She didn't know how many days had passed. She kept track of time the only way she knew she could: The cycles of when she was hungry, when she was tired, and when she needed to pee.

She had been at a loss for what to do when her throat started to burn from thirst. And if she was thirsty, the Saiyan, who had suffered such blood loss, would be half dead with want of water. He slept fitfully, and in his fever dreams, his mind had smashed into hers. The need for water was painful enough that she had half risen without thought to look for water before sitting back down.

The only source of water was in a communal barrel at the center of the room, too far away from the Saiyan to risk leaving him lying alone and vulnerable. There were no bottles, no cups, no bowls – no way to carry water to him, anyway. And certainly there was no way to carry him to the water. Frustrated, she cried out bitterly inside the safety of her skull. She had water! Bottles upon bottles of water dangling like charms on her wrist. She hadn't wanted to use the capsules before now because she knew if she did, her secret would be known. Even with an energy pistol, she doubted she could protect all of her supplies if everyone rushed her. Looking at the delirious Saiyan though, whose eyes were open and trying to focus on her, she fingered the bracelet. When he clasped a hand over the bracelet around her wrist, silencing the tinkling capsules, he shook his head. He didn't want her giving up this secret, either, and he was willing to suffer for it. Or maybe he knew if she opened one, they'd likely both die in the ensuing charge from everyone trying to claim it for themselves. At least, she would die. He'd probably just get out of the way and take the bracelet for himself at his first opportunity. Telling her to keep it hidden just meant there would be fewer supplies stolen by the time he took it.

After those pitiful thoughts, forcing herself to stay awake became even more difficult. She was exhausted and her body was fighting against the need for water as well as the need for sleep. She didn't think she could win either battle, but she didn't know how to solve it so she ignored it. The first day or so of forcing herself to stay awake after the Saiyan's only attempt to communicate – which was to tell her no - she had fallen into a bitter argument with herself. She could protect him by opening the capsules and giving him water and revealing her capsules and condemn herself. She could protect him by refusing to open the capsules and die of thirst as a result. Either way, she was protecting him and got screwed in the process.

Why was she protecting him, anyway?

After that, sleep had just.. happened. Instead of waking to a dead Saiyan though, she awoke, fully refreshed, and nothing had happened to her 'prince in distress' as she slept. After making a mad dash for the water barrel and practically drowning herself in it, her suspicions were confirmed. She deduced that no one thought it worthwhile to challenge her or pick a fight with a wounded Saiyan and had just let them be. She worked hard to foster this and with great effort and a lot of luck, had pantomimed that when he finally healed, he would remember very well who had behaved and who hadn't.

She didn't complain when they all gave her and the Saiyan a wide berth after that. She just hoped her luck didn't desert her. She didn't know what she'd do if – or when – these people realized they could gang up on her and steal her pistol. Or just waited until she fell asleep again and take it then. But instead of her fears coming to life, something else entirely unexpected happened.

Something she had said, or something they thought she said, or for reasons unknown, the next time she awoke after an accidental sleep, there had actually been donations of, she assumed, good-will food.

She had calculated that once a day, a chute opened and rations were dropped through. After shooting a few holes near the feet of the more greedy aliens, they had allowed her to chose first and take all she could carry. After doing this a time or two more, the donations had just started appearing. But the Saiyan wouldn't eat. He needed water.

Fine.

He would get water the same way she had been getting it.

Walking over to the barrel with determination, she dunked her head into the barrel and took as much water into her mouth as she could. She then walked back to his prone form, hidden in a dark corner as far away from everyone as he could get. He didn't even struggle as she tilted his face towards her own. She tapped his cheek to get his attention. When he didn't resist or push her away, she gently pried his mouth open with her fingers and let the fluid trickle from her lips into his. Instantly, his entire body tensed. His hands flew up and clutched her arms painfully to hold her in place. As he swallowed, he lifted his head to bring her lips closer to his until they almost touched. She stiffened and would have retreated at this sudden, unexpected, pseudo-intimacy weirdness, but he held her tightly in place until she had no more water to give. His grip on her relaxed slightly and his eyelids fluttered open. He studied her face with a mixture of heat and soft confusion. It was several seconds – an eon – before he released his grip – reluctantly? - and let her go. She backed away slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

The look on his face had been identical to the one he had given her when she had accidentally allowed a visual of them kissing to slip from her mind: uncertain, suspicious, confused, and curious. She ignored the look and instead chastised herself for being dumb. Why had she ever thought such a ridiculous, naïve thing? Though her heart galloped within her rib cage in nervous thrills, she knew there was still enough fear and uncertainty to safely drown out anything else. In a thousand years, she would still fear this Saiyan. It saddened her that she would likely feel exactly like this for the rest of her known future – for however long that would be. But adaptation was survival. Right now, she needed a strong ally or she wouldn't survive – even if her foolishly chosen ally terrified her… Despite making that fear intoxicating.

It saddened her as well that someone like him had never had innocence at all. He had been forged from fear and suffering – so much so that he trusted nothing and no one. He had taken water from her, but she didn't know if that made her worthy enough to hide in his shadow when he was well again. It was more likely that she had gained his attention. Somehow, she didn't know if surviving his kind of attention was possible. She may have helped him, hoping to gain a friend, and instead helped herself to an even earlier demise at the hands of that 'friend'.

She had thought Yamcha had been emotional, overbearing, demanding, and inflexible. She had no idea how she would endure the weight of the Saiyan's focused consideration. If he ever decided that she was tolerable as more than just a background shade – if he ever depended on or needed her as she needed him - he would probably crush her just to be rid of that need. She forced her thoughts to quiet, rose to her feet, and turned back towards the water barrel.

It had taken her hundreds of back-breaking trips back and forth to give him water enough to refuse to take more.

After a few more days of this, he had finally started to truly recover. He began to eat like a Saiyan, but he still refused to move far from his corner. Either that or he was being lazy and allowing her to do all the work, like she was some kind of servant woman. She scoffed at herself. Not likely. He wouldn't suffer mouth to mouth water transfer or close proximity with her if he were at all capable of doing things for himself without help.

She blinked. Or maybe he would? He wouldn't want anyone to know how injured and vulnerable he had really been, or how much he had recovered from those injuries for those who wouldn't be fooled into thinking his wounds had been mild. Maybe he'd prefer to have everyone think this was normal behavior between them? Maybe he just wanted to remain unseen so he could avoid attention. In his mind, it was probably better that focuses remain on her so that he could be forgotten.

He still took water from her. Though now his grip on her seemed aggressive, like she was withholding something of his and teasing him with it. He even bit her lips with too much speed for her to avoid if she allowed the water to trickle too slowly. Either that or he liked the taste of her blood mixed with the stale flavor of the water. She gave him water less often, now. She was trying to encourage him to get his own damn water and save herself from split, bleeding lips and bruises from large hands and a boa-constrictor tail. Even if the whole thing were a bit erotic in a masochistic way, she felt like she was a cow being milked.

Even as this happened less and less, he grew healthier and stronger. As he was awake more often, his eyes followed her with an uncomfortable intensity everywhere she went, not that she had far to go. She didn't have much to do, so she played math games she had learned as a child to help her remember complicated formulas. Each segment on her left hand fingers represented a symbol, and each segment on her right hand fingers, a series of numbers. As she twisted her fingers in strange patterns, he watched her hands with rapt interest. When she slept, he watched her. When she left to use the toilet hole, his eyes burned in the direction she had went until she came back. When he slept, she felt his mind wrap around hers like a suffocating cocoon and she was forced to find new ways of projecting mental barriers to keep him out.

At least he wasn't growling at her like he wanted to tear her throat out with his teeth, even if he was biting her. He no longer shoved her away, either. Even if, when his hands did make contact with her, he left bruises.