Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Fall of the Mighty ❯ Contemplation and Reflection ( Chapter 38 )

~An Update From The Deadbeat Writer~

Alright…..it has been forever. Almost a year. Far far too long. I've missed this. But I do have so little time anymore. I've been working on this chapter and the next for this whole year. It's so very depressing seeing just how little I've written. I have another fic that I'm working on as well named Young Man's Heart. As I continue, I will be updating both FOTM and YMH. It will probably be some time between postings, since I am working, coaching, and going to classes. BUT!! I am diligent! I will finish both of these fics! I WILL! It's just taking time. This story is probably about 60% finished. We've passed the halfway mark! I can't believe that it has been 4 years in the making. Enjoy the newest chapter.

~Finally Doing Some Work~

 

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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.
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*Contemplation and Reflection*

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The adults sat in relative silence, spread out through the large C.C. living room while the children talked and played and wandered quietly in the background. They made small talk, catching up on family issues and what had been happening with children and grandchildren and work. After everyone had eaten their fill and the robots had cleaned up the remnants, they all slipped into this distraction or that, conversing or watching tv or playing with the kids. Gohan caught his father's arm and drew him away. They went outside under the setting sun and walked slowly along the sprawling yard.

 

“Dad…” Gohan wasn't sure how to breach the subject. He'd only just come to believe that it was a real possibility that things had gone so very wrong as they seemed to have, much less actually accept it. “Dad...have you seen what I've been doing wrong? Did you see it when I couldn't?”

 

“What do you mean?” Goku asked softly.

 

“I screwed up with them, dad. It's so obvious. I didn't give them what they needed; I didn't even notice what they needed. I didn't see so much. What was I doing, dad? What the heck was going through my mind? What did I accomplish? I must have done ok with Pan, but somewhere I really fucked up and lost it and I don't know where or how!”

 

By the end of the explanation, Gohan's voice was rough with frustration and he stared up at the purple sky, regret plain in his face. Goku stopped walking suddenly and Gohan looked over at his father, red eyes watering dully. “Dad?”

 

Goku wasn't looking at him, though. He was staring off across the lush and green C.C property, thinking over what his son was asking. As he thought about it there suddenly sparked a rare flame of realization and he wondered just where this wisdom had come from. Like most times, it seemed to sneak up on him when he least expected it and needed it most. When Goku did speak it was in a quiet, sad tone that floated softly over them both.

 

“Gohan. You love your kids and they love you. There're always mistakes and misunderstandings. There're always regrets, and the past can never be changed. We…are what we make of ourselves…and we have to learn to live with that and get along anyway. We are together. That's what's most important. That we are all together and we support one another.”

 

Gohan turned his eyes to the ground. It wasn't that simple. It couldn't be. He wished it was, but it wasn't that simple. “Spice isn't here. She hates me now.”

 

“No.”

 

Goku was still staring off into the distance but he spoke softly to his son and he knew that he spoke the truth as the words flowed from his lips. And he realized a few more truths as he said it. “Spice loves you. That's why she's not here.”

 

“No, dad. I saw her. I saw it in her eyes. I know…” Gohan tried to protest, tried to explain why it hurt so much. Why Spice had abandoned him. How he'd done something terrible and it had all fallen apart and he didn't know how to put it back together again.

 

“Gohan!”

 

The younger Son's attention snapped to his father when Goku cut him off so gruffly. He wasn't used to hearing this rough tone from his father and it seemed that he'd heard it so much recently. Goku had changed. He'd changed so much over the last few months, but he was as much the same as he ever was. It was such a contradiction, but it was true. Goku's face softened again and he spoke calmly once more and smiled wistfully, looking off over the large green yard. His eyes came to rest on the gravity chamber that sat unused at the far end.

 

“Your mother could be so blind sometimes. She always thought that things could be made to be different. It took her a long time to realize that I wasn't one of those things. She did understand a lot of things. More than I ever could figure out on my own. But she was still wrong sometimes and I never said anything about it. I've made mistakes too.”

 

“Dad.” Gohan placed a hand on his father's arm. “You were always a good father. Things…things just happened. They…weren't your fault.” Gohan remembered all too well the hard things that they had gone through. They seemed to come one after another after another with no breaks between except to prepare for the next battle. Radditz, Vegeta, Frieza, Cooler, the androids, Cell… and then Goku had been gone. Dead for so long. Then Buu and the Majin. Majin Vegeta. The aliens that came to the tournaments. Pan's time in space. It was half a lifetime filled with nightmares. But Gohan could never blame any of it on his dad. Goku had always tried to stop it, to fix it. Even if it meant having to do hard things. The peace they had survived to see was a blissful release from all that horror. It had been good these last decades.

 

Goku smiled suddenly and glanced at Gohan. “You know. Your mother could see some things. Do you remember when she would keep the kids? She was the one who started Tong cooking in the kitchen with her. And she would have Pan help her around the house. She was right about Spice too. She and Spice could never see eye to eye. And I have to admit that I didn't mind. I had fun playing with her in the woods while everyone else stayed home and did…other stuff. It was strange because sometimes she was so very human and other times she was so very wild. Sometimes it was like when I was little again, before I met Bulma. She was the easiest for me to understand of all the kids.” Goku laughed suddenly. “I know that ChiChi thought that she shouldn't have spent so much time with me or Vegeta. But I don't think it would have made a difference. She was always wild and she had so much pride in her that one little spark could set her off. That's why they got along so well, I think. Spice and Vegeta. I think Vegeta thought it was funny for such a little thing to be so…arrogant. And you know what?”

 

Gohan had merely listened to his father ramble thus far, not sure why he was talking about all this, amazed to learn that his dad had even *thought* about these things. “What, dad?”

 

“I think that watching Spice grow up around Vegeta and knowing her and who she is helps us to know who they both are. Because they both have sides that they won't show, but if you look closely enough at one, you can sometimes start to see what's missing in the other.” Goku shook his head suddenly and looked down at the grass around his boots.

 

“Spice isn't here because she's angry. She's angry and she doesn't want to let that go. She's afraid to.”

 

Gohan stared at his father, not understanding what he was saying. Not understanding how he knew this. He seemed so sure. “What is she afraid of?”

 

“She's afraid because she still loves you and she doesn't know what will happen if she admits it. She… She's afraid of losing.”

 

Gohan still didn't understand. “Afraid of losing what?”

 

Goku sighed again and his shoulders slumped tiredly. “I don't know. Anything? Everything? You? That's the question. What is there to lose? Maybe she thinks she's already lost it and she just doesn't want to be proven right.”

 

They stood in silence for a few minutes as night took the light from the sky and changed it to a dusky navy. Gohan thought for a long time and then looked at his father who was now staring up at the stars, his random spikes pointing off to the west.

 

“Vegeta left, didn't he?” The younger Son asked softly, afraid to break the silence.

 

“They'll both come back.” Goku answered with quiet surety.

 

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Vegeta twisted and turned, spun and kicked, leapt away and twirled back, throwing out a deadly elbow and crossing over it with a hand that was hard and flat as a knife blade.

 

It was too easy.

 

He threw himself into the air, flipping sideways and falling into a roll and rising once more with a spinning roundhouse. He froze in mid kick, his leg held perfectly still in the air. It was all too easy even without using his ki. Sparring just was not the same outside his gravity room and with no one to fight against. Still, he would not stop. He was determined to clear his head and this was the best way he knew how, the only way, really.

 

Purposefully the long lost prince changed his approach and slowed his movements to a crawl, beginning a concentrated, precise kata. His arms flowed around him losing the jerkiness that was necessary for full power in battle. His bare feet touched down silently as he turned in slow motion. The material of his loose gi pants whispered softly as one leg rose into the air and then twisted gracefully behind him. The sound was a distraction, an annoyance, but he ruthlessly ignored it. It could not be helped. He had other things to worry about than his attire.

 

He had things to sort out.

 

Minutes slipped by as he flowed from one form to another. The concentration alone from each drawn out movement served to help calm and cleanse. Soon even a hint of a sheen of sweat began to show on his brow. This is what he needed right now. One hand reached slowly for the ground, palm and fingers spreading wide as muscles bulged and writhed and both feet rose to the sky, his other arm extending out to the side. Vegeta held this pose for a moment, breathing deeply and concentrating on balance. A new perspective. Isn't that what these pathetic humans used as an answer for everything? Find a new perspective. Fuck if he ever understood what that meant.

 

But if you faced a foe from a different angle, there were always weaknesses that were not accessible from other positions. So perhaps he should meet this foe on a new front, from a different angle. Only…the enemy was himself. How do you find your own weaknesses when you already know how to protect them? Idiocy. He was thinking circles around himself and not getting anywhere.

 

Something was wrong. That was all he knew. Something was wrong. He had known what it was too! But that knowledge was lost to him now. He had known! For an instant it had been so clear but then it was gone and he was left in frustrated impotence. But if he really were to ask himself who was the cause, who was the enemy he had to face, who was doing this…he would have an answer.

 

Frieza.

 

But that was not true. Frieza was dead and gone and had nothing to do with the present circumstances no matter how clearly Vegeta could see him and hear him. Frieza was not real and he knew it. Vegeta was not so far gone as to question that.

 

So what was wrong? What was so very wrong? The Ice-jin was nothing new. His ghost had plagued Vegeta's nightmares since before he had been killed by Trunks. His voice had resided in the prince's head for as long as Vegeta could remember, voicing his fears and his failures, taunting and belittling him. It was purely understandable. Frieza had been his greatest weakness and his strongest hatred. Something like that leaves an imprint upon you that is not easily escaped. But now…now it was different.

 

Lately…it was stronger. So much worse. And it was new. Not the same old nightmares and the same old memories and the same old verses. The ghost was fucking adlibbing! As if he was really there. Wasn't just some shade. As if he was real.

 

And that was impossible.

 

This was all Kakarotto's fault! Kakarott had made him lose control after so many decades. Kakarott had made him weak. But…if this was here, inside him, it would have surfaced eventually, wouldn't it? Was he losing his mind? He felt like it. But he could not dwell on that. It would not fix anything. He had to go to the beginning and figure out what had changed and when.

 

Vegeta thought he remembered when that was. That day when he had that dream. The first dream that had changed. The dream where Frieza had held his dead child in those cold white hands. His fear given life. That premonition.

 

And then it had truly happened.

 

It was then. Everything changed. Since then, everything had begun to fall apart. His fears began to come to life.

 

And he was afraid.

 

Vegeta was not so foolish that he couldn't admit it to himself. He was afraid because his mind had begun to drift away from the safety that it had resided in for so long here on this peaceful little planet. Old things began to surface in his thoughts. Old wishes, old desires, old cravings. But Vegeta was not the same person that he used to be. He didn't know if he could control those urges anymore. He knew so well just what he was capable of. He'd done so many vile things in his lifetime and he'd enjoyed doing them. But things were different now. The past was dead and gone… It couldn't come back. He didn't want it to come back. He was afraid…that if it did come back…he would like it. He was afraid of what he might do then. He had been Majin once and it had been so hard to return from that. The Majin…was exhilarating and enticing and so very free. He had it in him still. If it came out he didn't know if he could come back from it again. And he was afraid of what he might do…now that he'd had his wish, now that he was the stronger.

 

And the ghostly white fingers that trailed over his skin, his mind, his soul made it all seem even more real. That teasing voice spoke to him even while he was awake now. It had not left him since he had fled from Kakarott. Since he had nearly lost control in those woods. That voice had been the reason he had nearly lost control. Frieza's voice had hissed in his ear and he had felt cold fingers touch his mind and his power nearly tore free, but he'd caught himself and crushed it inside and had shut it down and disappeared.

 

Kakarott did not search for him. He had known he would not be able to find Vegeta. And Vegeta had fled from that cold touch he hated and the warm one that he craved.

 

Now, Vegeta wondered at what had happened. What had he really felt? What had it been that he had felt? It was not Frieza. The Ice-jin was a specter in his own mind. It could not touch him like that. But ever since that…happened…the Ice-jin had become more…more real. And Vegeta felt he might truly be coming unhinged.

 

Whatever had happened… Vegeta couldn't go back. He couldn't go…because he felt in his bones, in his blood, in the core of his very being…that something bad would happen. If he went back. Enough bad had happened already. There was no need for more. He wouldn't be the cause of more. No more. He couldn't take any more.

 

He would stay away until this ended…one way or another. Until he understood what was happening and why.

 

He glanced to his left as his kata took him in that direction and his eyes landed upon the white and pink form that crouched at the tree lined edge of the clearing. Frieza merely watched him, returning Vegeta's cold stare with an effeminate smile.

 

“You really do dance beautifully.”

 

The lost prince did not deign to reply, but turned away without missing a beat in his form. He continued on as if there was no one there.

 

Because, of course, there wasn't.

 

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Tong smiled in a restrained but happy manner as he leaned on the large rock that seemed to overlook the waterfall. The sun was setting, turning the crystalline water below to a dark purple.

 

“…I know I was kind of a brat before. But I really am serious. I am. I promise, I really mean it. I want this.” Tong laughed in embarrassment. “But…I bet you're used to Son's being brats, huh? After all the stories dad's told us. And grampa. I bet that dad missed you, today…”

 

Piccolo took a deep breath and dropped to the ground from where he had been meditating in the air and glowered sourly down at the young man. “Gohan has his own family to think about. He has for a long time. Why are you here, rather than with the rest of your family?”

 

Tong blushed slightly and began to pick at the rock, not looking at the tall Namek. “I just wanted to apologize. I've been stressed and stuff. It wasn't your fault. So…yeah. I feel a lot better now. And you know why I'm here.”

 

Piccolo snorted and shook his head in annoyance. “Are you willing to learn now? Nothing has changed. If you couldn't do it before, what makes you think you can now? I'm not going to waste my time if you can't.”

 

Tong looked up with a frown and a slight tightening of his lips. Piccolo didn't think he could do it. That was obvious. Well, he'd show the Namek just how wrong he was. Tong was a Son. They could do anything if they really wanted to. Tong just…never wanted to before. “I'm ready now.”

 

Piccolo glared at him for a few more seconds before finally nodding. He then stepped away, moving about ten feet from the cliff and seating himself on the thick grass. “Then sit.” He commanded. “And don't fidget this time.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Tong smiled and came to sit four feet in front of the Namek, making himself comfortable. At first, the younger Son watched his new mentor in silence, taking in how Piccolo never twitched a muscle and the calm peace on his face as he meditated. From what Tong had seen of him, Piccolo had always looked tense and ill at ease. But like this, the frown was gone from his face and his features were more…approachable. Even if he was still green and pink.

 

Tong continued to watch him for a few minutes, the way his shoulders rose and fell with every even breath, the loose way his clawed fingers rested on his knees…even his antennae were still! It was amazing to the youth, that he could do this for so long. Question after question popped into Tong's head as he looked at the Namek, but he wisely kept them to himself for another time. Who was Piccolo? What sort of person was he? Why did everyone hold him in such high esteem? Everyone knew Piccolo…but how come no one ever saw him anymore? Even before Tong had been born, this green stranger had been a rare catch. Why was that so if everyone liked and respected him so much?

 

Anyway, time for him to do what he was supposed to be doing, right? He closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts, which was really difficult to do. Surprisingly difficult. It seemed so easy when Piccolo said it. The more he tried to clear, the more they seemed to cluster in his brain. But he was thinking! That was what was important. He was thinking about things. Though, it was kind of pathetic that he had to take a “class” on thinking before he could actually attempt to really do it.

 

He thought about his newest friend Taigar. He had been so wanting of company and it just seemed to land in his lap. Taigar was wonderful. Considerate and thoughtful, kind and strong, sure and honest, handsome and loving. And he had appeared right when Tong had convinced himself that no such person could ever ever exist. Not for him. When Tong had been so alone.

 

It annoyed the young demi that he had been so disgustingly desperate and needy before Taigar showed up. How could he have convinced himself of such foolish, depression? His sister would have called him a dumbass and rolled her eyes at how childish and idiotic he was being.

 

But he was happy now.

 

He was very happy and that terrible loneliness was gone. He wasn't alone anymore. And…that's…really all he needed. To not be alone.

 

Tong opened his eyes to find the Namek just as he had been before. Chest rising and falling with hypnotic slowness. He could hear the soft whisper of breath as it escaped from his lungs. The thought struck him that Piccolo was rather handsome…in a very exotic and different sort of way. His skin was a very fetching shade of green, though the pink was a bit distracting. He let his gaze roam over the tall Namek's large frame as he took it all in. Piccolo was very muscular and lean, almost bordering on too thin for those broad shoulders of his. Tong wondered if that meant that he didn't eat very much or if all Nameks were that way. And his textured skin... The young Son had to push down the desire to reach out and touch it to see if it was rough or soft, coarse or smooth, warm or cool. Piccolo almost resembled some sort of reptile made humanoid.

 

He wondered again why it was that Piccolo didn't come to visit his dad very much anymore. Supposedly he used to. A long long time ago. But Tong remembered that his dad used to go and visit Piccolo…..for a while. Then he just didn't anymore. Tong never knew enough to wonder why, he was just a tiny child, nor did he ever think about it to be curious. Piccolo wasn't anything familiar, just a story his father told a lot really. He wasn't part of any of their lives.

 

Now Tong wondered why. Why, when Piccolo was supposedly such an important part of his father's life?

 

Sitting here, looking at the strange, Tong resolved to learn about this mysterious hero of his father's life. His father's mentor. He had a new goal this summer. He would finish his classes and get his degree, work his internship and hopefully get a job from it, he had a companion to share it with and who wanted to share it, and he had this time…when he could be away from it all. This time where he didn't have to do anything but *be*, but *think*, but reflect. While he was here, away from everything else, he would get to know the baffling puzzle that he remembered from his early childhood. Gohan felt so strongly about Piccolo. Tong decided he would see for himself why.

 

Suddenly unreadable black eyes met his and Tong realized he had been caught staring. He blushed and looked down at the grass hurriedly. How long had he been thinking? Glancing up again, Tong noticed that the shadows all around had grown long and dark. The sun was setting already, casting the world in purple and gray. Had it really been that long?

 

Hesitantly, Tong looked back at Piccolo, but instead of the disapproval he expected, there was only neutral acknowledgement. Piccolo nodded slowly.
“Good.”

 

Tong blinked in surprise. Good? He hadn't been meditating…or even trying to. He'd been staring with his mind off in lala land just like usual.

 

“At least now I know you are capable of sitting still and quiet for a while.”

 

Then Piccolo smiled. A soft, small, calm smile. Barely a quirk of his lips, but there nonetheless. Tong couldn't help but grin back timidly.

 

“Maybe now we can get somewhere.” Piccolo stated dryly and began Tong's first lesson.

 

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