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A knock on Piccolo’s door had been a surprise.
It wasn’t often that someone- or rather- anyone with a power level too low to sense made the trek all the way up to the plateau that he called home.
Among the sparkling lake water and grass covered mountain-rock had he created his very own abode.
It shimmers like a florescent shell; even from the inside- adding depth to the ornate hard-wood floor.
He doesn’t need any complications to his already more than full life.
The stray Peneko toy from darling Pan is about as much as he can call ‘décor’- and it’s more than enough.
He prefers to be alone; really.
Training occasionally when he can rope Gohan into it is more than enough for him. Guiding Pan to realize her path in life is something else he doesn’t mind breaking his daily meditation for.
Piccolo opens the door; expecting nothing in particular.
It’s certainly something standing before him.
The sharp-eyed Android 17 stands at the cobbled entranceway.
He’s bundled up in a work-issued jacket. It displays proudly his service in the forestry sector of this area.
Piccolo has to peer down to make eye contact.
Android 17 flips his hair up a bit with a gloved hand.
His smile is sly; as always.
“I… hope I’m not intruding.”
It doesn’t sound like a question to Piccolo.
Instead- his tone sounds awfully inviting. As if- he’s letting himself into the very sanctuary that Piccolo has so carefully maintained without any form of ceremony nor warrant.
Piccolo sighs out gently and just shakes his head.
His eyes can’t help but narrow.
The last time he had found himself face to face with this Android; it had been a fight to the near death.
A lack of ki explains nothing to Piccolo. So- he’s forced to open his mouth in what may very well be weeks.
“...No.”
Outside the safety of his house comes the din of birdsong and various other rustlings of leaves and water.
It’s a blessed thing that is the main reason that he had chosen this location.
Piccolo can’t stand the noise of the city; nor the loud cascade of the waterfall he used to torture his ears next to.
17 shifts a bit; he’s adjusting the weight of a hunting rifle at his hip.
Dende knows he doesn’t need it. Piccolo has seen first-hand what the young man in front of him can do.
“So,”
17 begins- his voice light and open as he cuts through any kind of normal greeting,
“I’m here on part of the division that covers this part of the mountain.”
Piccolo nods; all ears.
17 smiles up at him in a knowing way. It’s kind of eerie how big and emotionless his eyes are.
“I’ll be here for a couple of months.”
Again, Piccolo finds himself nodding.
17’s smile grows a bit wider.
He peers past Piccolos’ frame and into the house.
His expression transforms from playful to that which says he’s speaking on purely business terms.
“I’ll need to check the premises.”
Piccolo exhales and after a moment of processing the words- he turns his body to the side to grant access to the young man.
Into the sanctuary of his home does 17 stride with little apprehension. Footfalls with near calculated precision; they echo in the domed space as Piccolo quietly closes the door behind him.
Inside- the midday sun beams gently in from the small portholes that Piccolo had installed.
The scene strikes Piccolo as a bit domestic.
He cuts through the relative silence so that his tension may be alleviated,
“And what if you find something?”
A moment’s pause and then 17 huffs out a small laugh.
His voice is high pitched- kind of airy with a hint of deviousness to it’s very nature.
“Well- we’ll just see-… then.”
Piccolo can’t help but swallow a bit at the tone.
This Android 17 surely knows the affect he gives to his voice.
With the lack of an open door and the knowledge that whatever Android 17 is doing is mandatory under the laws of the humans- makes Piccolo feel all the more trapped.
He certainly does not enjoy the feeling in what he believes to be his own home.
And yet; blessedly so- that as Android 17’s eyes rove and count each nook and cranny- it appears to Piccolo that they cannot find any kind of violation to reprimand Piccolo for.
And so- he returns to Piccolo’s side some minutes later.
Once again; he has to lean down slightly to find himself at the level of Android 17.
A genuinely pleased look is plastered on his face. He nods gently up to the taller man and gives a gloved thumbs-up.
The silence that stretches between them is a bit tense.
Those bright blue eyes are darting down to his lips for a moment before he turns away with a reserved face.
He turns his body towards the door and before he moves to it,
“Thank you for your compliance.”
Piccolo is quick to open the door for Android 17.
He isn’t sure if the haste he exhibits is a lack of his own willpower- or an excess.
Either way; the small wave that 17 gives to him before he goes is mirrored by Piccolo.
---
It’s some months later -much to his word- that Android 17 has found himself up here on the plateau that Piccolo calls his home.
The winter snows have begun; and the area is blanketed in a wondrously thick helping.
The bitter cold does bother Piccolo’s senses; but not enough to keep him from making his trek outside onto the shaped conical rock that he prefers for his meditation spot.
Nothing has really changed.
That is- however- for the company that has decided to insert himself into Piccolo’s carefully maintained schedule.
A droplet of something falls right onto the bridge of Piccolo’s nose.
He’s at once broken from his meditation; eyes coming open from their closed state.
Naturally- the young Android 17 is peering down at him from high above.
He must be some 4 meters in distance above Piccolo.
Whatever liquid had hit his nose quickly irks Piccolo.
17 has got his tongue sticking out.
Piccolo’s floating stance breaks as he hits the ground with a flurry of his cape and storms off the levitating plateau.
Propelling himself off the rocky face- the colliding sound of the conical chunk of rock shakes the air around his ears.
He ignores the droplet on his nose and lets the icy air whisk it away into nothingness.
His domed and spiked home shines as a beacon so that he may escape whatever charade 17 is deciding to enact on him.
For weeks now; it has been similar ‘games.’
Starting out small; hardly noticeable.
Dropping in on Piccolo’s carefully balanced meditative state and breaking it with inane small talk.
Then- inviting all manner of wildlife to perch themselves on his padded shoulders and chitter and flap in his ears.
His feet hit the ground and he does his best to ignore the faint echoing sound behind him as two smaller ones follow his path.
Piccolo has a mind in him to close the door behind him.
However- it’s already too late for this.
Inside his home 17 had found some kind of refuge; as the weather had turned and the fall leaves had all but disappeared- so had any privacy that Piccolo once enjoyed.
He had held his tongue for nearly 3 months now.
He cannot take any more.
He spins around as icy boots clack on the delicate, intricate hardwood flooring. His teeth are bared and brow furrowed; he’s ready to chew into this annoyance and-
Eyes that are subdued and downcast ask gently,
“Did you want some coffee?”
Piccolo’s hunched shoulders lower.
He hadn’t realized he’d been so worked up.
The percolator is heated outside and the campfire that 17 makes to boil the snow is a gentle din to his ears.
Coffee is something he enjoys. It’s not solid food- but it gives him the feeling that he may very well be an earthling; much like the young man with whom he finds himself sharing it with.
He’ll be leaving soon; to be assigned to another section of the mountain.
Piccolo wishes that he wouldn’t.
---
Android 17 visits at times.
His eyes are often clouded with something that may very well be grief.
He is quick to light a fire; his wild, lively eyes staring into the very flames.
Just as often does he catch Piccolo’s searching attention.
He is keen to his probing.
One night- somewhen deep in the spring- when the snow as all but melted and grass is marshy and cold beneath his feet; it’s 17 who brews them tea this time.
His fire-lit face shines orange and his hair reflects the deep blue of the starry sky.
Piccolo has taken a seat on a stone that faces the young man opposite.
The both drink in silence
Piccolo finds that he must fill some gap in whatever 17 finds in his heart.
The thought sits wrong in his chest.
Does he truly believe he will find anything in a false imagine of someone gone?
As if reading his thoughts, 17 speaks in a clear tone that gives away more than anything else he’s ever said to Piccolo.
His words are as clear as the spring sky. The very flames that separate them are as hot as midday.
“I miss you.”
Piccolo believes that he knows for whom that 17 is stating.
Right in front of him.
Not close enough.
Close enough.
You?