Instead of Flowers

Piccolo let himself in through the window.

Not that he couldn’t have used the door. No one was home but Son and Gohan. The woman had that very morning packed up her things and gone to visit her father – Piccolo suspected she’d just needed to get out of the house for a while. Son’s sickness had hit her hard; she’d spent twice the normal time cooking, cleaning, leaning against the window with her arms crossed and her brow knotted up as if that would help, somehow. But Piccolo could appreciate that. He wasn’t much good at waiting around for things to happen, either.

Gohan was in his room, meant to be studying. Except that he had been sleeping for the last half an hour. Would probably be sleeping for a while, if nothing woke him. The boy had been so nervous lately, with his father dying of some illness that no one had ever heard of before, with his mother so oddly quiet.

Piccolo didn’t intend to wake him. Not for training, not for advice.

Instead, he let himself into Son Goku’s room. Or rather, the room he shared with his wife.

There were two beds. Which even Piccolo knew enough to recognize as unusual. Like something out of the 1950’s, he thought, but he half-suspected it was a joke even in the 50’s. That people didn’t really live like that even then.

But no, there they were. Two twin beds side by side, and Son was in one of them. Sleeping, still.

Piccolo raked his eyes over him critically. He was sprawled on his back, one hand near to his face, wearing some clothing that Piccolo had never seen before, white linen of some kind. The covers, mostly kicked off, were tangled up with his legs from where he’d been tossing and turning earlier – Piccolo had heard the screams from his waterfall, as he did most mornings anymore – but he seemed to be resting quietly now. Almost like he always did, in a careless heap wherever he happened to collapse.

Except that this wasn’t the same as always – not the same as those times when Piccolo had come across the older man sprawled out on the bank of the stream, or dozing under the pine trees. Wrinkled his nose in distaste. Kicked him in the ribs until he got up to spar with him, or moved somewhere that his snoring wouldn’t interfere with Piccolo’s meditation.

Hell, the man even looked different. He’d always been white – three or four shades lighter than Vegeta, at least – but now he was pale, even for him, so light that Piccolo could see the veins at his temples, easily read the slight fevered flush to his cheeks, the tiniest trace of blue under his eyes. He’d lost weight, as well…Son had, Piccolo knew, gotten broader and more muscular when he’d been training at 100 times earth’s gravity on the way to fight Furiza, and his training since then had been intense enough to continue that trend…more through Piccolo’s insistence than his own. But now those strange clothes were loose on his shoulders, and the hollows around his collarbones were deeper than Piccolo remembered.

“Hn,” Piccolo said at last, to the sound of the other’s quiet breathing. “You really are dying, aren’t you.”

And remarkably, the Saiyan stirred lightly, opened an eye. Blinked at him with a slightly dazed expression, looked around, looked back at him. “Oi, Piccolo,” he said, grinning just faintly, “I’m sorry. I can’t come out and train today.”

“Tch. You’re enough a waste of my time when you’re feeling well,” Piccolo said. Leaned his shoulders against the door jamb a little harder.

Goku chuckled. “Yeah, sorry.” He didn’t even try to sit up. He just closed his eyes again, smiled a little more. “Guess we can’t all be as dedicated as you, huh?”

“Hn,” Piccolo said again. Then he pulled off his turban, tossed his cape aside, exactly like he was preparing for a fight. Walked across the room to stand beside the other’s bed. “Well, we sure to Hell can’t all be slackers like you.”

Goku opened his eyes again. And Piccolo cursed to himself, mentally, because he’d meant to say it blankly, and he clearly hadn’t. Because something in the Saiyan’s expression seemed to say “what’s wrong.”

Piccolo found a spot on the wall to look at. Crossed his arms.

“Sou. That bored, huh?” Goku said sympathetically.

It was as good as any reason. Piccolo nodded.

“I’m pretty bored, too.”

“Hn. And here I thought you’d never get tired of sleeping,” Piccolo said. It was easier to say it right when he wasn’t looking at him.

“Just like you never get tired of waking me up,” Goku said. And even though Piccolo wasn’t looking at him, he could tell he was smiling when he said it. Just like he always did when Piccolo insulted him, yelled at him, or kicked him in the ribs until he woke up. As if all those things were somehow the same as simpering over him as all of his little friends did. As if he didn’t hurt him – didn’t try to hurt him – when he did it.

Piccolo’s hands tightened slightly on his arms.

“Hey – don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what.” Piccolo turned his eyes back to Goku. Saw the other staring at his arms. Looked down himself. There were tiny little pricks of blood standing out on his biceps where his talons had broken the skin.

Damn it, he thought. Out loud, he said, “Mind your own business.”

Goku put a hand on the bed, tried to sit up. He visibly struggled with it, and Piccolo took a half step forward as if he meant to help. Stopped himself. Cursed again, mentally.

Son made it as far as his elbow before he offered Piccolo a small, apologetic smile. “You’re even further up than usual,” he said as if to explain, a nod indicating how much taller Piccolo was than he was. Especially with him lying down.

Piccolo raised a browridge. “And?” He said.

Son patted the mattress beside him.

And of course, there were a thousand reasons not to. Just like there were a thousand reasons to move somewhere else when the other’s snoring disturbed him, or spar with his split form instead of the Saiyan who could (and often did) soundly kick his ass while yelling friendly encouragements. Just like there were a thousand reasons to move silently away when he felt the other’s presence moving toward him in the forest, no doubt to babble at him senselessly for far too long about Gohan’s studies, how he didn’t really get why they were so important, but wow, wasn’t he getting smart, and he’d like to sneak him out camping tomorrow, if Piccolo might just happen to be around, and hey, if they should just so happen to run into each other…

Piccolo sat down on the edge of the bed. Carefully. As if he was afraid of breaking it. Which he was. It was part of why he hated being indoors so much; everything felt so damned fragile. It made him feel oversized and awkward – like the monster damn near everyone thought he was.

But the bed didn’t break. He wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by the fact that he’d tried it in the first place. He pretended not to be, crosses his arms again, and leaned back against the headboard.

Goku moved to do the same. Put both his hands on the mattress again, pushed up, very slowly. Piccolo could see the way his arms shook with the strain.

“Don’t,” he said, more sharply than he intended.

Goku paused halfway up to look over at him, curiously – but he didn’t lie back down. “Pic,” he said, “It’s fine, I’m just…”

Piccolo fisted a hand in the back of his shirt and pulled him over backwards. Not quickly. It didn’t have to be quickly. The man went down like a kitten new on its legs can tip itself over, actually landing closer to Piccolo than the Namekian had really intended. The back of his head settled on his leg.

“Whoops,” Son said. Tilted his head back a little to look up at him, expression sheepish. “Sorry.” Even though Piccolo had caused it. Then he made as if to move, but Piccolo shifted his hand from the back of his shirt to his shoulder. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. Son could tell he didn’t intend to let him up.

“I’m really fine,” he said.

“Bullshit,” Piccolo said.

Goku sighed, heavily. “I mean,” he said, “I’m fine considering.”

“Keep still,” Piccolo said.

“It’s not like it’s going to make much difference, Piccolo, if…”

“Shut up.” And he didn’t realize he’d growled it until he felt the other flinch.

But he was Piccolo, and he didn’t apologize. At least not that way. He slid his hand from Son’s shoulder to the back of his head, threaded his fingers through his hair carefully.

He was only vaguely aware that this was not a usual gesture on this planet. Particularly not between men, not in this situation, not at all. He did it anyway. Because neither of them were usual on this planet in the first place.

Son tensed immediately, all the way through, because Piccolo as a general rule didn’t touch him. At least, he didn’t touch him that way. But Son wasn’t afraid of him – he hadn’t been for a long time, if ever – and it wasn’t long before Piccolo felt him relax. Close his eyes, even. Settle against him as if he couldn’t snap his neck with a flick of the wrist from here.

“This is…uh…” the Saiyan ventured after a moment or two. “Pic, are you feeling alright?”

No, Piccolo thought. I’m not. He brushed his talons just lightly against the other’s scalp. Noted that his hair didn’t actually feel like Gohan’s at all. Stiffer, a little more coarse. “It’s very painful, isn’t it,” he said.

Goku swallowed. Piccolo felt it against his thigh. “Sometimes.”

“But not now.”

Goku shook his head, but only a little, as Piccolo’s hand was still tracing its way through his hair. “No. In between, I’m mostly just tired.”

Piccolo almost told him that he heard him, during the bad times. That he heard him screaming and possibly crying and sometimes it was hard to stay away. But he didn’t. “Are you afraid?” he asked instead.

Goku tilted his head back a little so that he could look at him. Smiled, just slightly. “A little,” he said.

Piccolo raised an eyeridge at him.

“A lot,” Goku said.

“What’s so different?” Piccolo asked. Without thinking about it, he brushed the other’s bangs back so that he could see his face. The back of his hand brushed against his forehead. Which felt too warm. “You’ve died before.”

“Yeah, but this time, it’s for good,” he said. “And this way, it’s…y’know, it’s not how I wanted.”

Piccolo nodded, stiffly. Let his bangs fall back into his face.

He felt Son sigh against him again. Then, he felt the Saiyan move, a little. Press a little more back against him. It made his chest contract sharply in an unexpected way. You are afraid, he thought. And no one else has even thought to ask you. Because you aren’t afraid of anything, after all. So they’ve all been begging you to get better and wringing their hands like the sots they are, and you’ve been…

“Try not to think about it,” Piccolo advised quietly.

“I do,” Goku said. His voice was a little strained. “But it’s not like there’s much else to think about.”

Piccolo sighed. Which, he figured, meant he’d been hanging around humans too long.

They were both quiet for a time after that, Piccolo still just gently running his hand through the other’s hair. And then Son reached back, almost like he was afraid to see what would happen, and gently touched one of the still-bleeding marks on Piccolo’s arm.

Piccolo shot him a warning glare, which was useless, as usual.

“So,” Goku said. He laughed, nervously. “You uh…you do like me, after all.”

If he’d been healthy, Piccolo would have punted him off the bed, stood up, and left. Or hauled his sorry ass outside and beaten that idiocy out of him. “Hn,” he said. “You’d like to think so.”

“I do think so.”

Piccolo huffed. But didn’t contradict him.

Goku smiled. “Knew it,” he said. He took his fingers away from Piccolo’s arm, but it seemed to the former demon that he didn’t want to. He could feel reluctance in the way they slid down his forearm.

Piccolo turned his head a little to look at him again. “You want to be closer to me,” he said.

Goku chuckled softly. And it seemed to Piccolo that his cheeks were a little darker. “Nah,” he said, “Really, I just came out to see you all those times because I don’t feel right if someone doesn’t call me an idiot at least once a day. Geeze, Piccolo, what did you think I was…”

“Physically,” Piccolo said.

Goku went silent. Stiff, almost. Said, “Yeah, kind of, but it’s not…”

Piccolo’s hand tightened, just a little, in his hair. Goku took the hint for once and shut up. But he could feel him shaking, just a little, where he wasn’t before.

“You’re that afraid,” he said, quietly. “You’re really that afraid.”

Son nodded.

“And somewhere in your damaged, misguided brain you have this idea that I’d protect you.”

“It’s not misguided,” Son said.

Piccolo snorted. “I wouldn’t.”

“You have,” Goku said. “But that’s not the point anyway. This isn’t the kind of thing you can protect someone from.”

“Oh, then I have to hear this one,” Piccolo said. “What’s the point.”

“I…it’s…I’ve always just…”

Piccolo’s hand tightened a little more. It might actually have been a little painful, but of course, Goku didn’t complain. He never did.

“You feel…safe,” he said.

It was Piccolo’s turn to shut up.

“You’re not as bad as you pretend you are,” Goku said. “I mean, Vegeta is. All the way, even. But you aren’t.”

“He said to the embodiment of evil,” Piccolo said wryly.

Goku smiled at him, just faintly. “Bullshit,” he said.

And again, Piccolo realized, this would be the point where he should leave. Instead, he found himself thinking of all the times he’d sat outside this very window at night, hovering just at the treeline, and watched the way his former rival tossed and turned either in pain or in the grips of some terrible dream. Watched his wife sleep through it, turned on her side with her hand up near her face. Watched him wake with a start that woke her, too, and immediately paint a smile on like it hadn’t been anything.

“Idiot,” he said at last. But then he slipped an arm underneath the other and picked him up – easy, he thought, too damn easy, and he wondered how much weight the other had actually lost – and settled him in his lap, just as he’d once done for Gohan during their time in the desert, when some dream or other had left the boy shaking so hard his teeth had rattled.

Through it all, Son stayed very still, almost like he was holding his breath. Piccolo settled an arm around his waist, leaned the other back against his shoulder, and huffed again. “There,” he said darkly, “are you satisfied?”

________________________________________________________________________________________


Goku didn’t know what to think when he found himself seated in Piccolo’s lap. Just like he hadn’t known what to think when the other warrior actually sat down with him, or started, well, petting him. But then, he DID sort of ask for it. And Piccolo, for all his quirks, for all that he was awkward as heck when it came to actually telling you how he felt, wasn’t going to hurt him.

Besides, he DID feel…solid. And warm. And steady. Goku let his eyes close and leaned more fully back against the other’s shoulders, settling his hands carefully on his own thighs, and said, “Yeah. Thanks.”

That apparently wasn’t the answer Piccolo was expecting. He huffed like he did when he didn’t know what to say. But at very least, he didn’t shove him off his lap and storm out, which Goku was sort of expecting any second.

“I should be sick more often,” he said, grinning a little in spite of knowing it was a terrible idea. “You’re a heck of a lot nicer to me.”

Piccolo growled. Goku felt it through his shoulders.

“Still as grouchy as ever, though,” he said. Grinning still. Because for some reason, it was kind of…fun…to poke at Piccolo that way, always had been. Especially when he didn’t hit him for it.

Piccolo growled again. And, unexpectedly, curled an arm around his waist. Then the other one. Which was weird, but…felt weirdly secure, too. “Uh…” And then he felt Piccolo’s forehead come to rest on his left shoulder, just beside where it connected to his neck.

“Piccolo,” he said. He could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.

“Don’t you ever stop talking?” And Piccolo’s voice sounded rough. Rougher than usual.

Oh, Goku thought. Because Piccolo DID like him, and Piccolo didn’t like very many people. And he was dying. And it wasn’t like Piccolo had ever known what to do with it anyway, the whole being friends thing; he barely understood those feelings in the first place, had only HAD friends for about a year, and now he was going to have to learn how to lose one. It’d be hard on anybody.

“I can try to be quiet,” he said. Hesitantly – it was always so hard, he thought, to know what would make things better with Piccolo and what would make them worse – he brought one of his hands up and cupped the back of his neck. “I’m not very good at it, but I can try.”

The arms around his waist tightened. “You do that.”

Son closed his eyes. Turned his head a little, so that his forehead was almost touching Piccolo’s. “I’m sorry,” he said. “About…all this. I’m just…”

“Damnit, will you *stop apologizing*,” Piccolo almost snarled at him.

He bit his lip and nodded. And noticed that maybe it wasn’t as weird with nobody talking as he thought it would be. Except that he could feel the way the other was breathing, Could feel the tension in his chest, his arms, his shoulders, even his legs, as if the other was nervous still, or really fighting with himself to do this for him, or…trying to make up his mind about something.

Then he felt Piccolo’s hand – no mistaking it – slide up under the front of his shirt.

Goku’s eyes widened all by themselves – he could feel them trying to bug out of his head as he instinctively put both hands down for purchase(one, as it turned out, to the top of each of Piccolo’s thighs) and tried instinctively to scramble backwards. Only there was nowhere to go, as his back was already pressed up against Piccolo’s chest.

“Piccolo, wait, what the heck are you – “ and then he felt the Namekian’s other hand clamp firmly over his mouth. He’d never really believed it before, that you could completely shut someone up that way, but then he’d never had anyone do it to him. Never had anyone strong enough that he could press that hard, hard enough that the back of Goku’s head was against Piccolo’s shoulder again, and he couldn’t so much as move his lips.

He might have panicked, might even have really fought him, but then he felt the other’s lips almost against his ear. “Your son is downstairs,” Piccolo said in a strangely quiet voice. “Do you want to wake him up?”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what would happen. Gohan would hear him moving around, maybe his voice, maybe even what he was saying. He’d come upstairs to check on him. And even naive as he was, Son couldn’t help but realize what this would look like. What it might, he realized, actually be.

He closed his eyes and shook his head as much as he could. Which wasn’t much, but Piccolo seemed to get the idea anyway.

“Didn’t think so,“ he said. Then he turned his head a little, and Goku felt the unfamiliar sensation of a tongue sliding just barely against the back of his ear.

Goku jumped, tried to turn his head, but couldn’t. If anything, the other warrior held him tighter. Blew softly against the skin he’d just…and it made him shudder so hard it almost hurt. He made a sound against the other’s hand even he didn’t know he was capable of making – almost a whine, but so muffled against Piccolo’s palm that it came out faint and too high – clamped one hand on each wrist, and tried to pull them away. But he was tired already, tired as if he’d already fought a dozen battles, and there wasn’t enough strength in his limbs, and Piccolo felt so strong, his arms didn’t even move when Goku pulled on them, it didn’t even feel like he had to try…

“Shh,” Piccolo said into his ear. His lips tickled, and Goku tried not to twitch. “What’s all this?” Then, almost challengingly, almost like how he’d asked him if sparing either him or Vegeta was really that great an idea, “I thought you trusted me.”

Goku stilled. Clenched his eyes a little harder and decided he’d never been so confused in his life, which was really, really saying something, and geeze, he wished he could talk. Wished he could ask him why he was doing this, what he wanted him to say.

“After all. We’re friends. Aren’t we? Isn’t that…” The hand against Goku’s abdomen flexed slightly, and drew itself across his skin…the talons felt…ticklish and a little dangerous against his stomach, but of course, Piccolo wouldn’t actually cut him with them, not anymore… “ what you’re always telling me?”

Why do you sound so angry, Goku wondered. His eyes stung. But he let go of the hand that was holding his mouth, and he let go of the hand that was, even then, tracing the line of his ribs.

That hand stilled completely. Then flattened, so the palm rested against him instead of the talons. And this time Goku felt Piccolo’s forehead…or more like, the bridge of his nose…come to rest against his temple. “Damn it, Son,” he said. So quietly.

You won’t hurt me, he wanted to say, though whether it was to reassure Piccolo or himself, he wasn’t sure. You’d like me to think so, and maybe you’d like to think so, but you won’t. And I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I don’t know why you do a lot of things, and I have to think it’ll be alright.

But he couldn’t say that.

Instead, carefully, he uncoiled his tail from around his own waist – something he rarely did, because hard experience had taught him how much it could hurt – and wound it carefully around Piccolo’s. It didn’t make it all the way around, of course, barely to his opposite hip, but it would have to do.

He felt Piccolo shake his head, slowly. “You idiot,” he said, and his voice was rough again, but a different kind of rough, maybe closer to breaking than he’d ever heard it. ‘You naieve, stupid little…”

And Goku grinned suddenly, without really knowing why, felt two tears burn their way down his cheeks to pool against Piccolo’s hand, then two more, then a lot.

It’s okay, he wanted to say. To Piccolo or himself, he wasn’t sure. It’s okay, it’s going to be…

Piccolo’s hand slid away from his mouth. Fisted itself in his hair again, but a lot harder this time, and made him turn his head. He was disappointed immediately, because while he knew damn well Piccolo was looking him square in the face, all he could see of the other was the curve of his jaw.

“Careful,” he said, and he barely recognized his own voice for how shaky it was, “that’s attached.”

And then Piccolo kissed his cheek, just lightly, maybe not even really a kiss, so much as just touching the dampness with his lips, and Goku felt himself take a shuddery breath, because freaky or not, weird or not, no one had ever touched him like that. Like he was trying to tell him something important and didn’t know any other way.

“What’s wrong with you,” Piccolo almost whispered, “what the Hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s like you said,” Goku said.

And the next thing he knew he was on his back, flat on his back, and the other was crouched over him like he did sometimes when they fought, when he’d knocked him down and was going to try to hold him.

Except this time, there wouldn’t be any “try.” Already, both of Piccolo’s hands were sliding his shirt up, he was shifting to kneel between his legs, and…

“Not like this,” he almost whispered.

Piccolo stilled. And at last, Goku could see him, though there wasn’t much by the way of expression on his face when he did. Just in the eyes, those were full of…something, but he had such a hard time reading them even at the best of times, when he had things like light and distance.

“Not like this,” Piccolo repeated. Incredulously. “How the Hell else would it be.”

And he didn’t know how to ask, didn’t know if there were even words for what he wanted, because he’d only ever been with one person, and she hadn’t been the type you’d ask things of. Or suggest things to. She was more the kind you found a usual kind of way and then you stuck with it.

“Please,” he said.

Piccolo rolled both his eyes at the ceiling and shook his head. “Why in Hell,” he said, “do you have to make everything so godsdamned complicated.”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t even know what you’re asking me for.”

“Yeah,” Goku said. “I don’t know either.” He reached up, and his fingers touched the other’s shirt, and while he knew he didn’t stand a chance in Hell of pulling him anywhere, he pulled anyway.

And it worked. As Piccolo lowered himself slowly, carefully, to settle against him. Close. “Like this,” he said. Like he didn’t quite believe it, or couldn’t quite understand.

Carefully, Goku slid one of his arms around the other’s shoulders. Almost like he did sometimes when they were grappling. And yeah, if he’d admit it to himself, he’d always liked it when the other threw him around, always liked feeling his weight settle against him, liked the way he felt when he was breathing against his shoulder or his back in between struggling, and sometimes, he’d even let Piccolo throw him on purpose, just because for some reason he liked rolling around with him.

He nodded.

Piccolo muttered something that sounded like “sentimental nonsense,” and Goku smiled. Turned his head a little to kiss his shoulder. And didn’t even shudder too much when he felt Piccolo bite him.