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Unforgivable	By : thePrincesJewel Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 7485 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own DragonballZ, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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I must have cried again. The pillow is damp beneath my face. Master does not like it when I cry, but I cannot control what I do in my sleep. I am not sure if it matters or not though, because he is not with me. Not this morning, nor any other morning of the last day of each week. I am to have my day off today. I must become Goku, and go home to his wife in order to save his broken son.

Yes, Goten is broken. I can tell. He is not so badly broken as I am, and his breaking was not as painful, but I can tell. There is a hollowness in his eyes, a deep buried pain that only others who have been there can see. He has a harder time concentrating, though his attention to his mate nearly matches that of mine for the subtle clues that tell me what my master wants. He has tried to kill himself again. I wonder if his mother knows?

I go slowly through the routine of the morning, slipping from my bed to take a shower. The hot water feels nice, I suppose. I no longer know. Once I am clean, I carefully cover the scars that mar my face before pulling on the orange and blue outfit that stand for the lies I lead. My hair I shake out, allowing the spikes to form instead of pulling them back into the ponytail I have worn since my hair grew back out. I force the smile to my face, examine how I look in the mirror.

I do not want to do it, but I raise two fingers to my forehead, the heavy sadness in my reflected eyes causing me to shut them as I reach and jump, finding myself in the bedroom my happy counterpart once shared with the woman still sleeping on the bed. My false smile dies as I look at her, at the room. She is getting old, the room is no longer as well-maintained as it once was. I do not believe she has all that many more years to live, and I find myself wondering if I will be able to continue my deception - for it is a deception, isn�t it? - until she does.

Her hair is now completely grey, her body frail and weak. And I, I am Saiyan, no matter that my mind, my body, and my spirit have been broken, and I am barely into my prime. I look more like her young son than the husband the same general age as she. Or perhaps a grandson, really. I have not aged much at all, and been dead more times than I really care to think. You can�t age when you�re dead. The slight smile that graces my features then is real.

I must put my mind in the proper state for this role. I am not stupid, I never have been. But, I have been unaware, innocent, and I have lost much of my memory. I focus carefully, looking into the mirror as I concentrate on getting my smile just right, to make my eyes light with joy and laughter that I do not feel. It takes a little more time this time, each time I must assume this role it takes longer.

At last, I feel like I will pass as the man I once was, and go to wake my sleeping wife. She pulls me happily into the bed with her.

I am going to be sick. I hate this part, the meals. She fixes the amount I used to eat, and I must force every bit of it down. I�ll throw it up later, while she is cleaning the house, but for now I must keep it down. My stomach hurts so badly, but I force the last three plates in anyway, before heading outside to train while she cleans up the dishes. I bolt across the lawn to the trees, and retch my guts up. Not until then do I rise into the air, waving to where she stands in the kitchen window.

I move easily in the air, my body twisting and turning in the familiar patterns, the punches and kicks fluid, the spinning turns. I allow myself to ascend, again, and again until I am at the third level, my hair now as long as my brother�s once was. My brother� I stop, hanging in the air. Raditz. I have not thought of him in years.

Slowly, I reach back, grabbing a lock of hair, pulling it forward. The golden blaze is a far cry from my brother�s black locks, but the rough silkiness is the same. I remember holding him, his mass of hair getting in my mouth as I called for Piccolo to kill us both. I can remember his scent, too. He was blood and cinnamon and savagery, rough heat and sex. Complex.

I land, still staring at my hair, wondering why I have chosen now to remember that I helped kill my brother. To remember that never once did I consider reviving him. I have spared and revived Vegeta, but gave no thought of doing either for my own bloodkin. Why does this bother me now? I shake my head, allowing the form to drop. The lock I hold recedes until it is nothing more that another black spike.

I make all the right noises when I go inside, Chi-Chi smiles happily. I have so far managed to not make her screech at me. And, it appears that she has invited my surviving friends over again. I wonder absently if they can truly be considered my friends, since they don�t - or won�t - recognize me without this stupid uniform on. I wonder absently what they will do when I reveal my scars, when I drop the loose clothes to reveal my Master�s crimson and black. But that� that will not happen today. They stay until after lunch, another meal I give to the trees.

My son has come over to chat, home for the evening from his grueling schedule at the teaching hospitals. He gets only today, he tells me, and will not have another day at home for two more weeks. We talk aimlessly of nothing much at all. He does not want to discuss his job, and I will not discuss mine. We settle eventually for Pan, and her current boyfriend. He asks if I have heard about Goten moving in with Trunks, about them being a couple. When I tell him how long I have known about that, he falls out of his chair. I hear dishes crash to the floor in the kitchen, and spend the next several hours tuning Chi-Chi�s voice out. That skill, at least, is one I have not lost. She is still screaming at me when I return to my Master.

And then it is time for the other ritual. The clothes come off first, I bundle them up carefully and put them back into the capsule where they belong. A long shower is next, removing all traces of the make-up I have worn, the smells of Goku�s home. The unscented soap and shampoos I use work well, my Master long ago made it plain he liked my scent, not perfuming cover-ups.

I towel out my hair, brushing it back savagely and securing it with the leather thong. My hair does not like to stay back, and my Master will release it as soon as he beds me, but it is something that he enjoys doing, so I continue to tie it. One day, I will not. But that day is not today. I move to the closet, selecting from the crimson a tight mesh shirt, from the black, even tighter leather pants. I choose to remain barefoot.

I open the connecting door, swiftly tidy up the few things that have gone astray. I lay out fresh towels in the bathroom, his favorite robe. Next to the bed, I arrange the oils I use to massage him after he bathes. A bowl of fruit and a tray of sandwiches should serve him well for a snack, I check to make sure the milk is chilling and that he does have cookies.

I return to my room, and ensure that everything is where it belongs. Only then do I kneel next to the connecting door and bow my head. I know I will spend the next several hours in this position, waiting for my Master�s call. I am home early.

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Unforgivable