Rock Your World

Part 5 – Alone Together

Not much was said as Vegeta and I shoveled down vast quantities of food in the typical Saiyan manner. What was there to say? However, I did feel his eyes on me multiple times as I wolfed down bacon and eggs with less enthusiasm than usual. I struggled to keep my eyes on my plate; to not meet that ebony stare. I knew if I did look at him, I'd blurt out something stupid and I really wasn't in the mood to be insulted.

Bulma didn't join us in our meal, but lingered nonetheless; leaning on the counter and watching us devour everything in sight in a matter of minutes. This was the first decent meal I'd had in a long time, and yet I ate less than the prince, who'd probably had three huge square meals a day during those weeks in which wasted away. The irony was not lost on me, and I heard a string of random lyrics tease my still-aching mind.

"I suffered alone

You don't offer respite

Didn't lend me a hand….

Will you help me heal?

Help me cleanse sleepless nights?

Or do you demand…

That I bow yet again?"

I made a mental note to add a melody to the confused words bouncing in my head, finishing off my breakfast, and made to leave the table. Vegeta stopped my escape, grabbing my wrist and forcing my eyes down to meet his. I shivered at the scrutiny in his gaze. Not angry, just…. calculating….

He didn't say anything for a while, simply scanning my face with the ebony x-rays that were his eyes. Such beautiful eyes… I remember thinking absently, the light catches on them and makes them spark with a million colors…They're not just black, those eyes…

Eventually he released my wrist and sat back with a sigh, "You look terrible, Kakarot. You shouldn't let yourself suffer so…"

I grunted something that sounded like an agreement, a bit disappointed that his first words to me in almost a month were criticism. What did I expect? …For him to forget what I'd said… what I'd done, and, what, demand a spar in his usual fashion? But then the second part of his comment registered. He'd almost sounded… concerned… Hope so intense that it made my breath hitch sliced through me before I wrestled it down. It's probably nothing, just princely concern for his last, third-class subject.

"I'll be alright," I responded with what was as close to a smile as I dared, averting my gaze.

Vegeta smirked, but the amusement didn't reach his eyes, "I should hope so, I expect you to be fit for a spar within the week, after all."

My gaze snapped back to his and I actually did manage a smile, though it felt a bit tight.

"Of course," then I stood up straight and left, throwing a quick glance over my shoulder as I did.

I ate, slept, and trained mechanically all week. I said very little, but I felt immense relief as my body recovered, though my mind remained chaotic as ever. Lyrics to songs I never ended up writing danced in my head with every realization, every event that made me stop and think. And of course, the dreams returned.

I woke up drenched in a sweat, Vegeta's name on my lips, for the fifth time in a row; panting and shaking as I strained to rein in the sensations still fresh and real in my mind. Then I lay back, my breathing returning to normal as I sank back into my pillow, remembering. I could see the prince's lithe, muscular body as clearly as if he was standing in front of me; the defined widow's peak leading into his spikes of dark hair, the heavy, arched eyebrows and depthless ebony eyes, full lips, and strong chin. His corded neck, rippling shoulders and scarred chest, his cobblestone muscles leading down to the curve of his hips; even the way he smelled, like spice and fire, so very Saiyan. I could describe it all in vivid detail, and yet beyond that he remained an enigma. Despite my fantasies, I had no idea what he actually felt like; what his skin would feel like pressed against mine, what his mouth tasted like, what all of him tasted like, for that matter. I licked my lips ruefully as I pictured this, letting my eyes flutter closed and allowing my imagination to wander where it would.

It had been a week since I'd woke up from my depression, since Vegeta had made me promise to spar. He held me true to my word that day; and as the sun crested into the sky, senseless violence ensued in a clearing miles away from civilization. It was refreshing, to vent out all my pent up energy on an opponent that could respond just as eagerly; could be slammed to the ground only to rocket back up with a savage grin. But I felt like something was missing as I gave and received blows that would have killed any human.

Then it hit me: he hadn't insulted me this entire time. Sure we'd spoken. He'd commented on my technique, saying things like "is that a new move?" or "I'm sure the humans won't notice that mountain is a bit smashed up," but he hadn't provoked me or teased me at all. He didn't sneer as he watched me clamber to my feet, he didn't jab at me verbally with "is that all you've got?" and "come on, Kakarot, at least try not to act like a third-class idiot," and I realized that I missed the taunts. I missed the relentless assault from his lethally sharp tongue, the insults, rude though they were, reminded me who I was fighting. It didn't feel like he was Vegeta if he was being polite.

We stopped five hours later, sweating and bleeding and quite out of breath. I dropped out of Super Saiyan - we'd only ascended to the first level during the spar to conserve energy – and winced as a dull ache settled in my body, no doubt the price of being dealt ruthless blows by His Highness nonstop for so long. The sun was starting to set as we flew back to Capsule Corp, silent and withdrawn, refusing to break the silence save for the thrum of energy that circled us as we flew.

I fell asleep in an instant, even forgoing dinner in favor of resting my battered body. At first my mind allowed me a moment's quiet rest, but then, of course, the dreams decided to torment me again; almost twice as intense from the recent, if violent, physical contact with the prince.

I awoke with a groan as my muscles protested. I regretted skipping dinner when my stomach gave a vicious snarl and I sat up, massaging one sore shoulder and wistfully picturing a senzu. As if in answer to my unspoken thought, my eyes found a single senzu bean on the bedside table. It hit me that, since Bulma didn't have access to Korin's stock, Vegeta must have put it there. Chewing the bean thoroughly, I sighed as it worked its magic, healing bruised muscles, broken bones and cuts with soothing gentleness.

I blinked as I noticed something near where the bean had been; folded piece of paper, rather crinkled and worn, but carefully folded so as not to harm the page itself. I unfolded it slowly. It was almost completely covered in words written in my own handwriting; the ink had bled and smudged a little, but I still made out phrases and words I remembered writing a while back. Lyrics, that's what they were. Some were even rough, primitive attempts at phrases that later became my song, "Save Me". I remembered writing all these after ChiChi's funeral, how had Vegeta gotten them?

The answer showed itself in a hasty note scribbled on the back in the prince's own writing.

"I found this on the ground after our spar; it must have fallen out of your boot or something. I figured you would want it back."

My eyes stayed on the last line for an absurd amount of time. "I figured you would want it back"… The Vegeta I knew would have just thrown it away, or burned it, without even thinking. I flipped the page back over and noticed something that I hadn't before. Vegeta had circled some of the lyric phrases, lines that belonged to songs I never wrote, or even attached a melody to. A few that stood out to me were:

"I pretend not to care, but it hurts to hold up the mask", "You don't seem to see me, you just look away",

"I want you to notice, I want you to ask," and "I'm always alone at the end of the day".

Another huge revelation hit me as I realized that the lines he'd circled complimented each other. Hell, they even rhymed flawlessly! Sure, Vegeta had scribbled out or added a few words of his own, but the gesture was nothing short of shocking. Vegeta was helping me write a new song! With my own lyrics no less! Why? What did it mean? What was he trying to tell me?

I figured you would want it back…I made up my mind in an instant, and, without a thought, I teleported home to get my guitar.

TBC