Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Kingdom Come ❯ Chapter 04: Revelations ( Chapter 4 )

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

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

WARNING: See Chapter 1

Kingdom Come
~ Chapter 04

The dawn's light entered the high windows through the slits in between the bars. Lord Kakarrot sat up against the headboard of the bed in which he was sleeping, the lush sheets pooled around him. He brushed a hand through the ragged spikes of his hair but did not dislodge their permanent placement. Beside him, and still unconscious, was his wife.

Lady Chichi.

Her hair was almost scalp short. Her small lips were set in a permanent pout. There were scars all along her arms and neck.

Kakarrot grimaced at her. She was so weak. So unworthy of her place. Why she had to give birth to his sons, he'd never understand. She was next to useless as anything other than as a vessel for his offspring. Kakarrot shook his head in disgust, more with her than with himself, because he knew that it wasn't his fault she got pregnant. It was her own.

He didn't understand why she couldn't have been... better. Like Bulma. Now, there was a woman. Intelligent. Strong enough to continuously be a challenge to conquer. She was a warrior, though not one of physical prowess, more of a strategic enemy. Bulma was one of the best fighters around, though she did her battles subtly and gracefully. Kakarrot knew that she manipulated him from time to time, though it wasn't until after she already had what she wanted.

Bulma was nothing like his frail, raven-haired wench of a wife. Kakarrot snarled as his body automatically reacted to thoughts of the blue-haired woman by becoming aroused. Bulma was a real woman. Bulma was a challenge. Chichi... was not. Chichi had to be physically restrained and practically forced to do her wifely duties.

Kakarrot climbed out of bed and grabbed his pants. He'd go visit his mistress, whether she wanted him or not. He didn't want to waste his energy fighting with his wife to have a little bit of fun. She wasn't worth it. On the other hand, knocking her on her ass was amusing, and that's what it usually took to shut her up. That, or threats. She responded nicely to threats.

Once clothed, Kakarrot left the room, his wife still unconscious on the bed. Nappa was beside the door, alert as always, his brown tail wrapped firmly around his waist. He bowed respectfully to his liege as Kakarrot walked past. "Nappa."

"Yes, m'lord?" Nappa replied, keeping his eyes to the floor.

"I'm going to allow you to have tomorrow off. Get another guard to watch over her," the ruler said.

"Thank you, m'lord," Nappa rejoiced. It had been a long, long time since he had had a day off.

Kakarrot barely paid the thanks any attention. His thoughts were already racing on to other things. Upon reflection, a nice stop at the kitchens was in order before he went to visit his azure gem. With a quick turn, he moved in that direction.

He was bored. He needed a vacation. Something new to do, or at least something to break the monotony of running a galactic empire. Yes, something interesting to do other than the 'same old same old'. He ate when he wanted to eat. He slept with whomever he wished, though Chichi was starting to give him a bit more grief lately. Perhaps he should put the fear of god in her again. With an evil smirk, he latched onto that idea. What would frighten his little human harpy? The last thing that did that was... Kakarrot laughed aloud. Yes! He'd go purge a planet, his hysterical wife by his side, screaming his name as he killed off another planet. He'd even let Nappa come, just to keep watch over her. Yes, that was just what he needed to do. There wasn't anything of too much interest around the palace at that time, so it would be good to get away.

He had hoped that the large green man that Jeice had brought forth last week would have entertained him, but alas, that was not to be. He preferred the company of his guard and his fellow humans over that of the many semi-worthy fighters vying for the opportunity to participate in the tournament. He had yet to actually see the stranger fight! Kakarrot snorted in disgust. If the man was a pacifist, he'd learn quickly that green was just another color in salad, and vegan is the other white meat.

Kakarrot had no interest in the humans, though. They were of very low priority to him; after all, he defeated their entire race. What could two measly warriors, if that were their real standing, do to him? Nothing. He was sure of that. He rolled his eyes as he dismissed them from his consciousness. They were meaningless and he wasn't going to waste his time even thinking about them.

The rose color of his scouter did nothing to hide the beauty of the person who was framed in the eyepiece. Gold eyes watched in silent adoration as the human slept peacefully. It was early morning, yet he had yet to pull away the curtains to banish the lingering shadows. Filmy curtains surrounded the bed, doing nothing to conceal the bed's lone occupant. Taking a deep breath to steady his heart, Zarbon continued to watch his charge, well aware that she was waking up.

"Good morning, Zarbon," Bulma said as she sat up in bed, the satin sheets slipping away from her bare body like water to pool at her waist. Her long blue hair was in a thick braid down her back, just like his long green hair. Bound and tied, just like they both were. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Yes, mistress," Zarbon replied, his voice even, betraying nothing as he watched her semi-nude form climb gracefully from the bed. "Thank you for asking."

"I only ask because when I fell asleep last night, you were standing in exactly the same spot." Bulma smiled back. This was a routine of theirs, the show and the conversation. It was the same almost everyday, very seldom were there any variations on it.

"I am supposed to guard you, even as you sleep. How can I do that if I do not watch?" Zarbon bowed as she neared him. He closed his eyes as she passed, not able to look at her as she came so near, yet had to remain ever so far away.

They both knew that Zarbon actually enjoyed watching Bulma sleep. And that she enjoyed the knowledge that he was close, protecting her, even though the one she needed the most protection from was the one person to whom he had to bow. He followed her into the bathing chambers. Again, it was all part of the ritual.

Her underwear fell to the white tile floor of her personal bathing chamber. She left them where they fell, knowing that someone would come along and take them to clean them. She turned on the hot water of her bath and waited for it to fill. She didn't have to wait long.

Zarbon watched with naked longing in his eyes, but those golden orbs were hidden by the red scouter and by the heavy steam that quickly over took the room. He could still see her body perfectly as she stepped into the tub. It was a perfect body. She sat up on her knees to wash her body, but when the front was complete, she signaled to him that she needed his assistance. She looked at him over her shoulder and jerked her head. He walked slowly over to her, his blood rushing in his ears as loud as the sound of the water as it cascaded down to strike against her pale flesh.

Bulma closed her eyes and leaned forward. She allowed a slight shiver to pass through her body as she felt Zarbon begin to wash her back with the bar of soap and his bare hand before re-washing her with a washcloth. He needed to wash her hair next.

With relish, Zarbon freed the tight braid and ran his fingers through it. He loved the feel of her hair, soft and silky. His was similar, yet different in so many ways. He knew he would die content if he had the ability to simply rub the soft azure tendrils over his light blue flesh, but he knew that was not a possibility. He sat up from his kneeling position beside the tub so that he could cup her head as she leaned back to soak all her hair. His gaze darted away from her face to travel down the center of her body, averting just after the dip that was her bellybutton. There were things he wanted at which he dared not even look because he knew they would simply torment his dreams. With a heavy sigh, he put his playing away and grabbed a large dose of shampoo.

Bulma managed to stifle a groan of pleasure. There was something very erotic about having her lovely guard wash her hair, the feel of his hands massaging her scalp. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, trying to hide how much she wanted more. It would only depress them both further.

Zarbon hadn't always been her guard. At one time, there was another, though it was so long ago that she barely remembered the man. It wasn't a pleasant memory. Lord Kakarrot had found them in her room, the guard trying to help her out of an extraordinarily complicated gown. The next day, the guard's head was on a spike outside of her window, and his various body parts were scattered around the sparring field. It was at that time that Lord Kakarrot forbid her from wearing any kind of gown that would require any kind of assistance out of, unless HE was the one to 'help' her out of them. No, not a pleasant thought at all.

With his hands cupping her head again, she leaned back to rinse all the soap out of her hair. They rested there, their breathing mirroring each other in perfect unison. But it didn't last. It never did. With twin sighs, they moved again. Bulma sat up, and Zarbon released her. They stood up together. Water raced down her body, crashing into the waiting pool. Zarbon grabbed a nearby towel to wrap around her nude form.

Bulma put on a simple slipover dress. She would prefer a pair of pants. Maybe armor to keep her 'master' away, but she wasn't going to push her luck quite that far. Zarbon stood against the far wall, remaining at a respectable distance from her. It was a good thing, too. Because just as she finished adjusting her clothes, Lord Kakarrot himself strode into her room.

With a swift nod of his head, he kicked Zarbon out of the room. The powder blue-skinned alien bowed respectably to both of them, though he only bowed once, before he left the room. Blue eyes and gold met for less than a heartbeat and went completely unnoticed by Lord Kakarrot, but that was enough time for their mutual exchange of emotions.

Zarbon shut the door with a soft click. His hand remained on the panel for longer than was needed as he tried to listen in on the goings on in the room. But, as usual, there was nothing to which he could listen. With a heavy heart, he pushed away from his prison. He began to walk, though he lacked a destination. He simply put one foot in front of the other and kept moving. He wasn't that hungry. He wasn't tired. He had bathed earlier that day. He was simply... displaced.

He found his feet carrying him to the guests' bathing garden. He had discovered that the flowers there were among the best, aromatically, and brightest on the grounds. Bulma usually loved them. As he wandered through the lush vegetation, he was brought up short by the scene in front of him. The female guard, 18, was laying on her back while reclining on a rock near the large pool, sound asleep. In the water, the two visiting humans were relaxing, talking in low tones to each other.

None of the other warriors wasted their days bathing when there was still the opportunity to improve their fighting skills. But no one thought the humans were there to actually enter the tournament. There was even whispering among some that the humans were spies for another rebellion, or for their green guardian.

And not too far away was the one person that Zarbon truly hated. Vegeta. The short saiyajin had been under Lord Frieza's scrutiny for some time before Kakarrot came and killed the ice-jin. But what truly irritated Zarbon, what made him truly angry, was that HE was used to insult Mistress Bulma! She had to sleep with that... that... wretchedly weak joke of a warrior! And he didn't even favor females! He remembered that night with sickening clarity, how she had been forced to bring Vegeta's body to arousal, and then to mate with that scum. She kept her eyes averted from his, watching only the saiyajin, crooning to him as she was forced to perform like some circus animal! The injustice of it all was enough to make the powder blue guard sick. His fist clenched tightly, absently crushing the delicate blossoms he had already collected for a chain to decorate his hair... and that he would have eventually have given to his Mistress.

He knew Vegeta couldn't see him through the foliage. But that didn't stop the lizard-like alien from viewing the saiyajin guard. Even through the pain of true, blinding rage, Zarbon noticed that something was a little different. At first, the tall guard couldn't place what it was that seemed eerily familiar and very out of sorts with the short guard. He glanced to where Vegeta was looking, and his golden eyes came into contact with the taller human's body.

Realization struck Zarbon. He knew why that look was so familiar. He saw it every day when he looked into a mirror. It was the look of someone who was completely and utterly in love... with someone they would never be able to have. Zarbon grinned in wicked delight. It was about time something went right in the universe, and time that the short saiyajin prince endured the same kind of hell he did every day of his guardianship over Mistress Bulma.

With a smug grin, Zarbon set himself up to watch the scene unfold, wondering if there would be any more signs of his infatuation.



18 lounged on a sitting rock in the guests' bathing garden. Guests were so lucky, she decided. They had their own bathing pool in a garden of all places, not even having to share like the rest of them. Sure, she didn't have to share as she had her own tub, but her bathing area certainly wasn't any garden. Chewing lightly on a stem of grass, she watched the two human males reclining in the bathing pool. Such insipid little men. The little one wasn't terrible though. No, he seemed half-decent on occasion. Too peaceful for her tastes though, that much was true.

Oh, but how tedious this babysitting was! Her eyes drifted over to the other guard. Ugh. Vegeta. He was such a loser. Just the way he was staring at his charge made her roll her eyes. He was gazing at Yamcha so intensely that she swore the scarred human's head would burst at any second. The blonde android decided to lie down and stare at the sky. Watching the clouds roll by was oddly far more entertaining for her.

Yamcha yawned and stretched a little. "Hey, Krillin," he said. "Where are Piccolo and 17?"

"Probably walking around some," the little human replied, leaning against the side of the pool. "Maybe they're checking up on Tr--that thing Piccolo mentioned. You know?"

Nodding, the taller male picked up on his friend's train of thought. Ever since Piccolo had told them about the lavender-haired demi-saiyajin, they'd understood if he wanted to try and keep an eye on him some. They could scarcely believe that Trunks was just a wisp of a person, if Piccolo's brief description had been accurate, which they were sure it was. He'd warned them not to discuss Trunks openly. "Yeah. I'll bet you're right. It's nice that he's looking into that, huh?"

"Yep," answered Krillin. "Although, who knows? They could be anywhere, really. It's not like any of us check in with each other."

"Well, he's with 17, and 17 seems to be a pretty decent guard," the scarred man stated. "Piccolo seemed okay with him."

"Oh. Yeah," he smirked. A hint of sarcasm entered his voice as he continued. "My 'guard' watches me really well. How's that guard thing working out for you, dude?"

Yamcha ventured a furtive glance at Vegeta. How was that working out? Very confusing. He looked like Vegeta, but he so wasn't the same man. Not by a long shot. In some ways, he sensed the same pride and honor in him, but for the most part, this saiyajin prince had been broken. One could see Vegeta's tail wrapped so tightly around his waist that it was the next best thing to a low riding noose, it was so tense. Yet, strangely enough, Yamcha wasn't all that sure he didn't prefer this Vegeta to the original. "Surprisingly well, actually."

"Nifty."

The short human heard a light sound and turned to look towards it. 18 had fallen asleep. He snorted his discontent quietly. If he had never met his 18, is this what she would've become? A hedonistic bitch? And to think he'd grown his hair out for her. That gesture was just totally wasted here. Suddenly, his mind lit upon an idea. But whom could he ask? Not 18, that was for sure. His eyes landed on Vegeta, and he thought the saiyajin would have to do. He called out, "Hey, Vegeta."

The former prince switched his gaze over to the short human. "Yes?"

"Do you know where I can get a pair of scissors and a razor? Maybe some shaving cream too."

"The palace has a barber," Vegeta responded. "He would have the items you require."

"Excellent!"

"Krillin, what are doing?" queried his human friend.

"You'll see." Krillin hopped out of the bath and quickly dried himself before pulling on his clothes. So consumed with his activities, he didn't notice another being in the garden quickly dodge beneath some shrubbery. Instead, he strutted confidently over to his guard and nudged her leg with his toe. "Wakey-wakey, 18."

The android awoke with a start, silently chastising herself for falling asleep. "What is it?" she questioned sharply.

"I want to go to the barber," Krillin said matter-of-factly.

18 rolled her eyes again, and with a heavy, resigned sigh, she said, "This way."

Yamcha's eyes followed them out of the garden, and then they turned to the only person left with him, Vegeta. He watched in interest as the prince's thick brown tail slowly relaxed until it simply flowed to a curled position behind his back. Submerging himself up to his chin in the bath waters, he gulped a bit. The two of them stared at each for a few moments before Yamcha let a façade of ease slide over his features. "Do you wanna join me?" he asked.

"No," came the pointed reply.

"Why not?"

"Why should I?"

"Well, I haven't seen you bathe once since I met you," Yamcha smiled.

"Are you saying that I smell?" Vegeta's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, no! NO! I didn't mean that!" he said, standing up and shaking his head with his hands placed defensively before him. "I didn't mean that at all!" Vegeta merely snorted and averted his eyes away from the bare form presented to him, trying to keep his eyes from the water barely covering up to just above the dark tangle of hair between his legs. Yamcha's hands moved to rest on his hips. He tried again, "All right, so when do you take a bath?"

"I bathe while you sleep." The saiyajin kept his eyes focused solely on the ground, not letting them anywhere near the completely naked human. He had to change the subject, do something to get the human to either dress or get back down in the water. "Did you sleep well last night, Yamcha?"

"I slept okay," the human shrugged. He settled into the waters again, much to Vegeta's relief. "The bed's kinda big for just one person. I'm not really used to that."

"Used to sleeping alone?" Vegeta queried. "Or to having a large bed to yourself?"

"The second one." Yamcha leaned back against the pool edge, spreading his arms out along it. "I always sleep alone. Which is good since I have a small bed. No real need to get a larger one if you always sleep alone, you know?"

Always alone, huh? So there was no one. A week ago, Yamcha had alluded that there was someone in whom he was interested, but obviously the human didn't betray his heart. He stayed alone. Interesting. Was he that devoted to someone who didn't want him? Or was that a choice he made for himself? Did that make him... available? Before his mind could catch up with his mouth, the saiyajin blurted out, "Why do you sleep alone?"

Light pink tinged the scarred cheeks. "Um, I don't know. I mean, I know," he stumbled. His lungs expelled a deep sigh. "You see, the others where I'm from... They don't really see me like that. At least not since I was practically a kid. Mostly, the rest of the world forgot I exist. Which means... It's just me by myself."

How profoundly sad. Vegeta grimaced slightly at the thought that anyone could ever forget about Yamcha. Again, he found himself wanting, needing, to change the subject. "Tell me more about your world," he began. "Tell me more about the other... me. You said I had a wife and a son? What are they like?"

Yamcha rubbed a bit at the back of his neck. "Well, her name is Bulma. She... She's a decent woman and very pretty. Too strong-willed for my tastes. You've been with her for, oh, I don't know. Twenty-something years, maybe? You have a son named Trunks with her. I'm not really sure how you feel about either of them since you keep things like feelings to yourself. You're not really the sharing type. Nor the talkative type. You mostly just keep to yourself."

Mistress Bulma? Trunks? Yes, some things were the same. But one night of punishment did not a marriage make. Thank the stars for that. Being forced into copulating with that woman while her blue-skinned freak of a guard watched was just too much. That experience had been awful, and he didn't wish to dwell on it. Pushing that memory far from his mind, he picked a different thought to pursue. "Do I have friends?"

A long pause stretched out before Yamcha finally gave an answer. How was he supposed to answer a question like that? Should he lie? Would it make a difference? He resolved again that he wouldn't lie to Vegeta. Locking gazes with him, he answered, "No. You won't let anyone be your friend. You don't need friends. Friends are a weakness. You said that once."

"No." Vegeta's jaw jutted out a little indignantly. The other Vegeta sounded cold, dreadful. How could they possibly be the same person? That was it, he surmised. They couldn't be the same. He and the other saiyajin prince were no more alike than he and Lord Kakarrot. But was Yamcha aware of that? Again, the unpleasant suspicion dared to creep into his mind. Was the human mistaking him for the other? The saiyajin instantly made up his mind to make sure he always stressed to the scarred male that he and the other him were absolutely separate, different beings. "He said that. That's a thing I'd never say."

Yamcha smiled warmly at Vegeta and waded over to the end of the pool to which he sat nearest. He folded his arms on the deck and rested his chin atop them. "You're right, Vegeta. You're not the same. You're better."

They gazed at each other for a long moment, longer than they probably should have. There were no sounds between them, only the rushing descent of the small waterfall in the pool. As their eyes stayed fixed on one another's, a million volumes were spoken, dying before they ever truly reached the ears of the other. Silent words fell unacknowledged by either party. They were just content to look at each other and ignore what their eyes were saying.

But finally, Yamcha broke the comfortable peace. "Could you hand me my towel?" he requested. "I think I'm going to start getting all wrinkly pretty soon."

Vegeta crouched off of his sitting rock and retrieved the fluffy white drying cloth. Once he turned around though, he wished he hadn't. Yamcha had extracted himself from the bathing pool while the smaller man had been picking up the towel, and now he stood just outside reaching distance from Vegeta. The prince's dark orbs shamefully indulged themselves in the sight of the human's naked body. Rivulets of water trailed glistening paths down the thoroughly tanned skin, stretched taut over the well-formed muscles, drawing his eyes down the whole of the other male's body. He brought them back up to meet Yamcha's eyes and slowly offered the towel out.

The entirety of their encounter was in slow motion. Every single look, every action seemed to be drawn out, done with meaning and purpose, though whether either of them was aware of that fact, no one would ever know. Taking the towel, Yamcha dutifully patted himself dry and then dressed as if on autopilot. He was conscious of Vegeta's eyes on him, which made him a little nervous. He remembered the first time he'd ever bathed in the saiyajin's presence. He'd been so self-conscious and modest, and he didn't know why. Was it merely the scrutiny, or was it the prince himself?

They walked out of the garden together, side by side, as had become their custom. But unlike Piccolo, Krillin, and their guards, no personal space issues were regarded. Whereas Piccolo and 17 always walked next to each other but well out of reaching distance, and Krillin usually followed a few steps behind 18 rather than beside her, Vegeta and Yamcha could always come into contact with each other with the slightest of movements. They walked so closely that their arms brushed against the other with nearly every step. The proximity normally went unnoticed since the palace essentially ignored Vegeta, and Yamcha was of little consequence to them as well.

But not today.



Zarbon sat back on his heels as the duo left the area. He was alone with only his thoughts and his observations. There was no doubt in his mind that Vegeta was smitten with the human. And though the blue male did not know the human nearly as well as he knew the saiyajin, he thought that perhaps the infatuation was returned.

The waterfall masked the sounds of their conversation, but did nothing to hide their body language. When it came down to facts, nonverbal communication was just as informative as any language, if not more so. Zarbon had a taste of revenge by watching Vegeta's uncertainty, his delicate blushes. It was almost comical, if it weren't so close to his own truth.

He decided to follow the two for a while. Lord Kakarrot wouldn't be done with his business with Mistress Bulma for a few more hours, so he had time. He had a great deal of time, and this interesting development would keep his mind off of what was going on in his and The Azure Jewel's room. He would keep out of sight, keep to himself. He did not think that alerting the entire palace to this would be advantageous. Or at least, not yet.

In part, he wanted to see Vegeta stumbling over himself, see his embarrassment as they dealt with each other. Zarbon wanted to see Vegeta suffer as he did, to know the hell that was his every waking day as he guarded, walked beside, and tended to the person he wanted more than anything in the universe, and knew he'd never have. But though that part was most prominent, there was also another part, a side that had been tempered over time, that hoped his suspicions were correct in that the human felt more delicate feelings for the saiyajin.

Because, though wanting and being denied were hell, wanting unrequitedly was worse.



'Who ever thought to paint these walls should be shot. This color is atrocious!' Goten thought as he tracked the delicate movements of his prey. He was forced to rely on a motion detector rather than his custom-made scouter. These walls were just too thick for the scouter to pick up such low rankings.

Goten had been at this game for a long time, too long by his estimations. Tracking the Palace Ghost was not one of his preferred past-times, though punishing the other demi-saiyajin was infinitely more fun. His brown tail hugged him tightly in anticipation. Trunks was destined to pay for all this needless hassle. Finally, Goten detected that the other male was almost... almost...

No one watching the youngest prince would have been able to see the movement, or at least, no one he knew. The wall was blasted away, plaster and paint. Huddled in the vertical crater, Trunks was vulnerable. Goten smirked at the wide-eyed expression. "Hello, Trunks-kun. We need to chat."

Trunks whimpered as Goten grabbed him by the hair and dragged him out of the wall. He already knew this was going to be painful. It was always painful. Always. But Goten had a special knack for being the best at being the worst. Of course, Trunks knew that it didn't help that he'd been avoiding the youngest of the princes for so long a time, fully aware that the longer he drug out the hide and seek game, the more he was going to suffer for it in the end. There was just something inside of him that said running away was the best way to get away.

"Well, Trunks-kun, it's a beautiful day outside, so what are you doing hiding away from the sunlight? Hmm? Oh, were you simply hiding from me? You know that's a bad idea. A very bad idea," Goten said as he slammed Trunks against the far wall and then pressed his knee just above the limp tail. "You should know better. Even dogs know never to disobey their masters. And lets face it, Trunks, you're no better than that bitch of a whore your mother is."

Trunks cried out in pain as the pressure increased. Something was going to break this time. He knew it. Something was going to break and he was going to die. Or worse. There were always things worse than death available in the Palace.

"Your father's a dog. Your mother's a bitch. That means you're a mongrel dog yourself. And you should know that when I say bark, you should BARK!" Goten growled. His tail unwound from its secure embrace to curl up behind him. "And you should never, never, NEVER run from your master, do you understand me?"

"Yes!" Trunks cried out in pain, trying to struggle away but failing miserably. He needed to get away, needed to get to safety away from Goten and the pain that was about to come forward.

"It took me a week to track you down. Are you trying to fight me?" Goten asked, deadly serious. "I've put my Hell Hounds to sleep for less."

"No," Trunks lied.

"I don't believe you, little whore," Goten hissed. "Tell you what, why don't you tell me every dark little secret you know about these three strangers that Jeice brought in, and I might just let you go without hurting you too badly."

"I don't know anything," Trunks replied through clenched teeth. He cried out in agony as Goten yanked back on his hair, putting him into a very painful position.

"That's another lie," Goten snarled. "One more lie, and I'll break your back and not even your mother will be able to repair you."

"Gods! I'm telling the truth! I don't know anything! I swear!" Trunks screamed. For his honesty, Goten shoved the lavender-haired demi-saiyajin's face into the wall three times in rapid succession.

"Tell me, oh, dear Trunks-kun, where these strangers are from."

"I don't know!" Again, his face was shoved into the wall.

"What are they doing here?"

"They're here for the tournament."

"That's better," Goten replied, all calmness and control. "Why are they here for the tournament?"

"I don't know."

Goten tsked as he rammed Trunks' head into the wall before moving and throwing him to the ground. "And here I thought you were learning."

Trunks coughed as blood raced back up his nose. He tried to sit up, but Goten was already on him, straddling his chest, preventing him from trying to breathe. His blue eyes looked up at the person he knew, he simply knew, was going to kill him. If not today, then some day in the near future.

"Now, I want you to answer my questions. No more stalling. No more games. No more pleasantries. If you don't answer me, then there will be pain. When does Piccolo practice?" Goten asked as he cocked his fist back, ready to strike the already bloodied youth.

"He doesn't. All he does is meditate," Trunks replied, blood splattering out with his words. "He likes the waterfall in the eastern garden. He's there almost every morning at dawn."

Goten filed that fact away. "What about his human pets?"

"They don't fight," the lavender-haired youth choked. "They don't sleep with each other, either. They're there for... conversation."

"Conversation?"

"They talk. A lot. Whispers. Too soft to hear. Sometimes, it's like Piccolo is telepathic or something. They don't even use words. Simply do things." Trunks coughed.

"Do things? Like what?" Goten said, keeping his fist in the ready position.

"I don't--," he started then abruptly cut himself off. He wasn't going to say he didn't know something again. Not again. "Nodding their heads. Hand gestures, but not like signals. Like they've known each other forever."

"I see," the dark-haired royal nodded. "Which one of them do you follow the most often? Piccolo? Do you watch the others as well?"

"I don't follow the two humans much, if at all," Trunks replied, his eyes going slightly out of focus. Where was that ringing coming from?

"Damn. You're useless," Goten spat disgustedly. He didn't bother hitting the weak hybrid. Instead, he slapped him hard, waking him up slightly. "You listen to me, little whore. You can be the Palace Ghost all you want, but if you find anything -- and I do mean ANYTHING -- of interest, you had best tell me. If I even think that you're holding out on me, you will regret more than simply being born. Understand. Think PAIN."

"Step away from him now," a new voice suddenly boomed into the hallway.

Goten jerked upright. Was that supposed to be an order? "Excuse you. I'm Prince Goten. I'm allowed to do whatever the hell I want to."

But then Piccolo stepped further into the hall, and further into Goten's sight, and the youngest prince had to gulp. The Demon Lord seemed angry, and his anger was very... intimidating. The prince's tail re-wrapped around his middle. Scowling, Goten stood up, allowing Trunks the opportunity to scamper like some miserable rodent over to his savior. Goten's keen eyes did not miss the android's turn, as if to help the lavender-tailed creature, but 17 knew his place. The short ponytail of black hair barely swung in acknowledgment of the near dereliction of duties.

"I know who you are," Piccolo replied, his arms folded over his chest, standing tall as he continued to walk forward. "17, get Trunks out of here."

"But..."

"I'm going to be watched. Prince Goten is here," the green man stated, his voice thick with contempt and venom. "He can watch over me to make sure nothing happens until you return."

17 bit his lip, but bowed to his charge's orders. Goten had made no protest, so he took it as a sign of consent. He picked up Trunks easily, gingerly, and made his way back to his room. That's where he always took Trunks when he found him bleeding in the hallway and his mother was... busy. His loose uniform barely made noise as he walked. Trunks clung tightly to him, and even his tail managed to find some life again as it wrapped around the android's waist.

"You're very arrogant," Goten said, his voice betraying none of his anger, which he found to be a personal victory. Emotions tended to cloud judgment and interfere with his particular line of work.

"So are you," the tall male responded.

"I'm entitled. I'm a prince, second in line to inherit the throne."

"So," Piccolo sneered. "You're a royal pain."

"How DARE you!" Goten said in shock. No one mocked him, with the exception of his father and elder brother. He would kill anyone who even thought to. With wide eyes, he gathered a large energy sphere in his hand and threw it at the grass-colored man.

Piccolo easy deflected the energy blast, forcing it away and into the already formed crater in the wall. A doorway was formed to an outside garden, one that had obviously been forgotten about over time. With a calmness that belied his anger, he replied, "How dare I? I dare because I can. Because you do NOT frighten me."

Goten's eyes blazed, though he tried to keep his actions methodical and unemotional. It was difficult, however, considering how much he just wanted to attack the other man. But it seemed Piccolo was stronger than he had thought. It was never wise to underestimate an opponent twice. He needed more information before he fought the strange warrior. His eyes flickered to the over hanging foliage of the garden. With a smirk, he dashed inside of it.

Piccolo rolled his eyes and followed. If Goten wasn't careful, he was going to push Piccolo's patience past its limits. He had endured this hellish environment for a week now, and that was a week too long. His friend, Gohan, was a prissy, whining royal brat. Goten, for whom he had always had some form of respect, was totally dishonorable here. Even Goku, or rather, Lord Kakarrot was despicable. "What's wrong, PRINCE Goten? Found someone who fights back? Can you only stand to fight those weaker than you, those who you know will not pose a threat? Is that how you get your power?"

"You know nothing of my POWER!" Goten called back, unintentionally giving in to his emotions. Piccolo seemed to know where he was, and it was scaring him. "You know nothing of what a super-saiyajin is! But you will if you do not leave me alone this instant!"

"I know more than you think, little demi-saiyajin," Piccolo hissed, right in his ear. Goten whirled around and stumbled back but was caught by the collar of his shirt by a large green hand. "I know what it's like to be beaten down, to be hated, and to be feared. I also know what it's like to be worshipped as a god!"

Goten's tail tightened as his eyes widened. He tried to stutter a reply, but Piccolo pulled him right up to his taller frame and leaned down into his face. They were so close, the green man would only have to shift slightly and they would have been able to kiss.

"Oh, wait. You wouldn't know what it's like to be a super-saiyajin. You haven't reached that level, have you? You're not good enough to," Piccolo whispered.

"Get your filthy hands off me!" Goten screamed as he struggled to break the seemingly impossibly strong grip that had him captured.

Piccolo merely grinned evilly, showing a part of his past that he had thought long dead. Instead of bowing to the prince's wish, he threw Goten up against the wall, letting his feet dangle down, and pressed their bodies together. "Why? Give me a valid reason to release you."

"Because I demand it!" Goten shrieked. Piccolo was too close. Way too close. This situation was out of control, and he was becoming slightly more than just merely afraid. "You need no other reason!"

"Oh, but I do," Piccolo replied, noticing the widening of brown eyes as adrenaline began to pulse through the youth's system. With their bodies crushed so tightly together, the green male couldn't help but be aware of the other physical effect he was having on the younger man. "I'm stronger than you. I'm bigger than you. And I'm better than you will ever be."

"You are NOT better than me," Goten said softly. He could feel the heated flush spreading out over his body as he struggled between Piccolo and the wall. His arousal was overtly apparent to him, and he didn't doubt the other man could feel it as well.

"Yes I am. And do you know why?" Before Goten could even think to formulate a reply, Piccolo continued. "I'm better than you, not because I am stronger, or a better fighter. I'm better than you because I know what compassion is. I KNOW what justice is. I KNOW what HONOR is. It's obvious that you do not."

"I know what justice is!" Goten snapped angrily, squirming, still trying to get away.

"No. You know what vengeance is. That is not justice," Piccolo retorted. "You think very highly of yourself, don't you."

"I am a prince and the Royal Inquisitor. What reason would I have not to think so?"

"You think everyone else is beneath you?"

"Everyone else IS beneath me," Goten glared, still trying to move the other male off of his person.

"No. They are not. If you ever dared to open your eyes, you'd see the world isn't YOUR personal playground to bully around," Piccolo said, licking his lips through the visible fangs. Goten's eyes locked onto the green man's mouth. "Trunks has done NOTHING to you, yet you torment him! Why?!"

"Because I can," the demi-saiyajin replied huskily.

"Wrong answer," Piccolo spat, dropping the prince to the ground without warning. "You know, you have such potential, but you refuse to grasp it. It's disgusting to see you living at this level of... utter worthlessness. They say you have a keen mind, yet I haven't seen you use it. They say that you are strong, but I have merely seen you fighting those that put up hardly any resistance. Is your entire existence made of rumors and speculation?"

"I am strong!" Goten shouted, getting to his feet even as he pushed his tears away. He refused to cry over the insults of some... nobody fighter! He needed a moment to collect his thoughts, to get his body under control, to banish the stupid emotions that were churning inside of him. But he knew he didn't have that moment. "I am the Royal Inquisitor! And second in line to the throne of the Galactic Empire! You have NO RIGHT to talk to me in such a disrespectful manner!"

Growling with anger, Piccolo slapped the demi-saiyajin, knocking him through the fauna and into the far wall. Before the prince could recuperate, though, Piccolo was there, picking him up and tossing him away as if he really were merely a piece of trash.

"Is that all you've got?" Piccolo smirked. "Titles are meaningless if you can't back them up with real authority."

Goten shook his head to clear the ringing sounds away, but it only made him dizzy. He wasn't aware of standing until he felt the wall to his back, and he was looking into Piccolo's eyes again. After he realized his position, he also realized that it was only one of Piccolo's hands holding him pinned against the wall. "Who... Who the hell are you?"

"That is not the issue here. I KNOW who I am, what I am. But who are you, Goten?"

"I am the Royal Inquisitor."

"No. That is your placement in society. That is not who you are."

"I'm also the Royal Prince."

"Again, that's just another title. Something you were born into. That isn't WHO you are."

"I... I don't understand. What is it you want me to say?"

"I want you to answer the question. I want to know who you are."

"I-I am... Me."

"And who is that?" Piccolo asked.

"I am the Royal Inquisitor. The second in line to inherit the Galactic Empire," Goten said again, some strength returning to his voice as he repeated his titles.

Piccolo snorted in contempt. "No. Those aren't who you are. Those aren't even what you are. When you can answer my questions, come back and talk with ME. Until then, know this: if I find you hurting anyone weaker than you, you will learn that it is unwise to cross anyone who has been considered both demon... and god."

Instead of fighting anymore, Piccolo turned away. He could hear the steady fall of 17's booted feet coming down the hallway. "You may have the power. You MAY have the mind. But you lack a heart, and therefore, you lack everything of value. You disappoint me, Goten."

"Is everything alright?" 17 asked as Piccolo emerged into the hallway.

"Things are as they were before, with very minor changes in reality," Piccolo replied. He glanced quickly back at the rift in the wall, his sensitive ears picking up the demi-saiyajin's ragged breathing and choked-on half-sobs. He closed his eyes. He'd intended to put a little fear into Goten but not hurt him as he did. Unfortunately, without the original Gohan's presence, he'd lost control of that dark side, the one he'd been working so hard to get past all these years. The little prince had needed a swift kick to the rear, but he didn't deserve such hateful words. A light tremor of loathing towards himself ran through his veins. "I'm done here. Let's go."

17 tilted his head to the side, curiously, but merely nodded his head and began to lead the tall warrior away from the large, gaping hole in the wall. Goten remained in the garden, though, shivering. His mind was racing, trying to think and to plan, but in the end, very little of his thoughts made any sense to him.

The demi-saiyajin stared vacantly at the walls wild with undergrowth, tears making their way down his face from the outer corners of his eyes. When was the last time Goten had cried? He couldn't remember. In all truth, Goten wasn't sure he'd ever cried since he was a baby and had no memory. He had no time for tears in the past twenty-odd years of his life. But this man, this stranger, had found a way to make the tears come. He had pinpointed all of those secrets fears and doubts the demi-saiyajin had about himself but never allowed to surface. How did he know? How could he have possibly known?

His mind whirled between topics, lighting on one and then quickly hopping off to another. But they all seemed to come back to the same subject in the end. Those intense, flashing eyes. That luscious mouth. That... body. He could still feel the pressure of Piccolo's firm, strapping frame against his even though the other man had long since departed. He looked down, a grimace solidly planted on his face. Gods! Was his body ever going to stop reacting to Piccolo? He couldn't touch himself. He wouldn't. No matter how much he desired to do so. Somehow, he felt as if bringing himself off in that fashion would be an affront towards Piccolo. It seemed... disrespectful... and wrong. Still, the interest built within his mind. Consumed with curiosity, the demi-saiyajin knew his path was clear.