Suggested listening: AFI "This Time Imperfect," Relient K "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been"

You're running out of places to hide,
'Cause everybody's got a reason
To justify how they're feelin'.
Maybe you should open your eyes.*

Sierra

Bulma squeaked in surprise on twisting to turn on her soldering iron and seeing a very grim Piccolo standing in the open door of her lab about to knock. Something grave must have happened, she realized…He never sought her out, even if the planet was being invaded again! He always suckered one of their friends into playing messenger instead! She swiveled her chair around to face him fully, tilting her head in concern.

"Come on in, Piccolo…What's going on?" He tilted his head in the direction of the door. She warily nodded. He closed it and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He cut to the chase, avoiding her inquisitive eyes.

"I met Gohan earlier — He felt like playing hero." Bulma smirked; that sounded like Gohan, alright. "The woman seems uninjured, but I suspect otherwise. Before we left, she collapsed from a spasm in her back. When it passed, I realized how weak she was. She carries a cane." His brow furrowed. "She can barely walk. She has not explained what ails her, but something's crippled her." Bulma arched one immaculate blue eyebrow and waited expectantly. He didn't continue.

"So…Why the grim expression? We'll get her to a hospital or something, and she'll get help. Big deal."

"That's not all…It's…There's something wrong with the woman." He grew increasingly agitated. "Her words make no sense…her eyes make no sense…it's like she's not even there! Gohan insisted we help her, but she blew him off completely…She's got her emotions on such a tight chain I couldn't discern them!" he finished exasperatedly.

On the one hand, Bulma was shocked. While she hadn't exactly had many conversations with Piccolo that didn't involve insults and yelling, or at least bleeding, it had been years since she'd heard him say so many words in one shot! She'd never seen him so confused or disturbed, either. On the other hand, she felt terrible for the mystery woman. She had a hunch about what was going on.

"How about I talk to her, hm?" Bulma offered carefully. "She might be more receptive to talking about it with — no offense meant — one of her own species." To her surprise, he didn't look offended, at all. He looked…flabbergasted.

"She's not afraid of me," he answered slowly, as though questioning her intelligence and his own. Bulma was taken aback; she'd seen how people tended to freak out when they ran into Piccolo. Of course, she couldn't really blame them; he was the spitting image of his father, Demon King Piccolo. "She's showed no signs of fear or anxiety — nothing but irritation!" Bulma considered his words silently, wondering what could cause such a lack of emotion in a person. Unable to think of even one viable possibility, she resolved to meet the woman, if only to gather more information on her. Abandoning her project temporarily, she led Piccolo out of the lab, musing over the tension she detected behind his words.

They found the woman sitting pensively on a bench glider in the garden, where she'd been led by Bulma's mother, Bunny. Rocking slowly, she watched the koi and goldfish glide around the large multi-level pond in front of her. Her weary eyes focused on the largest of the many waterfalls, she let the sounds of the water soothe her restless mind. When Bulma's sneaker displaced a pile of landscaping pebbles, though, her face went cautiously blank. She didn't even make eye contact with the heiress or the man who'd brought her here; ignoring them was easier.

"Hey, there," Bulma greeted in a friendly tone. "Bulma Briefs. Nice to meet you." The barest hint of surprise touched the silent woman's face for but a moment before being swallowed up by her façade. "What's your name?" She sighed a long-suffering sigh, slumping back into the glider as Piccolo settled down to meditate beside a flower bed full of roses. Even as he levitated above the grass, eyes closed in relaxation, his senses were focused intently on the two women upwind of him.

"What's it matter?" the woman almost groused in reply to Bulma's question. "You can' help me, either, so why bother?" Though taken aback by the woman's accent, Bulma kept her expression neutral and her tone calm, her eyes trained on the fish pond as well.

"You never know," she answered casually. "Sometimes we can get the most help from those we least expect it of; I can personally attest to that, as can many of my friends and family." The woman remained silent. "Besides…even if I can't help you, what could it hurt to try? It's worth a shot, right?" Bulma waited patiently as the strange woman mulled over her words, her brown eyes staring through the fish pond. Memories of struggling ants and golden fans echoed through her mind's eye, warring with the bleak emptiness that had smothered everything in its path. Finally, she sighed loudly, slumping against the back of the glider.

"Whatever," the woman answered emotionlessly. "You wanna hear, you'll hear; jus' don't go 'spectin' sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns." Bulma stifled her amusement but smirked at hearing a snort from the Namekian in her roses. Anyone who ever doubted Piccolo had a sense of humor clearly underestimated his appreciation for sarcasm.

"Death's a funny thing," the woman stated off-handedly. "For those who lose someone, their world is shaken to bits, and never truly recovers; for those who're taken, though…" she sighed deeply. "their suffering's over. The illness, the pain, the stress and hurt from daily life, it's all over. Death cures all woes, but for the ones it causes, and even those will be finally cured when that person, too, meets their end."

"So is death what you want?" Bulma prodded once the woman had fallen silent. "Are you sure of that? I live with a cantankerous Saiyan who might be willing to oblige, but he might get cranky if you back down after asking him to kill you." Piccolo's shoulders tensed up in anger, as he began to yet again imagine killing the blue haired maniac in as many creative ways as possible. What was she thinking?! She had absolutely no tact and no idea what she was doing! Why had he brought that woman to her, instead of just leaving her in the forest?! Oh, right. Gohan. Gohan was going to get his ass handed to him when they sparred tomorrow.

"If I die or if I don't, it don' matter," the woman answered quietly; Piccolo focused deeply on what she was saying. Her scent had finally changed - he could finally detect pheromones, though they were still weak. The breeze brought a scent of sadness and pain, as well as the perfumes of vanilla and aloe. Along with stale coffee, the two fragrances had filled his lungs on the way from the clearing to Capsule Corp, and he was pretty sure it would take weeks to get them out of his clothes.

"Well, it's your decision," Bulma replied cautiously. "Just remember that whatever's got you down won't always be there." The woman steeled her expression, airs of anger wafting toward Piccolo again.

"Oh, it'll be there alright." She scowled at the gravel. "It'll jus' keep gettin' worse 'til the day it kills me." She heaved a sigh. "I'd just rather not be the' youngest bedbound in the local RCF when I go. I don't wanna live just so I can die young, gnarled and crippled to the extent of needin' oxygen and an IV drip 24/7. I don't wanna be reduced to sponge-baths, surgeries, and bein' unable to even scratch my own ass when it itches." Bulma winced inwardly at the crass description. It appeared the woman was getting this list of dreads from somewhere…or someone…. All the bitterness left the woman's face and voice, and Piccolo noticed her scent change again. Fear and…hope? How did that work? He lowered his head as in thought, parting his eyelids just enough to see the traces of emotion flitting across her face and through her eyes.

"I guess…I wanna live…" she murmured softly, solemnly. "…but not past the point of havin' no reason to live."

Bulma couldn't help staring at the dusky-skinned woman before her. What she'd said made perfect sense to her…and she couldn't have put it better herself. While Bulma mulled that over, the woman threw a quick glance at her, focusing her attention again on the waterfall's relaxing cascade.

"Sierra." Bulma blinked in surprise at the woman's suddenly soft tone.

"Huh?" the brunette relaxed into the glider a little, bringing her arm up to rest along the back.

"You asked my name earlier…It's Sierra. Sierra Daiyu Stone." Piccolo marveled at the change that had come over the woman…Sierra. It was an unusual name, and one he was not familiar with; it had a slightly elegant sound to it, as well, and he wondered about its origin.

"That's a beautiful name…" Bulma smiled. "It really fits you. I'm guessing you're not from around here?"

"Well…not really," she admitted. "'s a long story…an' I'll bet borin'."

"Try me," Bulma replied sincerely. Sierra settled in a little, tossing her layered hair back over her shoulder where it belonged.

"My mother was from the States…Missour-uh, in fact. Some one-horse town where everyone shares the chicken." Piccolo silently smirked at the description. She had an odd sense of humor, that one. "Unfortunately, it's right smack dab in the middle of Tornado Alley…but then again, nearly a third of the country's in the Alley. You knew it'd be a clear day if they blew the sirens on Monday without eminent threat. The testin' got real old, real fast…" she trailed off, then shook her head to clear it…of what, Piccolo had no idea, but her eyes were becoming slightly pained again. "Mum's father was a Hispanic farm worker…we never found anything about her ma's heritage. M' dad was from this part of the world, though…Chinese mom and Japanese dad." Piccolo listened closely; Bulma hesitated, but finally asked,

"Are…they…?" Sierra was silent a moment, trying to collect herself.

"Gone. They're both gone. Been so for a while now."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to…."

"Started, so might as well finish," Sierra responded quietly. "They'd divorced while my sisters and I were still in school. We went home to Missour-uh with Ma, an' Dad stayed where his remainin' family was: here. We weren't able to visit much, but the three of us ended up settling here." Sierra's voice cracked slightly, pain filling her eyes. "This past May, Ma finally agreed to come visit…She waited too long." Her eyes glistened with tears. "A high-end F-4 took most of the town with it, the day before she was s'posed to catch her plane. She didn' make it." The blue haired heiress felt like pulling the poor woman into a hug…It had to have been a nightmare to go through that, and it obviously still hurt to think about it. Still, she refrained, knowing it mightn't be a welcome gesture. "As for Dad, he was killed in a car wreck on his way home from work this January…Couple'a drunken punks broadsided him when they ran a stoplight." Sierra's face hardened in anger, her unshed tears drying up. "They walked into their jail cells afterward, completely uninjured. Cor and I had to identify our father's body that night; they only got a year sentence, with parole."

Sierra collected herself. "Anyway, Ma and Dad wanted our names to reflect their different backgrounds. Sierra's Spanish…Daiyu's Chinese…flipped 'n roughly translated, they mean 'Black Jade Mountains.' Ma always said they'd named me right, an' not only because they found out Rio and I were on the way during their honeymoon…" Sierra's lips curled into a faint smirk, and she turned laughing eyes to Bulma. "…Dad wanted to name me after one'a Hawaii's volcanoes." Bulma giggled at that.

Unnoticed by the other two, Piccolo mused over her words. The name fit her, he mused begrudgingly. Black Jade was a rare precious mineral…almost as rare as someone who didn't fear him at first sight. As for the second part, she'd seemed completely at ease in the forest, unafraid of her surroundings. Like the mountains, hewn from years and years of erosion into strong, spectacular peaks, she'd obviously been shaped into who she was by the ups and downs of life…Strong and solitary, like the mountains; rare and valuable, like Black Jade. Of course, he thought grimly, he'd not seen her actually angry yet; for all he knew, she might well be explosive like a volcano.

'Hopefully, I'll never find out either way;' with a final mental grumble, he turned his senses back to the blue-haired harpy and the empty-eyed woman he'd brought to her.

"No." Sierra's voice, though still rather flat, startled Bulma. A while ago, she'd suggested they examine the newest flower bed her mother had planted and continued their chat as they walked. The nursery clerk had helped Bunny pick out only 'plants from southern America,' and Bulma was curious of the validity of the statement. Her mother had strange hobbies - hence, the flower beds labeled by country and region - and was quite gullible.

"No?" she questioned, unaware of Piccolo's silent approach. "But you have nowhere to go, nowhere to live!"

"I'm not moving in, Ms. Briefs. That's final."

"But-!"

"Goddammit, Lady!" she snapped back, a startling amount of anger visible in her eyes. "I don' need yer pity, I don' need yer handouts, an' I sure as hell don' need yer help!"

"I never took you for a coward, woman." Piccolo's deep voice rumbled at her shoulder. Though she didn't startle, she turned too quickly, bringing on a spasm in her lower back. He scowled as she stumbled to the nearest bench.

"I'm not...a coward!" she ground out, struggling to conceal the pain and fear. "You have no idea...what I've lived through! No idea...what I've seen! You-"

"You won't accept assistance," he snarled back, all too aware that her pain had finally surfaced in her expression. "Instead of making an effort you're just giving up! Rolling on your back like a cowering mutt, hoping life won't tear you to pieces!"

To his surprise, Sierra's eyes opened in a disdainful, dubious glare; her right hand clenched painfully at the middle of her cane. "Did you, just call me, a bitch?" she asked through gritted teeth, her words surprisingly free of her Midwestern twang.

"If the shoe fits, Woman," he growled back.

Bulma squawked in surprise as the brunette launched herself from the bench, the head of her cane cracking Piccolo in the jaw.

"Oh, Crap," Bulma muttered, backing away as Piccolo turned furious black eyes on Sierra. She hadn't hit him hard enough to do any damage, or even bruise, but the blow ticked him off royally. Bulma darted back inside, hollering for Vegeta.

"No me jodas!" Sierra spat; though he didn't know the language she'd slipped into, Kami's memories proved useful once more. Don't fuck with me? Feh...he was just getting started. "I am NO ONE'S bitch, you-"

"If you're no one's bitch," he interrupted snidely, crossing his arms menacingly. "then prove it! Make an effort! Don't just roll onto your back and cry for Mama!" She flinched, pain filling her eyes before she shut down completely.

"My mother is dead," she answered, her eyes dull and her voice almost monotone from suppressing her emotions. "She wouldn't come even if I bled on her headstone. Whatever I am, I'm not foolish enough to ask for help that won't arrive." Piccolo swore internally; she'd finally shown emotion - fury, sadness, and even a little fear - but she'd shut back down as though he'd never angered her in the first place.

When Bulma skidded into the garden a moment later, Vegeta in tow, Sierra sat before the garden Bulma had mentioned, silently studying a tall purple Echinacea. Piccolo scowled from a distance, seemingly dissecting what had just happened. Seeing Vegeta at the doorway, he stalked over.

"What's the matter, Namek," Vegeta asked snidely. "She's not into slugs?"

"Watch out for the cane." Vegeta's incredulous expression was quite comical.

"And here I thought the woman had inhaled too many fumes again," he muttered, earning a glare from his wife. "Is she stupid, suicidal, what?"

"She doesn't strike me as stupid, and she turned down Bulma's offer of suicide by Saiyan." He glanced warily at the silent brunette. "She doesn't fear me. Something's shut her emotions down so tightly she seems to feel nothing."

"What are you asking, Piccolo?" the prince asked, his voice low with warning.

"Just do what you do best," Piccolo smirked back. Vegeta replied with a sadistic grin and stalked away.

"Goku will be hearing about this," Bulma warned lowly.

"WOMAN!" Vegeta bellowed upon reaching Sierra's bench. "Why is there a human female in the garden?! I warned you not to let anyone near that dirt - I haven't finished burying the last intruder!" Sierra didn't even flinch; Bulma bit her tongue. Noting her lack of response, Vegeta swept into her line of view, forcing her chin up to meet his eyes. "Explain yourself while you still have a tongue," he ordered darkly. She met his glare without hesitation, completely unaffected by his bluster.

"Your wife needs to report that nursery to the authorities." Vegeta just stared at her a moment. He'd threatened her with bodily harm and torture, and told her he'd recently disposed of a body in the garden, yet she was cool as a cucumber!

"WHAT?" He finally managed. She rolled her eyes, pointing the tip of her cane at a healthy green shrub overflowing with clusters of tiny yellow, orange, and red flowers.

"Lantana Camara," she answered matter-of-factly. "Native to South an' Central America, registered as a 'Kill on site' invasive in over fifty countries. It poisons and smothers other plants, takes over their habitat, and spreads like wildfire. The Japanese government outlawed its sale last month. The nursery was probably trying to cut its losses by sellin' the stock anyway, an' needs to be reported." Vegeta gaped, struggling to wrap his head around her reaction. "Nice try, by the way…anyone else might'a been fooled."

"Fooled?!" She shifted in her seat, stretching a crick out of her neck.

"Yeah. Fooled. I'd know if you meant me harm, an' ya just wanted to scare me. Name's Sierra. Yours?" She wasn't at all surprised when he simply turned away and retreated back inside, seemingly in a daze. "Dammit," she mumbled. "Maybe I should'a at least pretended to fall for it…His ego's probably castrated, now. Gotta work on that subtlety." She smiled sadly at the memory of the last time her niece came to her for advice.

"So Aunt Dai," the petite redhead chirped with a wide grin. "This guy asked me out — Peter's a couple years older than me, and so far, he seems nice. He's not pushy, he respects my space, and he hasn't tried anything yet, but I'm still not sure. Mind helpin' a sister out?" Sierra chuckled, ruffling her niece's carrot red hair. "I'm not your sister, Hon, but I'd be glad to help out, so long as you take the advice I give ya. We meetin' him?" Rowan cringed slightly. "He's coming by to study shortly…I told him Mom wouldn't be home yet, but he didn't want to wait…hence my concern. I gave him YOUR address…" The older woman was about to reply when a quiet knock sounded from the front door; the fine hairs at the nape of her neck shot to attention. She hadn't even seen him yet, and she already knew he was trouble. Forcing a polite, disarming smile into place, she shuffled to the door; the burly blond jock on the other side was shorter than her and smelled like he'd been marinating in Axe for weeks. Tapping his foot impatiently, he kept glancing around warily, as though searching for witnesses. She solemnly swore he was up to no good. She faked a cough, pasting her usual 'I already love you, please give me gran'babies' grin in place. The kid startled, but spun about with a wide grin in place…a grin that faltered somewhat when he realized she wasn't Rowan. "Hi there!" she gushed, wrapping him in a motherly hug. "You must be Pete! Rowan's in the guestroom setting up a table." As she turned to lead the way, she didn't see any obvious warning signs from him. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling he was trouble…and that feeling was never wrong. While he spread his books out on the folding table, eyeing the guest bed curiously, she tugged Rowan to the kitchen under the pretense of fetching snacks. Instead, they ducked out into the backyard, keeping an eye on him through the window; he wandered around the room, scrutinizing the furniture and the various knickknacks on the shelves. "NOT A CHANCE," Sierra scowled, not letting him out of her sight. "He's trouble — any minute now he's gonna start rifling through drawers, an' his intentions toward YOU are even WORSE." As usual, Rowan was clearly relieved; her bright green eyes betrayed no sadness, though she was clearly VERY ANNOYED. "Dammit," she swore. "This is bullshit…why does EVERYONE just wanna take advantage of me? I'm not hot, I'm not popular, and I'm CERTAINLY not RICH." "Roe, you're beautiful, well-mannered, and have a good heart." Sierra sighed, hugging Rowan supportively. "Some people just can't stand seeing goodness in the world, if only because they themselves lack it. Don't let them keep you down." A moment later, Rowan and Sierra slipped back into the guest room. The opening door made no sound, and revealed Peter rummaging through the nightstand drawer; Sierra pointedly cleared her throat. He turned about fearfully, dropping the book he'd found in it — a Bible in a black leather cover with brass closings. "THOUGHT SO," Sierra scowled at him, blocking the doorway with her full six-foot frame. "If ya hand it all over before the cops get here, I won't press charges." At first, he seemed to consider refusing. He shot a quick glance at Rowan, who held her cellphone aloft; it wasn't worth it. After piling the stolen items on the bedspread, he followed Rowan to the front door. On the way, Sierra shoved the Bible into his hands. "Somethin' tells me you need this more'n I do, Son. Stay away from my niece."

Despite the iron control she kept over her emotions, her gut still twisted in disgust. She and Rowan had made an agreement long ago that anyone the redhead considered dating or hanging out with on a regular basis should meet Sierra at least once. Since then she had yet to find a single suitor who was trustworthy, and half the friends had turned out to be anything but.

The thieves especially annoyed her, seeing as they easily fell for the bait-prescription bottles full of breath mints, convincing costume jewelry, a locked cashbox weighed down with a paperback — their greed blinded them. Most even chucked the offered book at her as they ran; lucky for them, since it was actually hollowed-out and rigged with identifying ink. Handy having an ex-mercenary as a close friend, really.

'Rowan...' Sierra thought soberly. 'Rio...Cor...How can I ever leave you behind? It's better this way, but how can I actually do it?' Her heart ached at the very thought of never seeing her family again, but her health continued to deteriorate and the very thought of becoming a burden to them appalled her. She'd seen their father, his father, and several of his relatives brought to the brink of helplessness by the same illness she now fought...furthermore, none of them had had back injuries due to a stupid horse good for nothing but fertilizer and glue. That psychotic horse, Felipe, had nearly broken her back when he threw her, and the old injury was making everything so much worse.

"Dear God," she cringed as she stared through a patch of golden coreopsis. Like water dumped in a waterlogged planter, it had all finally sunk in, and like an over-watered flower, she felt ready to drown in it. The plan was simple...and she screwed it up, big time. "Auntie Constanza, if you could only see me now..." It had been several years since she'd seen Conz, but she knew without a doubt what her aunt would think of her.

She'd built a happy, successful life...and she threw it all away over a bad diagnosis without even considering treatment. Her home was up for sale and her belongings were in storage. She'd signed over her share of the nursery she operated with Cordelia and quit by mail without explanation, and her family had no idea where she was, or even if she was alive. She could almost hear her favorite aunt reading her the riot act from under her truck. "The HELL'RE you THINKIN', Dai?!" she'd demand harshly as she fought whatever had fallen off the vehicle this time. "Quit fuckin' WHININ' an' grow a pair a'ready! Yer Mama taught ya better, an' ya ain't too big for a whoopin' yet! -hand me the crescent, will ya?"

There was no way around it...She'd really screwed the pooch this time. She absolutely had to fix this, somehow. Resolved, Sierra heaved herself off the bench and ambled toward Bulma, who was apparently trying to convince Vegeta out of something...something about gravity? Weird, but this was the Briefs family after all.

"Miss Bulma?" she greeted hesitantly, trying to force a reassuring smile. "I meant what I said earlier; I don't need pity or handouts...apparently, though," she cringed. "I do need help. If the offer still stands, would you consider a bargain?" Without further ado, Bulma started chattering about ideas and plans, Sierra adding in whatever she could. As they passed the man meditating above the rose bed, though, she paused and cleared her throat. Piccolo hadn't expected her to approach him, nor had he expected the faint traces of pheromones coming from her despite her emotionless expression.

"What?" he answered lowly. Seeming to catch herself in some unexpected thought, she shook her head as though to clear out cobwebs.

"You were right," she said simply. "Thank you." With that, she limped after Bulma, leaving him silently wondering about her sudden change of heart. Either way, he reminded himself as he settled again, she was clearly more trouble than she was worth.

( * )

Next time: Trunks is a little shit, Sierra nearly croaks, Dende has questions, and Piccolo is SO done with all this in Different.

Notes:

*Sixx:A.M., "Tomorrow," from album The Heroin Diaries Soundtrack.

"No me jodas" - Spanish, roughly, "Don't fuck with me."

Lantana - Most of this information is accurate, but some of the more specific details, esp. regarding its "Kill on site" status and banning in Japan, may be exaggerations. Lantana's gorgeous but DEADLY.

Felipe - Sierra's Mother's horse. He's ungelded—fill in the blanks. ;)