Goku lay awake, staring at the ceiling of the new, quiet house that had been his home for less than a week. It was dark; the curtains had been pulled, the lights snuffed. His weary eyes could not distinguish outlines – all he could see was layer upon layer of black, muted shapes – it reminded him, quite disconcertingly, of a certain pair of eyes.

He had come home in hopes of getting some rest now that he was assured that Piccolo wouldn't die any time soon. He'd been unfathomably relieved when the demon's fever finally broke – the previous two days had been the most wearing experience in his short life. He had not realized how wearing, in fact, until he had cleaned out the refrigerator and taken a long bath.

It was good, he decided, to get back to normalcy. Good to be able to forget about what had been going on lately. Good to take a step back from the strange urgency he felt where Piccolo was concerned…this weird feeling that he owed it to his rival to help him, for whatever weird reason.

And now, Goku could finally recover – if only he could sleep.

His sudden insomnia wasn't from lack of exhaustion – his whole body cried out for rest. His head felt entirely too heavy for his neck to support, and his legs ached from crouching so long in that cave. Even his eyelids felt weighted – they drooped over his eyes like lead curtains. The problem, of course, was his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to stop his inner wheels from turning…and they always seemed to be revolving around a certain demon.

With a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his feet, Son turned onto his side. Chichi was sleeping beside him – he could barely make her out, but all the same, he knew she was there. It was oddly reassuring: knowing that she was with him, hearing her breathe, feeling the weight of her body on the mattress next to him. He felt a slight smile pulling at his lips, wondered briefly if his presence affect her the same way. He didn't think to ask – that wasn't the sort of thing he could put into words.

But even that warm, comforting feeling – whatever it was – wasn't enough to draw the back of his mind out of a cave somewhere in the desert.

His brow creasing like folded paper, Son flopped back onto his back. What've I gotten myself into this time? He wondered, putting a hand over his eyes.

Admittedly, he hadn't known what to expect when he started tending to his mortal enemy; in truth, he hadn't really thought much beyond keeping the demon alive. Actually dealing with Piccolo – that, he hadn't anticipated. And gods, it wasn't easy.

"I didn't think it would take so long," he whispered – he didn't want to wake Chichi up, but he'd always thought better aloud. It made his thoughts seem much closer, instead of loose and unconnected like they were in his mind. Whenever he thought entirely in his head, the things he was trying to grasp floated around like balloons – he needed words to hold them down. "I mean, lots of us started out as enemies: Yamcha, Krillen, Tien…but they all came around pretty fast. It was always just a misunderstanding, and as soon as we got that cleared up…"

Son sighed again, putting both hands behind his head. Sleeping would be impossible as long as these lose thoughts were rattling popcorn-style in his brain – so, with his usual fortitude, he set to sorting them out. "Except…it's not the same, with him and me. There isn't anything not to understand – everything's pretty cut and dried. Yeah, I killed his father…but his father was trying to kill me. And judging from how he acted around Cymbal, he probably wouldn't care anyway."

"Hey, come to think of it…that's pretty strange. He hates his whole family, but he gets really mad at me because I killed one of them. That doesn't make sense. If he was Daimao again, it'd be a different story…but he isn't."

Goku's eyes narrowed uncharacteristically. "Man, I just don't get this. He knows I don't want to hurt him, doesn't he?"

Maybe not. The man found himself reviewing the past two days, seeking something that would cast a bit more light on the emotional knot he was trying to untangle. He thought back to yesterday, when he'd been speaking to the demon about the very subject of hurting…

_____________________________________________________________________________________

"Mind if I change the dressing on your shoulder?" Son asked, as much to shatter the stifling silence that weighed between them as to get permission.

Piccolo snorted and looked away. "Do what you want," he snapped, his tone as bitter as strong tea. "I can't stop you."

Not exactly the response that Son had been hoping for, but it was a start. He set about unwrapping the binding slowly, carefully…he was well aware of how much it must hurt…

And doubly so when he saw the wound. Unlike the others, this one was not much improved…

"Stay here. I'll be right back, okay?"

A wry chuckle from Piccolo was his only answer.

Fortunately or unfortunately, he found the plant he was looking for growing in a little clump right outside the cave door. The large, arrow-shaped leaves waved at him as if to catch his attention – he could not very well have missed them.

"Hello," he said softly. "I didn't think you grew out here." He glanced around at the sand, squinting against the sun, which set the dunes to weaving like fields of wheat. " 'Course, I don't know how much of anything can grow out here."

Carefully, he plucked a leaf or two, wrinkling his nose against the acrid smell, which was sharp enough to burn in his nostrils. "Okay…here goes nothing," he muttered. And then he trudged back into the cave like a man about to face a firing squad.

Piccolo had not moved, although he did turn to look. His expression was blank; Son could read nothing at all from it. He experienced a wave of frustration. True, the demon's earlier show of emotion had been disturbing, but at least it had offered some sort of window, some way to see what he was thinking, what he needed. This strange calm that Piccolo had adopted in the moments since, though…it was far more disturbing. Unnatural, even.

Son sat and began dragging a bit of wood across the first leaf, drawing out the pulp. He did not look up from his work – he was fairly sure that Piccolo was watching him, and if he looked up, his rival would look away.

Then, he realized that he was finished – there was a thin, oozy layer of clear muck on top of the leaf. Great. Here comes the hard part…

"Um," Son began, not really sure how to start, still keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the leaf. "This is gonna hurt. A lot."

He heard Piccolo snort. "I hope you didn't expect me to be surprised."

Son closed his eyes, counted to ten. "It's not like I want to hurt you, you know."

A low, sarcastic chuckle. "No, of course not."

"Fine, whatever…just…hold still a minute, alright?"

"Naw. I think I feel like hopping up and running the 50 K…"

Goku was never quite sure later whether his exhaustion or Piccolo's calculated sarcasm had been responsible, but just then he experienced a brief but gratifying vision of cramming the leaf down his rival's throat. Hurriedly, he squashed it under a mental boot – gods, what was the matter with him? "Ya know, if you wouldn't doubt every single thing I do, this'd be a lot easier for both of us."

"And since when do I try to make life easier for you?"

:Okay, Goku. Stay calm. He's just trying to get you to lose your temper, that's all…: "There's a first time for everything," he said with a shrug. And then, before his unwilling patient could think of a rejoinder, he pressed the leaf against the shoulder wound.

Immediately, he heard a sharp hiss from Piccolo. The demon did not cry out, but his eyes had closed, and his muscles had snapped so tight that Goku figured he could probably have bounced a brick off of them. Much to his relief, his rival's obvious pain didn't cause him any satisfaction. "Hai, I know…it'll be over soon," he said, rocking back. "That's the good thing about it. It doesn't hurt long."

If looks could kill, Son decided, he would be a little ash pile on the floor with a crown of singed hair.

Son Goku sighed yet again – all this thinking wasn't helping. He was more confused than ever, and still no closer to getting any sleep. With a weariness as foreign to him as a goofy grin would have been to Piccolo, he swung his legs over so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, grateful that his wife was a heavy sleeper.

He had to face it. He was at the end of his rope – and that rope had become so frayed and strained that it seemed more like a bit of fishing line to him than rope at all.

And he had no idea what to do about it. He continued to sit, the very picture of frustrated despondence. That picture was painted in a variety of media: his drooping hair, his lowered head, his tightened jaw. "What am I doing wrong?" he muttered, putting a hand to his temple.

His only answer was a crack of light from through the window, sticking long fingers into his tired eyes…the sun was rising. Goku turned around slowly, staring at the intrusion of light into the dark room, a faint, ironic smile on his face. "Heh. Guess I just wasn't meant to sleep tonight, either."

He stood, stretched, and tiptoed out of the room, his tail weaving cautiously behind him. Once he reached the hallway, he resumed his normal, rocking stride – although he rubbed absently at his eyes with his sleeve once or twice. Finally, he made it outside.

Goku spent a moment just staring. It was driven home to him again what a beautiful place the world was. The sky stretched above him like a seamless pane of blue glass; the grass shivered with dew. Somewhere, a bird trilled experimentally.

"Hey, Goku!"

Son knew that voice. With a grin, he looked up at his best friend of half a lifetime: Krillen. "Hey. What're you doing all the way out here?" he asked of the former monk, who was still hovering a few feet in the air, orange standing out like a second sun against the sky.

"I need a sparring partner, bud. And lucky you, you're elected!"

Goku laughed. Krillen had changed in a lot of ways – but his weird sense of humor wasn't one of them. "Sorry, Krillen. I don't know if I can come today. We'll set something up soon, okay?"

Krillen nodded, shooting him a conspirital look. "The wife, right?" he asked, continuing before Goku had time to reply. "Well look, why didn't you say so? Next time you can sneak out, come on over to the Kame house and we'll spar then."

Goku blinked. As usual, he was a bit taken aback by how fast the conversation was moving. But then, he'd always had a hard time following his fast-talking friend's line of thought. "Um, sure. I'll do that."

"Great. Hey, you haven't seen any of those demons lately, have you? I haven't seen a single one since the tournament – guess they're laying low. Don't blame 'em after the beating you gave 'em. I guess that other one – wassisname, Piccolo? – musta died. I get the feeling he would've come after you by now if he was still alive."

For once, Goku was glad that Krillen talked so fast. It meant he didn't have to answer very many questions.

"Man," he continued, "I know how you feel about killing people and that kinda stuff, but I'm pretty glad we don't have to worry about that one anymore." Here, Krillen's face grew clouded; Son guessed that the monk was remembering his brief fight with Piccolo in the qualifiers…a very brief fight that the diminutive warrior had needed two full senzous to recover from.

"Heh," Goku replied, putting one hand behind his head. "Maybe you're right, but…"

Krillen actually snorted. "But nothing, Goku. That guy was dangerous. Worse than the others. At least with them, you know what they're thinking. 'Cept for that snaky one, but he doesn't fight. Or if he has, I've never seen him."

At this, Goku's brow drew into a wavy, worried line, but he said nothing.

"Anybody who can get an arm blown off and just laugh about it has something wrong with him, though. Even you've gotta admit that."

Goku nodded once. Sure, he'd agree. There was something wrong with Piccolo…something really wrong. But whatever it was could be fixed, right? If he just had a chance, he'd change, wouldn't he? Wouldn't anybody? Why would anyone be evil if he knew better? He could bring Piccolo around, he was sure of it.

Wasn't he?

"Anyway, it's been great talking to ya, Goku. Don't stay away too long, okay?"

Goku grinned. "Sure thing, Krillen. See ya soon."

As he watched the little warrior disappear into the layers of blue and white that made up the sky, he felt his heart double in weight. Krillen was so confident that he knew…what if he was right? Goku bit his lip. How could he know that he was doing the right thing, helping a self-proclaimed demon to live? Would he know whether or not he was sentencing thousands more people to death before the rightness of his decision was put to the test? Or only after he counted the headstones?

:Stop it,: he told himself firmly. :If it was you in that cave, wouldn't you want another chance?:

Speaking of caves, he had left Piccolo out there all night. Checking on him might be a very good idea. He started to leave, but paused with one foot still in the air. He was forgetting something. Something very important. With a quick spin, he re-entered the kitchen and scrawled a quick message on a napkin.

Chichi,

Gone to spar. Be back soon.

Goku

And he was off.

He paused for a minute to collect himself before going through the rocky opening. He was putting on his emotional band-aides, getting ready to put up with insult after insult. It wasn't easy, he decided, being the good guy.

He strode in purposefully, his tail curled loosely around his waist. The darkness was dazzling after the brightness of sun on stand – he spent a moment blinking, waiting for his eyes to…

A hand clamped down on his tail. Hard. Before that realization could make its way through the fog of agony that had descended on his brain, he felt his knees give out, felt a brief cry exit his throat, and then he was being restrained from behind by a forearm across his throat. He could feel that he was being held against someone – someone much larger than he was – oh, great.

"Good morning," A low voice rumbled with mock-politeness. The arm around his throat tightened ever so slightly. Not enough to cut off his air completely, but enough to make the threat of that apparent.

The human swallowed nervously. On the bright side, the voice belonged to Piccolo, not one of the others. Or was that such a good thing after all? "Um, hi. I guess you're feeling better," he said, hoping to buy a little time.

A brief, dry chuckle. "Better than you're going to be." The demon's grip on his tail loosened enough that he could almost see straight. Then, quietly, "I'd wondered if there was a reason you always keep this so close to you."

"Ya know something, Piccolo…I get the feeling you're still mad about that leaf thing," Goku managed to choke out. He wasn't sure if he felt more like smacking himself for being such an idiot as to get into this situation, or more like laughing at how quickly their positions had turned upside down and inside out.

Piccolo growled. It was a truly disconcerting sound this close – like a small earthquake behind him. "I've had enough of your talk, human. More than enough."

Goku's mind was thrashing around like a cat in a well, searching for some way, any way, out of this mess. Long as Piccolo had his tail, he wasn't going anywhere… "Okay, fine. But I really wish you'd take a minute to think about this."

He could very clearly hear the sneer in the demon's voice. "There's nothing to think about."

"Sure there is," Goku continued. Keep him talking, just keep him talking…

This time, the demon's voice was faintly tinged with amusement. "Like whether I want to put this blast through your empty head or through your heart?"

"Like that you don't really want to kill me at all." Son closed his eyes and prayed. Prayed that one of these shots in the dark would strike home.

Piccolo's next words were low – almost a purr. "Oh, but I do."

"I don't think so. Otherwise, you wouldn't be wasting all this time talking to me."

Oh, that one hit. That one hit hard. And so did Piccolo. The next thing Son knew, he was slammed face-first against a wall. His head struck painfully, and immediately his vision began swimming with forlorn little dots of color. Instinctively, he spun to face his attacker, still pressed against the stone. He could feel that hand tighten on his tail, feel it all the way through his spine like a wave of electricity, a relay of needles. He was forced to grip the wall with his hands to stay upright. :Man, I really blew it that time. I pissed him off. Great job, Goku…:

When his vision cleared a bit, he could see his nemesis glaring down at him, less than an arm's length away. Or rather, he could see his eyes. Clashes of white with stormy, churning centers. "You're right," he hissed. "I am wasting time."

In the hand that wasn't crunching his tail, Piccolo began to form a small, golden ball of energy. Now Son could see. He could see a face amazingly like that of Daimao, highlighted in gold and black. He could see snarl lines plainly on a sharply-cut nose. He could see a tight, wicked smirk curling the lips.

He could see his death looming over him, calm and assured. Unremorseful.

Goku closed his eyes, deciding it would be best if he didn't see the blast hit.

Piccolo could feel the heat in his hand. Burning. Becoming painful in its eagerness to be released.

He was eager to release it as well – and put this whole, miserable episode of his life as far behind him as possible. Tear it from his mind and stuff it in some cobwebby corner of his memory, hopefully never to be seen again.

Then why was he hesitating? What was he waiting for? Certainly not for his rival to beg for mercy, because he knew already that would never happen. He found himself inspecting his enemy for any outward sign of fear…he saw none. He had seen none. Just a bit of surprise, and now resignation.

No, that wasn't quite true. When he'd slammed the man into the wall, he'd thought he could see a flash of betrayal…

Why did that effect him so strangely?

No matter. He'd bury the effect with the one who had caused it.

His hand twitched, and he let the blast go.

There was heat beside him. Incredible heat. And pieces of rock struck his flesh like super-mosquitoes, making him flinch. But somehow or other, Goku didn't feel dead…

Goku opened his eyes, regarding the massive, cauterized crater in the wall by his head with due amazement. The blast hadn't hit him. Piccolo had missed by a full handspan.

Wait, he'd…missed? Piccolo? Piccolo couldn't have missed from 200 meters away, much less two feet…

Goku turned his head back toward his captor, and for just one moment, he met a pair of eyes that seemed just as confused as he was. Then he saw those eyes narrow, felt a jolt through his tail like nothing he'd ever experienced before. All the air left his lungs in a scream, and he fell to his knees, trembling still from the aftershocks that seemed to be tying his spine in knots. This was it. This was the end. Piccolo might have missed once – the gods alone knew why – but Son knew that it wouldn't happen again.

But the blast didn't come. Son looked up…then stared around himself in disbelief. He was alone.

"What just…" he began, scrabbling to his feet haltingly like a very old man. He curled his tail tenderly around his waist, noted that nothing was broken…

The full realization hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks. The demon had let him go.

The human's initial reaction was to run outside and look to see where he'd gone. He managed a grand total of two steps before he had to slump against a wall, panting. He'd forgotten how much it hurt to have his tail so mistreated. It felt like he'd just had someone stomp on the small of his back; his legs didn't seem to want to work just yet.

But he was alive. And not even seriously hurt.

Son felt a small smile labor through his pained expression to settle on his lips. "Heh. Be seeing you soon, Piccolo."

The demon leaned back against a rock, closing his eyes to the glaring sun, feeling it beat down on his face. His physical wounds – those didn't bother him so much anymore. The real pain, the pain that had caused him to stop walking and give in to this moment of uncharacteristic weakness, came from inside.

His hands rose slowly, settling palm-up at his midsection as though he were holding something flat across them. He stared down at them as though they were completely to blame for whatever had happened.

"What did I do?" Piccolo hissed at those open, scarred palms. "And…and why did I do it?"

'It' had been the single most unnerving experience of his life. He'd had his archenemy's life in his hands, literally. And rather than crushing him like a gnat…he'd released his grip.

He hadn't intended to do it. He was sure he hadn't done it on purpose. He'd raised his hand with every intention of blowing that human's empty head right off his shoulders. Hadn't he? And then, for no apparent reason, his hand had moved a fraction of an inch. He'd felt it move, and he hadn't corrected it. Even though he knew full well that it was enough to angle the blast too far left…

Piccolo cursed, slamming one fist into the rock behind him. A spray of dust flashed into the air as a crack sprouted like miniature lightning , splitting the rock in two. :How disgustingly symbolic. Tambourine would love this…:

But he didn't love it in the least. It made him feel as if somewhere, some god was laughing at him. Not unlikely, considering what he'd just done…

: I let him live. I intentionally spared his life. And I have no idea why.:

Or did he? If he looked closely enough, perhaps he could figure it out. He bowed his head, forcing himself to take a good, hard look at things he would rather not have seen. Alright, so no one had ever given him the benefit of a doubt before. :Phe, fool, that's because you're a demon. You don't want anyone to doubt that…: So no one had ever…helped him…

He snarled out loud. : That's enough. I don't want to know why, alright? As far as I'm concerned, it never happened. And next time, I won't miss, I'll be sure of that.:

But there was something quite obvious that he could not forget – and he had the feeling that he never would. Son Goku had saved his life, and asked nothing in return.

That was something Piccolo would never forgive him for.