Author's Notes: Corrections on DBZ facts are welcome. READ WARNINGS.
Category: Yaoi, GW/DBZ crossover, TWT, partial AU(DBZ side)
Pairings: Piccolox4, 2+1/1+2, 3+4/4+3, will be Trunksx2, 1x2, 3x4
Warnings: descriptive lemon, male Piccolo, shounen ai, minor angst
Author: Arigatomina
Email: arigatoumina@hotmail.com
Complete Archive: www.geocities.com/arigatomina, www.fanfiction.net
Alternate Timelines Indeed
Part 7
"And they wouldn't have to stay inside the entire year, they could come out any time."
It was difficult not to snort at the man's cheerful expression, but Duo managed, dropping his gaze. Goku was obviously excited, and he understood why, but the fighters didn't seem aware of the effect the suggestion had on them. Maybe a year wasn't long to them, but Duo couldn't help but be uneasy at the thought of losing that much time. Even if he only stayed in the chamber for a couple of months, that was a long time to be trapped in one place. He'd done his time, having grown up on a colony, and the questionable freedom they'd found on earth had no doubt spoiled him. He didn't like the idea. Still, he wanted to help, and he had to admit it wasn't much to ask since less than a day would pass in their world.
"Besides," Goku said, his eyes pinning Piccolo as he figured the Namek would be harder to convince, "It really is easier to go in with someone than it is to go alone. This way, you'd have someone to train against." The green-skinned man gave a sharp nod, and he smiled widely, glancing at Trunks. He hadn't bothered with Vegeta, and his expectations were realized as the half-saiyan also nodded. Then Duo raised a hand, and he blinked in surprise since the two boys hadn't said much in regards to his suggestion. He'd assumed they were willing to go along.
"Um, I see a problem," Duo murmured, raising an eyebrow. "The whole point is so they can train against our Gundams, right? Well, unless you want to tear down part of the doorway, there's no way they'll fit. I mean, we *can* dismantle our Gundams and reassemble them, but even the head wouldn't fit through that little door you and Gohan came out." He was confused when the blonde man laughed suddenly, and he felt a wave of wariness.
"Hey, you forget about my instant teleportation. I can just take the Gundam in and leave. It's not a problem at all."
"Oh...right."
Quatre gazed at the longhaired boy, and he could tell by the way Duo averted his eyes that his friend had merely been grasping for an excuse. Rising from the chair he'd been sitting in, he gave Goku a small smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I guess I'll go first. I know you're short on time."
"That's great," Goku smiled, clapping a hand on the pale boy's shoulder. "Piccolo's already planned to go in first."
"Fine," Quatre nodded, sharing a quick glance with the tall man who was leaning against the wall. Duo was looking at him in barely concealed relief, and he managed not to let his understanding show.
He almost felt like a coward for not having volunteered before his comrade, but Duo couldn't deny that he was glad for the reprieve. This way he could talk with Quatre after the blonde boy got out and learn exactly what he was in for. A quick smile curved his lips, and he turned to Trunks, grinning. "Guess that leaves us, Trunks." The lavender-haired boy nodded with a small smile, and he glanced at Piccolo, stepping forward so the man turned to face him. "Might want to be careful, fighting against Quatre. Don't make him mad, he can have quite a temper, especially in a Gundam."
His cheeks heated, and Quatre glared at the grinning American. He knew what the boy was referring to, and it was a touchy subject. But then, Duo didn't seem to comprehend the word restraint, and he couldn't really get too angry. A glance around the room showed that Goku and Trunks were looking at him curiously, but it was Piccolo who made his cheeks burn more as the man had merely raised an eyebrow ridge, his expression blank. For some reason, that questioning gaze made him want to smack his fellow pilot, and he was glad no one asked what Duo's comment meant.
* * *
There was no sense of travel as Goku took hold of Sandrock's arm, and Quatre only blinked once, his eyes closing on a rocky field and opening to find an endless sea of white spread out before him. He didn't hear the man as he bid them luck, and he could feel his skin growing clammy as an inexplicable coldness washed his body. Empty silence seemed to fill him to the core and his eyes widened till they burned from the air inside the cockpit. He stared at the unbroken whiteness and he couldn't move, weighted down by more than just the heavy atmosphere. Then he choked suddenly as he couldn't breathe. Thick air caught in his throat and his heart clenched painfully. A sound whispered in his ear as if from a long distance and somewhere inside he knew the moaning sob came from his own lips. Tingles lit his arms, and his fingers trembled, reaching for the screen as he sought to turn off the view; striving to end the emptiness that echoed inside him. The controls seemed to be receding, moving away from him and he panted, gasping desperately and blinking back the sweat that trickled into his eyes; he tried to control the panic that consumed him.
Piccolo frowned as minutes passed and the large machine beside him didn't move, silence reigning over the chamber. Then the eyes lit with a green light, and he looked up expectantly as the cockpit slowly lowered. His instincts were sharp, and he was off the ground as soon as he spotted the pale boy; his surprise at the way Quatre shoved out of the pilot's seat crushed as he flew up. Body collapsing on the tilted platform, the boy rolled off, and Piccolo's indrawn breath was muffled by the sound of movement as one of the Gundam's hands lifted, large fingers closing slightly and one of Quatre's arms hung down as his fall was halted.
He froze, staring at Sandrock's bright eyes as he wondered at the machine, not sure if he should go to the still boy or not. Somehow, he knew it hadn't caught the boy by chance, but he could sense nothing from those cold green lights. There wasn't an alternative, and he flew close to the steady hand, his gaze moving sharply over Quatre. The boy was lying on his stomach, his rapid breathing visible. The Gundam never budged when he landed on the machine's palm, and he knelt beside the blonde, turning him onto his back. His eyes narrowed as he wondered if he should take the boy outside and forget about the plans. Quatre was panting through his mouth, and his pale skin was lit with a sheen of sweat that made his hair cling to his cheeks. Bending forward, he lifted him, his eyes moving from the door to the building that was visible behind them, and he looked at Quatre sharply when the boy made a soft sound, a mere breath.
"Trowa..."
* * *
Heero's eyes snapped to the boy beside him when Trowa sat up suddenly. The tall boy had been resting, but he was wide-awake now, his eyes seeming to fill his face in a way that made the Japanese boy's nerves tense.
"Quatre!" The steady gaze of the boy beside him was a calming balm, and Trowa ran a shaky hand through his long bangs. "I...can't feel him," he said slowly, his voice soft yet loud in the shuttle. "Not at all. It's as if...he's gone completely."
"He's dead." For a moment he didn't blink, a cold certainty wrapping him, and Heero turned to face the windshield. "It's over."
"No! No...that's not it. If...if he'd died, I would have felt it. I've felt it before, Quatre's pain. I would have felt it if he'd died. It's not that but...it's as if he's just disappeared." Trowa went silent, his green eyes staring into the dark space before them as Heero's gaze bore into him once more. He wasn't paying any attention to the boy, however, as he remained as calm as he could, searching for that connection he'd had since the very beginning. A tenuous tie, broken now he could feel a pain that was his own and he wondered if Quatre didn't feel the same, wherever he was.
* * *
Piccolo blinked sharply when the blonde boy's eyes snapped open and his hand was grasped in a surprisingly strong grip. He was uncertain what to make of the way Quatre was staring at him, and he frowned. "What happened?" The boy lay were he'd placed him on one of the beds in the building, but he'd turned his head to face him, pale blue-green eyes wide. "I'll take you outside now, if you want. Goku can come back for the suit."
"No...I'll be okay." Quatre took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he squeezed the man's hand, needing to feel the connection to another being. "It's just that...the chamber, it must have done something. My heart, it reacted." Looking up, he took in Piccolo's narrowed eyes, and he sighed. "My space heart, it's..." He didn't know how to explain it at all. "Well, sometimes I can feel the pain of others. And I have...had...a tie to one of the other Gundam pilots. It was the shock of losing that, of being completely alone, I guess I wasn't prepared for it." The man was staring at him with an unreadable expression, and he flushed, shaking his head.
Forcing himself to release the grip he had on Piccolo's hand, Quatre pushed himself up, not thinking much about the bed he was on. "I guess I've come to rely on that tie, and the chamber was so void it made the emptiness in my heart that much deeper." If the man had nodded, or even blinked, he might have been reassured that he was understood, but Piccolo remained still, his eyes level with him even as he sat up. It was then that he looked at the bed he was on, the white walled room they were inside of, and he blinked. "Are we still in the hyperbolic time chamber?"
"Yes. I'll show you."
* * *
Leaning against a pillar, Piccolo watched the black and white suit with narrowed eyes, his arms folded over his chest. Hours had passed, yet the young boy was still working, perched on the left arm as he wielded some sort of metal torch. It had taken time to bend the piece back, and he was now sealing it. Whether the instrument was a torch to fuse the metal, or some other sort of contraption, Piccolo didn't know, and he didn't particularly care. He was to blame for the damage, and he berated himself for having slipped so badly. Although, this was blatant proof that the suits were far from impervious as his physical attack had been a mere glancing blow.
His eyes moved over Quatre's back, taking in how stiffly the boy held himself, and he remembered his shock as he'd made the hit. Not expecting the metal to bend, especially so easily, he'd frozen, and the speed with which the suit had pulled those two curved blades had caught him by surprise. The boy had halted almost immediately after that response, and he'd been very somber as he'd inspected the damage. While he'd assured Piccolo that it wasn't bad, hours were a long time to fix something he claimed was minor.
In truth, he wasn't sure what to make of the boy, and while he by no means considered himself knowing of others, the cold voice that had spoken to him as Quatre'd replaced his drawn blades told him he'd glimpsed a different side of the quiet Earthling. But it had been gone so quickly he couldn't be sure. Still, the boy had been quiet and withdrawn in the three weeks since they'd entered the chamber; he'd noticed the change and he didn't like it.
* * *
---_---_---
//"You'll die...Heero. I don't want to destroy people who are my allies..."// He wasn't listening to him, he didn't care to heed his warning, and his own resolve strengthened as the red suit threatened him yet again. Wing Zero pulsed around him, and he followed the Gundam pilot with a cold efficiency, his grip on the beam cannon steady.
//"...do it....I have no intention of chatting with an enemy."//
The Japanese boy's voice reached him through the darkness of space and his expression grew calm. The suit was damaged beyond defense, and he lined the cannon up. //"Very well then. Good-bye...Heero."//
A beam of light, bright golden and steady, thick enough to swallow the suit that was unable to dodge, the colony behind it defenseless, cut through the blackness, its course straight. Fire from boosters sent the blue suit on an intercept course, half of the suit a molten pile of metal, the cockpit breached leaving a thin space suit separating the pilot from the airless vacuum. The beam, steady and uncaring, struck the blue suit, consuming it, the red one shielded as the flow of power to the cannon was cut off, a sharp cry echoing pain.
//"Trowa?!"// His mind was frozen, horror ripping him to shreds then time spiraled and he was inside the colony, the blast from Heero's suit having shoved him against the wall. He couldn't see but he heard, that soft voice speaking to him, his last words for him, his life for him and his own scream echoed in his ears. //"Trowa's gonna die!"//
//"...and you're the one who killed him...Quatre. You've gone insane. Omae o korosu."//
The boy dying, that voice no longer reached him and his guard dropped. His plea for death so the other might be saved fell on deaf ears and the explosion reached him even within the walls of the colony, echoing inside his soul.
//"...Trowa's death was just a waste..."//
---_---_---
Quatre sat up suddenly, his pale eyes wide in the dim room. His heart was pounding, and he leaned forward, gasping as he blinked back the tears that filled his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, calming himself slowly as he drew his knees to his chest. "Always..." Shaken, he didn't feel the presence at first, then he flinched, his head turning sharply and he gazed at the figure who stood in the doorway. "Piccolo..." With a slow sigh, he brushed the back of his hand over his damp eyes, sliding his legs off the edge of the bed so he was facing the man. "Did I wake you?" At Piccolo's slow nod, his lips twitched, and he looked down for a moment in embarrassment, then shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"You've done this every night. Do you always have the same nightmare? Or is it the time chamber?" Piccolo's eyes narrowed as Quatre stood, and he stared at the dampness still visible on those pale cheeks.
"Yes." His voice was quiet, and Quatre crossed the room, dropping his eyes as he passed the tall man. "Every night. But it's not the time chamber, it's me." He didn't have to glance back to know he was being followed, and he stepped into the kitchen, grateful that he didn't have to stay in his bed. He'd done so before, not wanting to wake Piccolo, but obviously his efforts had been for naught.
* * *
The pilot turned sharply, looking over his shoulder at Trowa, but the boy handed the mug to him silently, not inviting the question that went along with Heero's upraised eyebrow. Sinking into the seat beside the Japanese pilot, he took a long drink from his own cup, his thoughts consuming. Mere hours had passed since he'd lost touch with the blonde boy who, for such a long time, had occupied a place inside him, but he wondered where he was, what had happened. As he'd told Heero, he fully believed he would know if Quatre had come to harm, but believing wasn't the same as knowing and doubts were making their way in.
He couldn't feel him, and it was as if he had slipped away, hidden somewhere. Rather than having lost him to death, he felt that they were cut off, out of reach so even that odd bond they seemed to share, that link which he often used to keep himself whole, was broken. Ripped, shredded so completely, the severed tie was painful, torn with a jagged scar in place of something more precious than an amputated limb.
The stars blinked, not bright as they were from the earth, but dull and his eyes gazed at them, not really looking. He wondered what they would be doing at that moment if the accident hadn't occurred, if they'd met in space as planned and were now together, the four of them on their way to meet with the fifth Gundam pilot; a team united. But he didn't have to wonder as he knew, they'd be sharing a strong cup of tea or coffee, something with the power to soothe Quatre's nerves after his nightly dreams that even now, he refused to share with him. Despite the warmth of the liquid he swallowed, a coldness was creeping in and his eyes burned, the blackness of space seeming to have a tinge of white aura, blurring the edges of his vision.
* * *
"Before we went back to space, I self destructed my Gundam. I had to do it, Duo and Wufei, another of us pilots, they were going to be shot down the moment they took off. So I did the only thing I could to destroy the mobile suits standing against me, I self-detonated. But Sandrock, he saved me, waited until I was safely away before destructing on his own."
The boy's voice was soft, devoid of any emotion and Piccolo remained silent, unwilling to interrupt. He was reminded of how the suit had moved when Quatre'd fallen out upon their arrival, and he nodded slowly. The blonde was looking at him, then he took another drink from the cup in front of him and sighed.
"I was still injured, the fight took more than I had, I lost consciousness. But I made it to space and I went home, one of my sisters found me and brought me to our colony. I'd never met her, that I remember, but she knew me and she took me home. I needed to build a new Gundam, to continue my part of the war." The Namek nodded again, and he curled his fingers around the warm mug. "My father was the head of the colony, he was the one who funded it in the beginning, his work made him the force of the colony, the life of it. But OZ turned the people against him and they threw him down, they thought he'd taken control of them, they didn't know it was OZ that had played with their minds. Their plan was to use the resource satellites to manufacture weapons to protect the colony, but they were really for OZ, they just didn't know it. Father knew, he took one of the satellites and they killed him. My sister too, though she died protecting me. I got too close to the satellite before they killed him."
It was delivered in such a smooth voice that a moment passed before he realized what the boy had said and Piccolo's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "The colony killed them? The people did?"
"Yes. And I went on and built my Gundam, the Wing Zero. It was more powerful than any other Gundam, and I was insane. There was no need for such power, but I did it. I used the suit to destroy a satellite...and a colony." Quatre blinked suddenly, his voice breaking a bit. He'd thought he was beyond it, but his guilt rushed up, clamoring for attention. "But I warned them first. I didn't kill the colonists. I did destroy the colony, though."
"You should have killed the colonists who betrayed your family."
His surprise was evident and he blinked at Piccolo, taking in the man's glare and the fact that Piccolo's anger was on his behalf. He was torn by a need to deny it, but he couldn't. "I still hate them," he whispered, his eyes burning. "I shouldn't. They were tricked, controlled by someone wiser than them and they were foolish. But not evil. They didn't know what they were doing, the mistake they were making." Reminded of his own mistake, he looked up, holding Piccolo's eyes. "Trowa was inside OZ, he was hiding there, acting as one of their soldiers in able to get to the one in charge." He blinked when the man repeated the name, then he continued.
"Heero was there too, he was captured trying to destroy some suits OZ had made. They sent both of them after me, after the new Gundam that claimed it would destroy a colony. They went to protect the colony from *me*. That's what Gundam pilots are supposed to do. And I tried to kill Heero. I almost killed Trowa. He had amnesia for a long, long time."
The boy was silent, and Piccolo watched him, eyes narrowed. Quatre had dropped his gaze, and he frowned. "Why did you do it? You said you went insane?"
"The Zero, the Gundam I built, it manipulates the brain of its pilot. I was convinced that anyone who had weapons in space was an enemy, including the colonies that had started to arm themselves *and* my fellow pilots who were in armed suits. But that's not the real reason. My mind was broken. I have no one to blame but myself...I couldn't handle the death of my father...and my sister."
"Then your dreams are about what you did to Trowa."
The throaty voice was low, but Quatre didn't blink, his eyes sad. "Yes. He let himself be hit, he got in front of a blow that was aimed for Heero and his suit blew up. Trowa sacrificed himself for me, to bring me back, to save my soul. Because I was too weak to handle the pain and the suit."
"But he didn't die," Piccolo said sharply, eyes still narrowed. "You didn't kill him."
"No. But I thought I had, for months I thought he was dead. My space heart made it worse since we've been connected since we first met. And then, when I found him again he didn't know who I was. It's so hard now, being broken from him, that connection." Dropping his eyes, he sighed and leaned his chin on his folded hands, looking up at Piccolo who sat across the small table from him. "Have you ever felt that way? As if you were connected to someone so deep they're almost a part of you?" The man laughed suddenly, and Quatre blinked, confused and almost a bit hurt as he wondered if he was being mocked. He didn't see Piccolo as the type to do that, but the man's laughter was real.
"Actually, I understand completely. You see, I am not just myself. I merged recently with someone, Kami. A long time ago, Kami separated the evil from himself and that was my origin. It was only with the appearance of Cell that we merged once more to become one and stronger than either of us was alone. I hate him. But our joining has made me complete in a way I've never known and I cannot imagine being separated again, even if it were possible."
"He separated the evil? But you're not..."
"That was in the past," Piccolo said sharply.
He wasn't going to pry, as the man was obviously ill at ease with the subject. "We've both made our mistakes. At least you aren't haunted by yours." They sat in companionable silence for a while, then Quatre stood, crossing the kitchen and pouring himself another cup of tea. It was as he turned back to the table that he remembered his manners, and he managed a small smile when Piccolo looked up. "I'm sorry. Would you like some tea?" The man's eyes seemed to spark, and he shook his head. "Oh. I've noticed that you don't eat, and you don't drink either?"
"Water occasionally," Piccolo said, taking in the boy's surprised gaze. He looked at the blonde boy for a minute, those wide eyes on him, then he leaned across the table and took the small cup. Bringing it to his lips, he let some fall onto his tongue and grimaced as he swallowed, raising an eyebrow ridge. "It doesn't taste like much. You drink this by choice?"
Quatre smiled, taking the cup back, and he stood again. It took little time to cross the room, and he added some honey to the tea, stirring thoroughly before handing it back to the Namek. "Try that."
After taking a sip, Piccolo made another face. "I don't know which is worse."
"You've *never* had tea before?" He couldn't imagine, and he knew that the fighters drank it, at least Krillin had once, and Chee-chee.
"No," Piccolo said, glaring at the dark liquid as he tried another drink with the same result. "I don't need food to sustain me. Just water."
"Well, there isn't much in tea to sustain anyone. Except for the caffeine, it's flavored water. Then you don't eat because you don't need it? Can you eat?" Quatre knew he probably shouldn't ask, but he was curious about the man, and he leaned forward, eager for the answer.
"I can eat, but there isn't a point if it's unnecessary." He blinked when the blonde boy smiled suddenly, and he was surprised as Quatre seemed happier than he'd been since before they'd begun the training.
Sitting down, Quatre sighed. "Duo would argue with you that there's pleasure in food, beyond the necessity of eating."
He thought about it for a second, then Piccolo smirked as he knew that Goku and Gohan would no doubt agree with that. They definitely enjoyed eating.
* * *
"I'm okay, really." Quatre winced when the man glared down at him, and he was glad to be deposited in a chair at the kitchen table. Warm wetness trailed down his cheek, but he was certain the cut wasn't that deep. He'd struck his forehead on a panel during the training, and the Namek had called an end to the session as soon as he'd mentioned his injury. The man seemed to be overreacting to the minor wound in a way he'd never expected.
"This was a bad idea," Piccolo growled, snatching a rag off the rack over the sink. His long strides brought him to the boy in seconds, and his teeth gnashed at the bright red blood that practically covered half of Quatre's face. He'd had no idea the boy was so susceptible to injury, and from what he could see the cut wasn't even that long. As far as he could recall, he'd never seen such a small wound bleed so much; the fighters shook such things off as mere pricks.
Quatre's breath hissed between his teeth as the angry man pressed the cloth to his head, and his hand pushed him away, the pressure hurting more than the cut. Holding it himself, he tilted his head, looking up at Piccolo. "It was a *good* idea, in theory. If you want to test your growing strength, you need a constant. Goku must have found that out when he trained with Gohan as they were both increasing. He didn't have a steady strength to compare himself to." Licking his lips, he gagged suddenly, the coppery taste making him grimace as blood had trickled to the corner of his mouth. Still holding the rag, he pushed his chair back and crossed the room, taking another towel from over the sink. He wet it, wiping his mouth quickly, then turned to go into the bathroom only to find his way blocked and he blinked in surprise.
"Where are you going?" The injury had served to remind him how frail the boy was, and he fully expected him to collapse at any moment. He was surprised that he was even able to walk and he knew the boy weighed less than Gohan despite the difference in height. It wasn't right to expect such weakness, but the blood caught him in an odd way, and he couldn't help his reasoning. The blonde boy seemed even paler with the dark stain on his cheek.
"I need to use the mirror in the bathroom," Quatre said, his eyes wide. "I don't think it's deep, but I need to clean it before I wrap it to prevent infection." Piccolo was looking at him, expression dark, and he smiled a little as he suddenly found an urge to laugh. "Piccolo, this isn't the first time I've gotten a knock in Sandrock. I do know how to take care of myself." The tall man didn't even blink, and his own eyes widened a bit more, warmth moving through him as he realized it was concern that angered the man; concern for him. "Come with me, I'll show you. I'm sure it's just a small cut."
He didn't smile as Piccolo moved to the side, but it was a close thing and the man followed him to the bathroom. "You know, head wounds tend to bleed more than other cuts so long as an artery hasn't been clipped." Having reached the bathroom, he wet the rag again, washing his face before removing the dry one. He smiled a little, seeing how small the cut was, no more than an inch and a half. It was near his hairline, and he held his damp bangs back, cleaning it thoroughly before glancing at the reflection in the mirror. "See how small it is? But it bleeds more because it's a head wound. Don't people on this planet bleed?"
Nodding, Piccolo's eyes narrowed as he saw that the cut was in fact tiny in comparison to the battle wounds he was acquainted with. "Yes, but not that much."
Quatre shook his head, blotting the cut carefully, his eyes still on the man visible over his shoulder. "It would be interesting to study the 'humans' here, determine the true differences."
"We should go out," Piccolo said, his eyes dropping to the red-stained cloth the boy had dropped in the sink. "You should."
"Why?" His voice rose, but he couldn't help it. He had pride, and it was insulting that the man had so little faith in him. "Because I got a rough knock? Your attack was stronger than any you've used so far. That's a sign that this is obviously doing good. Besides, it's only been two months. If Sandrock can take it, then I can too."
Piccolo blinked, but the boy's evident fury hadn't been expected, and he stared at those narrow eyes. They sparked at him. His lips curved into a smirk, and he wanted to laugh at how determined the blonde looked, as if he was determined to put up a fight if Piccolo were to try and send him out of the time chamber. The idea was so ludicrous, he could feel his anger being replaced by something else and he stared at the cut as Quatre's arm had fallen away. The bleeding had stopped and he took in the boy's stubborn expression one more time before turning and leaving the room, his smirk becoming a smile as soon as his back was to Quatre.
* * *
Piccolo stood, not far from the pillars that held the roof of the building, and his back was to Quatre. The man had been out there for at least an hour as Quatre well knew since he'd woken about an hour ago to find him standing there, silent. The Namek's hands were curled into fists, and he looked at them, his eyes traveling over the man's back. He didn't sense anger from him, despite how tense he looked and Quatre drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he watched.
Lowering his chin, he propped it on his crossed wrists, a quiet sigh passing his lips as he closed his eyes. His heart was heavy with a deep sadness borne from the feeling that was building up in him. It was a feeling he was well acquainted with, and his arms tightened as he reminded himself that now wasn't the time to be consumed with it. But he knew he couldn't help it, he'd tried before and nothing helped, not really. At best, he could push it aside for a while but it always came back; not really gone just detoured for brief periods.
A slightly heavy weight dropped on his shoulder, and Quatre flinched, not looking up as there was only one person it could be. He didn't move for a moment, then he turned his head, looking at the green hand that rested on his shoulder and he studied the joints of the man's fingers, the thick, pointed nails. The hand moved, lifting, and he followed it, turning his head as his eyes flicked upward to meet Piccolo's gaze and he turned away sharply. Closing his eyes in pain and self-condemnation, he buried his head against his knees, arms holding his legs tight to his chest.
Piccolo stared down at the boy, his expression thoughtful and he touched a hand to Quatre's hair, rubbing a few silken strands between his fingers. The intense look he'd received made him wonder. "Quatre."
Quatre leaned forward suddenly, kneeling briefly as he climbed to his feet. Glancing back at the tall man, he flushed and dropped his gaze, his head lowering. "I'm going for a walk," he said quietly. He turned away and walked forward into the seemingly endless whiteness.
His eyes narrowed as he watched the boy's tan vest disappear, and Piccolo's hands curled again. Quatre was so quiet, gentle and young and it was obvious to him how confused the boy was, his actions spoke more words than he needed to hear. Gritting his teeth, he moved suddenly, his mind made up. He could have let it pass, but he could see that it was eating the boy up, and he himself wanted it out in the open, one way or the other. This hadn't been the first time he'd caught Quatre watching him, that light pink flush to his pale cheeks, the way he lowered his eyes so quickly when Piccolo looked at him. He was open and honest about everything else, and the Namek simply didn't know why he had so much trouble with his feelings.
He spotted the boy long before he could have been seen, even if Quatre had been looking, as his own eyesight was much better. As it was, those pale blue-green eyes were closed and Piccolo could almost see the emotion he was feeling, a dark, smoky blue light surrounding his slender frame. The boy was sitting with his legs crossed, his arms down on either leg, hands lying palm up on his knees and his fingers were curled naturally. His head was bowed so his thick pale blonde hair fell down into his eyes, but Piccolo could see that they were closed, dark lashes standing out against the boy's pale cheeks. His white shirt and vest were folded neatly beside him, his tan shoes set near them and Piccolo wondered what he could be doing. Then his eyes touched the boy's pale chest and he marveled at how slender he was before his gaze stopped on Quatre's right arm as he traced the long scar that ran up it.
Starting at the boy's wrist, it stretched in a nearly straight line to his elbow. Piccolo's eyes snapped to the other arm, and he picked out a similar scar, this one also starting at the wrist but only going two inches at most. They were old, faded, but he knew what they signified and the thought angered him enough so that he came forward silently, his eyes narrowed to slits.
Quatre gasped when his wrists were grasped suddenly, and his heart pounded fiercely for a second till he realized it was Piccolo. Then he saw that the man was glaring at his scars and his face went blank as he too looked at them. "I was eleven when I did that." His voice was soft, emotionless and flat and his body seemed void of feeling, his eyes tracing his right arm. "I didn't want to live. I didn't see myself as having any worth and my father didn't care, not about me or anything to do with me. I thought he could always get another son, he didn't need me." Blinking slowly, his lips curved into a small, cheerless smile and he looked up at Piccolo, not bothered by the man's intense gaze. "I was so stupid. Just another lonely kid who didn't understand anything. I didn't know there were *ways* to make a difference, even if no one knows or notices."
The man didn't hold him when he pulled his hands away, and Quatre grabbed his shirt, sliding his arms into it. "Why did you come out here?" he asked, buttoning his cuffs slowly, not looking up.
"We need to talk."
Quatre frowned, realizing he'd missed a button, and he undid his shirt again, starting over from the bottom up. "Okay, but you could have waited until I got back."
"What were you doing?" Piccolo asked, his eyes watching the boy's pale hands.
"Meditating," he murmured, and he sighed. "And thinking, accepting myself and the way things are." He froze as a green hand entered his line of vision, then a finger brushed his chest and open collar making him shiver and look up with wide and guilty eyes.
"Is that how they do it on your planet?" Piccolo asked, his voice low. "Looking, wanting and never saying anything..." The boy's eyes were so wide and Quatre shook his head quickly. "I understand." Crouching down, he took the boy's wrist where it hovered over his chest and he pushed it aside gently, leaning close so his lips brushed the exposed skin lightly.
***NOTE*** The rest of this part cannot be posted on fanfiction.net because of the ban on NC-17 material. For the rest of this part go to the following url:
http://www.geocities.com/arigatomina_gwfics/altern7.html
Category: Yaoi, GW/DBZ crossover, TWT, partial AU(DBZ side)
Pairings: Piccolox4, 2+1/1+2, 3+4/4+3, will be Trunksx2, 1x2, 3x4
Warnings: descriptive lemon, male Piccolo, shounen ai, minor angst
Author: Arigatomina
Email: arigatoumina@hotmail.com
Complete Archive: www.geocities.com/arigatomina, www.fanfiction.net
Alternate Timelines Indeed
Part 7
"And they wouldn't have to stay inside the entire year, they could come out any time."
It was difficult not to snort at the man's cheerful expression, but Duo managed, dropping his gaze. Goku was obviously excited, and he understood why, but the fighters didn't seem aware of the effect the suggestion had on them. Maybe a year wasn't long to them, but Duo couldn't help but be uneasy at the thought of losing that much time. Even if he only stayed in the chamber for a couple of months, that was a long time to be trapped in one place. He'd done his time, having grown up on a colony, and the questionable freedom they'd found on earth had no doubt spoiled him. He didn't like the idea. Still, he wanted to help, and he had to admit it wasn't much to ask since less than a day would pass in their world.
"Besides," Goku said, his eyes pinning Piccolo as he figured the Namek would be harder to convince, "It really is easier to go in with someone than it is to go alone. This way, you'd have someone to train against." The green-skinned man gave a sharp nod, and he smiled widely, glancing at Trunks. He hadn't bothered with Vegeta, and his expectations were realized as the half-saiyan also nodded. Then Duo raised a hand, and he blinked in surprise since the two boys hadn't said much in regards to his suggestion. He'd assumed they were willing to go along.
"Um, I see a problem," Duo murmured, raising an eyebrow. "The whole point is so they can train against our Gundams, right? Well, unless you want to tear down part of the doorway, there's no way they'll fit. I mean, we *can* dismantle our Gundams and reassemble them, but even the head wouldn't fit through that little door you and Gohan came out." He was confused when the blonde man laughed suddenly, and he felt a wave of wariness.
"Hey, you forget about my instant teleportation. I can just take the Gundam in and leave. It's not a problem at all."
"Oh...right."
Quatre gazed at the longhaired boy, and he could tell by the way Duo averted his eyes that his friend had merely been grasping for an excuse. Rising from the chair he'd been sitting in, he gave Goku a small smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I guess I'll go first. I know you're short on time."
"That's great," Goku smiled, clapping a hand on the pale boy's shoulder. "Piccolo's already planned to go in first."
"Fine," Quatre nodded, sharing a quick glance with the tall man who was leaning against the wall. Duo was looking at him in barely concealed relief, and he managed not to let his understanding show.
He almost felt like a coward for not having volunteered before his comrade, but Duo couldn't deny that he was glad for the reprieve. This way he could talk with Quatre after the blonde boy got out and learn exactly what he was in for. A quick smile curved his lips, and he turned to Trunks, grinning. "Guess that leaves us, Trunks." The lavender-haired boy nodded with a small smile, and he glanced at Piccolo, stepping forward so the man turned to face him. "Might want to be careful, fighting against Quatre. Don't make him mad, he can have quite a temper, especially in a Gundam."
His cheeks heated, and Quatre glared at the grinning American. He knew what the boy was referring to, and it was a touchy subject. But then, Duo didn't seem to comprehend the word restraint, and he couldn't really get too angry. A glance around the room showed that Goku and Trunks were looking at him curiously, but it was Piccolo who made his cheeks burn more as the man had merely raised an eyebrow ridge, his expression blank. For some reason, that questioning gaze made him want to smack his fellow pilot, and he was glad no one asked what Duo's comment meant.
* * *
There was no sense of travel as Goku took hold of Sandrock's arm, and Quatre only blinked once, his eyes closing on a rocky field and opening to find an endless sea of white spread out before him. He didn't hear the man as he bid them luck, and he could feel his skin growing clammy as an inexplicable coldness washed his body. Empty silence seemed to fill him to the core and his eyes widened till they burned from the air inside the cockpit. He stared at the unbroken whiteness and he couldn't move, weighted down by more than just the heavy atmosphere. Then he choked suddenly as he couldn't breathe. Thick air caught in his throat and his heart clenched painfully. A sound whispered in his ear as if from a long distance and somewhere inside he knew the moaning sob came from his own lips. Tingles lit his arms, and his fingers trembled, reaching for the screen as he sought to turn off the view; striving to end the emptiness that echoed inside him. The controls seemed to be receding, moving away from him and he panted, gasping desperately and blinking back the sweat that trickled into his eyes; he tried to control the panic that consumed him.
Piccolo frowned as minutes passed and the large machine beside him didn't move, silence reigning over the chamber. Then the eyes lit with a green light, and he looked up expectantly as the cockpit slowly lowered. His instincts were sharp, and he was off the ground as soon as he spotted the pale boy; his surprise at the way Quatre shoved out of the pilot's seat crushed as he flew up. Body collapsing on the tilted platform, the boy rolled off, and Piccolo's indrawn breath was muffled by the sound of movement as one of the Gundam's hands lifted, large fingers closing slightly and one of Quatre's arms hung down as his fall was halted.
He froze, staring at Sandrock's bright eyes as he wondered at the machine, not sure if he should go to the still boy or not. Somehow, he knew it hadn't caught the boy by chance, but he could sense nothing from those cold green lights. There wasn't an alternative, and he flew close to the steady hand, his gaze moving sharply over Quatre. The boy was lying on his stomach, his rapid breathing visible. The Gundam never budged when he landed on the machine's palm, and he knelt beside the blonde, turning him onto his back. His eyes narrowed as he wondered if he should take the boy outside and forget about the plans. Quatre was panting through his mouth, and his pale skin was lit with a sheen of sweat that made his hair cling to his cheeks. Bending forward, he lifted him, his eyes moving from the door to the building that was visible behind them, and he looked at Quatre sharply when the boy made a soft sound, a mere breath.
"Trowa..."
* * *
Heero's eyes snapped to the boy beside him when Trowa sat up suddenly. The tall boy had been resting, but he was wide-awake now, his eyes seeming to fill his face in a way that made the Japanese boy's nerves tense.
"Quatre!" The steady gaze of the boy beside him was a calming balm, and Trowa ran a shaky hand through his long bangs. "I...can't feel him," he said slowly, his voice soft yet loud in the shuttle. "Not at all. It's as if...he's gone completely."
"He's dead." For a moment he didn't blink, a cold certainty wrapping him, and Heero turned to face the windshield. "It's over."
"No! No...that's not it. If...if he'd died, I would have felt it. I've felt it before, Quatre's pain. I would have felt it if he'd died. It's not that but...it's as if he's just disappeared." Trowa went silent, his green eyes staring into the dark space before them as Heero's gaze bore into him once more. He wasn't paying any attention to the boy, however, as he remained as calm as he could, searching for that connection he'd had since the very beginning. A tenuous tie, broken now he could feel a pain that was his own and he wondered if Quatre didn't feel the same, wherever he was.
* * *
Piccolo blinked sharply when the blonde boy's eyes snapped open and his hand was grasped in a surprisingly strong grip. He was uncertain what to make of the way Quatre was staring at him, and he frowned. "What happened?" The boy lay were he'd placed him on one of the beds in the building, but he'd turned his head to face him, pale blue-green eyes wide. "I'll take you outside now, if you want. Goku can come back for the suit."
"No...I'll be okay." Quatre took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he squeezed the man's hand, needing to feel the connection to another being. "It's just that...the chamber, it must have done something. My heart, it reacted." Looking up, he took in Piccolo's narrowed eyes, and he sighed. "My space heart, it's..." He didn't know how to explain it at all. "Well, sometimes I can feel the pain of others. And I have...had...a tie to one of the other Gundam pilots. It was the shock of losing that, of being completely alone, I guess I wasn't prepared for it." The man was staring at him with an unreadable expression, and he flushed, shaking his head.
Forcing himself to release the grip he had on Piccolo's hand, Quatre pushed himself up, not thinking much about the bed he was on. "I guess I've come to rely on that tie, and the chamber was so void it made the emptiness in my heart that much deeper." If the man had nodded, or even blinked, he might have been reassured that he was understood, but Piccolo remained still, his eyes level with him even as he sat up. It was then that he looked at the bed he was on, the white walled room they were inside of, and he blinked. "Are we still in the hyperbolic time chamber?"
"Yes. I'll show you."
* * *
Leaning against a pillar, Piccolo watched the black and white suit with narrowed eyes, his arms folded over his chest. Hours had passed, yet the young boy was still working, perched on the left arm as he wielded some sort of metal torch. It had taken time to bend the piece back, and he was now sealing it. Whether the instrument was a torch to fuse the metal, or some other sort of contraption, Piccolo didn't know, and he didn't particularly care. He was to blame for the damage, and he berated himself for having slipped so badly. Although, this was blatant proof that the suits were far from impervious as his physical attack had been a mere glancing blow.
His eyes moved over Quatre's back, taking in how stiffly the boy held himself, and he remembered his shock as he'd made the hit. Not expecting the metal to bend, especially so easily, he'd frozen, and the speed with which the suit had pulled those two curved blades had caught him by surprise. The boy had halted almost immediately after that response, and he'd been very somber as he'd inspected the damage. While he'd assured Piccolo that it wasn't bad, hours were a long time to fix something he claimed was minor.
In truth, he wasn't sure what to make of the boy, and while he by no means considered himself knowing of others, the cold voice that had spoken to him as Quatre'd replaced his drawn blades told him he'd glimpsed a different side of the quiet Earthling. But it had been gone so quickly he couldn't be sure. Still, the boy had been quiet and withdrawn in the three weeks since they'd entered the chamber; he'd noticed the change and he didn't like it.
* * *
---_---_---
//"You'll die...Heero. I don't want to destroy people who are my allies..."// He wasn't listening to him, he didn't care to heed his warning, and his own resolve strengthened as the red suit threatened him yet again. Wing Zero pulsed around him, and he followed the Gundam pilot with a cold efficiency, his grip on the beam cannon steady.
//"...do it....I have no intention of chatting with an enemy."//
The Japanese boy's voice reached him through the darkness of space and his expression grew calm. The suit was damaged beyond defense, and he lined the cannon up. //"Very well then. Good-bye...Heero."//
A beam of light, bright golden and steady, thick enough to swallow the suit that was unable to dodge, the colony behind it defenseless, cut through the blackness, its course straight. Fire from boosters sent the blue suit on an intercept course, half of the suit a molten pile of metal, the cockpit breached leaving a thin space suit separating the pilot from the airless vacuum. The beam, steady and uncaring, struck the blue suit, consuming it, the red one shielded as the flow of power to the cannon was cut off, a sharp cry echoing pain.
//"Trowa?!"// His mind was frozen, horror ripping him to shreds then time spiraled and he was inside the colony, the blast from Heero's suit having shoved him against the wall. He couldn't see but he heard, that soft voice speaking to him, his last words for him, his life for him and his own scream echoed in his ears. //"Trowa's gonna die!"//
//"...and you're the one who killed him...Quatre. You've gone insane. Omae o korosu."//
The boy dying, that voice no longer reached him and his guard dropped. His plea for death so the other might be saved fell on deaf ears and the explosion reached him even within the walls of the colony, echoing inside his soul.
//"...Trowa's death was just a waste..."//
---_---_---
Quatre sat up suddenly, his pale eyes wide in the dim room. His heart was pounding, and he leaned forward, gasping as he blinked back the tears that filled his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, calming himself slowly as he drew his knees to his chest. "Always..." Shaken, he didn't feel the presence at first, then he flinched, his head turning sharply and he gazed at the figure who stood in the doorway. "Piccolo..." With a slow sigh, he brushed the back of his hand over his damp eyes, sliding his legs off the edge of the bed so he was facing the man. "Did I wake you?" At Piccolo's slow nod, his lips twitched, and he looked down for a moment in embarrassment, then shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"You've done this every night. Do you always have the same nightmare? Or is it the time chamber?" Piccolo's eyes narrowed as Quatre stood, and he stared at the dampness still visible on those pale cheeks.
"Yes." His voice was quiet, and Quatre crossed the room, dropping his eyes as he passed the tall man. "Every night. But it's not the time chamber, it's me." He didn't have to glance back to know he was being followed, and he stepped into the kitchen, grateful that he didn't have to stay in his bed. He'd done so before, not wanting to wake Piccolo, but obviously his efforts had been for naught.
* * *
The pilot turned sharply, looking over his shoulder at Trowa, but the boy handed the mug to him silently, not inviting the question that went along with Heero's upraised eyebrow. Sinking into the seat beside the Japanese pilot, he took a long drink from his own cup, his thoughts consuming. Mere hours had passed since he'd lost touch with the blonde boy who, for such a long time, had occupied a place inside him, but he wondered where he was, what had happened. As he'd told Heero, he fully believed he would know if Quatre had come to harm, but believing wasn't the same as knowing and doubts were making their way in.
He couldn't feel him, and it was as if he had slipped away, hidden somewhere. Rather than having lost him to death, he felt that they were cut off, out of reach so even that odd bond they seemed to share, that link which he often used to keep himself whole, was broken. Ripped, shredded so completely, the severed tie was painful, torn with a jagged scar in place of something more precious than an amputated limb.
The stars blinked, not bright as they were from the earth, but dull and his eyes gazed at them, not really looking. He wondered what they would be doing at that moment if the accident hadn't occurred, if they'd met in space as planned and were now together, the four of them on their way to meet with the fifth Gundam pilot; a team united. But he didn't have to wonder as he knew, they'd be sharing a strong cup of tea or coffee, something with the power to soothe Quatre's nerves after his nightly dreams that even now, he refused to share with him. Despite the warmth of the liquid he swallowed, a coldness was creeping in and his eyes burned, the blackness of space seeming to have a tinge of white aura, blurring the edges of his vision.
* * *
"Before we went back to space, I self destructed my Gundam. I had to do it, Duo and Wufei, another of us pilots, they were going to be shot down the moment they took off. So I did the only thing I could to destroy the mobile suits standing against me, I self-detonated. But Sandrock, he saved me, waited until I was safely away before destructing on his own."
The boy's voice was soft, devoid of any emotion and Piccolo remained silent, unwilling to interrupt. He was reminded of how the suit had moved when Quatre'd fallen out upon their arrival, and he nodded slowly. The blonde was looking at him, then he took another drink from the cup in front of him and sighed.
"I was still injured, the fight took more than I had, I lost consciousness. But I made it to space and I went home, one of my sisters found me and brought me to our colony. I'd never met her, that I remember, but she knew me and she took me home. I needed to build a new Gundam, to continue my part of the war." The Namek nodded again, and he curled his fingers around the warm mug. "My father was the head of the colony, he was the one who funded it in the beginning, his work made him the force of the colony, the life of it. But OZ turned the people against him and they threw him down, they thought he'd taken control of them, they didn't know it was OZ that had played with their minds. Their plan was to use the resource satellites to manufacture weapons to protect the colony, but they were really for OZ, they just didn't know it. Father knew, he took one of the satellites and they killed him. My sister too, though she died protecting me. I got too close to the satellite before they killed him."
It was delivered in such a smooth voice that a moment passed before he realized what the boy had said and Piccolo's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "The colony killed them? The people did?"
"Yes. And I went on and built my Gundam, the Wing Zero. It was more powerful than any other Gundam, and I was insane. There was no need for such power, but I did it. I used the suit to destroy a satellite...and a colony." Quatre blinked suddenly, his voice breaking a bit. He'd thought he was beyond it, but his guilt rushed up, clamoring for attention. "But I warned them first. I didn't kill the colonists. I did destroy the colony, though."
"You should have killed the colonists who betrayed your family."
His surprise was evident and he blinked at Piccolo, taking in the man's glare and the fact that Piccolo's anger was on his behalf. He was torn by a need to deny it, but he couldn't. "I still hate them," he whispered, his eyes burning. "I shouldn't. They were tricked, controlled by someone wiser than them and they were foolish. But not evil. They didn't know what they were doing, the mistake they were making." Reminded of his own mistake, he looked up, holding Piccolo's eyes. "Trowa was inside OZ, he was hiding there, acting as one of their soldiers in able to get to the one in charge." He blinked when the man repeated the name, then he continued.
"Heero was there too, he was captured trying to destroy some suits OZ had made. They sent both of them after me, after the new Gundam that claimed it would destroy a colony. They went to protect the colony from *me*. That's what Gundam pilots are supposed to do. And I tried to kill Heero. I almost killed Trowa. He had amnesia for a long, long time."
The boy was silent, and Piccolo watched him, eyes narrowed. Quatre had dropped his gaze, and he frowned. "Why did you do it? You said you went insane?"
"The Zero, the Gundam I built, it manipulates the brain of its pilot. I was convinced that anyone who had weapons in space was an enemy, including the colonies that had started to arm themselves *and* my fellow pilots who were in armed suits. But that's not the real reason. My mind was broken. I have no one to blame but myself...I couldn't handle the death of my father...and my sister."
"Then your dreams are about what you did to Trowa."
The throaty voice was low, but Quatre didn't blink, his eyes sad. "Yes. He let himself be hit, he got in front of a blow that was aimed for Heero and his suit blew up. Trowa sacrificed himself for me, to bring me back, to save my soul. Because I was too weak to handle the pain and the suit."
"But he didn't die," Piccolo said sharply, eyes still narrowed. "You didn't kill him."
"No. But I thought I had, for months I thought he was dead. My space heart made it worse since we've been connected since we first met. And then, when I found him again he didn't know who I was. It's so hard now, being broken from him, that connection." Dropping his eyes, he sighed and leaned his chin on his folded hands, looking up at Piccolo who sat across the small table from him. "Have you ever felt that way? As if you were connected to someone so deep they're almost a part of you?" The man laughed suddenly, and Quatre blinked, confused and almost a bit hurt as he wondered if he was being mocked. He didn't see Piccolo as the type to do that, but the man's laughter was real.
"Actually, I understand completely. You see, I am not just myself. I merged recently with someone, Kami. A long time ago, Kami separated the evil from himself and that was my origin. It was only with the appearance of Cell that we merged once more to become one and stronger than either of us was alone. I hate him. But our joining has made me complete in a way I've never known and I cannot imagine being separated again, even if it were possible."
"He separated the evil? But you're not..."
"That was in the past," Piccolo said sharply.
He wasn't going to pry, as the man was obviously ill at ease with the subject. "We've both made our mistakes. At least you aren't haunted by yours." They sat in companionable silence for a while, then Quatre stood, crossing the kitchen and pouring himself another cup of tea. It was as he turned back to the table that he remembered his manners, and he managed a small smile when Piccolo looked up. "I'm sorry. Would you like some tea?" The man's eyes seemed to spark, and he shook his head. "Oh. I've noticed that you don't eat, and you don't drink either?"
"Water occasionally," Piccolo said, taking in the boy's surprised gaze. He looked at the blonde boy for a minute, those wide eyes on him, then he leaned across the table and took the small cup. Bringing it to his lips, he let some fall onto his tongue and grimaced as he swallowed, raising an eyebrow ridge. "It doesn't taste like much. You drink this by choice?"
Quatre smiled, taking the cup back, and he stood again. It took little time to cross the room, and he added some honey to the tea, stirring thoroughly before handing it back to the Namek. "Try that."
After taking a sip, Piccolo made another face. "I don't know which is worse."
"You've *never* had tea before?" He couldn't imagine, and he knew that the fighters drank it, at least Krillin had once, and Chee-chee.
"No," Piccolo said, glaring at the dark liquid as he tried another drink with the same result. "I don't need food to sustain me. Just water."
"Well, there isn't much in tea to sustain anyone. Except for the caffeine, it's flavored water. Then you don't eat because you don't need it? Can you eat?" Quatre knew he probably shouldn't ask, but he was curious about the man, and he leaned forward, eager for the answer.
"I can eat, but there isn't a point if it's unnecessary." He blinked when the blonde boy smiled suddenly, and he was surprised as Quatre seemed happier than he'd been since before they'd begun the training.
Sitting down, Quatre sighed. "Duo would argue with you that there's pleasure in food, beyond the necessity of eating."
He thought about it for a second, then Piccolo smirked as he knew that Goku and Gohan would no doubt agree with that. They definitely enjoyed eating.
* * *
"I'm okay, really." Quatre winced when the man glared down at him, and he was glad to be deposited in a chair at the kitchen table. Warm wetness trailed down his cheek, but he was certain the cut wasn't that deep. He'd struck his forehead on a panel during the training, and the Namek had called an end to the session as soon as he'd mentioned his injury. The man seemed to be overreacting to the minor wound in a way he'd never expected.
"This was a bad idea," Piccolo growled, snatching a rag off the rack over the sink. His long strides brought him to the boy in seconds, and his teeth gnashed at the bright red blood that practically covered half of Quatre's face. He'd had no idea the boy was so susceptible to injury, and from what he could see the cut wasn't even that long. As far as he could recall, he'd never seen such a small wound bleed so much; the fighters shook such things off as mere pricks.
Quatre's breath hissed between his teeth as the angry man pressed the cloth to his head, and his hand pushed him away, the pressure hurting more than the cut. Holding it himself, he tilted his head, looking up at Piccolo. "It was a *good* idea, in theory. If you want to test your growing strength, you need a constant. Goku must have found that out when he trained with Gohan as they were both increasing. He didn't have a steady strength to compare himself to." Licking his lips, he gagged suddenly, the coppery taste making him grimace as blood had trickled to the corner of his mouth. Still holding the rag, he pushed his chair back and crossed the room, taking another towel from over the sink. He wet it, wiping his mouth quickly, then turned to go into the bathroom only to find his way blocked and he blinked in surprise.
"Where are you going?" The injury had served to remind him how frail the boy was, and he fully expected him to collapse at any moment. He was surprised that he was even able to walk and he knew the boy weighed less than Gohan despite the difference in height. It wasn't right to expect such weakness, but the blood caught him in an odd way, and he couldn't help his reasoning. The blonde boy seemed even paler with the dark stain on his cheek.
"I need to use the mirror in the bathroom," Quatre said, his eyes wide. "I don't think it's deep, but I need to clean it before I wrap it to prevent infection." Piccolo was looking at him, expression dark, and he smiled a little as he suddenly found an urge to laugh. "Piccolo, this isn't the first time I've gotten a knock in Sandrock. I do know how to take care of myself." The tall man didn't even blink, and his own eyes widened a bit more, warmth moving through him as he realized it was concern that angered the man; concern for him. "Come with me, I'll show you. I'm sure it's just a small cut."
He didn't smile as Piccolo moved to the side, but it was a close thing and the man followed him to the bathroom. "You know, head wounds tend to bleed more than other cuts so long as an artery hasn't been clipped." Having reached the bathroom, he wet the rag again, washing his face before removing the dry one. He smiled a little, seeing how small the cut was, no more than an inch and a half. It was near his hairline, and he held his damp bangs back, cleaning it thoroughly before glancing at the reflection in the mirror. "See how small it is? But it bleeds more because it's a head wound. Don't people on this planet bleed?"
Nodding, Piccolo's eyes narrowed as he saw that the cut was in fact tiny in comparison to the battle wounds he was acquainted with. "Yes, but not that much."
Quatre shook his head, blotting the cut carefully, his eyes still on the man visible over his shoulder. "It would be interesting to study the 'humans' here, determine the true differences."
"We should go out," Piccolo said, his eyes dropping to the red-stained cloth the boy had dropped in the sink. "You should."
"Why?" His voice rose, but he couldn't help it. He had pride, and it was insulting that the man had so little faith in him. "Because I got a rough knock? Your attack was stronger than any you've used so far. That's a sign that this is obviously doing good. Besides, it's only been two months. If Sandrock can take it, then I can too."
Piccolo blinked, but the boy's evident fury hadn't been expected, and he stared at those narrow eyes. They sparked at him. His lips curved into a smirk, and he wanted to laugh at how determined the blonde looked, as if he was determined to put up a fight if Piccolo were to try and send him out of the time chamber. The idea was so ludicrous, he could feel his anger being replaced by something else and he stared at the cut as Quatre's arm had fallen away. The bleeding had stopped and he took in the boy's stubborn expression one more time before turning and leaving the room, his smirk becoming a smile as soon as his back was to Quatre.
* * *
Piccolo stood, not far from the pillars that held the roof of the building, and his back was to Quatre. The man had been out there for at least an hour as Quatre well knew since he'd woken about an hour ago to find him standing there, silent. The Namek's hands were curled into fists, and he looked at them, his eyes traveling over the man's back. He didn't sense anger from him, despite how tense he looked and Quatre drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he watched.
Lowering his chin, he propped it on his crossed wrists, a quiet sigh passing his lips as he closed his eyes. His heart was heavy with a deep sadness borne from the feeling that was building up in him. It was a feeling he was well acquainted with, and his arms tightened as he reminded himself that now wasn't the time to be consumed with it. But he knew he couldn't help it, he'd tried before and nothing helped, not really. At best, he could push it aside for a while but it always came back; not really gone just detoured for brief periods.
A slightly heavy weight dropped on his shoulder, and Quatre flinched, not looking up as there was only one person it could be. He didn't move for a moment, then he turned his head, looking at the green hand that rested on his shoulder and he studied the joints of the man's fingers, the thick, pointed nails. The hand moved, lifting, and he followed it, turning his head as his eyes flicked upward to meet Piccolo's gaze and he turned away sharply. Closing his eyes in pain and self-condemnation, he buried his head against his knees, arms holding his legs tight to his chest.
Piccolo stared down at the boy, his expression thoughtful and he touched a hand to Quatre's hair, rubbing a few silken strands between his fingers. The intense look he'd received made him wonder. "Quatre."
Quatre leaned forward suddenly, kneeling briefly as he climbed to his feet. Glancing back at the tall man, he flushed and dropped his gaze, his head lowering. "I'm going for a walk," he said quietly. He turned away and walked forward into the seemingly endless whiteness.
His eyes narrowed as he watched the boy's tan vest disappear, and Piccolo's hands curled again. Quatre was so quiet, gentle and young and it was obvious to him how confused the boy was, his actions spoke more words than he needed to hear. Gritting his teeth, he moved suddenly, his mind made up. He could have let it pass, but he could see that it was eating the boy up, and he himself wanted it out in the open, one way or the other. This hadn't been the first time he'd caught Quatre watching him, that light pink flush to his pale cheeks, the way he lowered his eyes so quickly when Piccolo looked at him. He was open and honest about everything else, and the Namek simply didn't know why he had so much trouble with his feelings.
He spotted the boy long before he could have been seen, even if Quatre had been looking, as his own eyesight was much better. As it was, those pale blue-green eyes were closed and Piccolo could almost see the emotion he was feeling, a dark, smoky blue light surrounding his slender frame. The boy was sitting with his legs crossed, his arms down on either leg, hands lying palm up on his knees and his fingers were curled naturally. His head was bowed so his thick pale blonde hair fell down into his eyes, but Piccolo could see that they were closed, dark lashes standing out against the boy's pale cheeks. His white shirt and vest were folded neatly beside him, his tan shoes set near them and Piccolo wondered what he could be doing. Then his eyes touched the boy's pale chest and he marveled at how slender he was before his gaze stopped on Quatre's right arm as he traced the long scar that ran up it.
Starting at the boy's wrist, it stretched in a nearly straight line to his elbow. Piccolo's eyes snapped to the other arm, and he picked out a similar scar, this one also starting at the wrist but only going two inches at most. They were old, faded, but he knew what they signified and the thought angered him enough so that he came forward silently, his eyes narrowed to slits.
Quatre gasped when his wrists were grasped suddenly, and his heart pounded fiercely for a second till he realized it was Piccolo. Then he saw that the man was glaring at his scars and his face went blank as he too looked at them. "I was eleven when I did that." His voice was soft, emotionless and flat and his body seemed void of feeling, his eyes tracing his right arm. "I didn't want to live. I didn't see myself as having any worth and my father didn't care, not about me or anything to do with me. I thought he could always get another son, he didn't need me." Blinking slowly, his lips curved into a small, cheerless smile and he looked up at Piccolo, not bothered by the man's intense gaze. "I was so stupid. Just another lonely kid who didn't understand anything. I didn't know there were *ways* to make a difference, even if no one knows or notices."
The man didn't hold him when he pulled his hands away, and Quatre grabbed his shirt, sliding his arms into it. "Why did you come out here?" he asked, buttoning his cuffs slowly, not looking up.
"We need to talk."
Quatre frowned, realizing he'd missed a button, and he undid his shirt again, starting over from the bottom up. "Okay, but you could have waited until I got back."
"What were you doing?" Piccolo asked, his eyes watching the boy's pale hands.
"Meditating," he murmured, and he sighed. "And thinking, accepting myself and the way things are." He froze as a green hand entered his line of vision, then a finger brushed his chest and open collar making him shiver and look up with wide and guilty eyes.
"Is that how they do it on your planet?" Piccolo asked, his voice low. "Looking, wanting and never saying anything..." The boy's eyes were so wide and Quatre shook his head quickly. "I understand." Crouching down, he took the boy's wrist where it hovered over his chest and he pushed it aside gently, leaning close so his lips brushed the exposed skin lightly.
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