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As Loyalty Can Be	By : Kimmy Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 6353 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
(8)

Bulma was at work and Trunks was in school, leaving Vegeta alone, their joint section of the enormous domed house empty. Empty…much like how he was feeling right now. He lay on the soft leather sofa and stared at the roof. The roof was white, or off-white, an uneven paper material, imitating stone.

He didn't feel like getting up.

He didn't feel like eating breakfast - it was nearly noon, anyway. He didn't even feel like reaching over to the low glass table right next to him and grab the remote. The TV flickered, nagged the corner of his eye. Singers, sparsely clad in garish outfits, paraded the screen, danced to muted music.

The singers might have moved their lips in vain, but still it wasn't silent. The barely detectable hum of the air condition kept bothering his eardrums. Hum, hum, hum. The cool air of CC. Comfort in all rooms. The CC coolness. The constant cool of CC. C, C, C. Hum, hum, hum.

"Fuck." The word was way to mild. What was the matter with him?

Up. Down. He raised his upper body, felt the small strain the movement caused. No direction, just getting up. Bah. Slammed himself back down in the sofa again. No reason, just staying down.

Ouch, by the way. He reached behind his back, pulled out a small, hard object. The figure of the Earth warrior had his plastic mouth wide open, one grossly muscular arm raised, silver painted sword ready to strike. The boy. Getting his toys everywhere.

With a flick of his wrist, Vegeta tossed the tiny soldier over the backrest of the sofa. Crash. Sounded like it broke when it hit the floor.

He should get to the GR and train. Turn up the gravity, this new pinnacle he had reached, and just get to it. What was he doing here, flat on his back, accomplishing nothing?

("I assume you will make some kind of effort to...at least COMMUNICATE with Trunks.")

Stuff he should be doing. He contemplated reaching for the remote. He contemplated the face of his son, the way it had closed off when he had turned down yet another training session with the boy. Weird that the only thing that brought them together had been that room, those hours in the reddish light. His obsession…as Bulma would have said.

"Hey, Vegeta!"

What? He turned his head to the loud greeting and sure enough, there he was. Kakarott, with his hands on the opposite frames of the doorway, a wide smile on his face. Peppy, peppy. Hey Vegeta, indeed.

"Are you ready for another spar?" He sounded so hopeful, too.

Vegeta labored to a sitting position. Labored. The effort was considerable, not in his obedient body, but somewhere within his mind. An easy swing and a down turned face was all he resolved to show, but inside he was in clear dissent, parts of his brain groaning in protest as he gradually, step by grudging step, forced it to attention. Wake up. Sit straight. Speak.

"I don't feel like sparring today." True enough. The thought of a spar made him want to vomit.

"No?" Goku had taken several steps closer, and was standing on the opposite side of the glass table. As Vegeta watched, that cheerful smile faded, became small and anxious. "Well…" Goku seemed to hesitate. "What else do you want to do?"

"Nothing. Go away." Blunt, but it was really the best he could do right now. Vegeta leaned his head on his hand, rubbed his scalp as if he was very sleepy. At the edge of his vision, he saw Goku square his shoulders and shuffle his feel, just standing there.

Out of place, Vegeta thought vaguely. Kakarott seemed too large for the room, for the slim wooden chairs by the wall. His unruly hair was too uncouth for the lace curtains, and his boots made intrusive marks on the polished parquet floor. They were both out of place here…The thought made Vegeta grind his teeth together, and he almost winced when the act was followed by an high pitched squeak. Kakarott was still standing there mutely, staring at him.

"What are you waiting for? I said, leave. Are you deaf as wall as stupid?" Vegeta heard his own voice. It was low and nasty, filled with a hostility that was neither planned not wanted, it just seemed to…seep out.

"Vegeta." Any trace of the smile was definitely gone by now. Goku's face was still and hard, his voice somehow deeper and darker then usual. "Don't talk to me like that."

"What?" It felt like a bucket of freezing water had been upturned over his head. Vegeta stared at Goku, who steadily stared back. Then Goku moved slightly, changed into a position of subtle readiness, the shift of weight enough to serve as a reminder of his superior strength. He did not even have to power up. If the movement was intended as a deliberate message, it came through loud and clear.

"Hmph," Vegeta murmured, as he leaned back into the couch. "Good for you." It was more like a breath, a thought passing his lips. He doubted the other man had heard him.

"Okay," Goku finally said. "Guess I'll be going, then." He turned his back, took a few demonstrative steps towards the door.

"Kakarott, wait." He wasn't even sure what he was going to say until he actually said it. "Do you want to join me for lunch? I haven't eaten since yesterday, and there's a restaurant I've been meaning to visit."

Goku spun around, his eyes wide. He seemed to hesitate before nodding, somewhat standoffish. No wonder, Vegeta wouldn't have believed it either.

"I'll get some money," Vegeta said curtly. He raised himself out of the sofa with such ease, almost eagerly. While leaving the room, he was very conscious of the gaze that burned into his back.

In his sleeping quarters, Vegeta sat down on the bed while he pulled out the top drawer of the nightstand. Inside lay small, neat stacks of paper money, all in different sizes and colors. His hand lingered above them…faded green, yellow, smoky orange, gray and blue, as he had to think for a moment to remember the correct currency.

Money in hand, he slowly shut the drawer, stared at the picture on one of the bills without really seeing it. With the pad of his finger, he outlined the face of a skinny old man in round glasses, felt the detailed irregularity and the slightly oily quality of the paper, though his mind was a hundred miles away.

Kakarott had acted like he really listened. Like his spiteful words had been received and noted. He hadn't pushed them away as if they were nothing, not even worth his response. And he had actually sought confrontation, for once not treating him as just another of his weak friends.

Vegeta felt something that resembled triumph. Yes, that was what this could be compared to. The sweet rush of victory.

My opinion matters to him. Greatly.

He was seen. Or at least…his strength had been acknowledged.

I'm not weak.

The thought wasn't loud or defiant; he wasn't shielding himself from unwanted accusations. It was a confirmation. He was not weak. Whatever changes might come he wouldn't run and he wouldn't hide.

Standing up, he placed the money in his pocket and opened the door.

…

Goku walked down the teeming street, still a little disorientated from the dizzying flight. The all-too narrow pavement was broken and dusty, and he had already been close to falling once when he accidently had stepped into a muddy hole. He kept looking right and left, sidestepping again and again to avoid colliding with someone. Strange that Vegeta could walk so fast, without having to stop or give way once. There must be some trick to it.

Then again, if he had paid better attention to where he was going, instead of trying to meet the gaze of everyone he passed… Goku turned his head, a glimpse of long lashes and smooth brown cheeks left him staring into the narrow back of a retreating youngster – and nearly bumped into a wrinkled old woman who was so short that she could have walked under his elbow without touching it with her hair.

The nasal honking of a horn made him turn his head to a small truck, relentlessly pushing itself forward just a fraction faster then the sluggish pace of the traffic dictated. Barefooted bikers yielded and closed in again like water around a floating log, and a large ox with curved horns and protruding bones were forced up on the sidewalk, the heavy load behind him wavering precariously as the truck honked by.

After leaving Capsule Corp they had flown straight up, so high that the air would have coated their lungs with ice if they hadn't focused their ki for protection. They soared with blinding speed, over what he supposed were mountains and reaches of water, but Vegeta hadn't seemed to need any landmarks to find the way. Unerringly, he had stopped above this city, turned in the air and dived from the great high, dived and dived in a way that Goku would have thought playful, if the drop hadn't been filled with such purpose and direction.

There was something wrong with the air. Goku coughed slightly, as he hurried to catch up with the retreating figure of Vegeta. Why here? Why was he suddenly in the middle of this suffocating street, stumbling and staring like he was a small child again, seeing a city for the very first time?

He glanced at Vegeta out of the corner of his eye, but quickly turned away when his sideways stare met the one of the prince…looking back. He swallowed and felt almost relieved when several large boxes on the pavement forced him to fall behind, follow in his wake once again. Why Vegeta's gaze so unnerved him, he couldn't tell.

Vegeta's eyes were very dark, even darker then the frame of their jet-black coloring dictated. The sun might shine directly into his face, and still the curious darkness was present, as if shadows had made a home in those orbs of coal. It was true. They reflected no light.

It couldn't just be his imagination.

A few days ago, he had caught himself thinking that it was a wonder that Vegeta could see anything at all, that he could see any of the things that Goku was seeing right then…grass, bees and trees, instead of perceiving it all as pitch black. He had tried to vocalize this thought to Gohan, but got nothing but that smile in return. He should have been pretty used to that particular smile by now. It said, 'I love you, Goku/Dad/honey, and I'm listening, but I can't really hear what you're saying'.

Still, it wasn't the riddle so much, Guku thought as he followed Vegeta with long strides. It was the way the other man had studied him right then, assessing, or re-assessing, making him unerringly think of the weird showdown back in Capsule Corp.

When Vegeta had called him stupid he had been angry…and disappointed. Searingly so. Now the whole thing seemed like a strange dream, in which the rules of normalcy had suddenly changed. Why the anger, to start with? Why was it that slights from Chichi were so much easier to bear?

And why, when he bared his displeasure, had Vegeta appeared intrigued, even…pleased?

It was a new thought. With Chichi he could find a compromise of enjoyment on some issues, on others he would usually pull away, not challenging her will. With his friends, with Yamcha and Krillin, it was much the same. Why should he want to hurt them in any way? He would protect them from whatever worries he might cause.

So he held on to the things that made him happy, and with his sons, especially, he could share those feelings.

Goku held his fist in front his mouth as he coughed once again. He looked upwards, squinted as the sky that was somehow dusky and bright all over. Ugly. If it hadn't been for the specks of soot in the air, perhaps it would have been blue.

He looked around, for the first time seeing the crowd on the narrow street as a whole. He saw their colorful clothes, fabrics woven in intricate designs, small shapes augmented by shrieking contrasts. A pink shawl over a green tunic, a yellow dress with orange patterns. A smear of red paint down a stately forehead. Noting the dreary setting, he wondered if they all dressed like this in a sort of compensation.

He briefly scanned the building to his right. Rows of unadorned windows testified of several stories, but the house looked so fragile that it was a wonder that the lowest floor hadn't given in under the weight. If concrete could be rotten, this was surely it.

Goku stopped in his tracks when he noticed that a man was sitting against the wall, watching him with the kind of openness that comes from someone who believes himself invisible. He was quite skinny, with short hair that should have been black, but was strangely bleached and his face was lean and deeply lined, though something told Goku that this man was much younger then he seemed, that he was a boy no older then Gohan. A sort of stunned discomfiture washed over him when it occurred to him that the boy was missing both his legs, that they ended well above his knees, leaving nothing but blunt stumps covered in tattered shreds.

When the boy found himself watched, he moved closer, dragged his thin body across the pavement with a series of well-practiced hops and lurches. One bony hand reached out, and Goku stared at it, at the dirt between the cracked calluses. After a moment that felt way to long, he leaned down and grabbed the outstretched hand, just as Vegeta appeared by his side.

"What are you doing, you moron?" Soft and casual.

What was he doing? "I…I couldn't just ignore him," Goku murmured. He squeezed the small hand between his own large ones, smiled, and got a shy smile in return. "Oh, and Vegeta…" He glanced up for a second and added, in a voice equally soft and casual, "Don't call me a moron, ever again."

The boy crooked his head to the side, for some reason reminding Goku of a bird, a parrot perhaps. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but only half garbled noises came out.

"He's asking for money," Vegeta sighed. He heard a small rustle of paper, and then Goku found a bill being shoved in the line of his vision. Snatching it, he offered it to the boy and watched it disappear somewhere inside the folds of the purple, frayed shirt.

Both of the bony hands pressed his now, as if in gratitude or reward. Much like Vegeta had provided him with the money to offer the young man, paying him for…for whatever. Though catching a glint of the pleased expression that had flitted over Vegeta's face had been reward enough.

Looking up, he discovered that Vegeta had started walking again. "Hey, wait up!" he called out, disentangling the hand gently, but with a haste that tore at his heart. "I'm sorry," he muttered, though he was pretty sure the boy couldn't understand what he was saying. He started walking away, seeing in his mind how the boy dragged himself back across the dusty pavement, blending in with the soft, crumbling wall once again.

A brief touching of hands could never be enough. There was always more he could do.

"What are we doing here, Vegeta?" The question was somewhat less then patient.

"I already told you. Restaurant. Food. Remember?" Vegeta had that air about him sometimes, like he was doing him a favor by simply humor him with words.

"Yeah, well…" Goku stopped in his tracks and glanced back when a tragedy occurred to him: The boy had probably never been outside the city. He had never seen the sun glitter off the surface of a lake.

"What's the matter, Kakarott? Did that beggar bother you?" Vegeta's deep, slightly raspy voice wasn't quite as mocking as it could have been. He added, quite coldly, "I should have taken you here by night, so you could see the people sleeping on the street. It's actually quite crowded, especially in the places where the grass is growing."

"Uhm." Goku wasn't sure what to say. Except…"Doesn't that bother you, Vegeta?" An expressionless stare was his only answer, but Goku pressed on, firm in his newfound resolve not to tiptoe around Vegeta anymore. "What do you feel when you see them like that?"

"Feel?" Vegeta sneered and abruptly resumed the brisk walk. "They are weak," he continued after awhile. He did not look at Goku, but lowered his head and frowned in contemplation, apparently giving the question some thought. "Well…not weak, but powerless. Not hurt and bleeding, but losing a battle nonetheless. How does it feel…" Vegeta slowed his steps and turned around to give Goku a long, enigmatic stare. "How does it feel…to be in a place where human life is so cheap?"

"Life is always important!" He had thought that Vegeta agreed with that by now.

"Whatever, Kakarott." Vegeta came to a complete standstill. "We're here."

"Here?" The house looked no different from the rest, with the exception of a large white sign with red block letters hung across the entire facade. "Don't pass me by," Goku read out loud. "Is that the name of the restaurant? Vegeta?"

Apparently so. Vegeta disappeared through a opening in the building, and after a slight hesitation Goku followed, feeling both flustered and mystified.

…

There was a single poster adorning the wall, Goku noticed as he entered the upstairs room, which was empty except for the two of them. The roof was so low that that Goku had to bend his head in an awkward angle not to bump into it. Six rangy tables, with narrow benches. No windows. Two naked fluorescent tubes cast a sharp light over the gray walls, over the glossy surface of the poster, over the picture of high blue tinted mountains, lush with life.

On the way up, Vegeta had stopped by the kitchen (which constituted of the small space underneath the stairway) and ordered a meal, more with curt gestures and anything else. Though Goku hadn't quite caught the end result, he had a feeling that whatever was coming wouldn't be nearly enough to fill either of their stomachs.

They waited, sitting opposite each other, Goku with his elbows on the rangy table, his feet pushed underneath the low bench. He was openly studying how the light fell on the angels of Vegeta's face, casting some features in shadows and some in ghastly white. He wasn't sure why the image gave him reason for concern, but it did. He wanted…he wanted to get a hint of what was behind. He wanted the planes of light to be broken by a smile or a scowl, or by the motions of adamant speech.

It was remarkable how silent it was, considering the busy street just outside.

The same man that had taken their orders slunk by and, with a few unintelligible words, placed two steaming bowls on the table. The smell was mouthwatering, and Goku dug in at once, munched with relish on the soft chicken bits in the thick red sauce, mixed with crusty pieces of ginger. The bowl was almost empty before it occurred to him to make a comment, "Mmm, this is really good!" He smiled behind the spoon, a certain amount of revelation in the statement.

"Adequate." So often Vegeta was acting like everything was boring him, like he didn't care one way or the other.

Vegeta wasn't looking at him though, or the food, it seemed like he was idly observing something tiny that was moving on the level with the floor. Wha-? Goku turned around and caught sight of a small mouse that, unaware of the attention, was sauntering back and forth like he owned the sandy concrete. Heh. It sure was cute, with its large ears and round little body. Goku smiled softly when it stopped to nibble on something, grabbed the unearthed morsel delicately in its forepaws and lifted it to its tiny mouth.

Still smiling, he looked back at Vegeta…who was pointing his index finger at the tiny mouse. His manner wasn't really obvious, just the elbow on the table, the finger slightly bent, but Goku could feel it. Like a metallic flavor in the air: the lazy gathering of the other man's ki.

"Hey!" Without thinking he shoved Vegeta's hand to the side, smacked it really hard. He didn't realize just how hard until his palm stingingly collided with a resounding slap, and Vegeta had to brace himself on the table, which shrieked briefly against the floor.

"Please don't do that," Goku said through bloodless lips. Vegeta raised his head, and Goku almost winced at the unguarded look of confusion on the smaller man's face. He had hit Vegeta much harder when they were sparring, ruthlessly striking him again and again, but this wasn't like sparring, not at all like sparring.

The disturbing confusion swiftly dispersed, giving way to an unfettered rage, every bit as disturbing. Like windows of thunder Vegeta's eyes bore into his, and it flashed through his mind that this was it. This was when it finally blew up.

Vegeta had not gone from deep, malicious spite to guarded acceptance. Their fight with Buu had not made him cast all that resentment aside; it could never be that simple.

He could have wept from sorrow.

And then, just like that, the tension broke. The suggestions of blue that had threatened in Vegeta's irises sank beneath the surface and the danger left his sneering mouth. The dense clouds of thunder dissolved, as if there hadn't been any power to hold them together.

Goku saw this with a kind of gratitude, like he couldn't believe it. He said shakily, as a bit of an apology, a bit of an explanation, "I was thinking that it was me, the mouse you was aiming at." Vegeta didn't say anything, and Goku pressed on, trying hard to put into words something that was more like a feeling then an articulated thought. "And you, the mouse was you too, on the floor looking for crumbles."

"What?" A definite edge, there in his voice, and Goku swiftly decided to drop that line of discussion.

"I've been so glad lately, about what's been happening between us," he said hurriedly and motioned between them, as if there was any doubt of who he was referring to. "It's like…like you have forgiven me."

Vegeta sat in hesitating silence, and Goku continued, tongue stumbling slightly. This was like nothing he had ever done before. "You've always acted like I've done you a great wrong, like you though I was a really bad person. But…we had fun sparring, right? You don't hate me anymore?" The last was half statement, half hopeful query.

"I don't…" With worry Goku noticed that Vegeta was looking down, apparently unable to meet his eyes. The voice was a hushed whisper that barely reached his ears. "I don't hate you anymore." Vegeta brought his hands together and, seemingly unconsciously, he rubbed at the palm of the hand that Goku had struck, gently, like he was soothing an injury.

Goku wondered if Vegeta knew how he looked right then, so full of doubt and uncertainty, so unlike the reckless confidence he usually portrayed. The way he held his own hand, it was like he was curled up on himself. And still he kept looking away - oh, it was alarming that he wouldn't even look up, surely Vegeta would always meet his eyes full on, weather in defiance or anything else.

It he had taken a moment to think about it, he wouldn't have done what he did right then. But he didn't pause. He reached over the table and gently captured Vegeta's hand. He didn't pause, but pulled it towards him, turned it over, uncurled the fingers from the palm, almost expecting to see it marred with injury. What he did see caused his stomach to lurch and the breath to catch in his throat.

Three long scars formed deep gorges across the exposed flesh of Vegeta's palm. Hardened gorges, Goku sensed as he reached out to touch. He almost recoiled from the unexpected toughness of the scars, the way they should have been soft, but wasn't. Teeth and nails were the only thing on the body that was supposed to feel like that. Yet he kept touching, trailing their entire shape…three straight lines crossing each other on the middle, creating six even points, like the skeleton of a snowflake.

"Veg…" No, Vegeta still wasn't looking at him. He was studying the shadowed wall to the left, as if he had suddenly heard something that had distracted his interest. Abruptly he turned to the right, giving the empty table the same treatment as the wall. "Vegeta?" Goku held his captured hand harder, felt the pulse race beneath his fingertips.

The chair scraped dully against the floor as Vegeta got to his feet. He pulled his hand out of its hold, hardly acknowledging the gesture. "I've had enough." There was something slightly off with Vegeta's voice, pressed, like he was forcing the words through closed vocal cords. "I'm out of here." With that, Vegeta let a handful of crumbled bills fall on the table, one turning in the air to soak in his abandoned bowl.

…

Vegeta wasn't flying very fast, Goku had no trouble catching up. They sped through the freezing air, Goku following the other's arrow-straight lead. The wind drew a hint of tears to his eyes, melting the light into a thousand facets.

It was so bright up here. Below lay the clouds, a sunlit sea of misty white. Above and all around them was the blue, a pale arctic blue where it melted with the clouds, a deep and saturated blue the higher he craned his neck. A brief moment of vertigo. He could fall into that saturated blue, fall, and keep falling forever.

'Silly, silly Goku', they would have said at that, and laughed. But of course he knew, he knew what would happen if he let himself fall. It was just a though, a feeling, kind of sweet and kind of scary, and it was worthy of being spoken in words. One of these days, he would astonish them all.

Vegeta turned towards him, a strand of hair getting in his face, before he pushed it back to whip around his head with the rest of the mass. The gaze in the narrow eyes could have rivaled the air for coldness, and the face was stony, impassive as it usually was. That face made Goku reluctant to ask his question, but he did it anyway.

"Are you alright?"

He could almost hear Vegeta's voice in his mind, arrogance riding the volume, 'Of course I'm alright, why wouldn't I be?'

The answer didn't come, though. Vegeta just looked away again, resuming his arrow-straight course.
- 7
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As Loyalty Can Be