"Let go."
Hana's arms were stiff and cold by the time they landed in front of the porch. Unlatching them from his waist proved difficult, and her elbows ached as she rubbed heat back into the joints. Flying had been less frightening this time around, though she had still clung to him for dear life the entire flight. She'd barely even let herself breathe.
She stepped out from his cape, glad to be on solid ground, and looked up at his rain-spattered face. "Oh, you're soaking wet." The storm had since left the coast, but they'd flown right through it getting there. "Come in and get dry for a minute."
She fished her keys from her backpack and went to unlock the door. Piccolo remained at the bottom of the porch steps, one hand firmly on the banister. "That's all right. I-I need to leave for Kami's any…anyway, and—nng—"
Hana turned from the open door just in time to see him collapse onto the stairs. "Piccolo!" She tried to help him up in spite of his insistence that he was perfectly fine. "C'mon, you're coming inside and that's that. You're still hurt." His weight was unreal. There was so much solid heft to him. And she could tell he was fighting hard not to lean all of it against her.
The waterlogged cape and turban were left on the porch, which made supporting him a little easier. By the time Hana managed to get Piccolo inside, though, he was trembling. She bade him to sit at the kitchen table where he slumped, half-conscious, and held his head.
"Do you need something?" Hana asked. "Let me get you something, okay? Some water?"
He nodded. "Hot."
She returned to him with a steaming mug. Piccolo nursed it slowly until the shaking ebbed from his muscles. An awareness of his surroundings showed on his face and he tugged at the damp gi that clung to his abdominals. "I'm dripping all over your kitchen floor."
Hana laughed it off. "Doesn't matter, it's just water. You look a little better, though. How do you feel?"
"I'm fine now." Piccolo stood with the table's assistance. "I-I should get going." He took a step from the table, however, and his legs crumpled uselessly beneath him. Hana caught him, surprised she could even keep him upright. He wrestled away from her and sat back in the chair. His shoulders sagged. His breathing was shallow.
Somewhere between the fall outside and the fall inside, the wounds on the side of his head had been reopened. A bright patch of fresh purple blood bloomed on the bandaging. "Ohh, you hurt yourself again," Hana said. She tried to tilt his head to see better, but he shied from her touch.
Piccolo's gaze settled on the tabletop. "I'm…sorry about all this."
"No, no, don't be." Hana began to unpeel the wet bandages. "I'm just glad I can help. And I'm glad you didn't take off for Kami's Lookout right away. You could've plummeted right out of the sky. I never would've forgiven myself." She found the first aid kit in the pantry and set to work redressing the gashes at his temple. Piccolo hissed through clenched teeth when the rubbing alcohol stung him for a second time. Hana blew gently on his injured skin. The muscles in his jaw relaxed, the sting subsiding, and a faint blush passed over the tops of his ears.
"Nice trick," he said.
She wrapped him up good as new and turned her attention to the puddle spreading across the floor. "We need to get you out of those wet clothes or you'll catch cold."
"I…don't think I catch colds."
She eyed him skeptically. "Well, regardless, you'll be better off dry. I might still have some clothes that my ex never came and got. He was kind of a big dude so his stuff might fit y—" A bright flash of light like a camera bulb cut her off mid-word. She shielded her eyes, and when the light faded she couldn't believe what she was looking at.
Piccolo, hand pressed to his sternum, was dressed in something completely different. Now he wore a long tunic of muted marigold and white linen pants that gathered loosely around his ankles. In his other hand was his folded gi and, sitting on top, his shoes.
When the initial jaw-dropping shock wore off, Hana closed her mouth and grinned. "Now that's a nice trick." She wanted more than anything to ask how on earth he did it, but she figured he wasn't in an explaining mood. Regardless, it was fun to see him in something new for a change.
She hung up his wet clothes in the laundry room to air dry. Her fingers grazed the delicate fabric, tracing the seams along the legs, finding long-worn holes and grass stains. He really wasn't accustomed to changing outfits often, was he. Gathering up fistfuls of his gi, she buried her nose into the fabric and breathed in deep. His heady, earthen scent curled itself like burning incense through her brain. He smelt of rich soil after a rainstorm. And of freshly-cut grass. And something different, something enticing and far-away, something that must have been unique just to him.
For one secret, guilty moment she found herself wondering how he might taste.
"Don't be silly," she whispered into the cloth.
From the living room there came a shattering crash. His gi forgotten, Hana bolted to see what had happened. Piccolo was on his hands and knees—beside him, the remnants of a tall standing lamp that had stood alongside the couch. Now, it lay crooked on the hardwood floor, its light bulb in a zillion pieces.
Piccolo stared up at her. "I broke your lamp."
"Are you hurt?" Hana went to him, mindful of the broken glass.
"Thought I could make it to the couch. Lost my balance."
"But are you hurt?" she repeated. He seemed a bit disoriented. She took his hands in hers and searched them for cuts, but he was all right. "Thank goodness."
The skin of his hands were rough and calloused and yet oddly soft. There was such power there in those hands, even in his weakened state. She couldn't help but compare her fingers to his. His knuckles were twice the size of hers.
"What're you doing?" he asked, bringing her back to reality. Her thumbs were following the lines of his palms.
"Sorry," she said. She pulled hands away, embarrassed for herself. "Can you stand? I'll help you to the couch."
.
.
The fireplace roared to life as Hana threw on another log. Piccolo sat on the sofa, toasty and safe. He sipped on second mug of hot water. It appeared to be doing him a great deal of good as far as his strength and cognizance were concerned. And his color was returning to normal. Or, at least, normal for him.
Hana warmed her hands and sat back to admire her work. She couldn't remember the last time she'd put a fire on, but it seemed appropriate tonight. Come to think of it, she couldn't even remember the last time she'd had company. She'd forgotten how pleasant it could be.
Piccolo's head lolled back on the sofa and he closed his eyes.
"How're you feeling?"
"Better," he replied. "Tired."
"I've got a second bedroom. You're welcome to it."
He grumbled a little. "Couch'll be fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"It's just that the bed in there's a lot softer than—"
"I said the couch'll be fine."
So he was back to his same bristly self, was he? Hana got to her feet and smoothed out her dress with a few sharp swipes. "Y'know, I think I liked you better when you were loopy and breaking my lamps."
He suddenly looked dreadfully uncomfortable. "I'm sure you did." He felt the bandages at his temple and sighed. "Look, I'm not accustomed to this type of situation, all right? And having to be doted on is irritating."
Her shoulders softened. "I'm only trying to help."
"I know. I don't…like help. And I'm not trying to make excuses for myself, I-I just—mhhn…" Piccolo winced and pressed a hand to his brow. "Guess I'm not as improved as I thought…"
Hana took the mug from him and found him a pillow from the hall closet. "Try and lay down," she said. "See if that helps."
"Yes, nurse." He had said it sarcastically but her cheeks still reddened.
When he was settled and resting his eyes, Hana set up shop at the kitchen table with a few of Gohan's assignments she had yet to grade. As usual, he aced each one. She reminded herself to step up his course material. He'd need high school-level work at this rate.
"What are you doing over there, anyway?" Piccolo asked after a while.
"Grading some of Gohan's stuff. Am I keeping you awake?"
"Wasn't exactly trying to sleep," he said, adding, "He's a pretty smart kid, huh?"
Hana laughed. "Kinda brilliant, actually, yeah. I've never tutored a kid so smart. A few more years and he won't even need school anymore, he'll be teaching himself from college text books."
"His mother will be pleased to hear that."
Hana's red pen stopped over a worksheet. "She does have very high hopes for him, doesn't she."
"Oh, I've heard it a thousand times. 'Great scholar' this and 'great scholar' that. I just wonder if Gohan's opinions on the matter are ever factored into her grand projections of his future. Every time I see him studying he looks miserable." Piccolo paused for a second and cleared his throat. "Not lately, though. Not with you."
Hana fiddled with the pen cap, beaming as her cheeks pinkened. "Good, I'm glad."
They lapsed into silence and she continued to grade. Eventually she heard deep, slow breathing from the darkened living room and figured he had finally fallen asleep. The clock on the wall by the back door read quarter-to-midnight. It was probably time to pack it in and call it an evening. She put away the papers and got up to turn off the lamp.
Her cell phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. The number was—
She hurried to answer it. "Miss Chi-Chi?"
"No, it's Gohan."
"Gohan? Are you all right? Why are you calling so late?" Her worry made it difficult to keep her voice quiet.
"I can't sleep. I keep thinking about Mr. Piccolo up there on the Lookout all by himself. Do you think he's okay?"
Hana smiled and clutched the phone. What a sweet boy. "I know he is. Because he's right here on my sofa and he's fine."
"H-he never went to the Lookout?"
"Nope. I thought he'd be better off just resting here tonight."
"Are you guys having a sleepover?"
"Kinda, yeah."
Empty air followed. Hana was just about to ask him if he was still there, but then he said in an awfully concerned tone, "Are you guys kissing?"
A rush of adrenaline shot up her spine. Was she in high school all over again? What even was this? "What?" she asked in an attempt to play it cool. "Why would you think that?"
"That's what happens on TV, right? When a boy and a girl have a sleepover together, they kiss each other."
Hana sometimes had to remind herself that, while he was in fact brilliant, he was still a six-year-old boy. This was one of those times. "That's just on TV," she said. "In real life it's a lot more boring. So don't worry. Isn't it past your bedtime, anyway? Like, way past?"
"I'm going, I'm going."
After they wished each other a good night, she hung up. Her heart was thudding in her ears and in her fingertips.
"What did Gohan need?" asked Piccolo from the living room, giving her a bit of a scare.
"Oh, god. I thought you were asleep."
"Is Gohan all right?" he insisted.
"Yeah, he was just worried about you." She hoped he wouldn't ask about the rest of the conversation.
Piccolo snorted. "He gets that from his mother."
Hana still hadn't let go of the cell phone. Her palms were sweaty. "Do you need anything before I go to bed?" she asked. There was a tremor in her voice that she hoped he didn't notice.
"Nah."
"Okay." She slipped through the living room, but paused at the mouth of the back hallway and looked over her shoulder at him. Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, illuminating his reclining form just enough to see his general shape in the shadows. He really was much too big for the couch. He should've been sleeping in the guest room, but she supposed he was too polite or prideful to accept the offer. Still, there was something endearing about a man of his size sleeping on such a little sofa. She smiled at him, thankful he couldn't see her face. "Sleep well, Piccolo."
"Same to you."
Later, as she rolled herself up in the bedsheets, she realized she hadn't stopped smiling.
.
.
By the time Hana woke and got out of the shower, Piccolo was gone. In fact there was no trace that he had ever been there at all. His gi and shoes were taken from the laundry room. The damp spots on the porch where his turban and cape had been were dry. Even the pillow he used was put back where it came from.
There was something sobering about early morning light, something Hana had never grown accustomed to. Everything just felt unreal in those soundless hours.
She padded across the tile to the fridge, taking a yogurt cup. She ate it slowly while leaning against the counter. Her eyes strayed to the empty sofa in the other room. She wasn't sure what she had expected this morning.
As she went to toss the cup in the trash, she noticed something bright yellow in the bottom—half a dozen crumpled post-it notes. She fished them out and spread them on the marble countertop.
On each note, he only made it a few letters in before scribbling everything out. It wasn't even clear to her what he had intended to write. There was even a hole torn in one of them from the force of the pen.
Was it the concussion? Perhaps he was worse off than she'd previously guessed.
Or was it some other reason? Some reason she wouldn't even allow herself to consider? Her conversation with Gohan replayed in her mind. Perhaps it had been the start of some great confession of love, but part-way through he'd recognized his error and disposed of the evidence. She shook her head with a tired laugh. It was much too early to be daydreaming.
Still, she wished she could understand the notes, glean some information from the scratched-apart letters. What had he tried to say to her? Why didn't he finish?
Why was it bothering her so much?
.
.
Many thanks for reading this far! :D Next week my schedule is pretty open so I'll have lots of time to write - expect the next chapter sometime in the next 3 or 4 days, if all goes as planned. There's a big party in the next installment - all our favorite Z-friends will be there!