Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Kingdom Come ❯ Chapter 03: Harsh Light of Day ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

WARNING: See Chapter 1

Kingdom Come
~ Chapter 03

'What a jackass,' Gohan mused on his father as he walked. He wasn't completely certain of when his brother had escaped from their father's and his company, but he knew that he should be making his getaway as quickly as possible soon thereafter. It wasn't difficult. The emperor was so wrapped up in himself that he hadn't even really seen his elder son leave as well. Gohan had decided upon his office for sanctuary. No one would bother him there unless it was an emergency, especially not his father. Lord Kakarrot tried to avoid almost anything that had to do with actual work. Heading towards his office, where he knew a multitude of inane reports would be awaiting him, he considered the day's events.

He'd heard the call. Jeice had three nominees for the tournament. Three! And where did he find them? At the old ruins in the sky of all places. Nothing of value was left there; Lord Kakarrot had seen to that. Destroying the home of the old ruler of the planet had been icing on the cake for the emperor. And what had these three men been doing there? They must've coerced Jeice into bringing them to the palace. That much was certain. Although, Gohan surmised, they could've just tricked the orange warrior. He never had been known for his brains.

What had Jeice been thinking? As if those three seemingly ineffectual creatures could enter the tournament. Well, no. Strike that. -Two- presumably weak individuals. That third one... Gohan smiled a bit to himself. Piccolo was his name, wasn't it? Now, -there- was something to appreciate. He was definitely a fair prospect. That commanding voice, that piercing gaze, that... delightfully well-built body. His intense presence alone practically exuded authority, control, power; all of those wrapped up in a tight, hard, sexy green package was nearly too good to be true. He was superior to the other two, no doubt about it. The demi-saiyajin licked his lips in approval.

Soon, he arrived at his office. It was a simple room, round in shape, with windows covering an entire quarter of the wall and bookcases covering the rest of it, except for the door. Near the windows sat his broad desk and plush chair. With a deep sigh, he sat down in his chair and gazed forlornly at the stack of discs he had to go through. Languidly picking one up and sliding it into a reader, he put his feet up on his desk, relaxing into the chair.

His eyes drifted from the digital screen to the window and the lands beyond. This area was lush and green, unlike much of this planet. The grass wavered in a slight breeze, glossy and smooth. It reminded him of something... He smirked. It was that Piccolo's skin. It was the same color. He slowly turned over thoughts in his head of the tall green warrior, and his body responded in accordance. He slipped his hand down his armor-covered stomach to his swelling arousal and realized he was wearing far too much clothing. Quickly getting up out of the chair, he looked around, coming to a decision. He first closed the curtains over the windows and then locked the only door to the office. A high and mighty grin graced his features as he stripped the armor and uniform from his chiseled body, permitting his fingers to linger over his skin, heightening his stimulation. Finally, he settled back down into the chair, steamy images already filtering into his all-too-eager mind.

Piccolo would come to him, crawling, begging. That was the only way it could be, after all. Gohan smirked at the thought. Piccolo, on his knees. But he didn't want the tall warrior like that. No, not like that at first.

Gohan closed his eyes as his hand began to stroke himself slowly, teasing. It'd be like that in the beginning, all touching and teasing and tormenting. He'd make Piccolo beg initially, denying him the ability to do as he wished. It would all be on Gohan's terms, as it was meant to be. But, just before Piccolo gave up the quest as futile, Gohan would give him a bit. Just a bit. And Gohan would make him beg just a little more. He'd tease him, allow the green male to caress him, but would make him avoid the really sensitive parts, as if it were more painful for Piccolo not to touch him there. Piccolo would whimper and plead with the prince to let him take him, so that the taller man could be his.

And he'd allow it. But it would be on his terms. Nothing soft and gentle about it. Gohan imagined Piccolo crying out, begging to be inside him, and it was a sound he thought would be good. He would throw the larger male onto his back and straddle his hips, roughly pressing their heated shafts together. He would grip and massage the green body beneath him until Piccolo could stand no more and beg to be inside the prince.

And he'd allow it. He'd let Piccolo flip him over and bury his steely rod deep within him. Gohan could picture it all clearly in his mind. Piccolo's cool, grass-green skin pressed against his ivory skin. The well-muscled physique rapidly thrusting between his legs. The large, throbbing member plunging hard into him. The feverish, passionate friction between their bodies. The pain that equaled pleasure. He could imagine the dark voice whispering his name like a prayer, like he was some god. Gohan imagined it all as if it was really happening, working his senses into a chaotic tumult.

The prince pumped his hand up and down his shaft with an increasing tempo.Images of the green man pounding into his flesh flashed behind his closed eyes. The images burned themselves into his mind, and the world blurred as his orgasm crested within him.

Slowly coming down off his high, Gohan peered into the empty room beneath heavy lids, but his mind still whirled with thoughts of Piccolo. How marvelous it would be to possess such a being. To have him by his side every day and in his bed every night. Wouldn't it be just wonderful to have such a magnificent toy? Gohan smirked lackadaisically. He would have him. 'Piccolo will be mine,' he thought. 'He -is- mine.'

Piccolo observed the android leading him through the palace, listening to what was said and what was not said. He watched the way 17 moved, how he was constantly scanning the corridors with his scouter. His every move and every word spoke of someone who was used to being on constant alert.

This was in contrast to the Android 17 with whom Piccolo was familiar. Where this one was cautious, the other was cocksure and arrogant. It was almost a refreshing change. Almost.

Piccolo didn't bother to move his head as he scanned the local area. He knew there was another person around, someone of mediocre material. He could sense a strange familiarity with that person, though. He looked to 17 as the android focused his attention on some outlandish statue, explaining what it was doing there. Some sort of strange ransom given to Lord Kakarrot for the return of some woman, which never happened, but the statue was kept just for laughs.

With an air of utmost boredom, Piccolo called out to the echoing emptiness of the large hallway, "You can come out, now. I know you're following us."

"Who are you talking to?" 17 queried, one dark eyebrow raised. "As you can see, we are very much alone."

"No, we aren't. And you know it," Piccolo stated as he looked straight at an area of wall where he could feel the other's presence. He was tired of being spied upon. Very, very tired. "He's right there."

"Who is?" 17 asked with a smirk. "Your imaginary friend?"

"He's not imaginary," Piccolo said as he looked around for a possible entrance, or better yet, an exit. "He's right behind that wall. And if he doesn't come out, then I'm going to blast a doorway right through the wall. I doubt he'd enjoy that."

There was no sound as the figure moved away from the scene, but Piccolo followed anyway, 17 right behind him, protesting in hisses and stuttered sentences that meant nothing to him. The tall, green warrior was not going to let this little spy get away, especially since he thought it might be someone with whom he was familiar. The presence led him to a distant room, dark and musty and cold, but Piccolo entered anyway. 17 was not thrilled.

"Why did you want to come in here?" 17 inquired, his voice soft and dry.

"Shut up. He's coming."

"Sure he is," 17 replied grimly. "You're probably only picking up our Palace Ghost. It's nothing to worry about. Come on, let me show you more of the palace."

"I am not leaving until he shows himself."

"I told you! It's a damn ghost!" 17 retorted angrily, more emotional than he had ever been previously.

"No, it's not. If it were only a 'damn ghost,' then you wouldn't be so upset. You would be laughing," Piccolo responded, his voice level and even, dangerously observant.

After a short pause, there came a slight shuffling sound and a creak as something old opened up. Piccolo's eyes trained to the source of the sound immediately, 17 standing behind him deathly still. From the darkness of the doorway, a figure emerged, black clad and slow, as if he were not completely used to standing up straight.

Piccolo almost drew back in horror. The person standing before him was lean, almost skinny. His hair was long, nearly midway down his back. And the tail... Piccolo had noticed the others' tails and how they'd held them. But Trunks' tail surprised him. It hung limply like some broken toy, lifeless and joyless, almost as if it were sewn on rather than a living extension of his body. The green man quickly brought his eyes back up to Trunks' face. Haunted blue eyes darted around, hollow yet apprehensive, as if they'd seen enough of pain, yet not enough of laughter. Though, truth be told, Piccolo doubted anyone in the palace had any kind of knowledge on peace. This wasn't the Trunks he knew. This wasn't even Mirai Trunks. This was some weak farce of the laughing, joking demi-Saiyajin that Piccolo knew.

"Trunks, what are you doing here?" 17 asked, his voice amazingly emotionless after the earlier outburst.

"Um, I didn't think you'd find this place," Trunks said, his wide blue eyes looking only at Piccolo. "I thought... I thought... I thought you..."

"You thought you'd be safe," Piccolo supplied, interrupting.

"You don't have a scouter..."

"I don't need a scouter to sense you."

"You don't?" Trunks squeaked.

"No," Piccolo said, unfolding his hands from their customary place across his chest. He reached out one hand to touch Trunks, to offer reassurance, but 17 moved to intercept him.

"Don't," 17 commanded, eerily calm. "Trunks is no threat. He's a nobody."

"He's a victim," Piccolo returned.

Trunks, meanwhile, was sliding back into the shadows, trying to disappear. He knew that 17 spoke the truth, but he was caught off guard by the sincerity of concern that Piccolo expressed for him. That moment of hesitation cost him. Piccolo shook off 17's hand as if it were nothing, clasping Trunks by the collar at the same time and dragging him further away from the safety to which he was accustomed. Trunks knew that struggling was pointless, but he tried to anyway, digging his feet against the ground and fighting the fist clasped into his clothes with all the desperate strength of someone who knew what horror awaited him should he fail in getting away. "Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!"

"Trunks, be silent!" Piccolo snapped. "I'm not going to hurt you."

17's blue eyes watched, silent and helpless, unable to interfere. He wanted to help, and it was obvious that he did, but Lord Kakarrot had long ago stated that Trunks was anyone's meat if they could take him. And they usually could take him... however they wanted to.

"Please, let me go!" Trunks cried out, frantic. "Please! Don't hurt me! I didn't do anything!"

"I know that," Piccolo said.

"What are you going to do with him?" 17 asked softly.

"I don't know, but he isn't staying here," Piccolo stated.

"What?!"

"It isn't safe."

"What do you mean?" Trunks questioned, still fighting, but also curious. Amazing how that personality quirk was still in evidence.

"Lord Kakarrot is coming this way."

"What?" 17 breathed, tipping his scouter, and searching for the familiar energy reading. Sure enough, Lord Kakarrot was indeed heading in their direction. "Damn. He must be coming to visit one of his women. We shouldn't be here. This is the west wing; only Lord Kakarrot and a few, select guards are supposed to be here."

"What do you mean, his women?" Piccolo queried, stopping abruptly. They were out of the small locker room, and yet still away from the main route of travel in the hallway.

"His women. What, don't you know what a woman is?" 17 asked nervously.

Suddenly, the hallway was filled with a high-pitched, terrified scream of someone who saw death stalking towards her and, though she knew there was no escape, she still wanted to run. Piccolo released Trunks, clasping his hands over his sensitive ears, cringing in pain. Trunks fell to his knees, his hands held protectively over his own ears. The lavender-haired demi-Saiyajin began to whimper and rock until the screaming ended, but it was followed with such heartless laughter that Piccolo, the mighty Demon Lord himself, was left feeling cold inside.

"She's screaming again. He went to visit her. Why? Why does he enjoy hurting her? She always screams when he goes to visit her. He always leaves angry. Why doesn't he just stay away? Stay away from all of them?" Trunks whimpered, wrapping his arms around his waist. 17 knelt beside him, encircling him in another band of security.

"Who's screaming?" Piccolo asked, curious in their strange behavior.

"Lady Chichi. His wife," 17 answered, rubbing Trunks' back as the other young man uncurled from his position to wrap around the android. "She's quite mad. Driven insane by her husband and sons."

Piccolo looked the direction from which the laughter was still coming and shivered slightly, though it had nothing to do with the damp chill in the air. He looked down to his feet where the other two were still huddled and realized that this world may have had some of the same faces as his, but it was definitely nothing like home. Nothing like home at all.



Krillin wandered through the hallway, 18 leading him from the side. He was only halfway listening to her, though. This woman was so very unlike his wife that it wasn't just scary, it was enough to make his skin want to crawl off. She was heartless, cold, and ... bloody. She told him tales of purging worlds, of how Lord Kakarrot conquered the worlds of the Oroin people.

He hoped she wasn't trying to impress him, because if she was then she was seriously disturbed. Or perhaps it was just the rest of the world that made her that way. He was still pondering that thought when he arrived at a hallway intersection and came across Vegeta and Yamcha.

Yamcha was in a similar leading-following position as he was, only Vegeta was a bit more quiet about stories retelling bloody conquests. In fact, it looked as if there wasn't much conversation going on between the two of them as Krillin approached.

"Hey, Yamcha!" Krillin called out, jogging towards his friend. "Find anything interesting?"

"Yeah. A lot, actually," Yamcha smiled. "But I'll tell you later. So, enjoy lunch?"

"I think that was actually dinner," Krillin replied. "I think they'd be closing the service lines by the time you got there again. It's getting rather late. But, anyway, what have you and Vegeta been up to?"

"Nothing much," Yamcha laughed, but Krillin noticed a slight change in Vegeta's scowl, not much of one, but a slight change nonetheless. "Just giving me a tour. Hey, do you want to check out the arena? I mean, this tournament is supposed to be some kind of big deal, right? So, why not go check out the challengers?"

"Sure, sounds like fun," Krillin said, the note of happiness never leaving his voice.

Vegeta glowered as he followed the others down the hallway. He hated the arena. He hated the other beings in that place who tried to be more than they ever could be. But mostly, he hated what always happened to him there. It was Ground Zero for his shame. His weakness, his disgrace, his utter lack in everything hung over him like his own personal rain cloud. The arena exacerbated how meaningless the former prince had become. And this mismatched group was going there. 'How very delightful,' he thought sarcastically.

The short saiyajin's eyes focused on the yellow jacket in front of him. At least he'd be there, Vegeta consoled himself. The scarred human wasn't so bad. Actually, he was almost what could be considered a bright spot. And when was the last time he'd had one of those? Could he even recall a time? His deep frown lessened a bit as he observed the taller human. Even from behind, he could tell that Yamcha was a handsome man. Suddenly, the man in question turned his head around to look at Vegeta, like he'd sensed the small saiyajin examining him.

Embarrassment flushed the smaller male's face at having been caught. When he met the other's eyes, he expected to find disapproval burning there. Instead, the brown eyes glittered warmly, and a soft little smile adorned his features. Vegeta found himself wanting to return that smile, and he must have responded decently because the tiny smile broadened into a sincere grin. What was it about that man? Was he always this friendly? And how could he possibly not have a significant other? It was truly baffling. But Vegeta didn't have time to expand upon these thoughts in his head. They'd arrived at the arena.

"This is where the tournament will be held," the blonde android announced. "Welcome to the arena."

The two humans scanned the wide area. It looked nearly identical to the stadium in which the Tenkaichi Budokai was held. With one exception, that is. "What a dump," Krillin muttered.

"Got that right," Yamcha responded. "Looks like a demilitarized zone."

The place was in shambles. The lower part of the arena appeared blown apart with large chunks of stone missing and the areas around there scorched and blackened. The fighting platform itself was in downright disrepair. Huge craters and missing tiles blemished the surface of the platform.

"It will be repaired," 18 suddenly stated. "It's always repaired every year just before the tournament. It always needs it."

"So, uh, heh," the short, bald human began, "who or what did all this?"

"This is what's been left over from the last tournament, obviously. Prince Gohan and Prince Goten fought the best match we'd all seen in ages." 18 smiled proudly. "It was one of the most brutal and bloodiest fights in the history of the tournament. They nearly killed each other."

Yamcha paled and gulped, holding back the reflexive gag. Even though he comprehended the two demi-saiyajins were not the ones he knew, the idea of them killing each other just made him want to heave. "Interesting," he managed.

Suddenly, a shrill scream pierced the night air. The two humans jumped, skittishly looking all around them. Yamcha found his voice first. "The hell was that? A harpy?"

"Harpy," repeated 18, smirking. "Rather accurate, in a way."

Vegeta spoke up, his voice steady but soft. "It's Lady Chichi, Lord Kakarrot's wife. He most likely went to visit her. Screaming is the only way she expresses herself now."

"Oh."

An uncomfortable silence stretched within the group. The short human shuffled his feet a bit, trying to think of a way to change the subject. Off in the distance behind a gate, Krillin spotted other people fighting. "Say, what's that over there?" he inquired.

"The sparring grounds," came the answer from the blonde. "Everyone practices there." She began to move towards the other area, and Krillin stepped up to walk alongside her while Yamcha and Vegeta trailed a bit behind them.

The sparring grounds were completely opposite of the arena in appearance. They'd obviously been meticulously kept with their perfectly cut green grass and pristine sparring rings. All of the rings were currently occupied. Even at the Tenkaichi Budokai, which typically had a considerable crowd of people trying to take part in the event, they'd never seen this many fighters vying to participate in a tournament. Krillin and Yamcha scanned the throngs of fighters for a familiar face, but found none. Just a bunch of drones.

They walked along the paths between the sparring rings, gauging the power levels and skills of the warriors. Not surprisingly, the two humans found them deficient in both areas. Yamcha became gradually aware that Vegeta was inching closer and closer to his side until the two of them were walking right next to each other with a mere inch between them. At first he was a little confused by the small saiyajin's actions, but as he watched Vegeta's eyes darting back and forth between every fighter they passed, it began to occur to the scarred male that perhaps Vegeta was uncomfortable being so near so many other competitors.

"Vegeta?" he asked in a soft whisper. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," Vegeta replied, though there was a certain amount of enthusiasm missing from the statement that would add to its truthfulness. The prince's tail wrapped more securely around his torso, protectively defensive.

Floating above the ground, two figures danced to the beat of what they considered a quick sparring rhythm. One was with blue skin and horns, while the other was more of a humanoid in appearance, though he was anything but human. They broke apart to catch their breath and to size each other up again. Glancing down, they spotted the four tourists. They grinned at each other and caught someone else's eye, silently and unobtrusively. The aerial fights continued, but now they were more dances than they were fights, preparing for the trick that was to come.

The calm before the storm was brief, but noticeable. The two humans looked up at the fighters hovering over them even as two of them began to power up. Yamcha and Krillin knew that it was too much for the 'light sparring' that the others were doing. Vegeta, on the other hand, knew exactly what was to come, and like any person who was used to being the butt of jokes, he awaited the humiliation with an already defeated spirit, realizing that there was nothing he could do to stop it. Strangely enough, Vegeta didn't have to stop it. Even as the energy blast was released, and the mock opponent that the blast was fired at moved away to allow the powerful attack to plow down from the sky to the four observers, Krillin and Yamcha moved.

Vegeta, and others, would swear that they never saw the humans move. 18 wasn't even paying them attention, though. Krillin moved in front automatically, blocking the attack and throwing it back at the challenger. Yamcha, on the other hand, didn't move a muscle, but he powered up briefly, as if to ward off any other attacks.

There were no more attacks, though. The fighters remained silent as they came to grasp with the idea that the humans were the ones to throw the attack back. But then the bully snorted, dismissing the entire incident and started attacking his sparring partner once again.

Yamcha and Krillin stood there on guard for a little longer, unsure of who might attack next, but found that there wasn't a need. Tensed and ready, they began to continue their tour. Yamcha leaned over slightly to Krillin and had to inquire, "Well? How was the power level? It didn't feel too impressive."

"It wasn't anything more than a light show. I hope they don't think this is some kind of power show. Because if this is the best they have to offer, then they really don't have a clue what kind of dangers are really out there. I'm beginning to think that they aren't masking their power readings at all. They're all this... weak!" Krillin said in a hushed whisper, thinking aloud. Clearing his throat, he called out to 18 who was still in the lead, "Hey, 18? What was that all about?"

"Why don't you ask the shrimp?" 18 sneered over her shoulder.

"What?" Yamcha asked, surprised. He turned to look over his shoulder at Vegeta, who was following them. They seemed to be forming a loose diamond pattern as they walked. Yamcha noticed this, noticed that Vegeta was way too tense, and dropped back beside him to see what was wrong. "What does she mean, 'ask the shrimp'?"

Before Vegeta could answer, a bell tolled in the distance. The fighters froze in midair. As the last of the chimes vibrated, 18 called out in a commanding voice, "Okay, you maggots! Time to clear out of the arena! Any stragglers will have to deal with Prince Gohan in the morning, and we all know how HE deals with stragglers! Move! Move! Move!"

The area cleared out faster than a buffet table when Goku sat down to eat. Krillin let out a low whistle of amazement at the speed, looking around to see if anyone was there. "Wow! That's impressive. What was that all about?"

"It's curfew for the fighters. We should get you to your rooms now," 18 said. "We wouldn't want you to get in any kind of trouble, now would we?"

"Heh. I guess not," Krillin laughed as he rubbed his hand through his black hair.

They started back for the guest quarters, and Vegeta and Yamcha, walking more slowly than Krillin and 18, fell quite a few steps behind them.Out of nowhere, the saiyajin softly spoke, "I'm the shrimp."

"Huh?" Yamcha sounded, just as quietly. "What are you talking about?"

"You asked earlier what the android meant by 'ask the shrimp'," he reminded. "You were supposed to ask me."

Yamcha came to a full stop, a small, incredulous look on his face. He gazed at Vegeta, eyebrows drawn down a bit, mouth in a firm line. The frown deepened slightly when he turned his head to look at 18, but it lessened once his eyes fell on the former prince again. "Do they all dislike you that much, Vegeta?" he whispered.

"They don't care enough to dislike me," the smaller male answered. "But that's how little they think of me." He looked pointedly at Yamcha before starting to follow Krillin and 18 again. "I told you. I'm nothing."

"You're wrong," Yamcha murmured. "You could never be 'nothing', Vegeta. Not to me."

The scarred man placed a reassuring hand on the smaller male's shoulder. A visible flinch jumped through the small physique. Swallowing hard, Vegeta glanced at the hand and then up at its owner. He slowed his pace and edged closer to Yamcha, urging the hand to move. The saiyajin knew one of two movements would happen. Either the hand would fall away completely, or the hand would slide around to his other shoulder, draping the arm in a half-hug. He prepared for the first, but prayed for the second. Daring to look back at Yamcha, he found that warm smile placed again on that handsome face, and the human's arm slid around his shoulders.

Vegeta leaned slightly into Yamcha as 18 and Krillin passed a hall mirror, and the android just happened to be watching the image reflected in it.

18, though not normally known for her observation skills, couldn't have missed that gesture unless she'd been bound with a sack over her head. It looked like nothing, but she was judging it by Vegeta's reaction, and therefore, she could see more in it. There was a kindness in the action, and suddenly, 18 had figured out what it was that had been bothering her the whole time since they'd met up with the other two.

Yamcha was so tender with Vegeta, so nice. As if he... cared for the smaller male. Her disgust overcame her shock. It almost made the android gag. These humans were so weak, especially the scarred one. He was eager to slide back into a comforting role rather than being aggressive. At least Krillin was man enough to stand up to those low-class fighter wannabes. But that Yamcha... What a girl.

She briefly wondered if the humans realized what a mockery they had made of Vegeta at the sparring grounds. Having to be protected by two insignificant little humans? Pathetic! She would've pitied the small saiyajin if she paid him any mind at all. But as it stood, she did not. He was nearly as -- if not just as -- unimportant to her as the two humans. Yes, she took note of the interaction between Yamcha and Vegeta; this much was true. However, she didn't dwell on it. The moment moved on, and 18 became bored once again, not even concerned enough to file away in her head what she'd just witnessed.



Outside the Palace, the world was cast in darkness. The moon hung suspended in the sky, only at half mass. The stars shown, but lacked a certain amount of joy that might be found elsewhere. Inside their rooms, the trio sat and thought about the day's events and all that had happened. They were not allowed to converse with each other, having been ushered into their rooms immediately upon arrival.

The rooms were set up staggered down the hall with Piccolo being closest to the main entrance, and Yamcha being further inside. The three guards stood outside the doors to the visitor's rooms, doing their duty and 'guarding' their charges.

18 leaned against the wall near her brother outside of the guests' quarters. "This is ridiculous," she stated. "Having to watch this stupid human is wearing down my patience. What was Lord Kakarrot thinking when he allowed this?"

"Careful, 18," 17 admonished. "Don't say anything more. It could be misconstrued as treason. Lord Kakarrot would deactivate you... or worse. You remember what happened to 16..."

The blonde android gritted her teeth. "I remember," she responded gravely. "But that's easy for you to say. You're the one who got the only one of them that even seems remotely interesting. Although I will give the runt in my charge some credit. He didn't hit on me, not even once. Must have a lot of will power," she decided. "But that'll change. Always does."

"Mmm," he nodded. He knew that his sister was a tad disappointed the small human hadn't attempted something with her. She enjoyed a good fight just as much as the next person, if not more so. The blonde could certainly take care of herself; she was just as strong as 17, although 17 was the superior fighter. His eyes drifted down the curve of the hallway and landed on Vegeta, who was standing directly in front of the door to his charge's room. The short saiyajin seemed different somehow, but 17 couldn't put his finger on what that was. No, not really different. Preoccupied. Vegeta was there, physically, but his mind was definitely not on his duty."What's his problem?" the black-haired android mumbled.

"Oh, he's probably just being pissy," 18 remarked, waving her hand. "There was a tiny incident at the sparring grounds. Totally made a laughing stock out of him, but that's nothing new." She sighed. "Speaking of that, I had a lousy day. You would not believe the crap I had to put up with. How was your day?"

"Fine," 17 stated, his voice firm and level. He didn't often hide things from his sister, but today's events with Piccolo and with... Trunks were not something they should discuss. If she knew about Trunks...Well, some things are safer left in the privacy of dark hallways and hidden passages.

Vegeta kept his eyes trained to the smooth wall in front of him. Although perfectly aware that the two androids were gossiping about him, he didn't let it affect him. He had far more important things to consider.

His own frailty was so evident to him that it was almost palpable. Was he so desperate for attention and affection that he would just fall immediately into the first seemingly open arms that would take him? That display earlier, walking down the halls with Yamcha's arm around him, was at the same time shameful and wonderful. The saiyajin shouldn't need or even want some human to take pity on him. It was disgraceful. Yet, he really wasn't certain that the scarred male pitied him. But surely it had to be pity. Yamcha didn't know him, couldn't care for him so quickly, could he? But then again, he reminded himself, there was another Vegeta that Yamcha knew. A Vegeta who was still the saiyajin prince technically but was nothing like him. The way the human described the prince, it didn't seem like he would feel sorry for him, however. As a matter of fact, Yamcha's description of the royal was anything but piteous.

What had he said exactly? That he'd looked down upon everyone? That may have been true about him until Kakarrot had put him in his place. But not anymore. Vegeta had spent enough time as a pariah to act otherwise. But how could anyone feel sorry for a jerk with a superiority complex? That just didn't make any sense. Then again, the scarred male had say he'd always wanted to be friends with the other Vegeta. Once more, that didn't really compute. Was that what it was? Misplaced association? Did Yamcha mistake him for the other Vegeta?

He still couldn't understand why someone as pleasant and decent as his human charge would be interested in being the friend of someone as unpleasant as the other version of him was made out to be. Unless it was all a front. But Yamcha didn't seem like he was lying to him. There was a sincerity in his eyes and voice that just couldn't be faked. No, no. Yamcha was genuine. And all of this led Vegeta to believe that all of his actions were genuine as well.

But the real mystery that plagued the saiyajin's mind was the object of Yamcha's affection. Who could it be? He didn't talk much about anyone else in depth. Could it be the short human Krillin? They seemed close. Vegeta's frown deepened, and he shook his head slightly as if to clear it. No. It couldn't be Krillin. They appeared close, but it was a closeness between old friends, not possible lovers. His thoughts still lingered slightly on the green man in their company. He certainly had a presence that was not to be taken lightly, but was that something that drew Yamcha? The scarred human didn't look like the type to be pulled in by that. No, it wasn't him either.

Who was this man who'd stolen Yamcha's heart? Now, obviously, he could ask the man himself, calling in one of his favors, but he despised having to do that for something so trivial. What other options did he have? How else could he subtly bring up the topic again? Could he trick the human into giving himself away? These questions tumbled through his head over and over, and Vegeta realized he wouldn't have to worry about falling asleep on the job that night.



Yamcha laid in his bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling. Where in Kami had they ended up? The seventh level of Hell? Madness, on some level, consumed practically every being he'd seen today. Goku was an evil dictator. Gohan was a bratty jerk. And from what he'd heard, Goten wasn't all that different from either of them. And Chichi? Nuttier than a fruitcake. Plus, all the little 'warriors' around seemed like a bunch of prancing morons. It was all just awful.

Except Vegeta. The original Vegeta would've loved this. He could've taken Kakarrot down and ruled all on his own. But this Vegeta... He was better. Sadder, true, but better somehow. He'd been forced into letting go of all the uglier things the regular Vegeta portrayed openly. And Yamcha liked that. This Vegeta didn't look down on him. He didn't treat him like dirt. He listened to him, let him be sociable with him. They could be... friends.

Why couldn't it be more? Yamcha sighed and draped his arm across his eyes. He should accept what he could. If this Vegeta wanted friendship only, then he should take it instead of wishing that he could manage the get him to want more than that. No, he was probably like his counterpart in that respect. Nothing but women-kind for him. Although, the human reasoned, it's not like he had much access to anyone at all since they treated him so poorly. It was such a shame the way they acted towards the saiyajin prince. Vegeta deserved so much more. He really seemed like a great guy, greater than the other Vegeta.

The last thought floating through his mind before he drifted off to sleep was, "This place is so fucked up."



18 is an ugly, uncaring bitch.

Vegeta is a wuss, and everybody picks on him.

Goku somehow became Frieza... without the girly-ness.

Gohan is like the old Vegeta, except in some way more of a priss.

Goten acted just like... Piccolo. Well, the old Piccolo. The one before the real Gohan had gotten hold of him.

Bulma is a whore.

Chichi is insane. Well, more insane than the regular Chichi.

Trunks is... Where was Trunks in all this?

Krillin frowned slightly as he recounted all the things he'd learned today. Shaking his head, he curled up under the covers on the bed and went to sleep, thinking about nothing else other than that he had to get home as soon as possible.