Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Fall of the Mighty ❯ Regrets ( Chapter 37 )

Is So Tired

---------------------------------

He knew that there had been *something*… Something wrong… Something…strange… Wasn't there? Yes. There was! Finally he gave up, allowing exhaustion to steal away his consciousness into blessed darkness.

But the dark wasn't empty.

---------------------------------

-

*Regrets*

-

Gohan sat with his daughter Pan on one side of him and his son Tong on the other. Next to Tong sat Goku, unnaturally quiet today, but then again, it was just one of those days. The rest of their family spread down the aisle. All but Spice…and Vegeta. Gohan couldn't keep a lump from his throat at his youngest girl's absence. What if…what if she hated him so much that she wouldn't come? What if…what if… There were so many what ifs that it was driving him mad. Most of which were impossible delusions of his imagination, but that didn't make him feel any better or surer. The second and less notable absence of Vegeta was a thorn to Gohan as well, but it produced a different reaction than his daughter's. It burned him. Burned that Vegeta would be so callused to not even attempt to make an appearance. Goku was here. If Vegeta couldn't be bothered to indulge in something like *this*, something that was so obviously important to his "mate" and his "mate's" family then what the hell kind of asshole was he to dare to pretend to care about Goku?! It made Gohan mad and this was not a time for that. Not when emotions were running so high and out of control. That was a bad bad thing in their families. That's when mistakes got made. Gohan knew this personally. Not just from what had…what had…happened only days ago…but because it had been shown throughout their lives. Gohan had always been especially susceptible to his emotions. That is how he had won and lost so many battles in his youth…and how he had frozen up and been unable to even compete at times.

But understanding this didn't mean that it helped any.

Tong, seemed to sense his father's turmoil and put an arm around Gohan's slumped shoulders. They sat quietly together. Neither had spoken much at all today. Gohan had not drilled Tong on where he had disappeared to until ten am this morning and Tong hadn't supplied any information other than an oddly bright smile when he arrived to take part in this somber day. Tong had, after all, his own home and his own life and Gohan intellectually understood, with some help from Pan, that it was no longer his place to butt in just because of unfounded and prejudiced suspicions. For all their sakes, Gohan had also put away his emotional opinions in favor of the much needed closeness that would get the lonely and heart broken father through this day.

There was one other absence that went unnoted by all but the widowed demi. Gohan made no mention of it. That would be foolish. But he noticed and the absence was surprisingly upsetting. It shouldn't be. Gohan knew that. He shouldn't be fazed at all by the lack of appearance by his mentor. Piccolo didn't come to many social occasions anymore. He'd stopped a long long time ago. With everyone moving on with their lives and new families, no one noticed Piccolo's discreet fading, least of all Gohan. But now, after seeing the Namek in the center of his own little familial catastrophe, Gohan missed him enough to make up for all those decades gone past. Guiltily he realized that he hadn't spared his green mentor even a thought for a very long time while busy with his education, his family, his career, his life. There had been a time when he couldn't picture his life without his childhood guardian in it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the subtle arrival of his daughter, sliding silently into the farthest end of the pew from where the rest of her family sat. He looked down the seating at her sadly, she never even glanced his way. Her face looked drawn and severe with shadows darkening the pale skin below her dull eyes. She was dressed in dark green khakis that bagged over her big black boots and a tight fitting, black shirt with mesh sleeves that ran the length of her arms and then some. A leather choker flashed with silver studs and a skull hanging from a chrome loop at the hollow of her throat. Her hair was as spiked as ever, pointing toward the roof and sloping backwards ever so slightly, its green highlights shining under the false lighting. The only one of his children that inherited that Saiyan-style trait…and he supposed she inherited more than that…both Pan and Tong had perfectly straight, human hair.

A stray thought came to mind as he looked longingly at his little girl. It was a memory of his mother. How she had taken him aside one day when he had come to his parents' home to pick up his children, she used to baby-sit them for him until she'd passed on to the next world. She had taken him off under a tree where they could watch his three little ones. Sure they weren't *that* little, but they would always be his little ones. Pan had been thirteen that year and Tong nine and Spice had turned three. ChiChi had stood there beside him and gestured to the triplet out in the sunny grass. "What do you see, Gohan?"

He had looked on and smiled proudly at how well the three got along with one another though their ages were so different. "I see the kids playing. What am I supposed to see, mom?" She clucked impatiently and pointed at the three year old whose spiky hair stood proudly windblown even then. "Her." ChiChi had uttered severely. "Look at Spice, Gohan. Actually look at her." Gohan looked curiously with a slight frown, unsure what his mom was getting at. He could just barely make out the voices of his two youngest talking to one another. Pan wasn't talking, in fact, she seemed to have backed away a bit.

"Ha! A little kid like you couldn't even dream of it. Give up now before you embarrass yourself, Spice." The boy laughed snidely. The girl merely looked him square in the eyes, absolutely self assure and slightly challenging. When she spoke back, it wasn't with the expected whining tone of a toddler trying to convince her elders, it was with calm declaration. "Yes I can. Grampa can do it, so I can too. You better shut up right now." Tong shook his head mockingly and rocked back on his heals, grinning contemptuously. "Nope. You can't and you're just a girl anyway. You can't do anything *really* important. Just give it up now before you get too disappointed." Gohan's frown deepened when he heard this, but before he could even think of stepping in and correcting his massively incorrect son, the boy suddenly flipped backwards in a warped summersault. When Tong righted himself and looked up, his bruised face was a smear of hard packed mud and tearful wrath. "You take that back!!!" Spice shouted, standing up to her impressive height of almost three feet, remnants of the mud ball she'd thrown dripping from her fingers. "You take that back or else!!!" Tong stood up angrily, his hair a mess of muddy tangles and shouted back. "Or else what?! You'll tell? Yeah right. Mommy's little tattle tail, right?" Spice growled a very un-toddler-like growl, it was actually very predatory sounding, and hunched down on her little thighs. "Or I'll show you just what a "girl" can do!" Then she began to glow. By that time, Gohan and ChiChi had reached them and Gohan snatched his snarling little girl out of the air as she leapt at her brother with oddly sharp fangs bared. She had been very hard to hold onto and had nearly turned on him too before she realized who he was. Her tiny little mouth had clamped down on his hand and he felt her needle teeth begin to bite down when suddenly she jerked back with a gasp and stared up at him with tear filled, shining eyes. "Daddy! I'm sorry, daddy! I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I really am…I'm sorry…don't be mad, daddy...please…I didn't mean to…I didn't…" Gohan had held his baby girl tight as she degenerated into a bawling, huddled ball. Gohan hadn't the slightest clue just what to say or do besides run his fingers soothingly through her soft black spikes. Goku came out to see what the ruckus was and seemed to understand the situation instantly. He came up slowly and calmly and coaxed little Spice out of her wailing ball, she immediately crawled off Gohan's lap and into her grandpa's arms and began to quiet. Gohan looked up helplessly and was then tackled by a tearful and paranoid looking Tong. Goku smiled down at them soothingly and assured Gohan that everything was just fine and that he would take Spice "somewhere quiet to cool down". Once Goku walked away, ChiChi caught Gohan's chin and turned him to look at her. "You watch that one, Gohan. Take my advice and deal with her as quick as you can before she's out of control. She's got far too much alien in her for her own good. It needs to be dealt with soon or you'll never be able to break her of it. You don't want an animal in your family, Gohan. You..." She paused as if hesitant to continue but with a look of determination she did. "You might…want to keep her from spending too much time with your father. Goku is Goku and that's the way he is, but Spice doesn't have to be that way. She's human too. I just think that Goku might not be the best role model for one like her. You remember those animals that your father made you fight when you were young…"

Maybe it was a parental sense of protectiveness, or maybe it was just that her words held so much insult toward his baby, or maybe it was because deep down he knew that that was just what his mother felt toward himself and Goten. She used to swear that she made a mistake with his little brother by teaching him to fight. She'd called Goten a monster to his own face the first time he went super. But whatever the reason, that was the first time that Gohan had ever flat out disagreed with his mother on the issue of parenting. He felt the urge rise up in himself to growl and quickly squashed it. Instead he calmly and coldly looked up at his mother and proceeded to refute her advice without hesitation. "Thank you, mother, but there is *nothing* wrong with my Spice and I will *not* deprive her of her favorite person in the world. I'm sorry, mom, but my dad is a great man and he could never lead any of us wrong. Please, mom, please don't ever talk about my children and those monsters in the same conversation ever again."

Thinking back on this memory, Gohan realized a number of things. He had blocked that entire conversation with his mother away and never thought about it again. He had made the right decision. There was no doubt there. He would never cut his father out of his life or family like that. If he were to lay that sort of blame, it would be on Vegeta. And that was one of his realizations. He had done exactly that. Exactly what his mother had done with their father. He had done that where Vegeta was concerned. There was nothing wrong with his Spice. He had said that. He still believed it. But…he had lied to himself. He had completely dismissed what had happened in that clearing as a normal sibling fight. And now understanding washed over him like icy water. Spice had always been who she was right now. When she was a baby she was still Spice. She had always sought to prove herself, to be more than what anyone thought she could be, to openly fight for it. He'd never made an effort to understand that. His dad understood it, though, he always had. Gohan looked at Tong as well. Tong was the same, wasn't he? Tong was always himself, he had his own personality too. Always smart and even a little bit pompous. Always affectionate, ready to climb into Gohan's or Videl's lap and cuddle, even when he was becoming too big for it. Tong was never interested in fighting, but never able to walk away from an argument...just like him. And Tong had always been the most mellow dramatic of them all. Gohan smiled with wry amusement even as his eyes teared up. Pan had always been the same as well. Curious and strong willed, yet you could make her cry so easily. She was responsible and always tended to keep a low profile among her siblings. It had shocked Gohan so much when she had suddenly come to him that fateful day ten years ago and told him in a shamed, tear filled whisper that she was pregnant.

Gohan put his arm around his eldest daughter who was crying once again and the tears began to slip down his own cheeks. Why did it take something so monumental to open your eyes? Why did he wait so long to realize how blind he truly was? Had his father known how blind he was? He remembered how Goku had always been able to quiet his wild little Spice with a few hushed words or even just his mere presence. Videl had always known the right thing to say to Tong that would cheer him up and make his doubts and fears go away. Pan had always come to him whenever she ever had a problem, always looking to her daddy to help her or give her advice. Another question came to his mind. Had he…had he felt…upset that Tong and Spice hadn't done the same? Had he created some invisible grudge because they never came to daddy for help but went to someone else instead? He wondered if that might have been exactly the case. That it perturbed him that they sought out someone else for guidance and love rather than him. That they didn't want what he had to give. That was utter idiocy, though, and he knew it. But is that what things boiled down to? If that was the case, then he didn't deserve this family. He didn't deserve these children that he loved more than his own life.

He remembered all the times that all it took was a hug from him, a word from Videl, a smile from Goku, an understanding or a loving gesture to make it all okay. What would it take to make things okay again? Could anything ever be enough? As he looked upon the casket on the stage and listened to the eulogy, he again thought on all the time that had gone by so fast, all the years that could never be recaptured, and all the good things that he had blocked from his mind and his life. All the great things that he chose not to take part in or keep as a part of himself. All the things that he was too busy going to school or working or trying to control everything to actually enjoy. His wife, his children, his parents, Piccolo. Things that he had completely overlooked while trying to mould life to his likings. Look how it turned out. None of the things he'd done really meant anything or held up under true scrutiny. None of it.

How could he ever recover all that had slipped away from him?

--------------------------------------

"Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today to herald the life of one who has departed this earthly plane, Videl Son. Daughter of the champion of all earth, Hercule Satan. Loving wife and mother of three. A strong woman worthy of her father's legacy handed down to her through the World Martial Arts Federation. We gather today, not to morn her loss, but to rejoice in all that she was in life and what she meant to not only those who she was close to, but to men and women all over the…"

Spice blocked out the rest of the swill dribbling from the priest's mouth and gazed around the huge auditorium filled with spectators, all gathered as if expecting some great season fight to suddenly appear upon the stage, misplacing the shiny mahogany casket and the sea of flowers that surrounded it. She sneered as she examined all those vacant stares. All those faces that weren't in the least familiar. All those wretches that were, just like her, ignoring the words of the pastor in favor of whispering to one another. She even saw smiles, carefully hushed laughing lips, only half hidden behind polite hands. All of these people… No. Not people. None of them were people. They were scavengers. They were vultures. Gathered around the decomposing corpse of her mother for the sole purpose of being a part of this "monumental occurrence". For the sole purpose of being able to say at home or some buffoon's cocktail party that "I was there. It was a beautiful ceremony and such a tragedy."

She glared around at all these disgusting strangers and felt a new, helpless sort of rage. A rage that was so useless and impotent that all it did was make her want to hang her head and disappear. 'They all deserve to die.' She thought to herself but the assertion lacked passion. It was just an observation. She was too numb to attach any true emotion to it.

She turned her attention forward again, but looked away from the stage in disgust once more. On the far left end of the pew she sat on, the "mourners lane", sat Gohan with her sister on one side of the grieving husband and Tong on the other. Beside Tong sat their grampa Kaky and beside him was Trunks and his family and beside them sat Goten and his two children. She'd gotten there pretty late and had squeezed into a seat near the far right end between Trunks youngest son and her uncle Goten. She could hear Gohan distinctly over the other sounds in the room. Could distinguish between his and her brother's breathing. Gohan made a more composed, quiet, ragged sound compared to Tong's hiccupping, choked sobs. Pan was a silent breath of misery beside them. She cried freely, but kept it down so that only a near neighbor might notice…or, in Spice's case, someone with heightened hearing and an interest. Beyond that, the sounds of mourning all ran together and she really wasn't interested in picking out anyone in particular's mood. She didn't have to look to know that her grampa sat silent and still with not a tear on his cheeks, but with a somber, restrained, and sad expression fixed upon his usually cheerful face. Vegeta was not there, she noted with what might have passed for hurt or possibly anger if she'd been bothered to actually feel it. No. Why would she ever expect him to come to something like this? Certainly not for her. No. It was no surprise to her that Vegeta had not come, she couldn't feel him anywhere near either. That didn't mean that it did not make a notable impact on her, whether she admitted it or not.

Still trying her best to ignore the foolishness being spouted by the black clad eulogist, Spice glanced to her right. Goten sat staring straight ahead, his expression much like what she imagined on her grampa's face. It struck her hard to see this look. She remembered when aunt Flora died, she had been eleven. She remembered seeing her uncle and her father hugging in her living room. Remembered the shaking of her uncle's shoulders as he cried on his brother's shoulder. She remembered holding the tiny form of her new cousin while everyone rushed around her, too busy to take notice of her or the innocent in her arms. She remembered looking down at the little girl and sighing irritably. "Ya better get used to it, brat. It doesn't get any better. 'Specially when mom's away…and your mom's gonna be away for a long time." She had told the infant quietly.

That same little girl that Spice had held now sat holding her daddy's arm with hatefully comforting love. As Spice's eyes returned to her uncle's face, she saw a single tear suddenly spill down one of his cheeks as he listened to the priest speak. Up to that point, Spice had done well enough pretending she wasn't here. Pretending that this was just another stupid gathering that her family had been host to for the Federation since she could first remember. She had put up such high, sound, sturdy walls that nothing could possibly push through. She had separated herself from the whole thing. Sure, her mom was dead. Sure, she'd never see her again, not on earth. Sure, the only reason she was here now was out of respect and love for her mother, not for her father's sake. She had no father. She was here for her mother and her sister and her brother and the rest of her family. Gohan didn't exist no matter how locked her ears were on his harsh breathing down the pew line. None of this mattered to her. None of this mattered to any of those vultures perched all around both in the best seats in the house and the nosebleed sections. Absently the question fluttered by of just how much they paid for tickets to this event. Up till now, her pretense had worked out pretty well.

But seeing her uncle's face, stricken with grief, made her walls begin to crack. It made her barriers bleed and her eyes begin to tear and her face begin to burn. She turned forward once again, locking her eyes upon the man on stage and the casket behind him, her breathing hitching into a fast, shallow pace. No. She couldn't lose control. She couldn't let these scavengers win. She wouldn't give them the show that they so obviously came to see. She grieved for her mother in her own way, in her own time. She didn't do it on someone else's watch or for anyone else's benefit. No. She wouldn't cry. If she cried for her mother, it would be in the privacy of her own space. And she wouldn't cry for her father. Never. Not for him, not for his benefit, and not for the loss of him. She swore that to herself. She refused to give way to the pain and hurt that flooded her soul when she couldn't push it away anymore.

With white knuckled fists clamped tight in her lap, she forced it all deep down. So deep down that finally, when the battle subsided and her eyes were once again dry, she felt nothing. Nothing at all, but a dry and sarcastic emptiness. She glanced up at her uncle again, but he never looked toward her. Then, stolid and in control, she looked frontwards and did not move her gaze again.

Finally the ceremony came to an end and she looked around as the throng began to exit. Everyone else in the pew stayed sitting where they were, supposedly too overcome to stand just yet. Well, they could do as they pleased, but she refused to spend another instant in this claustrophobic place. She stood and slid out of the row into the isle and turned to retreat before any of her family managed to regain the presence of mind to stop her. Then a very familiar voice called her name, bringing her up short as she turned apprehensive eyes to search for the source.

She knew who it was before she ever picked out the flash of bright golden locks coming hurriedly toward her. All she could do was stand there stiffly in the isle as her uncle Goten stood with his two children and began to slide out of the pew beside her. Goten looked up at her curiously when he heard her voice clearly over the noise of people leaving the auditorium. "Oh no."

Spice didn't say anything else as the girl approached her and never moved a muscle when the blond threw her arms around her, squeezing her tight despite the lack of response. "I'm sorry, Spice. Are you ok, bud?" The girl finally let go and stepped back to arms length, looking at Spice sympathetically.

Spice didn't know what to say. She just stared flatly at the girl in front of her. "…Uh…yeah." Then she heard her family rouse, beginning to speak softly to one another, and finally found herself again. "Uh…I'm…" She looked around at the rest of her "loved" ones. "I hate these things. I'm going to go outside."

The girl fell into step with her as she made her way through the crowd and outside, but Spice was more concerned about getting away than about her new shadow. Once the battle to the door was won and they stood outside, then Spice turned her attention on her new companion. They stood there silently, the blond girl at first smiling brightly, but her smile wilted before Spice's dark, hard eyes. Finally, Spice looked away again, glancing around at the people milling about them and…and looking at her. She scowled angrily when she realized that some were heading in her direction. They stepped up almost politely and extended their semi-courteous, semi-thirsty condolences and asked how she was holding up after such a monumental tragedy.

Spice growled.

But her growl cut short and she stared in shock at the blond head that suddenly moved in front of her, barring the vultures' way.

"Don't you people have anything better to do than bother the Sons? Don't you have any sense? The last thing any of them want is for some stranger to walk up and stick his nose where it doesn't have any business being!" The blond girl snapped at them.

The men paused, surprised just as much as Spice was, but then they glared at this girl who, for all they knew, had no celebrity status at all and was telling them that this famous family was none of their business. How dare she. They began to argue their good intensions and worthiness right there, picking a fight right in front of the thing that they were hoping so much to gain favor from. In the meantime, Spice was quickly losing her already foul temper. She had been through hell lately, she hadn't slept in Kami knows how long, she hadn't had a drop of liquor in almost as long, she had been dealing with things that she felt had no business putting themselves on her like children and hateful, idiotic morons like her father and these imbeciles, she'd just sat through a eulogy for fuck's sake! And here more stress just had to pile up on her in the form of this blond and these idiots!!!

Spice stepped forward as the men began to gang up on the girl and fairly shoved her to the side. The guys stopped in mid sentence as if just remembering that she was there. They looked down at her, part challenging, part curious, part sheepish. Her voice was a grating rasp as she glared death at them all.

"How dare you. I don't know you. I don't give a damn that you exist. I don't have to take your condolences or your presence. I don't want your fake sympathy. I am not some sideshow for you to come and stare at now that you've paid the fare. My family is not here for your amusement or to give you a show. You didn't care about my mother. You never gave a shit about anything that's gone on here today. You're just here to see what you can get out of it. Well here's what you will get out of it if you don't get your asses out of my sight right now!! If you don't give me and my family and my friends some respect and some room then I'm gonna go psycho bitch on all your asses and I'll tear this whole fuckin place apart stone by stone and MY GRAMPA IS HURCULE SATAN SO DON'T YOU THINK I CAN'T!!!!"

Throughout this rant Spice's voice grew louder and louder and the guys slowly retreated before her step by step until finally they turned and hurriedly shuffled away, some even ducking their heads fearfully at her. Further away, more people watched slack-jawed from a safe distance and a number of cameras flashed like curiously blinking eyes.

Spice stood there, fists clenched and teeth gritted in a snarl for a few more seconds before she noticed all this. Then she turned to the blond, the corners of her mouth seemingly unsure whether to tilt further downwards or pull back and show even more fang. "I feel like taking a walk."

She began to stalk away again and the other girl, wide eyed, followed once more. When they came to a grassy, quiet spot that was devoid of human life, Spice finally slowed down enough for her partner to not struggle to keep up anymore. "Why are you here, Mira?"

"Uh…" The girl hesitated, nervously brushing her yellow hair behind her ear. "Well, I heard…you know…and I thought…well…it's been a long time and I thought… I wanted to see how you were."

"Ah." Spice accepted sarcastically. "Sure. Well." She raised her arms up as if to show 'here I am'. "And as you can see all is well, the world swims in puppies and rainbows and I'm the goddess of it all. Pretty sweet, huh?"

Mira looked down at the ground sadly. "Spice, don't do that. I hate it when you do that. It's not you." Her voice broke, though, when suddenly Spice's steely eyes and sharp teeth were right in her face.

"Not me? Not me? You're right. It *has* been a long time. Long enough that you have no right to pop up and decide what is or isn't anymore. You have no idea. You didn't then and you certainly don't now." Then Spice pulled away and turned her back. "Anyway… How's life been, bud? A rollercoaster of adventure and suspense, I'm sure. Or is it the same ol' same ol'?"

Mira began to worry her hands, examining them for…anything that kept her from looking at Spice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… Sorry. Things have been…different. Um… What about you? How *have* you been? I've thought about you."

Spice didn't look at her, instead, she stared at the furrow she was digging into the dirt with her heavy, black boot. "Have you? That's nice. Hm… Let's see. I've been off to college, you know. Gotta amuse the old man. But… No. I don't think I'll do that anymore. I dunno. My life has changed drastically just lately. It's all fucked up and I think I like it that way. I think I'll keep it that way. At least it's predictable." She said dryly.

"Ah. Well…good. At least you've found something you like." Mira said insecurely. She wasn't being sarcastic, she just couldn't think of anything else to say. "Um…I… I just wanted to say…that I'm around if you need me. I know that probably doesn't mean much after so long, but…uh…" She suddenly sighed and looked around, seeking escape. "Here. You know…if you're ever board or something. I'll see you around, Spice." She handed a tiny scrap of paper to Spice and then quickly made her own retreat.

Spice watched her go, not saying a word. Then when Mira was gone, she looked down at the paper. The only thing on its pristine white surface was a hastily scribbled phone number. "Hn." She looked at that paper for a little while, then took out her wallet and carefully inserted it into one of the pockets before turning and taking off in her own direction.

----------------------------------------

The rest of the reception was a long and tedious experience for the Son Family. Accepting condolences from colleagues, from officials in the Federation, personal friends, and business partners of Videl's. The list seemed to go on and on, never stopping. Finally, Trunks pulled Gohan aside. "You don't *have* to deal with this, Gohan. That's what the Federation Media Relations is for. Let them do their job. It's been a long day already. You are all welcome to come to the C.C. if you want, for a little peace and quiet and food."

Gohan hesitated and then nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Trunks. I think I'm ready to go now."

-

-