Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am nothing. I am writing this simply for my own pleasure and am not making any money from it. Dragonball Z and its characters are the property of Akira Toriyama and other various and associated peoples.

Beta kudos go to Bardockgurl.

Triumvirate

Piccolo moved through the fight mentally. His mind's eye followed the flowing movements of his opponent. For once it was someone other than Son. He replayed the fight the day of the Cell games as it should have happened. The infant Cell moved and flowed around him delivering punches. He ducked and dodged, blocked and avoided the blows being aimed at him. Missing the punch that came at him he felt the blow land on his shoulder. Pain physically manifested itself and traveled down his arm.

He grabbed control of his body. Clearing his mind, he rewound the fight and replayed the last ten volleys until he got it right. He slowly began adding in his own punches; slowing the fight down and looking for the holes and openings. He became comfortable with the movements and began adding speed to the fight. He felt the flow of the fight saw his mistakes and learned from them. He would not be so careless again against an opponent.

When he was satisfied, he cleared his mind and allowed darkness to take over. He focused on his ki. He gathered it in the pit of his stomach and reduced the size. He pulsed it in and out; from his stomach to his diaphragm, from his stomach to his chest, from his stomach to his shoulders. Back, over his shoulders and then rolling down his limbs. Again. His ki crashed over his head and reached past the bounds of his mortal coil. He sent it pulsing outward in an orb around his person and held it there. Energy crackled, reaching from his core to the edges of the sphere of ki. Occasionally, one of the insects on the lookout would wander in too close and, with a small sizzle, expire.

He smirked with his eyes closed and remained perfectly still. He slowed down his breathing trying to gain control over his body and its reflexes. He searched out every muscle, testing each for strength and support. When his mental check diagnosed no inconsistencies, he brought in his ki.

Taking a breath, Piccolo allowed his internal well of energy to flare out again in a less deadly form. He used his energy to feel, to know what was happening in the environment around him.

A presence fidgeted. Anxious and unsure, it moved around at the edge of the lookout. It needed help.

Ignore it.

He concentrated on other things, the way his ki caressed the marble tiles on the lookout's floor, the feel of the trees as they swayed in the winds that blew around up here, each insignificant leaf on the more substantial trees brewing with life. He felt the presence move again.

Assist.

Ignore it.

He allowed his ki to spill over the edges of the Lookout. Down over the large bowled sides. Down further, toward Korin's tower.

He heard the sigh. Felt it as the ripple of air currents caressed his skin.

Ignore it. Brother. Nuisance. Child. Annoying. FRIEND. Argh!

His ki came slamming back in as he opened his eyes. He scanned the lookout and noticed Mr. Popo watering the flowers in the gardens. Dende stood near the edge looking outward, onto the planet's surface. The life on display before him near and yet separate. The people of the planet below would not know who he was or that he existed on this stark white satellite hovering above them. People whose safety he was now responsible for. The older Namek watched as the kid, barely Gohan's age, wrapped his arms around himself protectively.

The fighter sighed and unfurled his legs below him until his feet touched the tiled floor. He strode purposefully over to the young guardian and sat down next to him. He did not say anything; just looked out onto the world below.

The forest below the lookout stretched on for miles. A clear river stretched through it, a silver snake sparkling through the trees. Cities had not encroached upon the land. The native tribe that lived below claimed the land as sacred and saw to its upkeep. The outlook was up high enough to show the plains along the borders of the trees and the savannah land beyond that. Along the horizon, twilight competed with the day for position.

The boy eventually sat down next to him. "It's so quiet since everyone left. Too quiet. There's no one to talk to. I've never been alone before for this long. I'm not even sure what it is exactly I'm supposed to do." The boy turned away from the idyllic scene before him and looked up at the taller man. "How do you handle never having anyone around Piccolo? How will I?"

Piccolo blinked and looked out on the horizon. He had no advice to give the kid. Personally, Piccolo preferred the solitude, the quiet, as the boy called it. Humans and others were too loud, too boisterous.

Namek.

When he was alone he was able to train properly. He could meditate without interruption. And the events over the last few weeks had taught him the need to train harder, become stronger. Besides, he was always alone.

Something inside him screamed.

No!

Brothers.

Friends.

Nameks were not meant to be alone. It was unhealthy.

Villages.

He remembered villages, working in the fields with his brothers. The cool wind and the swaying blue trees. The camaraderie as the day ended. The villages opened up again at night when the temperature dropped. The elders would gather the denizens into the center where the evening drink was held. It wasn't so much a drink as a social event held around the spigoted fountain that dominated the village's center and spilled forth clear, intoxicating water. Afterward they would stand around the edges of the village center as the tale telling began. The elders would take turns each night, no two telling the same tale. If he closed his eyes, Piccolo knew he would see Elder Koshi stand in front of Great Elder Guru wearing his formal robes. He would lift a hand in the air and a hush would fall over the crowd as they anxiously waited for the start tale. He would then begin, sweeping his hand low as he described the landscape covered with trees. The clipped sounds of the Namekian language rang off of the walls of the surrounding buildings and resonating among the assembled village.

There was Mr. Popo. He had been there from the beginning of this life. After Piccolo had come to this planet, brash and full of himself, to challenge the previous guardian Mr. Popo had remained to be his companion. Then there was the Earth, its members. He was their God. They spoke to him, made pilgrimages. There were the fighters, the ones throughout the years whom he had trained; the ones Korin felt were worthy to send on further. There was Goku. He stayed here for four years. He watched him grow from a young teen to a strong young man. He was a trying child. He was always hungry, for more than just food, knowledge, skill, strength.

No wonder he was so hard to beat.

Goku's talent was eclipsed only by his capacity for destruction. He cried the day the boy lost his tail. Goku had looked up at him with trusting eyes before scrunching up his face and steeling his features as he took hold of the appendage and excised it. It had to be done however. This world needed a moon to function properly.

Back then he was never alone. The Demon King buzzed in the back of his mind constantly.

He was pushed out, thrown away, discarded like a piece of rubbish, locked away like a dog.

But it was for the good of the many.

He was constantly watched himself. He was hated, feared, left alone while the weak humans ran in terror. He learned to enjoy the pain and humiliation. He learned to live for vengeance. That was how it was meant to be until Raditz. No, that wasn't true. It was the boy.

He remembered the shock, the short burst of fear when the scrawny kid burst out of the pod and powered up further than he ever thought possible. He could still see the scrunched up look on the child's face and the tear cleaned tracks on those dirty cheeks as the boy ferally defended his father. Love did that?

The fight had brought him back to reality. Still, he found himself watching over the son of his enemy knowing that he could not let the boy die. He reveled in the kid's success; felt his failures; envied Son. Envy was a new emotion. Hate, rage, disgust, and determination were emotions he understood, felt comfortable with. So why did he care? Why did he feel the need to protect someone who wasn't strong enough to protect himself?

Father.

Because, love is the strongest of all emotion.

And through it all, the boy had kept his innocence. His heart had never hardened the way Piccolo's had. Not until he had seen his father die again.

Worry.

To be honest with himself, he had to admit that since that time he had never been truly alone. His life had gained purpose. He watched over his enemy's house, near Gohan. He had come to an understanding with Son. They both cared for the boy. They even became… friends. When the boy asked to wear his colors he puffed up.

Pride.

Now he wanted to remain the person Gohan thought him to be.

He looked at Mr Popo, at the palatial building gleaming whitely behind him. How did he end up here, staying at the Lookout? He hated this place, swore he would never come here.

Home. Everyone needs a place to stay.

Family.

Companionship.

When he had fused, He told Mr. Popo that he was neither Piccolo nor Kami-sama but instead a Namekian who no longer remembered his own name. That was not entirely true either. He was no longer that brash man. The memories and experiences of three lifetimes had changed him.

He looked at the kid sitting quietly next to him.

Brother.

Successor.

Student.

The kid looked up at him expectantly, so much like Gohan. What a cruel joke fate had played on him. Those weavers were probably laughing at him from Otherworld. What did he ever do to deserve two young mento look at him like that?

"Fortunately, you don't have to kid. You've got me."

Fin

24-04-05