Poisoned Hearts

By Ember

Warnings: Yaoi/slash/homosexuality, sexual content, violence, profanity... maybe some more. Pay attention, you'll figure them all out by the time it's finished...

A/N: Alrighty. Some of you may be wondering: "Ember, if you haven't watched this show in years, why are you writing a fanfic?"

To that, I answer: "Because I can!"

Also because: A. I missed Ky'ale and I couldn't put her into any other theme I could think of, though I am working on an original story about kairn; B. I've always loved the Vegeta/Goku pairing and I could never find a fanfic I actually liked about it, as most of them I've read- none on this site- mutilate Vegeta's character; C. This pairing seemed like a fun challenge; and D. I wanted to.

Below lyrics and above title coutesy of AFI- mourn Davey Havok's throat cancer!- and 99 of below characters belong to whoever wrote DragonBall Z. Ky'ale, however, is © me, and you may not have her. Enjoy, and remember to review! I really like hearing what you think! Really! I do! ...Please?

Update: Have to replace ALL the chapters, because website, which does not show its own URL, also apparently doesn't show asteriks.

Walked away, heard them say

Poisoned hearts will never change

Walked away, again

Turned away, in disgrace

Felt the chill upon my face

Through the clouds, within

-AFI "The Leaving Song Part 2"

Part One

Chapter One

On Nightmares

Not for the first time, not for the last time, that month or week or even night, Vegeta dreamed. His eyes were shut tightly, the thick brows tense, his unconscious mind squeezing the lids together as if he could shut out the images that swam through his head. Images of lives that were, that had once been, that should have been but never had the chance to, lives that were laughing, mocking parodies of his own. In his sleep, Vegeta murmured words unintelligible, and turned over, the sheet of his bed tangling quickly in his legs, sweat beading on his forehead and running into the cover of his pillow.

Why didn't you kill me?

Ky'ale sat up, her eyes opened wide but the pupils shrunken to thin lines of gold in the sea of black iris and creamy white in the blazing morning sunlight streaming through the window. They squeezed shut as she yawned, her great heavy muzzle opening to display long lines of sharp teeth, and her back arched as she stretched, cat-like, taloned forelegs held out in front of her. Vegeta's room- therefore her own room- faced east, where the sun rose every day on earth and baked the stone and soil to a heat-soaked brown. She shook like the huge beast she was, like a dog trying to get dry, loosening the tawny fur and flapping her feline ears back and forth. Her cougar-like face pointed to the sun, watching the yellow star ascend higher and higher in the blue sky. Huge, forward-curving, ram-like horns, sprouting from behind her ears, raked over her eyes and shone ivory in the morning light. She lifted one taloned foreleg, her cheetah-like body folding to settle on her haunches, fluffy tail wrapping around hind paws, spine curved like a housecat's. For a moment, she regarded the earth spread below her, then turned her long neck to look over her shoulder at the Prince, who still lay haphazardly on the sheets of his bed.

i Poor Vegeta. He hasn't slept well at all, these past few nights. /i The kairn bodyguard raked her gold-pupiled eyes over the saiyan, her whiskered lips twitching. i It's not surprising, I suppose. He's had his world turned upside down, but he won't accept it. My poor, stupid, arrogant prince. /i The fine-boned face had large, plum-colored circles under the closed eyes, the hair, while still completely vertical, was frayed and split, and there were definite lines forming that traced the Prince's cheeks from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth. i Vegeta's still young, and he's a saiyan. Saiyans are a race of warriors, they age slowly, but he's already looking like a human of his age. /i Vegeta had been fanatical about destroying the saiyan Kakarotto since he'd been given a chance to repent and survive by the lower-born saiyan and his friends. The offer had stung Vegeta in more ways than one, and Ky'ale had seen it in his eyes. First of all, he'd been beaten by a saiyan of lower birth and lesser training, and had almost been killed by him. Second of all, he'd been regarded as so little threat that he'd been gifted his life. Third of all, and most hurtful, most damaging, the aspect that most crushed the saiyan Prince's pride- he'd taken the offer. He lay now in Kakarotto's friend's house, having aided them in defeating the Emperor Frieza and been brought back to life by them and given their food and their shelter and their grudging, hesitant, rather fearful acceptance. He hated it. Hated the charity, hated that he needed it, hated that no matter what he did, the one who had put him in that position was still stronger than him, still hovering right over his head.

i Hating, without a doubt, that it bothers him this much. That he cannot sleep for the dreams that plague him. Kakarotto, Goku, whatever they call you, can't you see that saving his life did no favors for my Prince? /i And yet what could she say? She would have done the same thing; she was Vegeta's bodyguard, and it was more than her duty, it was her life summed up into one goal- keep the Prince Vegeta alive. All of her training, both in telepathic and physical skills and fighting, all of her lessons in history and reading, all of her jobs and all of her discussions and every hour of sleep and every time she pissed was just so she could protect the saiyan Prince, just so she could make sure that he stayed alive. She'd failed that, once, twice, though the first time he had not actually died, but had come rather too close for comfort, and twice he had still survived. i And so Vegeta owes Goku his life. And he hates it. /i

The kairn sighed and trotted to the door, slipping through the heavy cat-door Bulma's shrunken father had installed when Ky'ale had expressed her concerns as to how, precisely, she was going to move around this house. Her talons, while dexterous enough the hold onto a large item and certainly sharp enough to disembowel, were not nearly delicate enough to twist the doorknob and the scales failed to give her a good grip on the smooth metal even when she did manage to wrap the toes around it. The cat door was large enough for her four-foot frame to fit through it- four feet at the shoulder, a solid six at the top of her head, her neck flexible and long- but the flap was far too heavy for a dog or another of the family's pets to get through it, and the beasts were sufficiently terrified of Vegeta that few of them tried.

Bulma greeted Ky'ale, with some trepidation, as she bounded down the three flights of stairs, simply leaping off the top of the last and landing with grace and silence on the landing. As she paraded into the kitchen, where the blue-haired scientist and her shrunken little father were surreptitiously sipping from steaming mugs of pungent coffee, her talons clicked on the hardwood and her long tail swished back and forth.

"Good morning," the humans each said in turn. Ky'ale settled onto her haunches and carefully groomed an immaculate talon, replying, "Is it?" around her flat tongue. The question was an obvious hint, or so she thought, but Bulma only shrugged slightly and took another sip.

After a long moment, the kairn sighed exaggeratedly and limply fell onto her side in a feline fashion, curling into a ball and glaring up at the two humans. "You don't have anything for me for breakfast, do you?"

The older human remained silent, and Bulma only shrugged again. When Ky'ale sighed again, she pointedly glared at her and drained the rest of the coffee in her mug. "I don't stock up on enough bleeding animal parts so you can eat to your heart's content morning, noon, and night," she replied, scathingly.

Affronted, Ky'ale's tail lashed back and forth. "Well, I don't-"

"Shut up, Ky'ale." The words, the tone, and the voice were all so familiar Ky'ale had fallen silent before her mind had even processed the statement. Her long neck turned, golden eyes fixed on the short saiyan striding down the hallway with the air of a man who owned it. It took a moment for one to look past the aura of sheer arrogance Vegeta cloaked himself with, but Bulma and Ky'ale were both very efficient at it by then. He looked just as bad awake as he had asleep; worse, even, for the general discontent of his sleeping face was replaced by an irritation that was flatly frightening, like a huge amount of gunpowder surrounded by perpetually lit matches floating in circles around the mound.

"Bad night?" Bulma asked, off-handedly, straightening a newspaper she held in one hand.

"Shut up, woman," Vegeta snarled in the exact same tone he had used to silence Ky'ale. For the third time, Bulma's shoulders moved in the almost unnoticeable half-shrug. As the woman's father politely excused himself, vacating a seat for Vegeta, the saiyan poured himself a cup of coffee- without asking, which Bulma decided to ignore- and, ignoring the empty chair, leaned against the wall to drink from it.

"I'm hungry," Ky'ale said, carefully controlling her voice to keep any whining tone from pushing a match closer to the gunpowder. Vegeta's gaze flicked to her, but there was no irrational anger in his eyes. "Eat a dog," he said, blandly.

Bulma glared at Ky'ale, obviously daring her to do any such thing. For a moment, Ky'ale considered taking the dare; she was hungry enough and certainly not scared of Bulma. But she thought better of it in another moment. The human was weak, but she was manipulative, and Capsule Corp was her and Vegeta's home for the moment. Until they could find the Dragonballs and make Vegeta immortal.

Which could take years. She would maintain the goodwill of Bulma and her idiotic parents until then. Ignoring her empty stomach, she twitched her tail and, after a moment of indignant glowering at first Bulma, then the unaffected Vegeta, she rose in one fluid motion and made for the door. "I'll find something," she said aloud to anyone who cared, which seemed to be a group completely excluding the saiyan and human. One black-and-white cat seemed to listen, settled onto it's belly with its tail curled around it.

To only Vegeta, via the telepathy that was her specialty, Ky'ale drawled, "They have to have food where they keep Kakarotto, yes? If he eats anywhere near as much as the rest of you saiyans."

A spark of irritation came through the invisible link at the mention of Kakarotto's name- and his further charity- but the general tone of Vegeta's thoughts conveyed something very similar to one of his hardly-perceptible shrugs. "Eat the half-blood," he suggested, dryly, just as Ky'ale left CC.

Sweat ran between Goku's eyes, warm and wet and gritty against his skin. The air around him was salty and he could taste his own exertion with every breath. The world seemed clearer, times like these. The slight, constant ache in the muscles of his arms and shoulders grounded him, kept him from floating away in the sensation that the world had narrowed down to and the calculation that constantly flowed like water through his mind. His body moved naturally, taking impact upon impact on his arms and knees and protecting his chest and face and groin from the attacks that moved in a constantly re-arranging pattern of feints and strikes and motions to defense. The only thing there was to think about was the slight pulse of energy that he held inside his body, nourishing, readying for the opportune moment. When it came, it would vanish almost instantaneously; he had to be ready before then. He was ready before then. He took in lungful after ragged lungful of air, not even noticing how in-sync it was with the other pattern of breath close to him. The clarity of the universe had narrowed down to his own body, his own actions in constant reactions to those of his opponent. He barely had mind enough on the enemy itself to hold back.

The opportunity came suddenly and he almost missed it; he grabbed the wrist of the bunched fist flying for his stomach and pushed it back, but instead of pulling his arm back to his side his opponent flailed backwards, losing a bit of ground and putting space enough between Goku and his enemy that he had just enough time, acting quickly, to finish the fight in a blaze of light energy.

The opponent's body hit the ground with a thud. Goku lowered himself to the ground and held out a hand, quickly grasped by a clawed hand with green skin, and helped Piccolo to his feet. The Namic looked down with distaste at the dirt on his clothes and brushed them off, none the worse for wear if one overlooked the bruises and the fact that Piccolo had trouble moving his right shoulder too much. Goku's shoulders and back twinged painfully, but it was the only real hurt he had, the rest mostly superficial. He shrugged the slight hurts off, wiping the sweat from his brow and relishing the feeling of total drain that made his arms and legs feel slack against his sides. "Good workout," he said, simply, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

Piccolo nodded, smiling for a moment before relaxing against a cairn of stone that jutted from the ground of Goku's favorite training spot. "Gohan couldn't come?"

"Chichi wouldn't let him," the saiyan replied apologetically, shrugging. "She wanted him to study, not turn into... well, she said she didn't want him to turn out like me." His radiant grin expressed clearly that he didn't think she was being serious; Piccolo had a lot more faith in Chichi's sobriety. "I told her that he could both train to be a fighter and study, but she seems to think that I'd keep him from school and books to learn how to fight. That I have 'no sense of priority,' and I'd make him follow in my footsteps."

"Hell forbid," Piccolo intoned dryly, folding his arms behind his head, against the stone, "that schoolwork should take second-place to saving the world."

Goku frowned. "Hopefully," he said, slowly, "we won't have to save the world any more, Piccolo. I mean, it's good to be ready, and everything, but... maybe no one else will be a danger to earth. I mean, Frieza is gone, isn't he? Who else would be a threat?"

There are some people in the world who live life like they're cued in on everything, and the lines of life are written out on cards held where no one but they can see them. Ky'ale was one of those people. Right on cue, she appeared behind Goku- truly appeared, for while physically she wasn't as strong as Vegeta and telepathically she was far from the strongest of what her kin was capable of, Ky'ale was as fast as anyone else Piccolo had ever known- and, sitting cat-like on her haunches, regarded first Piccolo, then Goku with her gold-pupiled eyes.

Fate had sent many messages to Goku over the years. It must have gotten very frustrated with him more than once. "Hi, Ky'ale," he said, jovial, grinning electrically at her.

Who else would be a threat, Goku? I can name two.

Ky'ale's voice was a sigh; her strange, slightly hissing accent formed by the flat tongue in her mouth stressed the syllabents on her words. "Morning, Goku, Piccolo."

"It's not really morning anymore, Ky'ale," Goku pointed out with another grin. "I'm thinking about going back home for a lunch break if Piccolo's about done for the session."

This time, Ky'ale really did sigh, her ears pinned back. "And I haven't eaten breakfast," she said ruefully, and by the tone of her voice she found it a horrible crime against nature. Piccolo's stomach turned at the thought of food, and Goku's growled in agitation at the thought of skipping breakfast.

"You could come with me," Goku offered, smiling; Piccolo shook his head slightly, wondering at how quickly Goku had come to trust the kairn and saiyan prince. He must know, even with Goku's intelligence, that Ky'ale was nothing more, not really, than an extension of Vegeta's eyes and ears, and that everything she saw or heard would be translated back to the prince, and that anything Vegeta could use to get an advantage over Goku or to get the immortality he craved he would use. But he didn't seem to care; he talked freely with both of them. Piccolo said nothing, not in Ky'ale's presence.

Ky'ale grinned, her ears perking up again. "Do you have food?" she asked, happily. "Good food? Bulma's a vegetarian." Her eyes narrowed to slits and her ears pressed back again, tail lashing. "Or at least, so it seems sometimes. I think the blonde woman is, and there's nothing good ever in that whole house."

"I'm sure we'll have something," Goku said cheerfully. "Or you can eat Krillin."

"Happily," Ky'ale replied, a toothy grin opening her jaw as she followed Goku walking towards his home. Piccolo shook his head and, with a wave, began walking back to his own home. Goku waved back, talking with the kairn. If Vegeta had developed an antiphony against Goku, than Ky'ale had developed an abhorrence against Krillin. Not, Piccolo thought wryly, that he really blamed the cat.

Goku talked cheerfully, and Ky'ale, not for the first time, wondered what existed between his temples. If not a vacuum, which had been her initial thought before his fighting abilities proved there must be something there, then what could it possibly be? Anything with more mass than a walnut shell had to produce more valid thoughts than whatever existed in there. By the time they reached Goku's tiny house, eventually having flown the majority of the way, Goku had talked for a full ten minutes without saying a damn thing. Ky'ale shrugged her vertical shoulders as much as she could while landing. He has food. I can smell it in his house.

"Ky'ale!" The kairn couldn't help it; her massive maw split into a slight grin at the voice. A smaller version of Goku with slightly different hair- and his mother's larger eyes, of course, round and dark- hurled himself out of the house and ran down the path, grinning ear to ear. The others of Goku's little force very grudgingly accepted her, despite their intimate knowledge of her ultimate loyalty to the saiyan prince, should - or when- it should come down to it, but Gohan, after weeks of fighting beside her and Vegeta with only Krillin also present on Namic, had become the closest thing to a friend she had, excluding whatever Vegeta was to her. The child wrapped his short arms around her neck and grinned up at her, rather like a boy would to a favorite pet.

She laughed, a deep, growl-like sound within her throat. "Hello, Go-"

"Gohan!" The voice was shrill and Ky'ale winced away from the door at the sharp snap. "Gohan, get away from- come here! You have to finish studying!"

"He's earned a lunch break by now, surely," Goku put in, pleadingly, gazing imploringly at his wife. "I'm hungry and Ky'ale skipped breakfast, and we could use something to eat. If... you know... you'd cook it for us." He was stammering by the end. Ky'ale winced. She dreaded her confrontations with Chichi and had been hoping that this meeting would be like the one before it, with she and the human shrew pointedly ignoring each other until the duration of their time forced together had passed. But the moment Goku had mentioned her name she felt the snake-like black eyes- large and round and dark like the half-breed child's but rimmed with human bitterness- land on her and knew she wasn't going to be so lucky this time.

If Gohan was her friend and Goku liked her, and the rest of them accepted her and Vegeta used her and felt a grudging kinship with her and might have cared for her as a friend for all she knew, Chichi refused to be duped even to the extent of Piccolo and Krillin and Yamcha and the others, and outright loathed her. She hated Ky'ale more than Vegeta, for reasons Ky'ale didn't understand on any level other than Chichi hated that Ky'ale was used as a puppet for the saiyan prince. That the kairn knew she was being used and let it happen as if she didn't have any sense of self.

"Well, Goku, I'm going to make your lunch when I'm finished tutoring your son and it would be nice if you would offer to help, for once, instead of going off to play with your friends more often than you spend time with the woman you married. And as for Ky'ale..." It began. Ky'ale sat on her haunches and bore it.

Goku sighed, not really listening to his wife berate the kairn bodyguard. The problem with Chichi was, she wasn't a fighter. She wouldn't understand the whole air of fighting, the satisfaction when your body moved automatically and you felt the jolt of a hit being taken on your arm, blocked successfully. The knowledge that you conditioned it to behave like that, to move without being told to. She didn't understand the thrill of seeing an opening and the intense reward of hitting the open spot with just enough force to break through your opponent's guard. She didn't understand the elements that made him Goku, at least not the way Piccolo and Krillin and Master Roshi did. Even Vegeta understood; sometimes, Vegeta understood too well for Goku's comfort.

Which got him started on an entirely different note. Saiyan. A year ago- or was it two years, now?- he wouldn't have had a clue what the word meant. A nonsense word. Now he was a saiyan, and the friend of a saiyan and the son of a saiyan and the word still made no sense. I'm not Vegeta. I'm nothing like him. I'm not really a saiyan, not at heart; at heart, I'm a human. Saiyans are warriors, that's all they are, they're nothing but how well they fight. I'm more than that. I'm a human at heart.

And then he remembered the thrill of finding the perfect opening and the satisfaction of taking it, and way his mind cleared and the world became black-and-white perfection while the sweat slid in wonderful clarity down his face. I'm more than that. Wasn't he?

Gohan had returned to the house to finish one more page before Chichi would consent to cooking- and to sharing a little bit of uncooked meat with the persuasive Ky'ale. The kairn, at first glance, would appear very proud of herself, sitting regally with her tail curled tightly around her talons, her eyes partially closed. But if someone let it, one could hear her speaking telepathically with Gohan, quickly giving him the answers. "On one plane, lines have to be parallel or intersect. Gods, human geometry is primitive. You haven't even come up with a concept for the fourth dimension yet! It starts, see, with the properties of skew planes..."