Adventure of the Lonely Hearts
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z or any of its characters, or anything really.
Warning: Swearing & violence
Chapter 2
A Beautiful Mark
Thin, frosty air whistled across the Lookout's surface, icy whispers making cold tiles colder still. The altitude made life up here brisk but if any of the fighters noticed, they didn't show it. Dende remained underneath the lookout's grand arch with an open disapproving frown but a small amount of secret interest. Vegeta stood with legs shoulder width apart, fists clenched and a sneer well and truly gracing his features as Mokugyo looked on with an amused expression. The smaller Saiyan's disapproval at the other man's attitude was as blatant as every other emotion the angry royal had ever felt and Dende wondered if the his heart ever got a break from all the stress hormone. I suppose it's natural, for a Saiyan. I forget that Goku was the exception. Mokugyo was thinking something along the same lines, but not quite. There was no empathy welling deep in his heart for the Saiyan temper, but rather just the quiet acknowledgment of it. As Moku looked down at the Prince, Dende thought that he might have seen a coldness in those navy blue eyes, but he shook away the idea as soon as it had even sputtered into existence. Whilst Mokugyo and Vegeta stared at one another in one long testosterone filled silence, Dende rolled his eyes and looked towards the other two fighters instead.
Eighteen was standing with her right foot slightly in front, a precise right hand on her denim hip and with her left, she beckoned Piccolo. The arrogance in her seemed to roll of her fingers as she moved them through the air. It was almost tangible, and Piccolo loved it. Well, love might be a bit strong, but he did enjoy a bit of healthy ego in a sparring partner. She so much resembled Seventeen when the Android had challenged him on the island, a fight that he remembered simultaneously as thrilling and harrowing. The feeling now, out of context, was just a sickening pool in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed whatever memory had surfaced and shifted into his fighting stance, curling talons and dipping his head before vanishing. The wisp of his cape sounded long after his disappearance and, for a moment, Eighteen was impressed but as with most feelings of that nature, she didn't feel it for long. She braced herself, slim wrists coming up in front of her chest as she felt the cool air shift and brush the fair, faint hair on her face. It was a mistake, one she only realised in a rush as his elbow connected loudly behind her and into her left shoulder blade. With a graimace, she staggered forward.
The shock came and went, and so did Eighteen. Twirling, she extended her right leg and although he tried, he didn't move fast enough and the tan material of her boot felt like concrete as it struck him in the side. Mokugyo watched on in fascination at the force of their blows, as they struck one another and his ears heard each bone splintering impact as it resounded across the Lookout. Vegeta glanced at them for a moment and quickly, with thoughts that he was being upstaged by a sentient plant and well dressed, walking toaster, flew at Mokugyo before the other man could even register the movement. Or so Vegeta thought. The distortment of air fluttered in Mokugyo's mind before he felt it brush the tips of his antennae and instead of the Saiyan landing his fist in the softness of the Namek's stomach, the momentum carried him with such force that his gloved hand plummeted into the white tiles below. Shattered stone erupted from the floor, dust billowing up into his hair and face. His snarl was as ferocious as his curse as he flung back and turned, seeing to his horror, that the Namek still stood there. Only now, he was facing Vegeta and there was a subtle smirk in those narrowed blues that did not speak of Namekian peace and prosperity, they said things that Saiyans say. Vegeta felt the blood burn beneath his skin and he grinned, lopsided and full of fight.
The sparring continued but Mokugyo's early show was just that, the lack of practice was evident. Hand to hand combat was an art taught by old masters in dark hoods on rogue planets, he fought with an assortment of guns, rifles, knives and grenades. Oh, and a ship also lined with weapons. He was half tempted to pull the gun he had stowed away in his black trousers as Vegeta's strikes relentlessly rained down on him. In fact, he briefly pictured it. One more day, one less Saiyan. He spared a glance towards Piccolo and resigned himself to the temporary defeat. The sliver of trust that the younger Namek might feel would be eradicated if he put a bullet in the angry man's unusually large head. Piccolo and Eighteen were tiring too and finally, midday was almost upon them. Mr Popo appeared seemingly from the tiles themselves and asked if they would like to come inside for lunch. The genie's smile seemed surreal to Mokugyo, and an odd combination of kind and somewhat sinister. He looked towards Piccolo, who was scratched and heavily bruised from the swift beating of an Android and raised a brow. The younger Namek returned his gaze and he looked at Mokugyo for the first time that day. Or, properly, at least. He had watched their fight and noticed that Vegeta was stronger, and more skilled, but the other Namekian had speed. The Saiyan had to work hard for his hits. He also noticed, now, how Mokugyo's skin had a hint of teal to it, or maybe it was the contrast with black trousers and a grey shirt. His gaze continued down, and he could now see dark leather straps here and there and it looked like a uniform of some kind. Moku's words were said with a hint of humour.
"Can I help you?"
He looked up, big dark eyes surprised first, then horrified. Eighteen noticed this little interchange and couldn't help but become involved.
"Oh, i'm sure there's something you can-"
Vegeta's demanding tone cut off the elegant blonde before Piccolo's humiliation could reach new heights of unbearable.
"Are you coming or not!"
She rolled her eyes, tutting before slowly strolling behind the Prince. Consuming food was a human problem, or Saiyan, she supposed, but a break would be nice. Or maybe a glass of wine.
Mokugyo clasped a heavy hand on Piccolo's back and instantly regretted it when the smaller Namek flinched. Eighteen had done some damage. His only consolation was that he knew she was as broken and bruised, only she had an Android way of going about it. Piccolo started walking, gi in tatters and bloodied at the tears, and he absently thought he should go and change first. The thought came too late however, and they soon joined Eighteen and Vegeta, who were seated at the round table with Dende, whilst Mr Popo served colourful, steaming dishes. The Saiyan sunk into his food like lead to water and the grimace on Piccolo and Eighteen's face was synchronous. Moku laughed, of course, their appetite for food is almost as bad as their lust for the kill. Eighteen turned her head at the sound of the Namekian's chuckle and she cocked her head, blonde hair swaying. It was a pleasant sound.
Piccolo sat down, if only because he thought he might collapse on the floor otherwise, and he immediately regretted it when Mokugyo took the seat next to him. Piccolo must have given the other Namek an irritated side glance, because Eighteen noticed and an almost invisible smile graced her lips. Vegeta interrupted the comfortable silence, earning him a contemptuous glance from liquid blue eyes as she sipped her wine.
"I'm surprised you could fight as well as you could, Namek. I thought all that were left were farmers and healers"
Mokugyo leaned forward, elbows on the table as he answered. He struggled to want to speak to the Saiyan but buried that feeling deep.
"I was born a long way from Namek. My father is a warrior"
The Prince nodded as he continued to wolf down rice and meat. Mokugyo reached forward and served a small portion of cooked vegetables and rice into a bowl whilst Vegeta continued.
"So is mine, Saiyans are a warrior race"
Moku seemed to stall for a fraction of a second before responding.
"Yes, i've...come across your kind before"
This made Vegeta look up, dark pupils seeming serious for a moment, but whatever thought was swirling in that royal brain wasn't voiced. Piccolo and Eighteen spared eachother a glance, a sort of 'what's that then?' Piccolo wondered if Moku had come across the Saiyans when they worked for Frieza. He must have. He didn't have time to analyse that thought further, however, as to his absolute chagrin, Mokugyo pushed the bowl of rice and vegetables in front of him. He looked at the other Namek, wide dark eyes swimming with displeasure. Moku sort of half laughed as he went about serving himself. Piccolo looked down into the bowl, like its very presence insulted him and when he looked up, he knew it did. Eighteen bit her lip and coughed into her hand to hide her laughter. Dende didn't notice as he placed a pot of herbal tea and two cups in front of the Nameks.
"There you go Piccolo, it's your favourite. I noticed you might be coming down with a cold so I added some honey in there." He meant so well, as was evident in his sweet smile.
However, this doting only added to the irritation that bubbling beyond the thresholds of Piccolo's patience. Eighteen cut in, seeing that her easily upset Namekian friend was about to rupture something.
"So, sorry, what's your name?"
"Mokugyo, or Moku, if you like"
"Moku, then, so tell me. What have you been doing in space?"
He continued to eat as he spoke and finally, Piccolo started to eat too, reluctantly. Actually, his stomach was complaining because it was his second meal in two days, but his body was grateful.
"Just travelling mostly, but I do run the odd shipment of medical supplies as well. I started my journey to Namek a long time ago, but I finally got there. That's where I met Dende"
How noble. He fit the hero bill she supposed, kind, considerate, Namekian. There was something though, the way his eyes flickered sometimes. He was playing the roll excellently, but she was an Android, and she could see everything. The white wine felt smooth but sharp on her lips as she knocked the glass back. She thought, maybe, the subtle falsities might not be so elaborate, but perhaps it was just nervousness due to his obvious interest in Piccolo. Something which amused her to no end. She wondered if Piccolo returned it, beneath all the brooding and bravado of course. She could see why he might be charmed, the other Namek had a pleasant boyish smile, the kind that made you try hard not to return. Her chest gripped. Of course, it was the smile Krillin has. The smile she fell in love with.
She must have been staring because Mokugyo looked at her strangely. The concept of embarrassment though, to her was as strange as compassion used to be, so she just smirked and tipped her glass to him. Meanwhile, Piccolo had finished almost half of his dish but hadn't touched the tea which still sat in its blue and white china cup. Dende was right, he thought that maybe he was coming down with something, which was highly irregular. Actually, it would be highly appropriate, considering my recent run of luck. He stood abruptly and even Vegeta looked up for a moment.
"I'm going to get cleaned up"
Vegeta raised a thick brow. For a Piccolo farewell, that was actually a rather long one. Dende smiled.
"Okay, maybe you should rest. Moku, you can stay with us." Mokugyo stood.
"It's alright Dende, I'll go with Piccolo, I need to go back to my room anyway"
Piccolo frowned. Of course you do.
As both Nameks left, Dende asked Eighteen if she'd like more wine.
"Do you even have to ask?"
Mr Popo appeared with the bottle and poured the white golden liquid and she smiled a cold thanks. Dende knew she didn't mean it to be so but that the feeling in her was still so far from the surface. Vegeta licked the last bone and placed it on the plate, nodding a thank you as it was taken away. He leant back, strong hands going to interlink behind his shock of black hair.
"I'm not convinced"
Eighteen's eyes moved but nothing else did as she regarded the Saiyan. She waited. The pinot grigio felt like the perfect balance of good and bad as it slid down her throat. He would continue, but only if the silence stretched on enough. Dende frowned but said nothing.
"I mean, what's he doing on Earth?"
The young Namek defended his new found friend.
"He's visiting me, we met on New Namek!"
Vegeta's unnaturally dark alien eyes fell on the Kami, and he scowled at the young man's naivety as it sat upon his features in its naked form.
"What for? He just met you"
"I don't know, maybe he is just visiting. He is a traveller. Isn't that what they do?"
He looked at Eighteen like she'd gone dumb.
"I don't buy it"
Her laughter immediately made a sneer on his face.
"I like him"
She knew it would make him go wild, but she couldn't help it, she did like him.
"Don't be absurd"
"You're just sore because he had the upper hand at one point"
"No i'm not!"
"Oh, i'm sure. I remember that look." The smile reached her eyes this time as the horror and indignation reached his. He scowled deeply. She just always has to bring it up that she broke my arm.
Dende dismissed the two with a wave of his hand, though he was still in good spirits. He knew that behind the suspicion, they were just concerned for Piccolo.
The headache that had ruptured Piccolo's skull that morning was now beginning its slow, painful return. The walls of history swam past his vision and even the high arch of the corridor ceiling did not impress. He strode, more than walked to their quarters, and without acknowledging the other man, opened and slammed his room door in one single motion. Mokugyo stopped with a hand on his own silver door handle and chuckled, fangs peeking. How dramatic.
His own clothes were rather worn and torn as well, and as he entered his room he started to undress. Re-materialising a new uniform wouldn't be the greatest encumbrance, thought he mourned the lost of the suit that had probably been his longest companion. The muscles in his arms and back were now beginning to ache terribly and he looked towards the bathroom adjoining his room. Mr Popo had prepared everything perfectly, leaving soft, white towels impeccably folded and a bathroom big enough even for his large frame. These frivolities were a luxury, one that space travel did not afford but especially not in his line of work. His long fingers smoothed over the white cotton, enjoying for a moment the softness and as he did, the clean scent was disturbed into motion. He thought for a moment then, what else he might touch. The contours of jade under his fingertips. The feel of another, or one in particular. He flung his head back and stared at the ceiling as an awful kind of delayed sadness flooded his chest, the realisation serving as a cold reminder as it creeped up his face and into his cheeks. Moku picked up the towel in one taloned hand and forced himself to ignore the sensation, the scent and the reminder.
Piccolo sat on the edge of his bed. He could hear the faint sound of Mokugyo turning on the shower in the other room and he absently turned his head to the door. He could almost see the door to Mokugyo's room through the wood of his own. He must have stepped under the water as the beating drops dulled suddenly. It was the only sound in the echoing silence and Piccolo closed his eyes as he listened, leaning forward and putting sharp elbows on sore knees. The gi he wore was still tattered, and he had no intention of changing or cleaning. He had barely enough energy to remain sat there, hunched over in exhaustion, even as his own blood stained him. The sound of the water lulled his mind, so much like his waterfall. For a fleeting moment he thought about the pressure of the hot water and he opened his eyes in protest. He leant back onto the bed, legs still bent over the edge. The pull of injured muscle and healing wounds filled his mind with messages of pain instead as he stretched his torso out. Eighteen must have hit somewhere deep. A part of him was proud, although most of him was just in pain. The sound of the water in the other room continued and he forced himself to get up, ignoring his body's signals and protests. The feeling of dried blood and tile dust was as unpleasant as the knowledge of coming off worse than she did.
His thighs burned as he walked into the bathroom, and instead of undressing he just burned the gi with his chi. Even the thought of moving his hands over his head made his ribs ache. The shower came on instantly and the water was as hot as he had imagined. As he stepped in, the relief was almost tangible. Purple water ran down his thighs, calves and ankles as the blood from his wounds washed away and he felt so at ease that a hand had to go out suddenly to steady himself. The fatigue was incredible, and now he felt hot and the headache was starting to leak into his sinuses. Twisting the handle, he turned the shower off with a small amount of remorse that he would chose to forget later. Beads of water sat on his skin as he walked, or rather, shuffled back towards the bed that he hardly ever used. Oddly, a shiver ran up and around his spine as he sat down slowly, despite the heat radiating from his cheeks. He must have pulled the sheets up around his wet body because he could feel the cool damp start to heat up from the temperature of his skin. Distantly, he wondered if he should summon Dende but the thought was lost somewhere as his eyes drifted closed.
Mokugyo stood outside Piccolo's door, clean and dressed in black pants and white short sleeved Namekian shirt. He knocked a second time and heard nothing, except the faint sound of a heartbeat and breathing. It was odd that a Namek wouldn't be awake now and concern started to pool in his gut. It was an ugly kind of concern, a mixture between being worried for the right reasons, and some of the wrong ones. He frowned internally at the disgusting feeling. His hand twisted the handle and it clicked. The heavy wooden door swung open on surprisingly oiled hinges. Moku took a few steps into the room, cautious that Piccolo might suddenly attack, before closing the door behind him. Blue eyes widened slightly as he saw the other man's sleeping form underneath the pale sheets. Dampness was soaking through in places and Mokugyo frowned, small crease lines formed between his sea green brows. He stepped lightly around the bed and to the other side, where the other Namek was resting.
Piccolo was laid on his right side with his left arm thrown up by his sleeping face. Sweat was like a second skin as it sat on his face and neck, and cheeks flushed purple. He's sick. He knelt down, and pressed a hand to Piccolo's head. And he's hot as hell. Moku looked around the room and soon disappeared into the bathroom. He returned with a damp cloth and a glass of cold water. The sound of the glass hitting the wooden bedside stand made Mokugyo hold his breath for a moment, expecting the younger Namek to wake up in a temper. But even as he placed the cloth onto his forehead, Piccolo didn't flinch. His antennae were lying lifelessly and Mokugyo found it awkward to avoid them, but that was a violation he wasn't willing to risk. As he moved the cloth down his neck he realised that Piccolo was sporting quite a few scratches and bruises on his collarbone, the mottled purple harsh against the forest green. A mild panic gripped him, as realisation dawned. He moved the sheets away and could see Violet blood soaking through the bed sheet and no doubt into the mattress. The wounds in his stomach and side were opening. He isn't sick, he's not healing. He knew that whilst the Namekian healing ability was incredibly useful, when it's inhibited, it's incredibly crap. His body's shutting down until he can heal. Moku closed his dark blue eyes in misery. This was his fault. How didn't I think about this? He actually groaned out loud as he went back into the bathroom. He caught his own reflection in the mirror and he instantly wanted to smash it.
Eventually he found some disinfectant and he conjured up some bandage material but had to return to his own room for a jar of healing paste that he had picked up from New Namek. It was a gesture of kindness meant to be passed on his next mission. He had felt burdened then, but now he felt only pressure. Piccolo was bleeding out and his fever was outstanding. If Dende came by and tried to heal him, he would discover that this was artificial. Suddenly, all the possibilities of all the scenarios flooded his mind at once and he worked faster because of it. He rolled Piccolo over and grimaced at the stomach wound which was probably worse now than when it was inflicted. Moku poured disinfectant onto it and that's when the younger Namek's eyes flew open, but they were glazed and unseeing. Big dark pupils looked lost. The bandage was pulled tight and as he moved he noticed that the sheet had fallen down to Piccolo's pink abs to his pelvic bone. Moku's skin prickled and he looked away.
He continued to work, rubbing the paste and bandaging away until he had closed every wound he could see. Of course he knew the internal damage would still be there, and it wouldn't be healing any time soon. The thought that Piccolo might die crossed his mind, and the mixture of emotions he felt was not helping. Piccolo dying would really fuck things up. But also, it bothered him. He laid the ailing Namek down and looked down with the same kindness he always did, but inside there was a turmoil. This soft spot for the younger man was potentially a problem. And this, how could he explain this? Earning Piccolo's trust now was going to be a nightmare. His teal hands moved around Piccolo's head and he brought the water to cracked lips and poured, rubbing his throat to make him swallow. Piccolo coughed and shook his head in a delirious protest but it was ignored. After a few sips he gingerly laid him back down. Mokugyo rubbed the back of his knuckles against the younger Namek's warm cheek and, for a moment, enjoyed the softness. The softness that he'd been thinking about. He withdrew it quickly. As he did, his communication device beeped and he looked down at the message.
His dark blue eyes went darker still.
Have you located the source of Shenron?