The persistent click-clack of that familiar staff against stone tile drove Piccolo right out of his mental training. He squinted at the approaching old man and growled under his breath. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"You come to Kami's Lookout and wonder why Kami shows up." The elder Namek grinned to himself and shook his head with a tut-tut. "Really Piccolo, if you wanted absolute solitude there are plenty of other places to go. There's no shame in simply admitting you'd like a bit of company."

Piccolo was on his feet now. "That's not why I—I don't need company."

"If you insist." Kami continued down the tiled path but stopped beneath one of the tall palm trees. He looked up, shielding his gaze from the sun. "It's a nice day though, isn't it? Shouldn't you be with Gohan today?"

"He's still sick apparently. I thought he was fine yesterday but that mom of his…" Piccolo kicked at the floor. "Four days of missed training now."

Kami had a knowing glint in his eye. "And yet you've spent most of that time here. Isn't there perhaps someone else who you should be training? Someone of the female persuasion?"

"Would you quit your spying already?"

"Piccolo, with the two of us linked as precariously as we are, it would be negligent of me not to keep a close eye on you. Besides, as I said before—" He pointed to himself. "God."

"Whatever." Piccolo turned to hide just how much he was blushing. He hated when Kami played around like this. One would think the guardian of the earth might take things a little more seriously. "And for your information, no, I was letting Hana have a break for now. I don't want to overwhelm her."

"Ah, I see." Kami sat on an ironwork bench and propped up his walking stick, looking fondly at the younger Namek. "You go awfully soft on her, don't you?"

Piccolo stiffened. He didn't like this line of questioning. "What's your point?"

"I'm only saying, if Gohan had dozed off during training you'd have raked him across the coals. Even with as much as you love him, you never went easy on him. But it's interesting to me that this girl gets handled with care. I wonder why that is?"

Piccolo winced at the old man's words. "Would you get lost already." When he realized Kami was still smiling and not going anywhere anytime soon, he slumped with defeat and went to take a seat beside him. He rubbed his anxious hands together, head hung. "Look…I don't get it either, all right? I do consider her a friend. I do. And yet I can't treat her the same as Gohan. It doesn't make sense to me."

"You've never felt this way about anyone before, have you?" Kami dialed back his teasing tone, adopting something a touch more paternal. It wasn't like Piccolo to air his grievances, especially with him. He wondered if perhaps Nail's subtle guiding influence was responsible for these recent changes. He decided not to ask and make things worse.

"No," Piccolo said, burying his face in his palms. "No, I haven't."

"Have you tried meditating on these feelings?"

At that, Piccolo actually laughed—a bitter, exhausted sound. "Tried, yes, but in case you haven't noticed, I've been sort of distracted lately."

Kami heaved a lengthy sigh and gave the other man's knee a pat. "Tell me, do you care for this girl?"

"I…" A hundred glimpses of her flooded his mind, the same glimpses he saw whenever he closed his eyes. Her breath on his injured skin. The way her face lit up when she saw the dress he'd made. Listening to her sleep peacefully against his back. He shook his head, baffled at the words taking shape on his tongue. "I do. Care for her. Yes."

"And you care for Gohan."

"You know I do."

Kami was quiet for a moment. "Piccolo…are you familiar with different types of love?"

"What—why?" A fierce blush spread across his cheeks and ears. "I know about love, you asshole. Human culture is saturated in it."

"I'm merely curious if you're familiar with romantic love."

Piccolo glared at him. "You think I'm in love—romantically—with Hana?"

"Or at the very least, you're on your way."

"No, no, no." Getting to his feet again, Piccolo started pacing the tiles. "Until Gohan, I never even considered that I could feel any amount of love for anything. And now you—you're going to sit there and tell me I'm falling in love. What am I going to do, ask her to marry me someday? Start a family like Goku and Chi-Chi?"

"Well why not? If you love each other—"

"Love each other?" Piccolo barked. "She doesn't love me. She wouldn't. Don't you get it? None of this matters. It's all I can think about and it's completely meaningless."

Kami gripped his walking stick and stood, letting it carry most of his weight. "You know, if you allow people the chance to surprise you, sometimes they will."

"And just what does that mean?"

"It means stop being so damn stubborn and let her know how you feel already."

Piccolo let go of a nervous gasp of air. Trying to explain all this to himself was difficult enough, but explaining it to Kami? To Hana? Walking up a waterfall would be simpler.

"At least go and see her today," Kami continued. "I think you'll be glad you did."

Piccolo stared the old man down. In spite of his frustrations, he knew better than to disregard such a obvious shove in the right direction. "Fine. But quit watching me."

"I can't make any promises."

.

.

The blue beach house greeted Piccolo as he landed just shy of the front porch. He checked the sky. The sun was beginning to set. Neighbors had lights shining from their kitchens, bedrooms, living rooms. Hana's house was dark and quiet. He tried ringing the doorbell once, then twice. No answer. Gohan was still sick with the flu, so there was no reason for her to be at the Son's. Maybe she was out with friends? What did women like to do? He shook the thought from his head and went to the window by the door.

Just a quick peek, he told himself. Don't be nosy.

Her purse was still sitting there on the coffee table. Would she have left without it? Suddenly he felt knots in his stomach. Something wasn't right.

He flew around to the back of the house, searching the shoreline for any sign of her. Perhaps she'd simply gone out for a run and would return shortly. But that didn't seem like Hana. He touched down on the back porch and tried the sliding glass door. The latch gave way to his thumb. He was in.

It was wrong, he knew. A breach of trust. Illegal, too, most likely. At the moment there was something more important to contend with.

The living room was a familiar scene. He noticed the new lamp by the couch and felt guilty all over again. If he concentrated, he could recall the worry in her voice when she asked if he was hurt. His skin went warm at the memory. "Hana?" he called, listening intently for a reply. Nothing.

He spied the hallway she'd vanished into that night. Her bedroom must have been that way. Taking slow, silent steps, he crossed the length of the hall and found the bedroom door open. He just wanted to see her bed. See where she laid her head at the end of the day.

Instead, he saw her. All of her. The sheets pooled off the side of the mattress, and there lay Hana, dressed in only a modest pair of underwear, arm resting across her stomach.

Piccolo threw his hands over his mouth and forced himself out into the hall. He pressed his shoulder blades against the hall closet door, reeling from the sight. He knew more or less what a human female body was meant to look like. His ignorance of humans wasn't that profound. He'd seen women paraded on billboards and television in nothing but their underclothes or bathing suits. He was all too familiar with their general shape. But to actually see everything so blatantly, so unexpectedly…that was a different story. His heart was still pounding. He was beginning to wonder if the knots in his stomach would ever go away.

The worst part was the dreadful, disgusting thought that he wouldn't mind seeing her that way a second time. What the hell was wrong with him…

The sound of heavy coughing drew his attention back to the bedroom. "Hana?" He'd said it without thinking.

There was silence for a minute and then, barely audible, "Who's there?"

"It's…it's Piccolo."

He heard the shifting of sheets but the reply he hoped for never came. He peered into the room for a second time. She'd managed to mostly cover herself and then had apparently fallen asleep again. Her face glistened oddly in the fading sunlight coming through the curtains. Piccolo moved cautiously to her side, tugging the bedsheets to cover her better. His fingers brushed her arm. She was coated in a thin sheen of sweat. The room wasn't terribly warm, though. He rested his knuckles on her forehead and frowned.

Her eyes, those big green eyes, fluttered open and settled on his face. "Piccolo," she said, her lips drawing up in a smile. "I thought I dreamed that I heard your voice."

"No, I'm really here."

"Not to be rude…but why are you in my house? Did I invite you…? I don't remember."

Piccolo squirmed for a moment under her inquisitive stare. "N-no, actually. I just came to see you and, well, when I got here I felt like you were in trouble. And the back door was open and—" He made fists at his side. "I apologize. It wasn't my place to enter uninvited."

Hana laughed a little before coughing some more. "It's cool. I'm happy you're here, but I'm okay."

Piccolo snorted. "You're not okay, you're sick."

She nodded, closed her eyes again. "All right, you got me. I think I caught it from Gohan. Don't tell him. I don't want him to feel bad." Her voice was hardly above a whisper. "Chi-Chi said she would call when he was better…but I guess he's still sick too."

"Yeah."

Piccolo watched the sheets rise and fall with her breathing, painfully aware of her shape underneath. He swallowed. "Do you…need anything?"

"Some ice water would be nice. Thank you, Piccolo."

He blushed, thankful her eyes were shut. "S-sure, I'll be right back."

The daylight was all but gone now, and the kitchen was covered in shadows. Piccolo reached along the wall until his finger hit the light switch. His eyes adjusted to the florescent lighting. Where would cups be stored? He started opening cupboards at random. Pots and pans. Bowls and plates. Spices and medicines. He grabbed one of the small boxes marked "cold & flu" and wondered if Hana could use it.

At last he found cups and got some ice water from the fridge. When he returned to the room he was surprised to see Hana sitting on the side of the bed in a pair of loose pants and a sweatshirt. "Here," he said, handing off the water and the medicine.

"You're the best." She took a couple pills and gripped the cup, shivering. "Think my fever's coming back. This flu is no joke. You probably…shouldn't hang around me much."

"I'll be fine, remember?" Piccolo watched as she left the water on the nightstand and crawled back under the blankets.

"Ah," said Hana, "that's right. You're too big and strong and handsome to get sick."

Her words brought color to his ears. It was just the fever talking, he reminded himself.

"Can you do me another favor?" she asked. "There's a comforter in the closet…"

Piccolo removed it from the top shelf and started to unfold it. "Should I just—" He stopped short, noticing just how badly she was shaking. With a hurried unfurling, he draped the plush comforter over the curled-up lump she'd made of herself.

"My hero," she said, nestling her fever-blotched face into the pillow. Piccolo stood there silently until he heard her begin to lightly snore. Should he stay? Surely she needed help as she recuperated. Had she really been holed up in this house for days with no one to care for her? How did she manage it? An ache settled in his chest at the thought.

He went to the bedroom window, drawing the curtains a bit tighter. A grouping of small framed photos on the dresser caught his eye. He saw an older couple at the beach—her parents most likely. A younger man in a graduation cap and gown—a brother? The third photo was of Hana and a different man. They were dressed up nicely and grinning from ear to ear, at a party perhaps, and the man had his arm around her waist.

Piccolo remembered being offered the clothes of an ex-boyfriend…so this was him. He frowned at the man's chiseled features, a quiet anger slowly mounting. It was an odd feeling, one he didn't quite understand or like. He backed away and left the bedroom, but not before pausing in the doorframe to look at Hana. She hadn't moved an inch since falling asleep.

Gohan was made of stern stuff and half a Saiyan as well, so Piccolo hadn't been terribly concerned for him these past few days. But humans were fragile creatures, so easily injured, so easily killed. Seeing Hana in this state made him worry. He couldn't help it.

The doorbell rang and Piccolo froze. Knocking followed.

Against every shred of judgment he had, he trudged into the living room and opened the door. Three eyes stared back at him, shining in the porch light.

"Tien."

Tien recoiled, unable to keep the shock from his face. "P-Piccolo?"

Piccolo furrowed his brow. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same." Tien tried looking past Piccolo's broad shoulders to see the house within. "Where's Hana?"

"Sleeping. She's sick."

"Oh." Tien seemed discouraged and started fiddling with one of the fasteners on his silk shirt. Piccolo noticed. The muscles in his jaw clenched unconsciously. Why was Tien so dressed up?

"Perhaps you should come back another time," said Piccolo.

"Piccolo?" came a faint voice from behind him. "Who's at the door?"

Piccolo whirled to see Hana pulling a robe over her shoulders as she approached. "Oh, uh. Tien."

Hana slipped past him to greet Tien. "Hey, long time no see," she said. "Come in, I'll make some tea." She headed to the kitchen as Tien awkwardly shuffled inside under Piccolo's steely glare.

"Hana, are you sure you shouldn't be lying down perhaps?" Piccolo asked.

"Yes," Tien chimed in, "I'd hate to see you go to all this trouble if you're not feeling well."

She put on the kettle and turned to them with a smile. "Honestly, you guys, I'll be fine. The meds'll kick in soon and my fever will go down. I was kinda tired of lounging around in bed anyway." She placed three mugs on the counter and put tea bags in two of them. "How do you like your tea, Tien?"

Tien's third eye darted to Piccolo for a second. "Um, just black please."

"You got it."

Hana stood by the kettle, warming her hands over the stove. Piccolo didn't like this. She should have been in bed, not playing hostess. And he found Tien's presence especially irritating. He couldn't remember ever having much of an issue with the man before, so what was this? Why was it taking so much willpower not to forcibly shove him out of the house?

The kettle whistled and Piccolo flinched and covered his ears until Hana lifted it off the burner. She poured the boiling water into the three mugs. "Would you like something in your water?" she asked Piccolo. "Honey? Lemon?"

"Oh, uh. Lemon. Please."

Hana fixed up their mugs and brought them to the table. "Sit, sit," she said. She wrapped her hands snugly around her mug and breathed in the steam. Piccolo could see she was still trembling from the fever. "It's nice to have some company over. Makes me feel a little better."

"Just don't overdo it," Piccolo said pointedly.

"Yes," Tien agreed. "Don't stay up on our account."

Hana waved off their concern. "Really, guys, it's fine." As soon as the words left her mouth she started coughing into the sleeve of her robe. Piccolo and Tien made a move towards her, but she put up her hand and caught her breath. "Quit acting like I'm gonna fall down dead, you two. I'm okay."

Piccolo realized he was tensing every muscle in his shoulders. He made an effort to relax himself but couldn't seem to manage it. Hana wasn't well. As hard as she was trying to assuage their worry, he could see right through her.

Hana took a lengthy sip of her tea. "So what brings you over, Tien? Were you coming to check up on me?"

"He didn't know you were sick," Piccolo said pointedly.

Tien blushed. "It's true. I'm sorry. I was actually—well—" He rubbed a finger around the rim of the mug. "Chiaotzu entered into a martial arts tournament and I just thought…maybe…I could take you. I-If you wanted to go watch, that is."

Piccolo dropped his mug on the table harder than he meant. So this was Tien's purpose for being there? He ground his back teeth together, his tension returning in full force. "Excuse me," he said, rising to his feet. "I'll let the two of you have this conversation. I need some fresh air."

Hana's weary eyes followed him as he stood. "Oh," she said. "All right, no worries." Piccolo wished she wouldn't look at him that way, with something like subtle disappointment in her smile. He turned from the table and left through the back door.

The sun had set by now, and the moon was close to full and high in the sky. Piccolo relished the cool evening breeze on his skin. From the height of the back porch he could see out across the ocean. Hana certainly had quite a view.

For a while he leaned against the railing, doing his best to ignore the muffled voices from inside. They were speaking so softly that even with his excellent hearing it proved difficult to eavesdrop. Not that he wanted to eavesdrop. He knew what was happening anyway. Hana was in there, accepting Tien's offer. And why wouldn't she? They had been dancing together at Master Roshi's party, after all.

He let go of the railing. He'd left splintered indents from his fingers. "Idiot," he scolded himself. "Stupid, sentimental idiot." It was time to leave. It had been time to leave long before he even entered the house.

Hoisting himself over the edge, Piccolo leapt from the porch and down onto the sand. He felt like a walk. It was a good night for a long, self-pitying walk. His feet led him to the water's edge. He followed the coastline, his gaze cast outwards at the sea's horizon, and he left the blue house far, far behind.

"Piccolo!"

That voice. He spun around. "Hana." She was still down the beach a ways, running towards him, kicking up sand with her bare feet. "Hana! Stop!" He closed the distance between them as fast as possible. What was she doing?

Piccolo grabbed her by the arms as he reached her. Even through the robe he could tell she was burning up.

"Are you crazy, Hana? What the hell were you thinking? Where's Tien?! How could he let you—"

"He left already," said Hana, panting. "I…I let him down easy."

"What are you talking about?"

"I told him…all of my free time was yours. That you were training me now. I think…he understood…"

Piccolo was at a loss. "I wasn't planning on demanding so much of your time as that," he said. "If you want to go with Tien, you can."

Hana just smiled and shook her head. "I don't. Not with him." She coughed again, and this time she couldn't catch her breath as easily. Piccolo could hear the wheezing sound in her chest. "Ohh…running was a mistake…" Her legs buckled, but he caught her before she hit the sand.

"Hana? Are you all right? Hana?!" She didn't respond and her fever showed no signs of retreat. Was the medicine not working? Piccolo gripped her close, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. What did she need? Was she dying? Should he take her to the hospital? The emergency room?

Then it dawned on him. He knew exactly where to take her. He'd never hear the end of it, but there was no other choice.

With her snug and secure in his arms, he pushed off into the night sky.

.

.

So I've got the next six days to try and complete another chapter before I'm gonna get swamped by NaNoWriMo. I'm gonna try REALLY HARD to finished chapter 10 before Nov. 1st. Wish me luck!

My continued thanks for reading as always! Seeing all the reviews from you guys is really heartening, and I'm grateful for every single reader.