Young Hearts and Old Bones

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z or any of its characters

Warning: swearing, mentions of sex

Hints of M/M (Gohan/Piccolo), It's light, and suggested. If that concerns you, don't read. Can be read without jumping to such conclusions though - in old age, i'm sure many things cross our minds, and what we thought we thought, goes out the window.

Chapter 5

The way we manage

Vegeta's dark eyes looked on, somberly and blankly, as Gohan dug the Namekian out of the snow and ice. The younger man's frantic movements made his already aching head throb in sympathy and he rubbed rough hands together unconsciously, wishing he had given his pride a day off and worn a damn coat. Gohan was making progress, finally, and Eighteen stepped forward to prop Piccolo up whilst the demi Saiyan wrapped his own coat, hat and scarf around his mentor. Vegeta waited stoically, with rose tinted cheeks, looking intently at the Namek's dry, violet lips. There had been a pulse, apparently, but if true, there was no evidence of it on that cold, silent face.

Eighteen and Gohan headed to Kame House whilst Vegeta fetched Dende. He had been rather surprised when Dende met him en route, he stopped for a moment, narrowed his eyes and huffed before following the small Namek's trail back to the Island. Gohan had likely already contacted him, and as usual he was the last to know. My time is obviously very valuable.

Gohan breathed in the sharp sea air slowly, relieved and exhausted. Dende had healed Piccolo as much as possible, but the cold had sunk its claws deep and it would take time before he would be at full strength. Being deprived of warmth and water had taken its toll, and the little Kami had said as much with a telling frown on his delicate features, before returning to his usual optimism. The warm sand felt oddly pleasant underneath his fingers and he smiled, Eighteen had been right about coming here. Vegeta was busy in the kitchen cooking, a revelation which had left Gohan speechless for a while, even in the wake of recent events. Eighteen had directed the Saiyan to condiments, fresh food and rice all the while speaking coolly on the phone, not betraying an ounce of her happiness at finding Piccolo alive. Goten's voice on the other end was audible in its excitement, and Gohan smiled again. He hadn't seen much of his younger brother lately, not since he had spent most of his waking moments thinking obsessively about Piccolo.

He tried not to think too hard, or too closely. They had found him in time and alive.

Piccolo laid still, staring miserably at yet another bland human ceiling, listening to the ocean lapping cheerfully against the small shore. His ears flicked at Vegeta muttering curses as he cooked and Eighteen calling people to tell them he had been found. He hadn't even realised he'd been missing. Muscles and bones ached intensely, and he frowned at the weak state he now found himself in. A mixture of irritance, tiredness and shame only deepened his displeasure and he forced himself into a sitting position.

The distant tingle of Dende's healing still thrummed on his skin, the gentle but powerful probing of the young Namekian had brought him from whatever partially conscious state he was in. He could still see Gohan's alarmed warm eyes and feel the sensation of being swaddled in fabric. He fondly remembered the feeling of deliriousness and wanted desperately for it to come back. Maybe because he was embarrassed, or maybe because it was preferable to this intense awareness he was now faced with.

Eighteen watched her Namekian friend sit up stiffly and she smirked, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed. He noticed her immediately, keen ears most likely picking up her steady artificial heart beeping away somewhere deep in her chest. He looked away quickly, but she caught the emptiness swimming in those dark eyes, her face flushed with affection and sadness all at the same time. It was how Marron used to make her feel, as she had withered away. She pushed off the doorframe, her white blouse looked stark in the sunlight, and Piccolo wanted to say something. She wandered down the hall before he could, shouting for Vegeta to put the kettle on. Gohan heard the yell from outside and knew immediately that it was likely to be for Piccolo.

He stood, brushing warm granules from his clothes and bare legs roughly, where they had tangled with the hair. Although he was undeniably thrilled that his mentor was alive, well and awake, he dreaded the next part. The part where Piccolo would say nothing, dismiss him, they would argue then the Namek would disappear. Maybe next time we'll let you go. The thought made his eyes well up momentarily. Maybe it was just the anger talking. He was still so incredibly angry.

Vegeta stirred vegetables in a thick, lightly spiced sauce and Gohan's stomach growled. The older Saiyan nodded to him and handed him the ginger and lemon tea, it was a strong flavour, but he said something about it being good for him. Bulma's favourite, apparently. Gohan smiled gently and took the cup, gliding up the stairs almost reluctantly to find himself at Piccolo's open door. The Namek sat on the side of the bed, his bare feet flat against the vivid blue rug on the floor. He had rematerialised his gi trousers, but remained bare chested in the humidity, something that Gohan knew he wouldn't have done in his younger days. It was almost odd, but then, he had seen Piccolo bathe, cook and change Pan, look after her every other weekend, and not one hurtle her into a large rock in the wilderness.

Emerald skin looked mottled, dotted with bruising, or perhaps it was frostbite, Gohan wasn't sure. His ribs were starting to show, some of the muscle had been eaten away but miraculously, he looked better than he should have done for his advanced age. A shadow of himself, but still a pretty good one for half starved, half frozen. Gohan handed the cup over and Piccolo took it gratefully, his throat was so dry as to be unbearable. The heat of the water burned the damaged skin around his lips and he grimaced, Gohan's gentle but firm voice actually startled him.

"It's hot"

He exhaled and looked at the demi Saiyan. Ah, it's that bit where we state the obvious.

Behind the disarray of greying hair, canvas paintings of boats and quaint sea sides filled the walls, and little status of lighthouses and shells were dotted everywhere on painted white wood. He didn't mind it, though he would never admit it. His love affair with the ocean had been a lifetime long, and he hadn't ever mentioned it to anyone. Gohan interrupted his strange introspection.

"Are we going to talk about what happened?"

Piccolo's frame was rigid, and he dropped his now burning gaze to the dark amber liquid in his cup, cradling it carefully in his long, bruised fingers. The strong resolve and resentment were beginning to ebb away, and guilt and indifference were ready to rear their heads. He said the only thing he could think of.

"I'm not weak. If that's what you're thinking"

Gohan's face looked comically puzzled. A hundred years, and his mentor was still obsessed with being strong and impenetrable. The vanity. Whatever Piccolo lacked in a will to stay alive or healthy, evidently it had not affected his hubris. It actually warmed his heart.

"No. No-one is saying that. We're just worried about you"

He didn't respond and instead straightened his back and squared his shoulders. Gohan knew well that he was preparing to leave. He thought it funny that he knew the other man so well, one movement, and it spelled a novel of decisions. The mattress depressed as the demi-Saiyan sat down, and he laid a heavy, strong hand on Piccolo's shoulder. The bones felt a little prominent, but still he felt dwarfed.

"No"

Piccolo turned, and at this proximity Gohan's single, small word felt a little confronting. The younger man's ebony eyes were determined and even a little sad. The Namek instantly scowled, drawing Gohan's gaze to the cut, bruised violet lips. High cheekbones were flushed and he was obviously able to feel anger as much as he ever had. It's a shame you don't feel so strongly about living. Piccolo placed the small china cup gracefully on the bedside table.

Sensing his mentor's growing dark mood, and the likelihood he would leave and he'd have to go through this all over again. Because let's face it, I'm going to keep saving you, like you did so many times for me. He grabbed the other shoulder and moved Piccolo to face him, forcing the Namek to pull up a long leg onto the bed and grab Gohan's wrists. It was such a human position to be in that Gohan almost faltered. As long as he had lived, he knew that Piccolo would still find this far too intimate and confusing, so he ground his fingers into the jade skin, not really caring that it was probably hurting. The guilt for that would come later.

"You're not going this time"

Sharp, white canines bared in barely contained indignation. A foot apart, Gohan felt his chest bob in a fear he hadn't felt since he was a small child standing in water, crying for his mother. He swallowed it, and instead focussed on the recent memory of Piccolo laying limp in his hands, mouth agape and lips iced and cracked, his heart flickering weakly. Dende had said that he had been starving, his body shutting down even though he was surrounded by frozen water. He didn't know if it was deliberate, but Gohan did. It had taken hours of slowly feeding him water to get him to this point, not that Piccolo would remember.

"I'm not a child Gohan. Let go"

The words were laced with a ferocity Gohan had all but forgotten about. He suddenly grew concerned that Piccolo would overwork himself trying to get away, and Dende had warned them about how much rest he needed. He had also given Gohan some old Namekian books, partially translated by Mr. Popo, who he presumed learned the language whilst serving Kami. It then became clear to him that Dende had at least some involvement with their efforts, perhaps leaving breadcrumbs, alerting Vegeta when he had sunk into the ocean. He had known how his kin was spiralling, alone, and couldn't stand idly by. Vaguely he wondered if the younger Namek had broken some unwritten Kami code by interfering, but he didn't dwell on it. Instead, he did the only thing he could remember at short notice from one of the books he had been given.

He moved forward and pushed his forehead into Piccolo's, and loosened his grip slightly. He imagined having antennae would make this work better, but he couldn't do much about that. The contact had the desired effect, and whether or not the Namek was even aware, he dropped his hands from Gohan's wrists to the demi Saiyan's chest, probably in an attempt to push away, but no strength came. Through their long dormant psychic link Gohan could feel a wave of tiredness, relief and a wallowing, deep sadness before it was abruptly blocked by Piccolo. They remained in that position for far longer than the demi Saiyan had expected, twenty seconds maybe, with eyes closed before Piccolo pulled away. The taller man was confused by the strange action, and suspicious that it felt incredibly Namekian. In fact if he remembered, Dende had done this very thing to him years ago and it had been an invasive and bizarre experience; but it had done the job of soothing the young Namek who had been in fits of tears at the time.

Dimly, he wondered what else Gohan had learned with his massive, unwelcome, interfering brain. He swallowed dryly. The guilt was back, this time because before he had shut down the link, a tide of Gohan's hurt, betrayal, concern and love had flooded his mind.

"Alright. I'll stay," he added quickly, "for a short while"

Gohan genuinely smiled, and it was honestly the best thing Piccolo had seen in a lifetime. He had a game plan of repair to implement, and finally, he could begin. Vegeta hollered up the stairs that dinner was ready, and to 'bring the green bean to eat his green beans'.

The table was set up in an endearing example of domesticity, or so Gohan thought, and Eighteen was laughing whilst Vegeta smirked in return, telling stories of their past and present. Of children and their antics, old battles and enemies. A spark between them made the demi Saiyan raise an eyebrow. Piccolo showed very little emotion or interest but Gohan suspected it was more weariness than an unwillingness to participate, though there was that too. Vegeta addressed Piccolo directly, not really having much skill in beating around the bush.

"Eat your dinner, I don't cook for the sake of it Namek"

It was abrupt, but the gentle look in the older Saiyan's eyes betrayed the warmth he felt. He had a special spot for Piccolo since the old days, his fellow not quite in, not quite out, not quite human, not quite strong enough. Just not quite. He knew that Piccolo felt this shortfall as much as he did, even more so, without a family of his own to draw strength and support from. He thought of Trunks, and returned to his meal.

Piccolo raised a small mouth full of vegetables and honestly tried to eat it. He had refrained from eating food, and recently, drinking water to the extent where effort was now required. Not exactly in a bid to starve to death, as he knew Gohan thought, but rather, how far could he go without before he passed that point. The finish line, that point where you can't go back and join the race. You just stop. Can you even win that race? Does it even matter?

Two moutfulls were managed before he returned to feigning interest. The food would help his strength return, and inside, somewhere in the hollow, he was grateful. In that same void, he still felt sick, but he felt better.

The night was a bitter one, not because of the cold, although the breeze did have teeth. Blue and white striped curtains fluttered at the window, teasing a view of the bright stars overhead. Thick salted air wound itself all around him, and Piccolo inhaled deeply, enjoying the feel of it laying heavy in his lungs. The faint sound of the other three steady heart beats in the house lulled him, Eighteen's in the room opposite, had a slight electronic hum that was oddly comforting. Vegeta's beat strongly, as all the Saiyan's did. Gohan's hummed slightly faster, and he couldn't help but listen intently for any missteps. The younger man's had an awful habit of changing rhythm now and then. On nights as quiet as this, he fancied he could hear the blood rushing through their veins.

In reality, it was distracting. One of the many reasons he chose to live in the forest, far away from humans and they're fragile physiology. His reverie was interrupted as he heard shuffling, a door open and close, and then soft footsteps heading towards his room. A curse came to mind at the possibility that someone might actually be checking on him. Vegeta pushed the door open without knocking, knowing full well that the Namek was wide awake. Wearing nothing but boxers, he walked towards Piccolo, who was seated on the bed with legs crossed, skin still healing slowly. The Saiyan had a peculiar look in his eyes, and Piccolo narrowed his own in response. The smaller man stood next to the bed for a moment, and the Namek felt his chest grow warm and clammy. Suddenly the room felt cold, really very, very cold.

He opened his mouth to give the Saiyan a mouthful of abuse but when it opened he couldn't speak, fluid filled his throat, spilling down into his lungs. The ocean had risen to the 1st floor without him noticing, and Vegeta had shoved his head down under the water lapping at his bed, tanned fingers strong and thick and murderous. Through the water, he could hear Vegeta's sour words.

"Isn't this what you wanted Namek?"

Frantically he tried to push upwards, all the while searching for Gohan's Chi. He couldn't feel it, couldn't hear the gentle electric hum of Eighteen, couldn't even see anymore. The sea kept rising, and against all his will, he inhaled water. It burned, and it was intense. He wondered if he was crying.

Gohan shook Piccolo awake violently, and the Namek blinked, gasping for air and coughing. Confusion written all over his features. He accidentally hit Gohan, who took it gracefully enough but with a grimace, and stilled as he took in his surroundings. Eighteen and Vegeta stood in the doorway, a barely there concern etched on their shadowy faces. He looked at the floor, the rug thick, black and in the dark. The ocean just carried on lapping gently outside against the shore.

Three more nights went by, and three more nightmares.

Gohan had insisted on sleeping on the floor next to Piccolo's bed, despite the Namek protesting for a multitude of reasons. Not only was it extremely insulting, it was also unnecessary, since Piccolo rarely slept, and detested lying down. Although it was becoming more common. His patience for this kid glove treatment was rapidly declining, as it always did. Pride aside however, he couldn't keep breaking Gohan's heart.

Whenever he did sleep, his mind kept going into darker places. First it had been the ocean, then it had been the ice, his father's memories followed suit and now he couldn't distinguish his own memories from his father's and those from fantasy. He might be uneducated, but he was intelligent and he knew well enough that it was yet another sign that his mental health was declining. And it was declining fast.

The awareness of it was almost unbearable. As time went on, more people were becoming aware and more of them were getting involved. People with opinions that actually mattered to him. He rubbed his forehead in frustration. Gohan peered up at him from his position on the floor, and Piccolo cursed himself for not realising the other man had been awake. It was night number four, and Piccolo was reaching into resources he didn't even know he had in order to stay awake and not risk yet another humiliating event. Am I even awake now?

Gohan placed his hands underneath his head, lacing his fingers together, regarding his Namekian ward. Not that he would ever dare use such a word out loud. Piccolo laid down despite himself, in order to avoid Gohan's kind gaze. Soft linen felt cool beneath his bald head and he frowned at the bland ceiling yet again looming above. His eyes must have drifted closed because the mattress depressing startled him and he glanced wearily at the demi Saiyan. Gohan barely acknowledged him and closed his eyes, clearly comfortable and secretly amused that he had trapped Piccolo between himself and the wall. The Namek was half inclined to shove the other man off the bed entirely but thought better of alerting Eighteen and Vegeta.

It hadn't escaped Piccolo's attention that Vegeta had also remained at Kame house, although he now knew that it may be due to Eighteen. Doesn't anyone have a life around here? The hypocrisy escaped him.

Fatigue pulled at Piccolo's senses and he absently touched his own evident ribs as he drifted off. He would later deny entirely that Gohan's presence so close helped him sleep that night.

Gohan awoke to Piccolo's dark eyes looking into his own. They had a touch of ruby in them in the gentle white light of the very early morning. It startled him, and he would have laughed if not for the intense look on the Namek's face. Against his better judgment, and later on he'd blame the peculiar hour, he raised his right hand up to rest it against Piccolo's cheek. He half expected the Namekian to recoil but Piccolo remained perfectly still and it was evident in the faint violet underneath his eyes that he hadn't really slept. Gohan felt his heartbeat leap forward ahead of him, it had been such a long, long time since he had been this close to another person. Piccolo blinked, and it happened for Gohan so incredibly slowly. Smooth green skin that had yet to age in any discernible way felt like alabaster under his calloused fingers. An intense desire to move forward and kiss away that haunted look, if only for a moment, almost overwhelmed him.

Vegeta slamming his bedroom door and cursing loudly, something about the lack of black out curtains, shoved the thought violently from his mind and he flinched, withdrawing his hand. Piccolo swallowed, and Gohan laughed, mostly in embarrassment and an alarming amount of guilt. The idea that he might be taking advantage of his friend, betraying his wife, how good it would feel, how lonely he truly was, the intrigue. It all ricocheted around in his skull.

And like so many things that were happening lately, he put the whole incident in the back of his mind.

Piccolo's mind whirred away whilst both Saiyans devoured their breakfast. Gohan continued on as normal, and the Namek wondered if what happened was another trick that his fevered mind had conjured up of late. He hadn't slept at all really, the sound of Vegeta and Eighteen having sex in the room opposite had been loud and unpleasant. Memories of hearing Goku and Chi-chi all those years ago, back when he could leave the house in disgust and enjoy the privilege of not being obsessively followed by three concerned people. He had also been unwittingly privy to their quiet and revealing conversation about himself and Gohan, and then the predictable conversation of regret and guilt. They had put it down to the odd situation, and how in their old age you do things, things that at one time...It had been going on for quite a while, intermittently, and casually in every aspect, apparently.

Piccolo would normally have felt intense revulsion, but instead he had laid there, listening anyway and staring at Gohan's sleeping face. Watching the man's tiny movements and following the deepening lines of his older face as he dreamt. He had felt an indifference, mingled with a distant affection, so uncharacteristic and suffocating that he could feel Nail and Kami flickering with concern in the back of his mind.

Eighteen lit a cigarette and wandered outside. Some kind of odd awareness that she probably did that every time she slept with someone the night before entered into his mind. She looked back, as if her cool blue eyes were acknowledging the thought. Or perhaps she was just now noticing his long ears, and wondering if he had heard it.

She actually assumed he had. Eighteen was actually wondering if he had enjoyed it, something to think about perhaps. When she wandered onto the beach she yelped in surprise, and that in itself it made the rest of them pause in shock. Seventeen walked by his sister and into the house, a half smile gracing his confident features. Piccolo almost felt himself perk up at the development, the other Android being someone whom he had respected a great deal, and was always an interesting curiosity. Gohan smiled broadly, but the Namek did have the presence of mind to notice there was a distinct lack of kindness in it.

The smirk dropped quickly as he delivered the bad news.

"Shit's hit the fan guys. I know you're past it and all that, but you're being recalled"

Until next time.

W.