Friendship
Vejiita rubbed his palm over his face, then slid
his hand around to massage the back of his neck as he looked warily at the junk
that had piled up in his closet. He’d decided he really should do something
about it, but now he was tempted to simply hit the whole mess with a small ki
blast and be done with it.
Feh,
he thought to himself, scowling, I can’t believe I’m even considering
doing this. I am the prince of Vejiitasai. Someone else should be doing this
for me.
Then he sighed. Of course, no one would be
cleaning up after him or serving him anymore, and he had to adapt to this
lifestyle. Certainly, he’d managed to bend himself enough to get the necessary
cleaning done, the dishes and the clothes and such, despite the fact that Dr.
Briefs’ robots could’ve taken care of some of it. He’d thought he should at
least know how to do it, especially as Dr. Briefs was getting old and tired,
and more and more of his old machines were wearing out, the Dr. having no
energy left to repair them. He’d taken care of his own clothing anyway,
disliking the thought of those irritating robots poking through his room.
But the closet was another matter entirely.
He circled warily, eyeing his prey from
different angles as he tried to determine the best point of attack. Finally he just
growled and lunged headfirst into the fight.
Several hours later Vejiita stood gazing
contemplatively at the pile of items tossed on his bed, put aside during his
major cleaning effort to be sorted later. His hair and clothing were lightly
coated with dust and he sneezed from time to time as the tiny particles
irritated his nose.
"Dad?"
The voice made him look up, toward the doorway.
A moment later Trunks poked his head around the frame. "Dad?"
Vejiita raised an eyebrow in question as Trunks’
eyes fell on him. For a moment the boy looked confused, then his eyes widened
and he stepped forward so he was fully visible in the doorway. For a moment he
simply stood with his hands on his hips, staring from Vejiita, to the closet,
to the pile of junk on the bed. Then a little smirk crossed his lips.
"I don’t believe this!" he
grinned. "Is my father actually cleaning up after himself?!"
He continued to grin, walking forward into the
room as Vejiita glared at him. He paused when he was only a few feet away from
the Saiya-jin prince. "Damn, you’re even all dirty. Are you sure you’re
feeling all right, Dad?"
Vejiita said nothing, folding his arms across
his chest and snapping his tail from side to side slightly.
"Um, Dad, isn’t this one of those things
that you always said was below you?" Trunks questioned innocently,
struggling to keep from laughing.
Now Vejiita growled at him, baring a perfect set
of shining white teeth. Suddenly Trunks leaned forward, staring right into
Vejiita’s face, and Vejiita frowned, disconcerted, fighting an urge to step
backward. Abruptly Trunks raised his hand, and rubbed his thumb over Vejiita’s
nose. "Aw, you’ve even got a smudge on your nose right here."
That was too much. With a snarl, Vejiita jerked
backward, aiming a moderately powerful cuff at his son’s head. Trunks avoided
it easily, laughing as he danced out of the way.
"All right, all right, I’m sorry,
Father," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I just never figured
you for the housemaid type."
Vejiita glared. "Watch your mouth,
brat!" he snapped, but there was an undercurrent of amusement in his
voice.
Trunks heard it, and, assured that his father
wasn’t really angry with him, he made his way forward again to peer at the
stuff on Vejiita’s bed. "What’s all this?"
Vejiita shrugged, moving to stand beside him as
he sighed. "That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I’m trying to find the
motivation to sort through it."
"Oh," Trunks replied, rubbing a hand
through his lavender hair for a moment. Then he abruptly bent over and gathered
a little over half of the items into his arms before straightening. "All
right, let’s just bring it down to the den and I’ll help you." He paused
for a moment, a faint smirk appearing on his face again. "Unless of
course, you’ve got some hard-core porn in here you don’t want me to see, or
something."
Vejiita snorted, muttering something under his
breath that sounded suspiciously like, ‘wouldn’t you like that, you horny
little brat,’ as he bent over to collect the rest of the junk.
Trunks smiled, pausing to wait for his father.
When Vejiita reached him they started down the stairs together, and Trunks
glanced over at the Saiya-jin prince. "I was just kidding, Dad. I know
you’ve never been into that kind of stuff."
Vejiita grunted in agreement, his gaze briefly
flicking to his son before turning forward again.
When they reached the den, they dumped their
burdens on the table and Trunks flopped down on the couch in an undignified
sprawl. Vejiita raised an eyebrow and sat down in a more normal position,
wrapping his tail around his waist to keep it out of the way.
They began making their way through the pile,
Trunks making an occasional comment or asking Vejiita a question. The majority
of the items were tossed into another pile destined for the garbage.
Throwing an old newspaper clipping away,
something he was sure Vejiita hadn’t saved, Trunks pulled a small
shoebox over to him and opened the lid. Inside were photographs. He pulled out
a few, flipping through them, smiling a little at pictures of Bulma grinning at
the camera, or in some cases glaring, pictures of Vejiita, always
glaring, and several pictures of himself as a chubby infant, clinging to
Bulma’s blouse. His smile was wistful as he gently brushed his fingers over his
mother’s face. He couldn’t remember her. He’d only been five months old when
she had died in a plane crash. The dragonballs couldn’t fix things like that.
Reaching into the box, he pulled out the last
photo, turning it to face him. Then he stilled, staring at the picture
presented to him. He’d never seen another like it, in any of their photo albums
or in frames anywhere in the house.
It was all of them. All three of them. Bulma,
Vejiita, and himself, in the same picture. Vejiita was standing with his arms
folded, his typical scowl on his face. Bulma was leaning against him, one arm
wrapped around his waist as she rested her cheek against his bicep, and Trunks
was cradled in her other arm, grinning up at his father. And was it possible that
behind Vejiita’s perpetual frown, there was the slightest hint of affection in
his dark eyes as he looked down at his family?
Swallowing, Trunks touched the picture almost
reverently, an undeniable tightness in his chest. Suddenly he seemed to remember
what he was doing and his head snapped up. He looked over at Vejiita to find
his father watching him, his face unreadable.
Flushing, for some reason feeling like he had
been caught eavesdropping, Trunks dropped the photos back into the shoebox and
replaced the lid, not quite meeting Vejiita’s eyes as he handed him the box.
Vejiita was silent for a moment and Trunks could
feel his father’s eyes on him. He glanced at him hesitantly. Then his eyes
widened as Vejiita extended the box toward him again.
"Trunks," his father said, his voice
as gentle as Trunks had ever heard it, "Do you want to keep these?"
Trunks jaw dropped open and he looked from the
proffered shoebox to his father’s face, then back again. "I-I-" he
stammered, twisting his hands together, "Don’t you want them?"
Vejiita paused, an odd expression twisting his
features for a moment as an old pain glittered in his eyes. Then he smiled
faintly, still holding the box out to Trunks. "If I want to see them, I
can always ask you."
Biting his lip, Trunks reached out and took the
box from his father, holding it in both hands as if it were a priceless
treasure. After clutching it for a moment, he carefully laid it on the floor at
his feet, then looked up at Vejiita, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Thanks, Dad..." he whispered. "I.... Thanks."
Vejiita shrugged, flushing faintly and clearing
his throat. "Don’t worry about it," he said roughly, turning his
attention back to the pile still left on the table.
Smiling, feeling a surge of warm affection for
his father, Trunks did the same, shuffling through the old belongings, asking
Vejiita what could be discarded and what he wanted to keep. As he reached into
the pile again, his fingers brushed against something surprisingly silky, and,
snagging it, he lifted it from the pile. His jaw dropped open as his eyes
widened as far as they would go. Then he barked out an amazed laugh.
"What the hell is this?!" he
gasped, dangling the flimsy piece of clothing in front of Vejiita’s face. It
was a very skimpy piece of underwear that might have just managed to
cover the necessary areas. In front, that is, certainly not behind.
"Somehow this doesn’t look like something that would fit Mom."
Vejiita flushed from his neck to the roots of
his hair, even his ears turning bright red as he cleared his throat several
times, eyes focusing anywhere but on the offending garment. He nervously
fingered his hair, licking his lips and avoiding Trunks’ eyes. "Your
mother," he began, his voice sounding slightly strangled, "somehow
got the idea that I would look good in that... that... thing... and
decided to pick it up one time when she went shopping."
Trunks was breathing hard in an attempt to keep
from breaking into screaming laughter. "Oh my God, please tell me you didn’t
actually wear th-"
"No, I didn’t wear it!" Vejiita
snapped, his flush deepening, if that was possible. Turning sharply, he ripped
the underwear from Trunks’ fingers and flung it into the garbage in the corner,
immediately turning back to the pile and continuing his sorting. Trunks did
laugh then, his eyes watering, then he groaned as he pictured the scene that
must have occurred when Bulma had offered Vejiita his ‘present’.
"Be quiet, brat," Vejiita grunted,
still blushing. "I thought you were going to help."
Wiping his eyes, Trunks nodded and once more
leaned for the pile. Vejiita’s blush slowly receded as they worked in silence,
quickly lessening the amount of items on the table until there was only one box
left, about two inches tall and two feet long. Trunks reached out curiously,
picking it up and flipping the clasps to open the lid. His lips parted slightly
in surprise.
Inside, cushioned in a soft velvet bed, lay what
was obviously a woodwind instrument. Long and slender, made of a near-ebony
wood with keys and holes along its length, it was beautifully carved, strange
and delicate designs engraved into the dark wood along it’s entire length.
Trunks examined it carefully. "What’s
this?"
Vejiita looked up, and, seeing what Trunks was
holding, reached out and snatched it out of his grasp, slamming the lid shut
and rising from the couch, moving away several steps as another light flush
swept his skin.
Trunks raised his eyebrows. "Is that yours,
Dad?"
Vejiita said nothing, but his silence was answer
enough.
"Oh, wow," Trunks said, standing as
well and moving toward his father a little. "Wow, I didn’t know you played
the flute."
"It’s not a flute!" Vejiita snapped,
his blush darkening. "It’s an iirlanth."
Trunks walked forward until he was standing next
to Vejiita, who had tucked the instrument under his arm and was avoiding
Trunks’ gaze. "That’s cool. You can play it, can’t you?"
Vejiita hesitated, apparently embarrassed. Then
he sighed and nodded his head once.
Trunks looked at his father for a long moment,
seeing him in an entirely new light. He had never imagined Vejiita to be
someone who had any musical inclinations at all; his father had never struck
him as being particularly artistic. He himself only knew how to read a little
sheet music from what they had learned in school.
"It’s a Saiya-jin instrument, isn’t
it?" he asked.
"Un," Vejiita grunted, his flush not
dying. "No, it’s Relkaen. They were a species that the Saiya-jin
conquered, and many of them served in the royal house. One of them, a gardener,
played this instrument."
Trunks nodded. The instrument had seemed oddly
graceful and delicate for something of Saiya-jin origin.
"Can I see it?" he asked.
Vejiita paused, seemingly reluctant, then sighed
again, handing Trunks the instrument. Trunks laid it on the table, opening the
case again and carefully pulling it out. The wood was smooth and cool, shining
softly as Trunks examined it, following the designs with his eyes as he turned
it over in his hands. It was obviously played very much like a flute. He turned
to his father.
"Hey, Dad, play something."
Vejiita stiffened, flushing a little more as he
protested. "What?! But, no, I haven’t played anything in years, I-I
couldn’t-"
"Oh, come on, Dad, what’s the big
deal?" Trunks cajoled, "It’s not like I’m going to laugh or anything;
I couldn’t play an instrument to save my life. I just really want to hear you
play it. I think it’s cool."
He held out the iirlanth to his father,
who eyed it warily, as if it were a snake that was readying itself to strike.
"Come on, Dad, please? At least play a few
notes and let me know what it sounds like."
Vejiita’s mouth twisted irritably, but he gave
in and grabbed the instrument out of his son’s hands, muttering under his
breath while he looked it over, fingering the keys and adjusting things here
and there.
Trunks smiled and settled down on the floor,
leaning his back against the base of a chair as he watched his father. Vejiita
was looking extremely flustered as he continued to tune the instrument, then
aligned his hands in what must have been the proper grip, experimentally
tapping out a few fingerings without blowing into it. Then he became very
still, closing his eyes for several moments and breathing slowly. Eyes still
closed, he raised the instrument to his lips, adjusted his fingers, and blew
gently; just a single note.
The sound was full and mellow, a clean strain of
surprising beauty that would have been difficult for any human-made instrument
to match. Trunks closed his own eyes for a moment, stunned by the purity of the
sound. Then it ended and he opened his eyes again, hoping his father wasn’t
going to put the instrument away now, deciding that one note was plenty.
But Vejiita hadn’t moved except to lower the
instrument slightly. He gazed unseeingly ahead of himself for several moments,
then, almost as though he were moving without conscious thought, he again
brought the iirlanth to his lips. This time he played a lilting, gentle
melody, his eyes closing as the sounds rippled through the air in a beautiful
array of eighth notes and triplets, suspended by whole and half notes. The
music was surprisingly light and free, yet the instrument’s voice made it deep
and full at the same time. Vejiita drew out the sound, then suddenly dropped
into a minor key, the tone becoming one of mourning, deeply sad without
becoming ponderous.
A moment later Vejiita stopped, seeming to
almost come out of a trance as he opened his eyes again and allowed the iirlanth
to fall to his side.
Trunks was still seated on the floor, his lips
slightly parted as he gaped at his father. Vejiita glanced at him briefly,
clearing his throat uncomfortably and idly tapping the instrument against his
thigh.
"And- And you say you’re out of
practice?!" Trunks gasped after several seconds. "Father, that was
amazing!"
Vejiita shrugged, flushing as he pulled a cloth
out of the case, carefully cleaned the iirlanth and began putting it
away. Trunks climbed to his feet and moved to stand next to Vejiita, still
staring at his father in amazement. He had never thought Vejiita could play
something so remarkably beautiful.
"It was really good, Dad," he said
again, quietly. "Why did you ever stop playing?"
Vejiita finished putting the instrument away and
straightened, turning to look at Trunks. His mouth opened as if he would speak,
then he seemed to change his mind, simply shaking his head. His face hardened.
"It was a waste of time. There was no possible benefit to it, for a
Saiya-jin or a prince."
Trunks said nothing, but he wondered if that
wasn’t his father’s true opinion, but instead his grandfather’s, King Vejiita.
"Well," he said after a moment,
"I think it’s a great talent. It’s really neat that you can do something
like that."
Vejiita didn’t respond, sighing and running a
hand through his hair. Trunks grinned as a puff of dust rose from the thick
black spikes. "I think you need to take a shower, Dad, and maybe get out
of the house for a while. You’ve hardly been outside at all the past few
weeks."
Vejiita arched an eyebrow at him. "Keeping
an eye on me?"
Trunks shrugged. "Well, it’s kind of
noticeable, especially when you used to be outside doing something everyday.
How long has it been since you sparred with Goku, anyway? I haven’t seen him
around here for a while. Eh, you don’t want him to think you’re scared of him
do you?" Trunks grinned. "Now that you’re both level three I would’ve
thought you’d be doing anything to goad him into fighting you. Maybe-"
"That’s enough!" Vejiita snapped, his
voice harsh. Trunks stopped abruptly, looking at him in surprise. His father’s
body had noticeably tensed, muscles standing out in his arms and visible in his
back even through his shirt. What the hell? Had Vejiita and Goku had a
fight or something? A real fight?
"Dad? Are you.... Are you mad at Goku or
something?"
Vejiita made a negative gesture with his hand,
turning to face Trunks. "Don’t worry about me and Kakarrot, boy. It’s
nothing. But you’re right. I should get out of here for a while. After a
shower."
Vejiita abruptly left the den, pausing to put
the iirlanth on the kitchen table before heading up the stairs. Hardly
fifteen minutes later he was coming down again, swept-up black hair damp from
the shower, dressed in combat boots, a tight-fitting pair of stone-washed
jeans, a ribbed white beater and his black leather jacket. Briefly
acknowledging Trunks, who was now sitting on the couch again, he headed out the
door.
Goku slipped around the punch intended for his
head, maneuvering until he was behind his opponent and delivering a solid blow
to the back of his neck, effectively ending their sparring session. Goten
collapsed to the ground, groaning loudly as he lay on his stomach, then slowly
rolled over onto his back, glaring up at his father as he gripped his nape.
"Dammit, Dad," he grumbled, "You
know I’m not as strong as you."
Goku glanced down for a moment, flushing a
little and mentally reprimanding himself as he realized he had indeed been
going too hard on Goten. His second son was the weakest of all the Saiya-jins
and demi-Saiya-jins, excluding Pan, who didn’t count at her age. With a
sheepish grin, Goku held out his hand for Goten to take and pulled him to his
feet.
"Sorry, Goten, I wasn’t thinking. Maybe you
should ask Gohan to spar with you for a little while; he’d probably be able to
teach you better than me right now. I guess I’m kind of used to fighting with
Vejiita."
"Un," Goten grunted, "I could
never spar with Vejiita. He’d beat me bloody without blinking twice."
Goku gave his son an amused grin. "Nah,
he’d just beat on you bad enough to make sure you were really embarrassed, then
send you home."
Goten snorted. "Yeah, that sounds like
Vejiita." The younger Saiya-jin rubbed a hand through his black hair.
"It’s been a while since you two’ve sparred, hasn’t it?"
Goku frowned, his mood darkening. It had been
days since he had so much as laid eyes on the prince, much less sparred with
him. Obviously, Vejiita wanted nothing to do with him after their last
confrontation, and it was driving Goku crazy. He’d wanted to give Vejiita the
space he needed, but that approach was getting old very quickly.
He nodded vaguely in response to Goten’s
question. "Yeah, it’s been a while now."
His son dusted himself off and prepared to head
into the house. "Maybe you should go pick a fight with him," he
grinned, "I think you need to burn off some energy. I’m gonna head over to
see Trunks."
Goku gave his son a weak smile. The last thing
he wanted to do with Vejiita was pick another fight with him.
Goten vanished into the house and Goku sighed,
stretching his hands above his head, then flopping onto the ground to stare up
at the clouds as he tried to decide what he should do about the Saiya-jin
prince. He’d thought that if he’d just left Vejiita alone for a while, he would
relax and be willing to at least speak to him again. Obviously, he’d thought
wrong.
He was half-tempted to just let it go, telling
himself that Vejiita didn’t want him and it would be better if he didn’t push,
but he couldn’t. He closed his eyes, sighing. He was in love with the prince,
he couldn’t just give him up without a fight. And, as he’d promised before,
even if Vejiita wasn’t in love with him, he still wanted to help him overcome
what had happened to him in the past.
He continued to lay on the ground for long
minutes, trying to decide what was the best course of action. Finally he gave
up, cursing as he quickly rose to his feet, his eyes glazing briefly as he
touched two fingers to his forehead and concentrated...
Vejiita stood on a grassy bluff, several feet
back from a sheer drop off into the valley below. The edges of a forest began
about a hundred yards behind him, and he closed his eyes as the light breeze
combed its fingers through his hair. The sun was warm against his face as he
sighed quietly, then brought the iirlanth back to his lips and once more
began to play.
The music came to him naturally, without any
real effort on his part, his fingers adjusting to each note without hesitation.
The song was wild, free, but at the same time full of a painful longing and an
underlying pain. As a child, playing the instrument was one of the only ways he
ever expressed his true emotions, even as he himself hardly realized that was
what he was doing. It had been a way to escape. At first, when he had heard the
gardener playing it, he’d condemned it as being weak and pathetic, but he’d
been undeniably interested. When he’d first asked the gardener, his name had
been Tylesh, to show him how to do it, the man had been extremely reluctant,
almost fearful, though Vejiita had only been five years old at the time. He’d
suspected a trick, was afraid of being caught, but eventually came to believe
that Vejiita was truly interested. And seeing in the already-arrogant prince a
lonely little boy, he had consented to teach him about music. Vejiita had
caught on quickly, listening to Tylesh carefully and following his instructions
precisely, though he still somehow managed to maintain his image of royal
haughtiness. Despite his attitude, though, he’d become truly attached to Tylesh
as the Relkaen treated him with grudging affection. One of very few real
friends.
Now Vejiita brought the song to a finish in a
flurry of notes that abruptly paused on a last, clear tone, then fell into
silence. Sighing, he held the instrument out in one hand, grimacing as he
looked down at it. Throughout his life it had been a source of pain, comfort,
and embarrassment all in one. Shaking his head, he fell into a crouch and was
beginning to clean it when he heard a very faint rustle behind him and began to
feel, uncomfortably, like he was being watched.
Muscles tensing into readiness, he rose and
swung around, his teeth bared in a snarl. Then he stiffened, cold tension
sweeping his body as his mouth went dry and a violent blush tried to creep its
way up his cheeks.
"Kakarrot!" he snapped, "What the
fuck are you doing!?"
How long has he been here?! he thought wildly, trying to keep his emotions from
reaching his expression. Oh, God dammit, I hope he didn’t hear... Oh fuck!
Goku lifted one shoulder in a kind of sheepish
half-shrug, but he was looking at Vejiita intently, his dark eyes lit with
interest.
"I was looking for you," he said
simply.
There was a long silence in which the two looked
at each other, Vejiita glaring furiously, Goku watching him carefully. Finally
Goku spoke again, his voice soft. "Vejiita, I didn’t know you could play
an instrument."
Feeling his face flush hotly, Vejiita turned
stiffly away from the other Saiya-jin, hurriedly packing the iirlanth
away. God dammit, he hissed to himself, trying to control the anxious
trembling of his hands, more from strung nerves than fear. What is he
thinking now? How ridiculously pathetic is it that I would play something like
this. This is the appropriate time for mockery. Now he can throw all I’ve ever
said back in my face.
"Fuck you," he muttered, half under
his breath as he finished putting his instrument away, still crouched on the
ground, and closed the clasps. He more felt then saw Goku flinch, then
stiffened when the other Saiya-jin moved to stand behind him, hardly more than
a foot away.
"It was beautiful, Vejiita. I... think it’s
amazing."
Vejiita sat very still, refusing to look up at
the other man, instead staring down at his hands where they rested on the
instrument’s case. The silence lengthened awkwardly, Vejiita unwilling to make
the first move, waiting to see what Goku’s purpose was. The other Saiya-jin
shifted his weight, running a hand through his black hair and gazing at their
surroundings. Finally he stepped forward, moving until he was next to Vejiita
and then falling into a crouch beside the prince. Hesitantly, he reached out
his hand toward the iirlanth, letting it hover uncertainly without
actually touching the case.
"Can I... Can I see it?"
A low growl slid from Vejiita’s throat as his
tail flicked from side to side slightly. He almost snarled at Goku to get the
hell away from him, then deflated on a sigh. Mumbling something unintelligible,
he gave the instrument a slight shove toward the other Saiya-jin. Goku flipped
the catches on the case, opening it and letting it rest against the ground.
Reaching forward, he carefully picked up the instrument, running his fingers
over the cool wood. Eyebrows drawing together slightly in concentration, he
brought it closer to his face, gazing at the near- ebony wood, lined with lighter,
red-tinted grains and polished to a shining finish. Delicately, he fingered the
keys, lightly smoothing his hand over the design engraved on the instrument’s
surface.
"This isn’t Saiya-jin," he noted after
several moments, and Vejiita looked at him in surprise, his tension momentarily
forgotten. He still was not completely used to Goku’s intelligence, and was
often surprised at his observations.
"No," he acknowledged gruffly.
"It’s Relkaen."
"It’s what?" Goku asked, puzzled.
Sighing, wondering vaguely why he was sitting on
the ground talking to Kakarrot instead of simply leaving, Vejiita told him
briefly about the instrument and how he had come to play it. Goku listened
carefully, his eyes alight with what seemed like genuine interest, and for some
reason that inspired Vejiita to continue. He spoke, almost forgetting that he
was talking to Goku, about Tylesh and the hours he had spent sitting in the
garden with him, listening to him play, learning from him.
"He was quite intelligent and very... mild,
I guess," Vejiita said quietly, his eyes elsewhere, "He wasn’t...
meant to be a servant..."
Goku looked at him curiously, still holding the iirlanth
and absently pressing the keys. "What happened to him?"
Vejiita’s face darkened, his black eyes
clouding. He said nothing for a moment, looking at the ground and smoothing his
fingers through the thick grass beneath him, his tail briefly curling around
his ankle before loosening again. When he spoke his voice was cold and
emotionless. "King Vejiita learned of our relationship, and of the fact
that Tylesh was teaching me about music and art. He had him tortured and killed
as an ‘example’ for the other servants."
Goku looked stricken, staring at Vejiita in
horror. "Vejiita," he whispered, instinctively reaching out and
laying a gentle hand on the prince’s back, "I can’t- I’m so... I’m so
sorry..."
Vejiita did not respond to the touch, but
neither did he pull away from it, remaining motionless but for the fingers
stroking the little blade of grass.
There was a long silence, broken by nothing but
the sound of branches rustling in the breeze and the occasional bird song. Goku
ran his eyes over Vejiita’s crouching body, unable to keep himself from
appreciating the image the prince presented. His faded blue jeans clung tightly
to his buttocks and thighs, revealing well-sculpted muscles that shifted
slightly to maintain his balance. His white beater hugged his chest and stomach
in an extremely flattering fashion, bronzed skin contrasting against the lightness
of the material, and the black leather jacket... Few people looked as good in
leather as Vejiita. The prince was simply stunning.
Sighing, Goku closed his eyes and pushed away
the urge to place a soft kiss on the back of Vejiita’s neck. He didn’t want the
prince to spook on him now that he finally seemed to be relaxing. Trying to
find somewhere else to focus his attention, he looked down at the instrument in
his hands, remembering the sight of Vejiita playing it. An odd desire to try it
himself welled up in him, and he turned it in his hands, pressing the keys
again.
"Um, Vejiita?" he began hesitantly,
waiting until the prince grunted in acknowledgment. "Do you, uh... Do you
mind if I try... um, try this?"
Vejiita twisted to look at him, one black eyebrow
raising sharply. Goku flushed lightly and glanced at the ground, then met
Vejiita’s gaze again.
"Do you know the slightest thing about
music, Kakarrot?" Vejiita snapped.
Goku flushed more deeply, twisting the iirlanth
in his hands and swallowing as he shrugged. "Well, I... I mean,
not..." He looked away again, suddenly humiliated. He must seem so
completely ignorant to the prince. "I just... kind of wanted...." he
trailed off miserably.
There was a short silence in which Goku
contemplated handing Vejiita the instrument and leaving before he embarrassed
himself further. Then Vejiita shrugged, sighing impatiently. "Go ahead,
then, Kakarrot."
Goku shook his head, "No, nevermind,
it’s-"
"Shimata!" Vejiita snapped,
glaring at him, "If you want to play it, do it!"
Goku hesitated again, uncertain, and Vejiita
made an irritated sound. Flinching, Goku hurriedly brought the iirlanth
to his lips and, clenching it tightly, drew in a deep breath, blowing hard
across the mouth piece. No pleasant sound resulted. Instead there was mainly
the noise of his exhalation, accompanied, by a very faint, somewhat unpleasant
gasping note from the iirlanth.
Vejiita snorted and Goku swallowed, feeling very
insignificant and stupid. Biting his lip, he handed the instrument back to
Vejiita, beginning to rise as he mumbled, "Sorry..."
Vejiita’s rough grasp on his wrist halted him
though, and he glanced at the prince.
Vejiita released him. "Baka!"
he snapped, faint scorn lacing his voice. Goku began to get up again.
"Look!" the prince said sharply, "You aren’t holding it right.
Do it like this."
The other Saiya-jin arranged his hands until he
was holding the instrument correctly, displaying his grip to Goku.
"You’re holding onto it like it’s one of
those bats humans use to play that idiotic sport. This is an instrument,
Kakarrot, treat it like one. And you don’t need to blow so hard."
Finished speaking, Vejiita against demonstrated,
raising the iirlanth to his lips and blowing gently over the opening. Of
course, a clear, beautiful note resulted.
Vejiita offered Goku the instrument once more,
and at first the bigger Saiya-jin made no moves to take it, then sighed and
grasped it gingerly. "I don’t know. You’re probably right, Vejiita, I
can’t do this. I don’t know anything about music."
"Be quiet, Kakarrot. Just hold it the way I
showed you." Vejiita said roughly.
Biting his lip for a moment, not wanting to
embarrass himself again, Goku tried to remember the exact placement of the
prince’s fingers when he had held the iirlanth. Adjusting his hands, he
gripped the instrument more lightly this time, his fingers resting on the keys
but not depressing them. After another moment of minuscule fidgeting, he
glanced at the prince.
"Is... Is this right?"
Vejiita glanced at his hold and sighed, sounding
mildly exasperated. Goku felt his cheeks heat again. This was stupid. All he
was doing was making himself look more and more foolish, and God knew he had
done plenty of that during his lifetime.
"Look, forget it," he began, starting
to push the instrument back at Vejiita.
The prince ignored him, refusing to take it.
"Don’t be stupid, Kakarrot."
With another small sigh, Vejiita rocked forward
onto his knees and slid a little closer to Goku. "Here, look," he
said quietly. Reaching out, he placed his hands over Goku’s, adjusting his
palms and deftly maneuvering the Saiya-jin’s larger fingers into the correct
position. "There," he said, leaning back and withdrawing his touch,
"That’s the basic grip."
Goku’s lips were parted slightly. He wanted to
say something, but nothing came out. He had never expected Vejiita to do
something... just... so plainly nice. Drawing a slow breath, suddenly wanting
desperately to kiss the prince, he looked down at his hands, trying to remember
the placing of his fingers.
"Now," Vejiita said, "Try it
again. And remember not to blow so hard this time."
Closing his eyes, Goku again brought the iirlanth
to his mouth, taking a breath and then blowing softly across the opening. It
wasn’t an ugly sound this time. There was simply no sound at all. Opening his
eyes again, he allowed the instrument to fall to his lap, sighing defeatedly.
"It’s no big deal, Vejiita. I just can’t do
it, that’s all," he grinned unhappily. "I’m just too big and
clumsy."
"You’re being ridiculous," Vejiita
said, extracting the instrument from Goku’s grip. "It takes more than a
few minutes to learn how to play this." He sat still for several seconds,
apparently thinking, and Goku took the moment to shift into a more comfortable
cross-legged position, finding it difficult to believe Vejiita hadn’t simply
laughed at him and told him to give up. "Here," Vejiita said a minute
later, "When you were young, here on earth, did you ever take an empty pop
bottle and blow across the top of it so it made kind of a low whistling
sound?"
Goku looked over at him. "Um... Yeah, I
guess I did. Why?"
"That’s kind of similar to what you’re
doing here. I imagine you didn’t just pick up the bottle, blow into it and hit
the right spot, correct? You had to adjust until you found the right angle to
make the sound. It’s the same here. You have to blow across the mouthpiece in
the right way to make it play. Look."
Raising the iirlanth, he parted his lips
slightly, forming kind of an oval and blowing across the opening, his lower lip
touching the instrument. It sang softly. Goku watched carefully, leaning
forward slightly, and Vejiita tilted his head a little so Goku could see
better. Stopping, he held out the instrument again. Taking it, Goku thought for
a moment, then adjusted his hands into what he thought was the correct
position. He glanced at Vejiita, then felt a slight flush of pleasure when the
prince nodded. Raising the instrument, he rested it lightly against his bottom
lip, then blew gently. Nothing. Frustrated, he started to lower it, but Vejiita
caught his wrist, holding the iirlanth in place against his lips.
"No, don’t give up. Just adjust it a
little; turn it until you make the sound. Try it again."
Goku blew into the instrument again, and again
there was no sound. Leaning further toward him, Vejiita sat his hands on either
end of the iirlanth.
"Blow," he said quietly. Goku
complied, and as he breathed across the mouth piece, Vejiita carefully adjusted
the instrument, turning it against his lip and changing the angle. And suddenly
a tremulous note rang against the still air.
Goku started slightly, then, realizing that he
had actually played a note, he broke into an elated grin, raising his head and
smiling at Vejiita like a fool. "Yes! I- Vejiita, did you hear- I played
it!"
Reaching out, he excitedly gripped the prince’s
shoulders. He had never realized how satisfying the simple act of producing
music could be, and he laughed a little, feeling deliriously happy. He had
played the note, and Vejiita had helped him. Vejiita had been leaning toward
him with his face just inches away from Goku’s as he watched his lips and
adjusted the instrument for him. The past few moments with Vejiita somehow
meant a great deal, and he continued to grin, still holding onto Vejiita, who
was holding the instrument he had abandoned. Then he suddenly wondered what
Vejiita was thinking of his display and looked quickly at the prince’s face.
Vejiita was smiling. As impossible as it seemed,
the Saiya-jin prince was smiling. He was not sneering, he was not smirking. He
was smiling. The expression was faint but it was there, and, for what might
have been the first time, it was genuine.
Stunned, thinking that Vejiita was beautiful
beyond words, Goku swayed toward him unconsciously, nearly shaking with the
sudden strength of his love. Then he forced himself to stop, becoming still and
simply looking at the prince, still holding on to his shoulders. Vejiita looked
back at him, and for long moments there was silence, but the tension was of a
different kind then before. They hardly breathed, staring at each other, and
for a brief moment Goku thought he felt Vejiita start to move toward him. Then
the prince seemed to rouse himself, shaking his head and clearing his throat,
leaning back slightly. Goku slowly allowed his hands to fall.
"Do you want to try again, Kakarrot?"
Vejiita asked, his voice seeming just a bit off.
Goku blinked, looking at him blankly for a
moment, then shook his head as he tried to concentrate on Vejiita’s question.
"Wha- Um, yeah, sure."
Vejiita handed him the instrument again and
allowed him to try to play once more. After several attempts Goku was able to
find the note without any words of assistance from Vejiita. As the prince
continued to speak to him about playing the instrument, the tension slowly
faded and they settled into an odd kind of rapport they had never had before.
Goku laughed often out of sheer enjoyment as Vejiita began to demonstrate
several basic fingerings on the iirlanth, showing him how to produce
different notes, then string them together to form the beginning of a scale.
Their heads were close together as they both bent over the instrument, Vejiita
briefly running over each of the keys, but explaining that Goku didn’t need to
worry about most of them right now. Goku hesitantly asked Vejiita if he would
play another song, and with only a few minor grumblings Vejiita complied, the
instrument singing beautifully beneath his skilled fingers. Goku lay sprawled
on his stomach in the grass, resting his chin in his hands as he listened, his
elbow braced a few inches from Vejiita’s knee. But he didn’t touch him. Somehow
something deeper was forming between them here, and he didn’t want to lose it.
When Vejiita finished his song, flushing a little and shrugging off Goku’s
praise, he continued to show Goku another few basic things about the iirlanth,
and when the two finally decided to wrap it up, the sky was beginning to streak
with orange and pink.
After Vejiita thoroughly cleaned the instrument
and packed it away, they rose to their feet and stood silently for a while, a
small distance between them as they both watched the deepening sunset. Then
Goku shifted his gaze to look down at the small prince beside him, his eyes
measuring as he tried to decide whether or not to make his offer. Finally he
sighed a little and said softly, not wanting to disturb the quiet,
"Vejiita?"
The prince stirred slightly, still looking at
the setting sun. "Hmm?"
"I... I wanted you to know... that if you
ever needed to talk.... you know, about anything... that... I’m here. I... I’m
willing to listen... whenever... if you need it."
Vejiita turned to look at him. His black eyes
were unreadable pools in the fading light as he gazed at Goku unwaveringly,
neither accepting or rejecting. Goku thought he saw him swallow. Then he nodded
and looked back at the sunset, his voice sounding slightly odd as he whispered,
"I know."
Goku closed his eyes, bowing his head slightly
and folding his arms across his chest, just reveling in this moment to love
him, without thinking of anything else. Of course he would have liked to hold
him, to kiss him, to make love with him, but, right now, this was enough. After
long minutes he looked at the prince again, wanting to make sure.
"Vejiita?"
The other Saiya-jin turned to him once more.
"Are we all right? Are we friends
again?"
Vejiita looked back at the sunset. There was a
very long silence.
"We’re friends, Kakarrot."
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