Young Hearts and Old Bones

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z or any of its characters

Warning: Dark themes, implied depression.

Chapter Three

The way we fall

Bulma's headstone was simple but beautiful, it even had a quiet poignance that she lacked in life and Vegeta had mixed feelings about that. Would she like it? A part of him hoped that her spirit might even be enraged at it, that perhaps it would encourage a tantrum so catastrophic it would bridge the gap between them. A hundred years ago he would have scoffed at such a thought, might even feel disgusted with himself. He doesn't really feel such things these days. Or anything at all, really.

One tanned, scuffed but strong hand brushed the stone of the tiny, recently cut grass littering the grey marble. The clouds were heavy and damp above him, though the moisture didn't affect his raised hair in the slightest. His widows peak had receded a little over the last decade or so, but not alarmingly so, though his black locks were now heavily peppered with white. Drops of rain, so reminiscent of the tears that he had once shed here all that time ago, ones that he struggled to shed now, landed softly on the stones lined up ahead of him. It had been decades.

He held back a groan as he stood, choosing to believe that it was an adopted human habit rather than evidence of his advancing age. The dark suit was becoming more damp as the seconds crawled by, the fabric growing increasingly uncomfortable, and he grumbled a little. She would have appreciated the effort, classy, she would have said. Clouds lay dark above his head and he looked up into the sky, thinking of those who had been left behind, buried deep beneath him in the dirt. Gohan would arrive soon, and he had no intention of meeting with the melancholy boy today; he was an ever present reminder of the legacy of their race, a legacy that had not been bestowed upon his own son. Kakarot wins again. Trunks' grave lay just in his periphery and he swallowed a rare, raw pain. He wouldn't stand before his son's headstone, and sometimes refused to even look at it. Why hadn't he inherited the long life? Could he not have given the rest of his own years to his boy?

Bra had a way of putting his heart to rest when it swelled in this horror and sorrow, but this day he kept out of the sun; made sure he felt it. Out of honor, out of respect, maybe even just out of self pity. The energy of Kakarot's offspring neared and he sighed. Despite his own intentions, he had grown an affection for the boy. Projected love that no longer had a home, perhaps. They had known each other a long time now, and sometimes they did spend the afternoon together, nursing their loss without words or talking fondly of the past. Sometimes sparring. But not today.

Today, he was needed elsewhere. His friendship with the Namek had taken a long time to develop, in fact nearly half a century had gone by before he could even call it such a thing. The jade warrior had remained strong, and he had respected that, but the past few years had taken their toll. He had not lost Gohan yet, as he had lost so many already, but he would. The boy was still strong, youthful and energetic but his human side was beginning to show and it was only a matter of time. It may even be a long time, but Vegeta knew, more than any of them did just how much time the Namek had left. Gohan passing would only be a sad drop in a mourning ocean; a thousand years to feel his death. Like he would feel his own family's passing for another century or two to come.

The Namekian would be meditating somewhere, no doubt, long legs crossed and cape blowing in the wind. It was comforting, in a way, like seeing Bra's wide smile and flowing teal hair as she ran to hug him tightly every time. Vegeta smiled to himself at the memory, at the warmth that she naturally had since the day she had been born. He lived for her, he supposed, and his grandchildren, all four of them. The clouds were darkening rapidly and he took his leave, allowing Gohan to have his own moments in the cemetery that Bulma had paid a fortune for. Such a practical woman.

Gohan glanced at the departing Saiyan as he landed, chuckling at his surly countenance under his breath. Not today then.

Vegeta headed to the forest that Piccolo had more or less made his own, and although he had spent more and more time on the Lookout in recent years, Dende had mentioned in passing that his visits were growing fewer. The smaller Namekian had been worried, his every feature betraying his concern in an Earthly sort of language that Vegeta had learned to read. Given a choice, he would rather not turn up in a human suit, knowing that Piccolo would gleefully take the piss, but he had not intended to visit. The feeling had come upon him; how close they were now.

Rain pelted the fabric as he flew, cutting with the breeze as it chilled his thick skin. Winter had finally hit, a little later than normal, Bra had been complaining a great deal about the summer being 'a million miles away'. Vegeta frowned as he grew closer, fine lines and creases beginning to show on his tanned skin as he did, he couldn't sense Piccolo at the waterfall. He was some distance to the East and the Saiyan adjusted his course, if he was being honest he was oddly curious and grateful for the pique of interest.

Great rocks came into view as he neared the ocean, colossal stones towering above the water, in a natural beauty that he had learned to love about this small planet. Sea salt sprayed up and over the lower rocks below the cliff that his dress shoes touched down upon. The scent was refreshing, and as he noted a lack of beach or any real human footprint he allowed a small smile at the scene. It was short lived. The feeling that brought him here was fading and it felt odd, growling, he concentrated harder than he had in a long while, searching for the Namek. Brooding clouds above had cast shadow over the cliff, and the sea was a deep, dark endless grey in its tossing reflection. He frowned again, not seeing much except for crashing waves, even most of the wildlife had taken its leave of this dark and turbulent place. A part of him wondered if he should respect the Namek's wishes, he clearly didn't want to be found. In the past somewhere, a version of him would.

Stepping out of his shoes, he walked to the cliff edge, discarding his suit jacket as he did. Strong muscles stretched the white shirt to an obnoxious point but feeling the chill, he left it on, unbuttoning it a little and pulling the tie loose. Black socks soaked unhelpfully in the moisture from the rock beneath and he inhaled deeply, reaching into the sea with his mind. He dived in.

Piccolo felt Vegeta arrive but he didn't give it much mind. His Chi was so low now that he most likely felt like a part of the sea life all around him. Hooded dark red eyes looked on through the great wall of water ahead, so deep now that he couldn't see much of anything, except a glimmer of the light breaking through the storm brewing above. He watched the dark grey, heavy with salt, wavering and sank into the feeling of it pushing him further down. It was comforting, in a way. The gi moved with him, its purple looking black against the dim green of his skin. He let his arms drift, his legs detach almost, as if they knew they wouldn't have a use anymore. Penetrating cold was clawing its way deeper, inside to flood his bones, the lack of body fat making its intentions effortless. Gohan had found his lack of natural ability to float entertaining, he wondered if he'd find it funny now. His connection to the boy was as cut off as he could make it, muffled and distorted, like being underwater. If he hadn't been so deep, so cold and so tired, he would have laughed at the irony.

Vegeta swam with his Chi to propel him and he had to swim a considerable distance out, going much further down than he had expected. His training had remained as constant as ever, and he was quietly grateful as he shoved water backwards with little effort. Energy was everywhere and nowhere, and none of it helpful at all. He stopped for a moment, searching with vision inhibited by the darkness and becoming typically, and quickly, angry. What the fuck are you doing Namek?

The words hit Piccolo's mind sharply, and warmly, like a familiar heat surging in his skull. It was unpleasant, and if he had the energy left to care, unwelcome. He exhaled the last of his lungs in surprise and let his eyes fall closed. His Chi was so low now that he wondered if the pressure would finally start its work on his frame, he wondered if it would be exponential in its attack. Once it started, would it just be ever increasing until it crushed him? Would it even crush him? He had never felt so deeply cold.

Vegeta's eyes widened as he spotted the sign he was looking for, air bubbles ascending ahead. He swam viciously downwards, and as he neared the Namek he could feel the lifeforce there diminishing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was confused, expecting Gohan to already be here. He kicked back before he went too far, his shirt billowing everywhere with the water as he moved and tie hanging loosely. He had already been searching for several minutes, five maybe, and even as a Saiyan he didn't have long before his lungs would start to burn.

Piccolo's were already on fire, the pain lacerating in its fury but he almost enjoyed pushing away the sensation, wondering how much longer it would last before his body was forced to act. Would his need to survive beat the pressure? He thought of Gohan, and how he would feel. Maybe he would never know, and his disappearance would just be another piece of history in the book of the boy's long life, another soul lost. But he knew better, his heart would break. He opened his eyes slightly, as if considering coming up to the surface but he already knew it was likely too late. His lungs began to contract painfully. He couldn't see Vegeta floating just before him, didn't feel the strong grip digging into his biceps. The vastness was taking him, and although he was sure he hadn't intended for it to, it did anyway.

The Saiyan's eyes were wide and fierce, and he swore internally as he raced through his options. He could feel the Namek's mind darkening, feel the Chi dissipating into the water in forgotten rivulets. From this depth it would take more than a minute to reach the surface, he couldn't just fly up fast, Piccolo's body might not withstand the pressure change. He squinted his ebony eyes in the dimness, struggling to see his charge just an arm's length away. The Namek looked so peaceful, and Vegeta felt his own heart clench in pain, anger and empathy. Piccolo.

Piccolo's eyes shot open, and with the last of his remaining energy he opened his mouth as his chest convulsed. Vegeta had never thought as quickly in his long life, and he rammed his mouth against the Namek's open lips, exhaling deeply. Piccolo's lungs received it, unwillingly and with a little of the ocean, but it might be enough. The Saiyan detached, being sure to close the jade jaw and seal a hand over his mouth. He wasn't sure if it was technically worse to let him breath in water or not breath at all, was drowning the same as suffocating? He dismissed the thought. Swimming upwards quickly, with one arm around the Namek's chest and one hand keeping jade lips closed, he felt the water become warmer.

It was an impossibly long time, and his turmoil must have caused a fuss because he could feel Gohan's Chi barrelling towards them from the cemetery in the city. He could feel Piccolo tossing his head left and right in his belligerent struggle, and felt the confusion and hysteria build in his thrashing charge. The lack of oxygen was making him act illogically, but they were so close to the surface, beyond the risks of pressure now. Vegeta raised his Chi to finish the last leg quickly but swore, losing the last of his own precious air, as Piccolo's sharp canines bit deep into his palm.

He dropped the Namek momentarily, more surprised than hurt and grabbed him quickly, but not before Piccolo inhaled gulps of the sea's thick water. Looks like it didn't matter after all. Saiyan hands landed on the taller warrior, but Piccolo fought back, lacking in Chi but apparently fluent in blind panic and skill. He was delirious, pulling the ocean inside his lungs, convulsing and Vegeta had almost run out of time, he needed air as well. The situation had cascaded so quickly, he had approached this all wrong. He didn't have much time to analyse how he could have done things differently; Gohan came crashing into the water in Super Saiyan form and put an end to the chaos down below. He grabbed both of them, Vegeta scowled, nonplussed at the impromptu rescue but grateful nonetheless. Both were hauled onto the rocks, and Vegeta gasped in air dramatically, he hadn't really been in any danger but it had scared him how close it had come to him staying down there, against his better judgment. Did he really care that much?

Gohan shook the Namek, shouting his name. Jade skin was so deathly cold, and looked pallid in the light shed emanating from his Super Saiyan form. Vegeta looked on, feeling helpless and idiotic, as if pulling someone from the ocean is a difficult feat. Bulma's voice came floating in his mind, one of the many memories that usually lived, lost somewhere in the depths. It might not be in battle Vegeta, in fact I hope it isn't, it'll probably be your heart that you die for, you know. She had always thought him so compassionate, and he had always thought she was wrong.

Gohan was pumping Piccolo's chest, too easily breaking cartilage and counting breathlessly. Breathing into his mouth twice, pumping thirty times, breathing hard, pumping, breathing, crying.

Vegeta pushed him out of the way unapologetically, remembering something and not really thinking it through or voicing it out loud. He breathed into Piccolo's open mouth, ignoring the feel of his cold, damp lips. He breathed in ten times, pressed his chest twice and much harder, too hard perhaps. Ten more times, two compresses and on the first next breath, Piccolo coughed warm, salty liquid back into Vegeta's face. Gohan's relief was audible and Vegeta laughed, it was empty but he meant it. The half Saiyan pushed his former mentor into a sitting position so he could clear his lungs. Jade eyelids were hooded and now violet, along with his cheeks, lips and chest where it would bruise later. His mind cleared a little, and he could hear his own heavy breathing against the crashing of the ocean behind him. Nearly dry blonde hair bobbed around in his eyes and he felt something so sick and deep he couldn't name it. Vegeta was on his knees just behind Gohan, thick hair wet and stuck to his forehead, clothes sodden and ripped. The younger half Saiyan hugged him hard and Piccolo coughed, letting him. Gohan's jeans were scuffed and his blue t-shirt had two words on it but for the life of him he couldn't see what they were. Both Saiyans looked odd to him in regular clothes, wet and breathing hard. How peculiar.

He looked back up at Vegeta, who was still staring with something unreachable in his eyes, like he knew, like he cared, but he didn't. The same eyes he had seen down below, in the water, but they had been strong and fierce and full of feeling. Love. Had it been love? Would he even recognise it?

Vegeta stood up, relief now giving way to tiredness and an odd sensation, maybe because it was such a strange event. A part of him thought it was familiar in some way, and a memory of Broly attacking, the Namek screaming in his face whilst violet blood dripped onto his skin, telling him to get a grip flashed in his mind. We're even now. He wanted it to be true, but they weren't, because he would do it again and again. His chest felt clammy.

Piccolo opened his mouth, he had half intended to say thank you, but no sound came out. He didn't even mouth it.

Vegeta heard it anyway.

Until next time.

W.