me to help you mutilate domestic animals?'

'No!  Can you take your mind off of that for-'

'Sit down boy.'

Picture the older man glaring up at the boy with his arms looped over his chest, composed, confident, yet still managing the rebel.

The younger one stands in front of a knocked chair, an indent in the oak table where he slapped it.  His top lip is pulled back a bit in a snarl, another yell ready to erupt, eyes literally glow slightly, while his hair moves in wind that isn't there. 

'Or I'll make you.'

The older man's voice has again dropped to its throaty growl, yet carries in the room.

The younger man's eyes narrow and flame, pause…but he sits down, staring defiantly at the other man, lifting his hand out of the dent to tap an odd tattoo on the table.  He never breaks eye contact.

'So you're fucking off.  Why the hell should I care?  I'm not your damn preacher.'

'I don't have a religion.'

'Whatever.  What do you want me for?'

'I need help Vegeta.  I can't tell my dad because he'd freak out, and so would my mom.'

'And your green boyfriend?'

'He's not my boyfriend.' 

The boy's voice raises to it's stormy pitch again, the tone and context again earning him the attention of everyone who hadn't sidled out after his first outburst.

The older man smirks broadly and his eyes dance.  The boy's cheeks flame again, he blinks and his mouth hinging, eyes darting from the man to the people to the floor.

'He your lover then?'

'no!'

The boy speaks in a whisper, expression and tone both insuring the exclamation mark and lower case.

'No, it's not like that, and you know it.  Would you leave it already?'

The older man snorts, and the smirk leaves his face for an irritated scowl.

'Please, Vegeta-san, I asked you because you were the only…I thought would really-understand, I guess.'

'Really.'

'Um, yeah.'

The tapping of the boy's fingers dulls to a halt.  He rubs his hand absently, keeping eyes off the older man. 

'I get the urge, and I can't control, and sometimes I don't even want to control it.  But I should.'

'Why?'

'Because hurting things are wrong, I know it's wrong, I don't even enjoy it, and I need it to stop.  Dad would be furious.'

The older man rolls his eyes after catching the expression on the boy's face and he sighs silently.

'Did they suffer?'

'Who?'

'Your molested animals.  Did they suffer?'

'They died.'

'But did they suffer?'

The boy doesn't say anything.  He looks up with stark disbelief.

'What did you expect me to do boy?'

'Help me.'

'How?'

'I don't know.'

The older man snorts and moves to stand.  A thin and pale hand on his arm keeps him from leaving.  The early light shows the bones in his hand and muscles on his arm in sharp relief and contrast.  The hand is rigid.

'Please?  Anything, I mean-Is this something Saiyan, some kind of stage, a disease, like, is there training, a cure?  Anything?  Please?  I'm sure I can't be crazy.  Please?'

The older man snorts and acid burns in his eyes.

'And why am I supposed to care that Daddy's boy is fucking off?  If he really means that much to you, ask him instead.'

'I—I didn't mean to insult, but I have a feeling I am-'

'Damn straight.'

'This isn't what I do, Vegeta-san.  I mean, from what I've understood from Dad-'

'You said you didn't tell him.'

'I didn't.  But I asked.  He said, well, nothing really useful-'

'Naturally.'

'-but then I wasn't being exactly clear either.  So he might have experienced this, and I was asking the wrong questions.'

'You afraid of telling him, boy?'

'No.'

'Ashamed?'

'…Yes.'

The older man snorts, but settles himself into his chair.  A smirk lingers on his lips.

'And I guess you want to ask me about my childhood, right?'

'Yes.  I mean no.  I mean, well, if you want to talk about it, if that wouldn't be too much of a problem, yes.  But really I just want to know if this is a normal Saiyan phase.  A chemical imbalance, the two DNA reacting badly to each other, something.'

'Do I look like a doctor to you?'

'No.  But you are the only one who really knows anything about Saiyans.  I mean, you being the prince of the race, and all.'

'All fucking five of them.'

There is a long silence.  The boy sits still, quietly.  He waits.

The older man does nothing.  He waits also.  He isn't enjoying the game anymore. 

'You're growing up.  So what?'

The boy does not respond, but lets the silence sit like hole in the ground, a void, that the older man feels obliged to fill.  The older man glares.  The boy stares quietly.  The older man sighs and rolls his eyes.

'Your bloods mixed.  It's wrong.  If you were pure-blood you'd remember what it was you did.  And you'd be doing a hell of a lot more than molesting puppies and computers.'

'How do I stop it?'

'You don't.'

'There has to be a way.'

'There isn't.'

'Wha-?…How long will it last?'

'Depends.'

'How long?'

Pause.

'Please.'

'Depends.  Sometimes a few months, sometimes a few years.  Usually happens sooner in life.' 

'Can you help me?  With anything at all?'

The boy's tone doesn't sound convinced.  He's expecting the negative he's been getting all morning.  He isn't disappointed.

'Why should I?'

A deal?  This could help him.

'Well, I-I can pay you back.  With…whatever you like.'

' "Whatever I like?" '  The older man snorts and smirks degradingly, and leans forward with his arms on the table, voice low and raspy. 

'What do you have boy that I could possibly want?'

The boy blushes, embarrassed and slightly upset at the condescension, at the cheap challenge, his lips moving without coherent sound.

'I mean, what are you offering?'

The boy blinks, looks briefly at the table and begins to speak. 

'And make it interesting.  If you can.  I don't give a damn about making some machine bust.'

'We~ell, if you, wanted a sparring partner sometimes, I mean I know you train on your own most of the time, but if you ever wanted a partner, for whatever, whenever, I could do that.'

The older man looks toward the door.

'Um, offer, what can I offer?'  The boy leans back, rubs his arm absently and looks at the door.

'Als~so, if you needed taxes done, I don't know if you do, or if you needed, um, repair on the gravity room and it wasn't too much in depth or if Bulma needed help with- '

'So you'd be in my debt.'

'Huh?  Oh, well, yeah.  Of course.'

'Deep in my debt.'

'Um-'

'Seeing how you hate for all the little puppies and kitties to suffer.  Or your father having to find out.'

'We~ell, yes.  Yes, I guess so.'

The older man leans back.

'Can you help me?'

The older man says nothing, merely observing the boy quietly. 

'So who was it you killed?'

'It-it wasn't,…I don't…want to talk about that.'

'You owe me.'

'You haven't done anything yet.'

'Quit questioning me and talk.  You want help, start paying up.'

The boy says nothing.  He doesn't look up.

'Or you could always wait until it's somebody I know too.'

The boy drops his head further, and squirms uncomfortably.  He isn't blushing anymore, but instead very pale.

'A girl.'

'Your mother?'

' What?  Oh.  Oh.  No.  Just-just a girl.  Friend.  That I knew.  Was friends with.  Her name doesn't matter anymore.'

The boy speaks levelly, somberly.  He doesn't sound guilty.  Simply serious, and a little nervous.  He rubs his arm, and picks the lint off his pants.

'Your first?'

'First what?'

'First… girl friend.'

'She wasn't my girl friend.'

'Whatever, look, she was… close to you, wasn't she?'

'…I~I…well, no.  I guess you…Yes.'

'Your body is going faster than normal.  The changes only began a week ago, and you've already hunted her.'

The boy's eyes blink, freeze, before rolling up slowly to look at his guest.  His eyes are bright.

'But you killed her.  You shouldn't have.  Your bloods too mixed up.'

'You knew.'  The boy's voice is still soft, but the tone screams.

'Of course.  I smelled it on you the first day.'

'You didn't say anything.'  The boy's tone growls.

'Wasn't my business.'

'You could've helped me then.'  The boy's tone snarls.

'Why?'

'She wouldn't have had to die-'

'She might have anyway.  Your bloods mixed up.  You'll have to find another soon.'  The older man sounds serious, and a little disgruntled.

'Another what?'  The boy's tone bites.

'Mate.  Prospect.'

'There aren't any.'

'This planet is over-populated with them.  Believe me, I've noticed.'

'Not like her.'

'Oh- shit.' 

The older man shifts and swears. 

'There are plenty more like her.  You simply look for something bi-ped with an absence of dick and you fuck them.  Your boyfriend would do great if you could strap some breast on him.'

The boy says nothing.

Many things can happen in a second.  A woman pregnant becomes a mother in a second.  A boy becomes a man.  A hunter becomes a murderer.  A girl can fall in love, a dream becomes a reality, and the red light turns green.  A person becomes a corpse.

The building and block became a crater.

The older man found himself under attack.

He can't follow the blows; he is hit from all sides simultaneously and is a great deal more affected from the initial blast than he appears.  His hair is streaming flax, eyes teal and arms crossed in front of him and legs curled slightly beneath him while he hovers several miles in the air, occasionally dodging without reason, sometimes impacted from an invisible force.  He does not panic.

The glimpses of the boy he is able to catch show a snarling visage with hair and eyes like his own and many sharp white teeth.  While the boy's blows rarely miss and cause significant damage, the man notices the boy leaves himself open at all times, not bothering to defend in the slightest.  There is no strategy, no rhythm, no plan.

The man's lip is split and is clipped near his eye. 

The man shifts up quickly, and is hit on the wrists, tilts his head and is hit on the ear, his eyes widen for a bit-

The boy shows for the first time, the older man's fist in his stomach.  The boy's face registers shock for a second, before snapping up to look at the man.  His eyes and color are still bright.

A line of light replaces the space the boy occupied, and the older man follows up.

What happens next, happens quickly.  After 10 minutes there is a calm.  A tidal wave bangs into the coast and buildings a minute and some seconds later.  A lot can happen in a second.

~~~~~