Good job, you made it to Friday. Your reward is pie and a nap.
All good things had to come to an end. As Hit returned to his senses, two major sensations demanded his attention. The first was Dyspo's body lying atop him like a humanoid weighted blanket, warm and pleasant. The second was the bite wound and accompanying slow trickle of blood he'd received from the sharp-toothed rabbit.
"Don't fall asleep yet." Hit shook the limp Pride Trooper. "Dyspo, go rinse your mouth out."
Dyspo picked his head up a few inches. "I'm too tired."
"You're going to regret it."
"Why?"
Hit gestured to his shoulder, which had stopped bleeding but still stung.
"Uh. So there's no nice way to ask this, but you don't have something contagious, do you?" Dyspo asked, suddenly feeling much more awake.
"No, nothing like that. What I do have is very bitter blood."
The same curious masochism that drove people to press on bruises now swiped Dyspo's tongue across his buck teeth. His reaction was instantaneous. He grimaced and clambered off of Hit. The assassin sighed and shook his head as he watched the Pride Trooper hop straight for the bathroom sink. The urge to say "I told you so" was difficult to ignore.
After several rounds of gurgling tap water and spitting, and making a general mess in the process, Dyspo was finally rid of the awful taste. He towel-dried his face and turned back to the bed. Only the bed was no longer occupied. Hit had strolled over and was leaning against the door frame.
"Your blood's nasty," Dyspo said.
"I warned you," Hit replied. "And speaking of nasty, we're both disgusting. You can have the shower first."
"Why can't I do that after my nap?" Dyspo whined.
"You can, if you go back to your own room and take your various secretions with you."
"Fine, if that's what it takes to get me some cuddles."
Hit raised a brow. "Cuddles?"
"You heard me. Real men aren't afraid of cuddles."
Hit wasn't afraid of much, and certainly not cuddles. "Shower first, then we'll discuss this."
Acting like it took all his remaining strength, Dyspo dragged his ass across the bathroom. He slumped against the wall of the shower stall and let hot water run over him until Hit was satisfied. After drying himself just enough to keep from soaking the sheets, Dyspo burrowed back under the blankets.
By the time Hit undressed, took his shower, thoroughly cleaned his bite wound, changed into a fresh bodysuit, and straightened his coat, Dyspo was fast asleep. The assassin considered his options for a few seconds before crawling into bed beside the Pride Trooper. He had to adjust a few errant limbs, as Dyspo slept sprawled out like a starfish, but eventually he found a comfortable position and closed his eyes.
Dyspo woke up ravenous. He felt like he could chase down a wild animal, kill it with his bare hands, and eat it raw. Or, since he was a little too squeamish for offal, like he could put a major dent in Robo-Chef's stocks.
"It's an hour after nightfall, I brought food, and your teammate is at best suspicious and at worst fully aware of our escapades."
"Food?!"
Hit placed a sandwich down in front of Dyspo. The Pride Trooper was on it in an instant, tearing into it like he'd been wandering in the wilderness, starving, for weeks.
"You got anything else to eat?" Dyspo asked less than a minute later.
"My news doesn't concern you?" Hit inquired.
"Eh, not really. I know you're talking about Cocotte, since we could probably get it on in front of K'nsi and he'd still be oblivious. She's smart, she was gonna figure it out eventually. And I wasn't exactly subtle this morning when I met her in the cafeteria."
"I doubt you've been subtle once in your life."
"Hey! Sure, I'm on the energetic side, but-"
"You're as subtle as a kick below the belt," Hit interrupted. "Here, stop pouting and take the other half of my sandwich."
As he ate the proffered sandwich, this time at a marginally more civilized pace, Dyspo looked over to Hit. "What do you wanna do tonight?"
"How are you not satisfied?"
"I didn't mean it like that. Three in one day is enough even for me! I meant, do you wanna train or get some more chow or paint our nails and talk about boys?"
Hit examined his fingers. "Gold might be too garish but I always thought it would compliment my skin tone."
Dyspo laughed. "I'll ask Cocotte if she's got any gold polish. Though I better wait until tomorrow unless I really wanna piss her off. She cares way more about losing beauty sleep than she does about my sex life."
Hit accepted Dyspo's judgment. "If my manicure has to wait until morning, my second option would be-"
"Nope, you took too long, I'm making the choice for you. Robo-Chef, here we come!"
"Do you intend to put on pants first?" Hit asked.
"I was gonna just wrap the sheet around me, but if you're somebody who demands their date wears pants, fine. You go ahead, I'll meet you there."
One pair of pajama pants later, Dyspo joined Hit in the cafeteria. The Pride Trooper waved but showed no inclination to meet the assassin at a table. He only had eyes for Robo-Chef and made straight for the metallic cook.
"I see this is a casual event," Hit said, noticing his "date" was shirtless and hadn't even bothered with shoes.
"You wanted pants, you got pants," Dyspo replied. "Besides, now you get to enjoy the gun show."
"The what?"
"Maybe they don't have that expression in your universe. Or maybe you're too old to keep up on slang." Dyspo assumed a ridiculous pose with his arms flexed, which earned him a scoff from Hit.
"Are you prepared to order?" Robo-Chef asked, interrupting the display.
Dyspo rattled off a shopping list. If Hit hadn't seen the petite Saiyans from his own universe at mealtime, he might have questioned where the svelte rabbit intended to put it all. On the subject of Saiyans, Hit wondered how his former teammates and their impressive appetites had fared in the pie eating contest Vados had mentioned.
"You want anything?" Dyspo asked.
"Another sandwich, since you ate half of the first one. And is pie an option?"
"I am capable of creating several styles of pie from my current ingredients," Robo-Chef reported, "though they will require some time to bake."
"That's fine, make whichever flavor would least-appeal to a rabbit."
"I'm gonna try it anyway," Dyspo said.
Their orders in, there was nothing to do but wait on Robo-Chef. Luckily for the still-hungry and perpetually impatient Pride Trooper, the robot could multi-task. He was a full kitchen staff distilled into one shiny package. The first dishes made their way out before Dyspo could properly get bored.
"I usually don't eat like this," Dyspo said between mouthfuls. "But damn, we burned a lot of calories today. And we missed lunch. And dinner. And a couple of snacks."
By the time the pie was ready, Hit had finished his sandwich and Dyspo had put away enough food to easily make up for his missed meals. The Pride Trooper thought he was full, but the delicious aroma of fresh baked goods cleared a little corner of his stomach.
"What kind of pie is it anyway?" Dyspo asked. "It smells awesome but not like fruit."
"It's...a fish pie," Hit said after the first taste.
"I get it. Because rabbits—the little furry ones, at least—don't eat fish. I, however, happen to be all about that lean protein."
"Help yourself," Hit invited.
"Come on, haven't you been on a dinner date before? You're supposed to cut me a slice and then feed it to me while calling me all kinds of cutesy nicknames."
"I'd rather be erased again."
"Not a romantic bone in your body." Dyspo sadly shook his head. He then picked up his fork and dug in.
Once the pie was gone and Dyspo swore he couldn't eat another bite, don't tempt him, seriously he'd puke, Hit returned the dishes to Robo-Chef. In the brief moment he was gone, Dyspo sprawled across both their seats.
"I know I just got up, but I think I'm ready for another nap," the Pride Trooper said.
Hit rolled his eyes. "Are you serious?"
Dyspo stretched like a lazy cat. "I might change my mind if you have a better idea."
The assassin was quiet for a moment. "I have a proposition."
"I'm listening."
"I'd like to practice my technique on you."
The Pride Trooper sat up like a civilized person. "The time-freezing one? Is that safe? For you, I mean. K'nsi's no lightweight but I'm a lot stronger than him."
"There's no way to know without experimentation and no way to improve without practice."
"True, but if you die doing crazy shit, what happens to me? Do I get locked in time forever or does it stop when you pass out or kick the bucket?"
Hit could only shrug. "Specialized techniques do tend to fade with their user but I can't be certain. Though I can say I have no intention of dying. The plan is to start with small increments of time and gauge my body's reaction."
"Was that your plan with K'nsi too?" Dyspo asked, giving Hit a knowing little smirk. "Yeah, thought so."
To Hit's surprise, Dyspo got to his feet. "I'm gonna go get something. I'll be right back."
True to his word—and his unbeatable speed—Dyspo returned in a matter of seconds. He'd traded in his pajamas for his uniform and had picked up a fancy-looking, high-tech bracelet.
"Is that some sort of communicator?" Hit asked.
"Sure, that's one of the things it can do. It also has about a billion and four apps that can give it almost any function you could ever need," the Pride Trooper replied. "In this case, I need an alarm clock."
Dyspo fiddled with the device then held it out to Hit. The assassin eyed the bracelet with contempt. "It looks ridiculous and over-complicated."
"Don't worry, it's user friendly. I know how intimidating technology can be for the elderly. Put it on. You don't wear that, you don't get to freeze me."
Hit glared but accepted the communicator and begrudgingly strapped it to his wrist.
"The way I've got it set up, it's gonna alarm after five minutes. If you ignore it, it's gonna get louder every minute. If you keep ignoring it, it's gonna play the most annoying songs I know, and yep, they'll get louder too," Dyspo explained.
"How do I turn it off?"
"That's the neat thing: you don't. It's got a code I just set and it won't stop until I enter that code again. If you don't unfreeze me, you get to hear the worst music this universe has to offer."
"What keeps me from smashing it?"
"It's my property and I'll be pissed."
Hit translated that to mean the rabbit would whine about it. "I make no promises."
"I figured that was the best I'd get. Fine, let's do this."
Hit headed for the door. Dyspo followed moments after but took a second to give a final order to Robo-Chef. Something told the Pride Trooper they'd need another batch of electrolyte replenishment before the night was over.
The pair chose a spot on the edge of the sparring ground, hopefully far enough away from the barracks to avoid waking everyone if Hit chose to be stubborn.
"How does this work?" Dyspo asked.
"Walk toward me," Hit replied. "I've already planted the trigger. The moment you touch it, you should be locked in time. Then I focus all my energy—or as much as I need—on keeping you there."
"You're gonna need it all. And then some. Just wait and see."
Projecting a bravado Hit could practically see through, Dyspo advanced on the assassin. He considered seeing what would happen if he ran at Hit full speed, but this was only the second time Hit had tried the technique on an opponent who wasn't a swamp rat. There'd be plenty of opportunities to practice counters and dodging in the future.
"Count your steps," Hit said.
"Weird, but okay. One, two, thr-"
Mid-word, Dyspo came to a complete and total halt. As the Pride Trooper froze, Hit felt like the weight of a small planet had settled on his shoulders. He could scarcely breathe, and when he tried to take a step, his legs threatened to buckle.
He needed to focus. Block out all distractions, all stimuli, forget about everything except maintaining an iron grip on time itself. This level of single-minded concentration would leave him too vulnerable during an actual fight, especially with multiple opponents, but those were problems for later, for a Hit who, hopefully, had a much better grasp of this technique.
The Hit of the present lowered himself to the ground. Solid earth under him meant he didn't have to place any energy into standing. Closing his eyes, shutting down one sense entirely, turned off a whole spectrum of distractions. More spare energy to put toward his task.
As Dyspo had said, after a few minutes the communicator began to beep. Nothing too obnoxious. Hit could banish it to the periphery and ignore it.
Hit could also ignore the rising volume. If he could pursue a target through a city crammed to bursting with pedestrian and vehicular noise, he could block out one alarm clock.
What Hit quickly discovered he couldn't ignore was the music. Or "music," used in the loosest sense of the word. Not only was it so loud Hit could feel the vibrations in his bones, but the contents seemed to be aimed at...children with poor parental supervision.
"-ee. What the hell?!"
Dyspo floundered for a moment, bombarded by a cacophony that had, from his point of view, come out of nowhere. Hit gave him no time to recover. The assassin grabbed him by the collar and thrust the communicator at him.
"Turn. It. Off."
"Working on it. How long did you have it on for, anyway? Twenty minutes? What happened to 'small increments?'" Dyspo teased as he entered the code.
"It's not even half of what I need it to be!" Hit snapped, still bristling like a pissed-off porcupine.
"You froze time for twenty minutes! I don't know if even Angels can do that! Not to mention, you froze me. In case you didn't know, I'm a top finisher in the Tournament of Power. Yeah, I got eliminated by Goku's kid and a racist lizard but what are you gonna do?"
Some—but certainly not all—of the tension bled from Hit's stance. The assassin released his hold on Dyspo's uniform. "I want to try again, without the music."
"No."
"Excuse me?"
Dyspo held up his hands, trying to placate the assassin. "Let me clarify: not right now. You're not quite as sweaty as you were last time, but this took a lot out of you. I know you won't admit it—hell, if I was in your position, I probably wouldn't either—but you need a break. And to get a drink courtesy of Robo-Chef."
"I don't need you to mother me," Hit grumbled.
"I'm not trying to be your mother, just your friend."
Hit looked at Dyspo, uncharacteristically uncertain. He didn't make friends. People, even those that didn't recognize him as the universe's most skilled assassin, instinctively knew to stay the hell away. He was certain death wrapped in a long coat, not anyone's pal.
"I figured we've already got the 'with benefits' thing going on, might as well push it all the way. But it's up to you," Dyspo said.
"I could...consider you a friend," Hit decided.
"Somebody mark this day on the calendar, Hit made a friend! And he only waited a thousand years to do it!"
"I could just as easily consider you a nuisance."
Dyspo chuckled. "All my friends would say the exact same thing. Well, Top might be more polite about it. But Cocotte, she's with you all the way."
Hit wondered if it was too late to reconsider.
Author's Notes:
Was one of Dyspo's lines taken from the show Invincible (though it now may be more famous as a meme)? Yep!
Thanks for reading.