Chapter Six
"A...aaa....augh...."
Gohan's face twisted slightly as Piccolo's shoulders heaved again, his expression a mixture of guilt and disgust. "Pikoro-san," he murmered, masaging the thick, tense muscles beneath his hands. "Sh, sh, it's okay... I'm so sorry, so sorry...."
Wiping a bit of vomit off his chin, Piccolo leaned back, groaning. "No..it's not your fault," he repeated for the hundreth time, closing his eyes while his belly throbbed in agony.
"Damn it, Pikoro-san, yes it is! I'm the one that served you such a huge meal..."
Piccolo closed his eyes- "I wanted you to know how much I liked it. I shouldn't have eaten it all."
"But...but it's my fault, you've been sick for three days!"
Sighing as Gohan pressed a cup of water against his lips, Piccolo shrugged. "I've gone my whole life without eating, and I gorged once. It's my stupidity, I should have known my system wouldn't be able to handle that."
"Do you want to go back to bed?"
"I'd rather take a shower," he sighed. Gohan immediately stood and turned on the water, helping Piccolo stand by wrapping an arm around his waist and holding him steady. Silently the namekusei-jin peeled off his shirt and pants, then chucked his boxers over one shoulder and stepped into the tub. Gohan had to keep him from slipping once, but after a few moments Piccolo was safely in the water, and Gohan settled on the toilet's lid.
Piccolo sighed and settled back, feeling the water swirl about his body- he had been sick for the last few days, and everything had been blurred together by his illness. He could recall Gohan staying near him the entire time, and Trunks....Trunks? Piccolo frowned slightly- if he couldn't remember what Trunks had been speaking to Gohan about, he wouldn't know what to be careful about.
But, oh, this reminded him of the only other time he had been sick-
Splash.
For a moment his dizzy mind wasn't sure what had happened, then he realized, as he felt a pair of hands on his back once again, that Gohan had jumped into the bathtub behind him. Piccolo opened his mouth to speak, but Gohan shushed him and began kneading the flesh between his fingertips.
It felt so good....Piccolo sighed involuntarily and leaned back against the hands, feeling himself relax ever-so-slightly, then more, then at last, sleep was approaching. For a moment he fought it, half of him was too proud to succumb to the sweetness of the moment, but the other half was filled with wanting to remain there, wrapped in Gohan's arms forever. He couldn't help it- his eyes closed, and he felt the hands pause and a soft cheek press against his back before sleep claimed him.
The dream came.
**********
It was hot, sticky, and achingly dry. A young, young Piccolo was staggering through the forest, dead leaves crunching beneath his feet- the sun overhead burned down against his flesh, eating through his will-
Stagger onwards, a little more. So close.
He fell to his knees, sweaty face sticking to the dirt below. Unable to breath.
'No, not like this. I will kill Son Gokou.' That thought was like precious ice in the pit of his stomach- he had to kill Son Gokou. He had to squeeze the life out of his father's killer. He had to reclaim the throne he was destined to have.
Suck in the steaming air, choke, sit up.
'It won't be like this.'
He wiped his eyes and stared around. Water. Sweet water. Where could it be? I only he could fly, if only he wasn't so far from the world, if only his father's memories would drain away and disappear forever-
-if only-
Piccolo stood, reaching for a handfull of dried leaves. Stuffing them in his mouth he forced himself to chew, his teeth unused to the action and his jaw quickly tiring he mashed the dusty things into a bland pulp, tasting the slightest hint of an acrid juice between his gums.
Liquid.
He reached out again, stripping bushes of their leaves, filling his stomach with the wild grasses that his body was stretched out on under the burning sun-
He barely noticed the first tremors within his stomach, frantic as he was for something edible, but after minutes had passed it became worse until he could scarcely move for the burning in his gut.
Oh, god, it hurt.
Curling up around himself Piccolo felt tears in his eyes. 'Damn you, Son Gokou, if my father had survived I would be a prince...'
He vomited, green and red, tinged with blood. It stank in the heat, mixing with his sweat and the scent of crushed leaves.
Piccolo closed his eyes, but did not have the strength to heal his pains. Not after training for hours in the heat, fainting, coming to and trying to find water, unable to fly, breathe, move, think-
Never before had he felt so alone.
The next thing he knew, the sun was gone out of the sky. Stars appeared overhead, he could see them through the branches. He tried throw up again, but only managed to rid himself of pastey leaves and stomach acid, leaving his throat raw and burning.
Keep moving, Ma Jr.
He stood.
It's amazing, really, what the body can do when death looms near. Piccolo began the hardest march of his life, dragging his way through thorns and stones, forcing his legs to take one more step, then-
As his legs gave out beneath him after another three hours of trudging, wretching and panting, Piccolo shifted forwards and fell, half sliding and half rolling down the hill he had been perched on. Hitting a tree, he bounced sideways, feeling ribs break, then-
The land gave out beneath him- air, then-
-splash-
Piccolo found himself struggling one last time in the midst of a cool stream. He choked for a moment on the water in his lungs, kicking weakly towards the surface. After a few seconds he reached air and gulped it in, heart thundering in his chest.
There. Shore. Safety. It took what felt like hours for him to reach the precious burnt land again with his wooden limbs and broken ribs and body that refused to respond. When he finally sunk his fingers into the mud Piccolo was completely spent. Franticly he scooped a handful of water to his lips and drank, drank, drank.
He threw it all up.
When that had happened, he tried to control himself, his swollen toungue begging for more while he forced himself to wait, to drink and then let his stomach settle before indulging again, and it worked. After a few minutes of sweet bliss, he realized that even while he rested the sun beat down. Quickly the namekusei-jin smeared mud across his sunburned face, the coolness of it a blessing after days of endless wandering.
When he had the strength he shoved himself away from the bank and found a tree overhanging the water. Curling up beneath it he waited for the agony within him to die away and for his strength to return...
For he was Piccolo and this, despite the pain it had caused him, was surely a sign from Gods or Devils that nothing would ever destroy him.
**********
When the namekusei-jin opened his eyes again it was dark outside, and the pain in his stomach was gone. Hesitantly at first he sat up and looked around, his body protesting the movement after so many twisted, dream-filled days of rest. The room was empty of people, and Piccolo swung his legs up over the edge of the bed and stood, unsteadily. He lifted one arm, twisted once, and nodded, satisfied that he was suitably healed.
Glancing at the clock told him that is was almost midnight, but of what day? Silently Piccolo glanced around and found a pair of jeans- pulling them on, he moved out of the room. As he stepped down the stairs, Piccolo reflected on the last time he had been sick and how different it was now. How many years had he wasted away with nobody to care for him? How many times had the only thing supporting his soul been the hatred he once harbored for Son Gokou?
Ah, Gokou. The man who had once been Piccolo's most hated enemy, whose son was his greatest love.
Piccolo reached the bottom of the stairs and froze.
The only thing in his line of sight was the sofa in the living room, and the two beings on it. Gohan was stretched out, fast asleep, his head in Trunks' lap. Trunks himself had wrapped his arms about Gohan's figure, and was asleep as well.
Everthing inside Piccolo bristled with fury. His first instinct was to come up behind Trunks and crush his skull.
'Calm down, Gohan wouldn't like that, calm down!' he told himself. Still, the urge to kill the one being who dared to touch *his* Gohan was overwhelming, heady like wine and twice as dangerous.
Piccolo took a step forward, then moved around to the front of the couch, swallowing back his hatred and staring in dismay at the interlocked figures. 'You're paranoid, he's just asleep.'
That was when Trunks opened his eyes, a smirk playing across his lips. He grinned viciously at Piccolo and then gave Gohan's cheek a loving carress.
Piccolo fumed, not knowing what to do. If he hurt Trunks again Gohan would be furious with him, but to just stand by and watch the man he loved be touched by another was torment. Wake up, Gohan! He wanted to scream, to break something, to shatter glass, but instead-
He turned and stalked out of the house.
***
Gohan woke up early the next morning with a cramp in his neck, but in otherwise good spirits. It was still dark out as he pulled away from Trunks and sat up. The night before had been harder than normal for him, he felt awful for making Piccolo sick, yet still worried about his overall relationship with the namekusei-jin
And Trunks had listened, had let him pour his heart out and not thinking him weak. What an incredible thing! It was so different from Piccolo's closed, detached attitude that Gohan almost didn't know what to think. How strange it had been to feel someone's arms around him as he cried, it had been an incredible feeling, Trunks had just...just cared, that was all. But Piccolo never gave him that, never let him cry without commenting darkly, and that made Trunks' sweet attitude all the more inviting.
He stretched and smiled at the memories. Now that Trunks was staying with them he could get to know the younger man even better...
Making his way towards the stairs, Gohan trotted up to check on his mentor and lover. He noticed immediately that the bedroom door was open, but peered inside anyway- Piccolo wasn't there. Gohan pressed a hand against the sheets- they were cold, had been empty for hours. So where was Piccolo?
Exiting the room, Gohan looked down the hallway to his right and shook his head. The only place Piccolo would go was the gravity room behind their house, but surely... Not so soon after he'd been sick!
Then again, this was Piccolo he was thinking of...
Gohan dashed to the end of the hall and unlocked the door, stepping out onto the thin balcony that wrapped around the upper floor of the house. He quickly jumped down and moved to the gravity room, nestled in a grove of massive trees, some still charred from previous outdoor sparring episodes.
Sure enough, the light next to the door was red- occupied. Gohan palmed the door anyway and stepped into the pressurizing room, watching his mentor train in split form while the gravity increased in the small, seperate chamber with a soft hissing noise.
Piccolo noticed Gohan immediately, and though he didn't lessen his training, his mind raced. What should he do? Confront him about sleeping near Trunks? Ignore it and pretend he'd never seen that?
Or maybe he should remind Gohan just who he had agreed to spend his life with....
All in all, that seemed like the best action, Piccolo decided. By the time Gohan had adjusted to the gravity inside the room, both of Piccolo's forms were staring at him, waiting. The demi-saiya-jin stepped into the main body of the room and sweatdropped. "Pikoro-san, what are you doing in here?! You've been sick!"
"I got better," the Piccolo on the right told him, his voice low and inviting.
"So I've been making up for my laziness in the last few days," the other smirked, moving around until he was on the opposite side of Gohan. "But there are other things I want to make up for too..."
Gohan swallowed, warmth filling his body at the promise held in his mentor's tone. There was no doubt in his mind of what Piccolo intended, but to give in would mean to miss work for the fourth day in a row-
"Pikoro-san, if you're better I'm going to leave for work... I've been absent for three days..."
Had it really been that long?
A pair of dark green hands on his shoulders, quickly slipping across his muscles informed Gohan that Piccolo was certainly not going to wait. In a matter of moments his shirt was on the floor and two sets of lips were caressing his neck, an oddly satisfying sensation- "...a....ah....Pikoro...san...."
Well, he could go in late. That was better than nothing.
"A...aaa....augh...."
Gohan's face twisted slightly as Piccolo's shoulders heaved again, his expression a mixture of guilt and disgust. "Pikoro-san," he murmered, masaging the thick, tense muscles beneath his hands. "Sh, sh, it's okay... I'm so sorry, so sorry...."
Wiping a bit of vomit off his chin, Piccolo leaned back, groaning. "No..it's not your fault," he repeated for the hundreth time, closing his eyes while his belly throbbed in agony.
"Damn it, Pikoro-san, yes it is! I'm the one that served you such a huge meal..."
Piccolo closed his eyes- "I wanted you to know how much I liked it. I shouldn't have eaten it all."
"But...but it's my fault, you've been sick for three days!"
Sighing as Gohan pressed a cup of water against his lips, Piccolo shrugged. "I've gone my whole life without eating, and I gorged once. It's my stupidity, I should have known my system wouldn't be able to handle that."
"Do you want to go back to bed?"
"I'd rather take a shower," he sighed. Gohan immediately stood and turned on the water, helping Piccolo stand by wrapping an arm around his waist and holding him steady. Silently the namekusei-jin peeled off his shirt and pants, then chucked his boxers over one shoulder and stepped into the tub. Gohan had to keep him from slipping once, but after a few moments Piccolo was safely in the water, and Gohan settled on the toilet's lid.
Piccolo sighed and settled back, feeling the water swirl about his body- he had been sick for the last few days, and everything had been blurred together by his illness. He could recall Gohan staying near him the entire time, and Trunks....Trunks? Piccolo frowned slightly- if he couldn't remember what Trunks had been speaking to Gohan about, he wouldn't know what to be careful about.
But, oh, this reminded him of the only other time he had been sick-
Splash.
For a moment his dizzy mind wasn't sure what had happened, then he realized, as he felt a pair of hands on his back once again, that Gohan had jumped into the bathtub behind him. Piccolo opened his mouth to speak, but Gohan shushed him and began kneading the flesh between his fingertips.
It felt so good....Piccolo sighed involuntarily and leaned back against the hands, feeling himself relax ever-so-slightly, then more, then at last, sleep was approaching. For a moment he fought it, half of him was too proud to succumb to the sweetness of the moment, but the other half was filled with wanting to remain there, wrapped in Gohan's arms forever. He couldn't help it- his eyes closed, and he felt the hands pause and a soft cheek press against his back before sleep claimed him.
The dream came.
**********
It was hot, sticky, and achingly dry. A young, young Piccolo was staggering through the forest, dead leaves crunching beneath his feet- the sun overhead burned down against his flesh, eating through his will-
Stagger onwards, a little more. So close.
He fell to his knees, sweaty face sticking to the dirt below. Unable to breath.
'No, not like this. I will kill Son Gokou.' That thought was like precious ice in the pit of his stomach- he had to kill Son Gokou. He had to squeeze the life out of his father's killer. He had to reclaim the throne he was destined to have.
Suck in the steaming air, choke, sit up.
'It won't be like this.'
He wiped his eyes and stared around. Water. Sweet water. Where could it be? I only he could fly, if only he wasn't so far from the world, if only his father's memories would drain away and disappear forever-
-if only-
Piccolo stood, reaching for a handfull of dried leaves. Stuffing them in his mouth he forced himself to chew, his teeth unused to the action and his jaw quickly tiring he mashed the dusty things into a bland pulp, tasting the slightest hint of an acrid juice between his gums.
Liquid.
He reached out again, stripping bushes of their leaves, filling his stomach with the wild grasses that his body was stretched out on under the burning sun-
He barely noticed the first tremors within his stomach, frantic as he was for something edible, but after minutes had passed it became worse until he could scarcely move for the burning in his gut.
Oh, god, it hurt.
Curling up around himself Piccolo felt tears in his eyes. 'Damn you, Son Gokou, if my father had survived I would be a prince...'
He vomited, green and red, tinged with blood. It stank in the heat, mixing with his sweat and the scent of crushed leaves.
Piccolo closed his eyes, but did not have the strength to heal his pains. Not after training for hours in the heat, fainting, coming to and trying to find water, unable to fly, breathe, move, think-
Never before had he felt so alone.
The next thing he knew, the sun was gone out of the sky. Stars appeared overhead, he could see them through the branches. He tried throw up again, but only managed to rid himself of pastey leaves and stomach acid, leaving his throat raw and burning.
Keep moving, Ma Jr.
He stood.
It's amazing, really, what the body can do when death looms near. Piccolo began the hardest march of his life, dragging his way through thorns and stones, forcing his legs to take one more step, then-
As his legs gave out beneath him after another three hours of trudging, wretching and panting, Piccolo shifted forwards and fell, half sliding and half rolling down the hill he had been perched on. Hitting a tree, he bounced sideways, feeling ribs break, then-
The land gave out beneath him- air, then-
-splash-
Piccolo found himself struggling one last time in the midst of a cool stream. He choked for a moment on the water in his lungs, kicking weakly towards the surface. After a few seconds he reached air and gulped it in, heart thundering in his chest.
There. Shore. Safety. It took what felt like hours for him to reach the precious burnt land again with his wooden limbs and broken ribs and body that refused to respond. When he finally sunk his fingers into the mud Piccolo was completely spent. Franticly he scooped a handful of water to his lips and drank, drank, drank.
He threw it all up.
When that had happened, he tried to control himself, his swollen toungue begging for more while he forced himself to wait, to drink and then let his stomach settle before indulging again, and it worked. After a few minutes of sweet bliss, he realized that even while he rested the sun beat down. Quickly the namekusei-jin smeared mud across his sunburned face, the coolness of it a blessing after days of endless wandering.
When he had the strength he shoved himself away from the bank and found a tree overhanging the water. Curling up beneath it he waited for the agony within him to die away and for his strength to return...
For he was Piccolo and this, despite the pain it had caused him, was surely a sign from Gods or Devils that nothing would ever destroy him.
**********
When the namekusei-jin opened his eyes again it was dark outside, and the pain in his stomach was gone. Hesitantly at first he sat up and looked around, his body protesting the movement after so many twisted, dream-filled days of rest. The room was empty of people, and Piccolo swung his legs up over the edge of the bed and stood, unsteadily. He lifted one arm, twisted once, and nodded, satisfied that he was suitably healed.
Glancing at the clock told him that is was almost midnight, but of what day? Silently Piccolo glanced around and found a pair of jeans- pulling them on, he moved out of the room. As he stepped down the stairs, Piccolo reflected on the last time he had been sick and how different it was now. How many years had he wasted away with nobody to care for him? How many times had the only thing supporting his soul been the hatred he once harbored for Son Gokou?
Ah, Gokou. The man who had once been Piccolo's most hated enemy, whose son was his greatest love.
Piccolo reached the bottom of the stairs and froze.
The only thing in his line of sight was the sofa in the living room, and the two beings on it. Gohan was stretched out, fast asleep, his head in Trunks' lap. Trunks himself had wrapped his arms about Gohan's figure, and was asleep as well.
Everthing inside Piccolo bristled with fury. His first instinct was to come up behind Trunks and crush his skull.
'Calm down, Gohan wouldn't like that, calm down!' he told himself. Still, the urge to kill the one being who dared to touch *his* Gohan was overwhelming, heady like wine and twice as dangerous.
Piccolo took a step forward, then moved around to the front of the couch, swallowing back his hatred and staring in dismay at the interlocked figures. 'You're paranoid, he's just asleep.'
That was when Trunks opened his eyes, a smirk playing across his lips. He grinned viciously at Piccolo and then gave Gohan's cheek a loving carress.
Piccolo fumed, not knowing what to do. If he hurt Trunks again Gohan would be furious with him, but to just stand by and watch the man he loved be touched by another was torment. Wake up, Gohan! He wanted to scream, to break something, to shatter glass, but instead-
He turned and stalked out of the house.
***
Gohan woke up early the next morning with a cramp in his neck, but in otherwise good spirits. It was still dark out as he pulled away from Trunks and sat up. The night before had been harder than normal for him, he felt awful for making Piccolo sick, yet still worried about his overall relationship with the namekusei-jin
And Trunks had listened, had let him pour his heart out and not thinking him weak. What an incredible thing! It was so different from Piccolo's closed, detached attitude that Gohan almost didn't know what to think. How strange it had been to feel someone's arms around him as he cried, it had been an incredible feeling, Trunks had just...just cared, that was all. But Piccolo never gave him that, never let him cry without commenting darkly, and that made Trunks' sweet attitude all the more inviting.
He stretched and smiled at the memories. Now that Trunks was staying with them he could get to know the younger man even better...
Making his way towards the stairs, Gohan trotted up to check on his mentor and lover. He noticed immediately that the bedroom door was open, but peered inside anyway- Piccolo wasn't there. Gohan pressed a hand against the sheets- they were cold, had been empty for hours. So where was Piccolo?
Exiting the room, Gohan looked down the hallway to his right and shook his head. The only place Piccolo would go was the gravity room behind their house, but surely... Not so soon after he'd been sick!
Then again, this was Piccolo he was thinking of...
Gohan dashed to the end of the hall and unlocked the door, stepping out onto the thin balcony that wrapped around the upper floor of the house. He quickly jumped down and moved to the gravity room, nestled in a grove of massive trees, some still charred from previous outdoor sparring episodes.
Sure enough, the light next to the door was red- occupied. Gohan palmed the door anyway and stepped into the pressurizing room, watching his mentor train in split form while the gravity increased in the small, seperate chamber with a soft hissing noise.
Piccolo noticed Gohan immediately, and though he didn't lessen his training, his mind raced. What should he do? Confront him about sleeping near Trunks? Ignore it and pretend he'd never seen that?
Or maybe he should remind Gohan just who he had agreed to spend his life with....
All in all, that seemed like the best action, Piccolo decided. By the time Gohan had adjusted to the gravity inside the room, both of Piccolo's forms were staring at him, waiting. The demi-saiya-jin stepped into the main body of the room and sweatdropped. "Pikoro-san, what are you doing in here?! You've been sick!"
"I got better," the Piccolo on the right told him, his voice low and inviting.
"So I've been making up for my laziness in the last few days," the other smirked, moving around until he was on the opposite side of Gohan. "But there are other things I want to make up for too..."
Gohan swallowed, warmth filling his body at the promise held in his mentor's tone. There was no doubt in his mind of what Piccolo intended, but to give in would mean to miss work for the fourth day in a row-
"Pikoro-san, if you're better I'm going to leave for work... I've been absent for three days..."
Had it really been that long?
A pair of dark green hands on his shoulders, quickly slipping across his muscles informed Gohan that Piccolo was certainly not going to wait. In a matter of moments his shirt was on the floor and two sets of lips were caressing his neck, an oddly satisfying sensation- "...a....ah....Pikoro...san...."
Well, he could go in late. That was better than nothing.