Son Goku wondered if he would ever be warm again.

It was cold in the lower hallways – cold in the same way that a tomb is cold, and each descending spiral of the staircase seemed to drop the air to a new degree of frigid. His lungs burned in the cold, his new bruises ached to the bones, and each step felt like it was turning his legs to ice, jarring them, breaking them like ice icicles flung down from a rooftop.

Only the adrenaline-flagged pumping of his heart kept him warm – and that only barely. He had to stop at the bottom of the staircase, half-doubled, steaming at the mouth like a chain smoker. His harsh pants echoed horribly in the long corridor, as the hallway seemed to rip each one violently from his lungs, leaving them tattered and aching. Tambourine would hear him coming. How could he not? The dead would be able to hear him.

The dead...

Son closed his eyes. He had only really seen this particular demon once...never well. And that had been a very, very long time ago.

He had been little more than a boy moving out of childhood...but not quite moved away from the notion that people were really good at heart, and that somehow, everything would come right, no matter what anybody did.

Just like the tournament, the yearly Budokai that had always ended so well, no matter how awfully it would begin. He remembered...whistling cheerfully as he walked down the hallway...nothing like this hallway. It was a big, open thing, styled of columns and paper walls, with windows every four strides. He could still recall the warm feeling on the left side of his face as sunset poured like honey through the open windows, lighting everything in dusky shades of orange and rose.

"Hey, Krillin!" He'd called ahead to the dressing room. His older friend had done very well, and he hadn't had a chance to congratulate him yet. He could feel himself grinning wider at how proud the other must be of himself; oh, he'd pretend it didn't matter, he'd wave it off, but Goku knew that the former monk was actually very nervous about his fighting abilities. His bravado masked a veritable sea of insecurity...but this tournament would have helped that.

"Krillen, are you there?" he'd called as he walked around the last corner.

What he saw next would stay with him for the rest of his life. He remembered thinking that a crow had gotten into the dressing room, because he could see a trace of fluttering black, just over a bench...

But then the crow had stood. It had unfolded gradually, like a fern frond, the once-kneeling figure gaining its feet as if in slow motion. It stepped back, leaving behind it on the floor, in a pool of sunset-light, a figure that looked like a broken china doll, eyes fixed and staring, a painted trail of red under the pale curve of his cheek.

"Krillin," he had hissed, feeling horror knot in his gut just behind the knot of his belt. Then, more loudly, "You KILLED him!"

The strange figure – such a tall, slim thing, jet black even in the fiery light from the window – turned its head. Its face was green, but not the green of grass or moss. It was the green of a dark pine forest, just before the shadows grow too deep to see the sky. And its eyes were crackling ice. "He was in the way," a remorseless voice answered.

Son closed his eyes, shaking his head. That was one person– perhaps THE one person – that he would feel no remorse for killing. Balling his half-numbed hands into fists, he continued down the hallway, eyes narrowed in a fierce mask of concentration...

He found the room easily. It was the only one that had light spilling from around the doorjamb. The only closed door. The Saiyajin took a deep breath, feeling again the icy air raking his insides, and kicked that door as hard as he physically could.

He had not expected it to give so easily.

The massive, oaken construct that had once been the door flew across the room without ever touching the ground, shattering like a sheet of glass into a thousand pieces to clatter discordantly to the floor...the fearful echo of the collision so powerful in the corridor that Son Goku flinched visibly. Oops...

Well – if Daimaou no Tanbarin had not heard that, then he was either deaf or somewhere very, very far away. Son decided to make the best of it, flipping through the door and landing in his deepest defensive posture, prepared for any one of a thousand confrontations.

What he saw instead was his enemy sitting at his desk, an elbow on the hard surface, his cheek resting in his palm, and his eyes fastened rather wryly on his guest. He did not look noticeably different from the last that Goku had seen of him...just a bit older, perhaps, but still wraith-thin...a bit of cloak spilling oil-slick around the desk. There was no emotion in his eyes – no fear, no anger – yet his mouth was pressed thin in a vague attitude of disapproval.

Goku had the brief but ridiculous impulse to go out and enter again, to give the other a chance to react a bit more appropriately...but decided that if the first entry hadn't gotten the other on his feet, then another was unlikely to. Instead, the warrior raised his fists a fraction of an inch and said in his most threatening voice, "Where is my..."

He was interrupted as the slender Namekseijin slammed his book shut with his free hand – the resonating THUD causing him to jump. "So tell me," Tambourine asked in a low, whispery voice that dripped irritation, "what is this fascination that you warriors have with breaking things?"

Goku blinked. "I..."

Tambourine stood slowly. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get contractors in a place like this?"

"What's a...I mean, well, no, but I'm here for my..."

By then, the namekseijin had stepped around the desk with slow, gliding strides to stand beside what was left of the door...nudging a splinter distastefully with a soft-soled boot. "And I suppose," he continued dryly, "that you would be some sort of expert on home-repair?"

Goku was remembering a time when Bulma had tried to explain something called insurance policies to him. This was that same feeling – that miserable sensation of being utterly lost in a conversation. "Well...no, I..."

"Of course not." Seeming more than a bit exasperated, the mage folded his hands carefully within his sleeves.

"Look, I just came for my son..." And with saying those words, a bit of Son Goku's righteous anger returned, his footing along with it. His voice gained strength as he continued. "Where is he? What did you do with him?"

The Namekseijin turned very, very slowly to face him, meeting his eyes. "In the next room – sleeping, if you haven't sent him through the roof with your...shall we say...less than subtle entry," he said coolly.

This was not what Son Goku had been expecting. Again, he felt that uncomfortable confusion, making him unsure, making his fists drop a bit. "If you've hurt him..."

He was brought up short when he saw a brief expression of hurt pass across the mage's face...stifled quickly, but he could not deny that he had seen it. Before he could regain his momentum enough to ask what had happened, the dark-clad figure turned away from him, the cape rustling softly on the stones like leaves in autumn. "He is unharmed. Take him, if that's what you came for," the other murmured stiffly, as if somehow offended.

Goku bit his lip. Half afraid that this was some sort of trick, he shifted nervously from one foot to the other...but Tambourine hadn't attacked him, and if his son was really alright... "But I thought..."

"Thought what, warrior – that I'd eaten him?"

"No, but...I mean, after what you did to Krillen..." there, he felt better, he knew exactly what had happened with Krillen... "after you killed him and...well what in Kami's name am I SUPPOSED to think?"

For this speech, he received a very incredulous look from the dark-clad namekseijin. The other turned...slowly, like the moon revolving...to face him. "It's like some sort of...fairy tale to you, isn't it," he murmured slowly, as if trying to grasp something. To this, Goku had no answer. He had never known a bad guy to speak this way before. There were no threats, no promises that he would be destroyed – in fact, this Namekseijin spoke more like Kami Sama than like any villain he'd ever met. It was painfully confusing – so he said nothing, and after a moment, Tambourine continued. "Tell me...why did I kill him?"

"Because you wanted to?" Goku ventured hesitantly after a few moments.

"Because I had no choice," the mage corrected, with just the faintest touch of bitterness.

"Don't even tell me he attacked you, Tambourine. That's a lie, and you know it – you came for the dragonball, just like everybody else, and he had it, so you killed him for it."

The mage's lips curled up slowly into a smirk that had nothing to do with humor – the sort that Goku often saw on Piccolo's face when he was in some kind of great pain. "Yes, Son Goku. I killed him for it. I am not proud of that."

"Then why would you..."

"While under orders, I did a number of things that I am not proud of."

Goku wished desperately that the other man would slow down a little. "Orders?" he managed, hating the way that he sounded utterly baffled...

"My father. Surely you knew him," the other continued, irony heavy in his voice.

"But if it bothered you, why would you..."

"Look at me," the other replied coldly. "Look." He spread his hands slightly, inviting scrutiny. And Goku did look, though he wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for. The other seemed well enough, except of course for the way he was dressed, and that for as tall as he was, he really wasn't all that particularly big – actually, he was kind of thin and....oh.

Calmly and deliberately, the namekseijin continued, "He could have broken me over his knee if he had so wished...and we both know that, had I disobeyed him, nowhere on earth would have been distant enough to hide me from him. Yes, I killed your friend for the dragonball that he carried. My orders were to take it, and he interfered."

"But..." Goku struggled for a moment, finally coming up with, "to kill someone else, just so you can live...that's wrong anyway."

"Wrong?" Tambourine asked softly, raising an eyeridge at him as most people would raise an eyebrow. "This, warrior, is something that you would never understand. You, after all – have never been in a situation where you truly did not have a choice."

"So...if you had it to do over again, you wouldn't kill him?"

The slender namekseijin rolled his eyes. "If I had it to do over again, I would do precisely what I did."

"Then you're still..."

"You misunderstand." And then...there was something a little regretful in the other's voice. "You have not seen me in over ten years, have you?"

"Well, no."

"And in all that time...have you known me to kill anyone?"

"Well...." Son bit his lip again. "No."

"So there you are. Without my sire's influence, I have no reason to harm anyone."

"Then...why did you take my son?"

Tambourine's head tilted just slightly to one side...those lifeless, silver eyes arching just slightly. "Did you think that you were going to win?"

"Not the whole time, no..."

"Neither did I."

"So...you took him because..."

The Namekseijin shrugged. "Consider it a...peace offering."

At that, Son Goku was truly and utterly dumbfounded. "So you don't want to fight, then?"

Tambourine shot him a look that was actually very similar to the way that Kami Sama looked at him on occasion. "Not...particularly, no."

"Ever?"

"Answer me this, Son Goku," Tambourine murmured instead of offering him a direct answer. "If you can believe that my brother can change – then why can't you believe the same of me?"

"I...guess I can. Now." Goku answered...and then he couldn't help it. He broke into a grin. "Thanks...I mean, for everything...I mean..."

Tambourine raised a hand. "Enough – you had best be gone from here before my elder brother decides to visit. There are a few things," he continued, looking pointedly at the imploded door, "that he is bound to notice."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry about...okay, okay, I'm going," he added quickly as he walked into the next room...where he did find his son, sleeping as promised...curled like a small cat on a couch of sorts. Goku could not stop the warm grin that pulled his lips up as he saw that Gohan seemed completely unhurt...clutching a blanket and afraid, yes, but not hurt. All of the strength of anger went out of him at the sight of his child, replaced with tiredness and relief that was warm even in the Tsumi Tsubris. Careful not to wake him, he gathered the sleeping boy in his arms...Gohan had always been a sound sleeper, so he thought nothing of his ability to sleep through his entry.

He wanted nothing so much as to take his son home, and to sleep himself. Still smiling pleasantly, he walked back through the study, where Tambourine had returned to his desk. He stopped long enough to smile at the other, genuinely, the grin going all the way to his eyes. "Thankyou."

The other did not even look up from his book. "My pleasure."

Son started to go, pausing only in the slightly jagged doorway to ask, "Hey. Cymbal's not going to...I mean, he doesn't..."

At that, Tambourine's lips curled up just ever-so-slightly into a smirk that, for some reason, sent a chill down Goku's spine. "My elder brother, for all of his skill, is an idiot. And I happen to know exactly how to deal with idiots."

"Okay. But if you ever need anything..."

"I'll keep you in mind."

With a last, parting wave, Goku walked out of that underground room...leaving Daimaou no Tambourine to himself. The mage waited several moments...read several lines...to be very sure that the other was gone. And then, all alone in that room, he let slip a soft, sibilant chuckle, his smirk curving up further, twisting into something truly alarming.

"That...was entirely too easy."