Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ I Can't Make You Say Goodbye ❯ Heartache ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: DB/Z/GT does not belong to me. I'm slowly buying up FUNi and TOEL stocks, though, so I can take over the market someday.... heh. (Do they even have stocks??)

A/N: Hi, again. I'm glad ff.n decided to fix the upload/edit chapter function today!! I'd forgotten about that when I posted this yesterday.

(A note for Shannon: I posted chap. 2 today, just for you. I wasn't seriously going to wait!)

So, without further ado, chapter two. (That rhymed... ugh.)

Chapter Two: Heartache

With a gasp, Marron woke from her afternoon nap. Her first instinct was to see where she was, and when she looked around, she realized she was sitting on Uncle Goku's lap. Once he noticed she was awake, Uncle Goku's face softened and he smiled at her. "The baby was born, Marron. It's a little boy."

"I thought so," Marron murmured sleepily. "Is he okay?" she glanced around the room, seeing all of Mama and Papa's friends, and she remembered that they had all come that morning.

Uncle Goku frowned. "He's very tiny," he replied. "The doctors don't know if he'll be all right or not. He's in a special incubator right now."

Marron lower lip quivered. "He's gotta' be okay," she sniffled, "Papa was so excited . . . he'll be so sad . . ."

"I know, Marron," Uncle Goku sighed, and he kissed the top of her head. "I know . . ."

Both of them turned to look at Marron's mother's room, where she and Papa were listening to a very serious-faced doctor.

"I'm going to have to be straightforward with you," the doctor (Doctor Clark, his name tag read) said, his voice even and controlled. He spoke with the air of one who had given bad news many times before, but was affected by it each time. "Your son, as you know, is only twenty-four weeks old. The survival rate for children that age is approximately ten percent."

Kuririn felt as though someone had jabbed a knife into his heart and was slowly twisting it. He glanced down at #18, who lay gripping his hand tightly, and mustered up a wan smile. "And if he lives?"

A muscle in the doctor's cheek twitched. "Most likely the child will be severely brain damaged, and will probably be unable to speak, walk, or barely even move. I'm sorry."

Kuririn's breath caught in his throat, making a sound that was very like a sob. "He'll live," he declared fiercely, feeling #18's fingers tighten over his in support. "I know he will. He has to."

Doctor Clark just looked at him, a mixture of sorrow and pity mingling on his features. "The child is safely on life support now," he continued slowly, "And his condition is stable, but . . . given his readings it is unlikely he will live more than a few days."

"Can I hold him?" Kuririn demanded, his heart aching within him. If only he could hold his son, maybe the situation would not seem so bleak.

"I'm afraid not, sir. The child's nerves are highly sensitive right now. Any touch, caress, even a kiss, would cause him extreme discomfort, even pain. I'm sure you understand."

Kuririn nodded numbly, and a tear slipped down his cheek. "Can I see him, then?" At least let me see him, he thought desperately, I barely got a look at him before the doctors took him away.

This time, Dr. Clark nodded. "Yes. Just ask one of the nurses and he or she will direct you to the room. Are there any more questions?"

Kuririn started to shake his head, then #18 tugged on his hand. "What do you have him registered as?" she asked softly, voice weak from exhaustion.

Dr. Clark blinked in confusion, then he consulted his clipboard. "Uh, Patient one-zer -"

"His name," #18 interrupted firmly, "Is Kuri. After his father," she looked at Kuririn. "Go, go see him. Maybe he'll know you're there."

"Are you going to be all right?" Kuririn inquired worriedly, gently running a hand across her forehead.

#18 smiled a little at the caress. "I'm fine, just tired and sore. Nothing new . . . now go."

Kuririn raised her hand and kissed the back of it, then stood up from his chair and followed Dr. Clark out of the room. In the doorway, Kuririn stopped and looked back. "I love you," he told her, "And I'm proud of you. I know it hurt, but you did it."

#18 nodded and closed her eyes, smiling to herself as she heard him go. Something told her that little Kuri would end up just fine - his father was the most stubbornly optimistic man on the planet. If even a quarter of his spirit and determination had been handed down, Kuri would bounce right back - statistics, or no statistics.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" came a quiet voice from the bedside.

#18 opened her eyes to see Bulma had taken Kuririn's vacant chair. The turquoise-haired woman smiled knowingly at her with the reassurance of a fellow mother. "I'm not sure," #18 replied, "I'm even more tired than when Marron was born."

"Believe me, I know the feeling," Bulma made a face. "I told Vegeta that we aren't having any more children unless someone discovers a way to make it possible for men to get pregnant," she helped raise #18 to a sitting position, patting the pillows behind her back as support. #18 noticed the quiet, apprehensive look on Bulma's face.

"You've heard the prognosis, I take it?" #18 asked, her voice sounding hollow in her own ears.

Bulma nodded. "Yeah. We were in the next room, and we heard the doctor. Everyone's here for you," her face brightened as she tried to find something positive about the situation. "Goku and ChiChi went with Kuririn, so Piccolo and Yamucha are with Marron. Gohan and Videl had an exam they couldn't get out of, but they both sent their best wishes. Kamesen'nin is in the cafeteria, ogling the nurses" - they both rolled their eyes at that - "Even Vegeta is around here somewhere."

"Where are the boys?" #18 looked through the door of her room and saw Yamucha giving Marron a piggyback ride, with Piccolo looking on.

Bulma's smile was more genuine this time. "I'm not supposed to tell, but Goten conned Trunks into getting you a present. They're at the gift shop right now. Vegeta's probably with them, now that I think about it."

#18 managed a small laugh, but sobered up quickly. "What do you think Kuri's chances are?"

The suddenness of the question startled Bulma, and she covered it up by commenting that the choice of "Kuri" as the baby's name was perfect. Finally, she was able to respond. "To be honest, I . . . I don't know, #18. It doesn't look good, you know that," the older woman's face tightened with resolve, and she reached down and clasped #18's hand in hers in a firm, reassuring grip. "But I don't care what the odds are. We're all going to hope and pray - you and Kuririn are strong, so I'm sure your kid is, too. He can pull through this - you all can. Everybody is determined that the kid will live. If no one gives up hope and Kuri keeps on fighting, I bet you'll be able to take him home before you know it."

"I hope you're right," #18 sighed, staring at her hands. "If Kuri doesn't make it, I have no idea how Kuririn will react. Ever since I discovered I was expecting, he . . . he's been walking on clouds the whole six months. I hadn't seen him so happy since we found we were going to be parents the first time. If I had to see that light, the spark of life in his eyes, die, I don't know what I would do," #18 focussed her gaze out the window, watching as a few birds flew by. "People see Kuririn as a happy, carefree person, but what they don't realize is how hard he takes it when someone he loves dies. If he loses Kuri . . ." but she couldn't complete the thought. The reality was far too painful.

"He won't lose Kuri," Bulma staunchly insisted, giving #18's hand another squeeze. "You just have to think positive, that's all. If you believe in him, he'll make it."

Bulma's words and confident tone stirred something in #18's heavy heart, and she gave her friend a heartfelt smile. "Thank you, Bulma. Thank you so much."

Any reply Bulma planned to make was cut off by a pair of boys entering the room, laden with balloons, flowers, stuffed animals, and boxes of chocolates. "Here's some presents for you," Goten chirruped, as he and Trunks set down their wares on every available area of open space. "We thought it would make you feel better."

#18 gazed at the myriad balloons that, now unattached, drifted to the ceiling, and at the bouquets and toys which festooned every corner of the room. "Thank you," she smiled, then noticed that both boys had chocolate smeared around their mouths.

Goten caught where #18 was looking, and he laughed sheepishly. "Well, we didn't think you'd eat all the candy . . . and we only took one box."

Trunks cuffed him on the back of the head. "It was Goten's idea to eat them," he volunteered.

"Hey!" Goten punched Trunks' arm. "Was not!"

"Was, too!"

"Was not!"

Within seconds, the two youngsters became involved in a playful tussle, but Bulma quickly separated them. "Boys!" she scolded, then drew them aside and spoke to them in soft, but firm tones. Both shot startled or sad looks at #18, and she felt a lump rise up in her throat again.

Finally the two of them shuffled forward, scuffing the toes of their boots on the clean, yellow, linoleum floor. "Sorry, #18-san," Goten apologized, "I didn't know the baby was sick."

Trunks smacked him. "Shut up!" he hissed, "Are you stupid? Don't make it worse. Just give it to her."

"O, yeah," Goten whispered back, then he waded into the sea of knee-deep stuffed animals until he found a specific teddy bear. It had golden-brown fur and black eyes, with a red bow around its neck. "This is for you," Goten handed the teddy bear to #18. "Well, they're all for you, but this is for your baby. Maybe if he has a teddy bear to sleep with, he'll wanna' get strong."

#18 took the proffered toy, and was surprised to see her hands were shaking. "Thank you, Goten and Trunks. You two are very thoughtful."

Goten, and even Trunks, beamed under the praise. "Can we take it to the baby now?"

"Yes, you may. Ask the nurse where the room is," she handed the toy back.

Both boys shot her a grin, then nearly fell over each other as they scrambled out the door. #18 watched them go, smiling. "I hope Kuri makes it, so he can be friends with them."

"O, Dende-sama forbid that!" Bulma threw up her hands. "My foul-mouthed son infecting the mind of your innocent little boy? They're teach him to fight, too. Ugh," she made an exasperated face. "Two fighting boys are enough, honestly!"

#18 laughed. "With Marron's tea-party influence? I think he'll be okay."

Bulma patted #18's hand, and she stood. "You need rest. Your son will be fine, I promise you, but you've just had a baby and you need sleep."

#18 set her head down on the pillow and smiled faintly. "Look after Kuririn until I'm up, please?"

"Sure," Bulma nodded, "But you don't have anything to worry about. Kuririn will be fine, because Kuri will be fine. Now sleep."

#18 flipped a salute, then closed her eyes and fell into a much-needed slumber.

******

"Mrs. #18?"

#18 opened her eyes slowly, staring up into the face of a concerned-looking doctor. "Mmm?" she shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Is everything all right?"

The doctor smiled. "Well, the good news is, your son survived the night."

"I knew he would!" #18 felt a great weight lift from her shoulders, then she noticed the seriousness in the woman's eyes and the feeling of foreboding settled over her once more. "What's the bad news?"

There was a long pause before the doctor spoke, and the silence hung heavily over them like a wet blanket. "The child's vital organs were operating by themselves last night," she explained, "With the assistance of life support, yes, but still functioning. But at approximately 8:13 this morning, they stopped. The machines are doing all the work. We don't want to have to assume the worst, but . . ."

#18 frowned at him, not realizing fully what he meant for a second. At last, the words 'vital organs have stopped working' made themselves clear. In horror, #18 recoiled away from the medic.

"No!" she burst forth, hearing her voice break. "You mean he's . . . he's only alive because the machines are keeping him from dying?"

"Well, that's a . . . a very blunt way of putting it," the doctor hesitated, then continued. "I recommend we wait a few days, but after that, if the machines are still doing all the work, then I would suggest turning them off. Otherwise, your child would be forced to live in hospital, on life support, for his entire life. He wouldn't be able to hear you, talk to you, or even know who you are or if you were there. I'm sorry."

#18 felt as though someone had somehow reached inside her soul and pulled out every hope and dream, then torn them to pieces, little by little, right in front of her. Her first coherent thought, however, was of how hard this would hit Kuririn. "Has anyone told my husband yet?"

The doctor nodded. "He hasn't left the incubator since he first went there, so I'm afraid he was aware of everything at the same time we were."

"How is he taking it?" #18 swallowed hard, feeling a hand squeezing each drop of blood from her heart.

"Not well."

"I have to see him," #18 declared, struggling to rise. "He needs someone to stay with him."

"Perhaps, but you still need to rest," the doctor informed her. "You're not strong enough yet."

#18 scowled blackly at her. "But my son -"

The doctor held up a hand. "A few more days, then you can see them," without waiting for a response, she left.

As soon as the woman's back disappeared through the door, #18 flipped back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "I don't care what the doctor says," she snarled, "I will see my son, and I will see him today," her body, on the other hand, thought otherwise. Once her feet were planted on the floor, #18's knees gave out and she collapsed.

"This is stupid," #18 placed her hands on the ground and attempted to push herself to a seated position. "I'm a fighter, but I get knocked down for two days after having a baby?"

A pair of gold-tipped boots came into view of #18's downcast eyes, and a rough hand grasped her arm, hauling her to her feet. "Let go," #18 snarled. Obligingly, Vegeta opened his hand, and #18 dropped to the floor again. She glared as Vegeta bent down, picked her up by the arms, and all but dropped her on the bed.

"Stay there," he ordered, then walked back to the door and stood there, leaning against the frame and watching her.

"What, did Bulma assign you to be my bodyguard?" #18 sneered, sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching the blankets in her fists to help keep her balance.

"Maybe."

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Like what?"

#18 sighed and decided to ignore him, staring instead at the ceiling and thinking of her brief glimpse of her son. Kuri had only been about twelve inches long, and couldn't have weighed much more than a pound. His tiny arms and legs had been thin and delicate, the fingers and toes even more so - even his facial features were minuscule. She didn't even know whether or not he possessed a nose.

But he was beautiful anyway.

#18 felt her eyes begin to sting, and she swiped at them before the tears had a chance to fall, angry that Vegeta had seen her in a moment of weakness. When she looked up, however, she saw that the Saiyajin was not sneering or smirking at her, but merely regarding her seriously. #18 swallowed hard.

"Vegeta, take me to them."

Vegeta cocked an eyebrow, amusement beginning to tinge his features. "Excuse me?"

"Blast it, it's not funny!" #18 felt horrible having to plead in front of Vegeta, and even worse to have to plead to him, but she had no choice. "I don't like asking help any more than you do, and especially not from you!" her lip curled in a ferocious snarl. "I'm not abasing myself - if you won't help me, I'll go there myself.'

"You can't even stand."

#18's body shook with rage, and she pushed herself to a standing position. "Listen to me! Pretend for one second that it's your son out there who's dying - who's technically dead, but the life support systems are keeping his heart beating and lungs moving," Vegeta jumped at that, and #18 realized no one else had been told. "Just think, please! I know people say you're heartless, but I know Bulma well enough to see that she wouldn't love you if you were. Drop the act for one minute, will you?"

Vegeta stared at her for a long second, then his face twitched and he strode across the room to #18's side. He grasped her elbows, one arm around behind her back, and without speaking, Vegeta led #18 through the hallways to Kuri's room.

Kuri was in an incubator, attached to myriad life-support mechanisms, inside a private ward. #18 looked through a large, glass window at the room, where Kuririn sat on a chair beside the small box, in which his baby lay. A faint smile found its way to #18's lips when she saw the teddy bear from Goten and Trunks was sitting inside the glass case.

Kuririn was bent over the incubator, his arms resting on the top and his head buried in his arms. Even from a distance, #18 could see his shoulders shaking violently, trembling as though at the mercy of a violent gale, and she knew he was sobbing. "I should go to him," she whispered.

"I don't think he wants to see anyone right now," Vegeta disagreed, his tone devoid of its characteristic scorn for once. "Not even you."

#18 sighed quietly, realizing that the Saiyajin was correct. Right now, Kuririn needed to be alone with his grief - #18 understood the feeling perfectly. She rested her fingertips on the cool glass for a moment, letting the scene impact itself on her memory. She knew, somehow, that she would remember this forever; her day-old son, tiny and vulnerable, surrounded by tubes and wires and computers . . . Kuririn, slumped over the incubator with his head in his arms, crying quietly, hopelessly . . . and the teddy bear, perched inside the incubator, smiling, radiating the hope that no one had the heart to feel. Whatever the outcome, #18 knew she would never forget the scene.

"All right," she told Vegeta, "Take me back."

******

Tears dripped slowly down Kuririn's cheeks, like rain running down a windowpane, soaking his arm where his face was resting on it. All around him were computer monitors, each bleeping as the kept track of the mechanically-induced heartbeat and other vital signs. To Kuririn, the computerized beeping noises played a kind of funeral march, hammering inside his brain until he thought he couldn't take it anymore.

Beneath him, lying on his side, was Kuri - the most beautiful, innocent little boy Kuririn had ever seen. He was so tiny . . . short as he was, Kuririn still bet he could hold Kuri in the crook of one arm - if, of course, he had been allowed to hold him. The child wasn't old enough to have much hair, but here and there were patches of black fuzz. Kuri hadn't opened his eyes since about three in the morning, but when he had, Kuririn had seen them to be a beautiful, crystal-blue - just like his mother's. Like Kuririn, however, he had no nose.

Kuririn watched his son's small chest rise and fall in mechanized breathing, imagining what it would be like to hold him in his arms, to feel the tiny fingers close over his own. To sing the boy to sleep at night, to rock him and feed him . . . to watch him grow up, and to laugh and cry at his successes and failures . . .

Kuririn drew in a deep, shuddering breath as he struggled to control his emotions. How could anything so small, so fragile, so . . . perfect . . . belong to him? He knew he should be filled with joy and gratitude, but everything had gone so terribly wrong.

"You can't leave me," Kuririn whispered, helplessly. "You can't just go . . . hang in there, Kuri-chan. Daddy's here, and he's never gonna' leave you. Never!"

******

"Kuririn . . . are you all right?"

Kuririn felt a cool hand touch his cheek, then ruffle his hair in the familiar gesture of affection. Startled awake, Kuririn sat bolt upright, blinking sleep from his eyes, and saw #18 standing next to him. She looked tired, but, as the small part of Kuririn's mind not paralyzed by grief noticed, as beautiful as always. Kuririn managed to smile at her, and he reached out and took her hand in his.

"How are you feeling?" Kuririn asked.

"I'm fine now," #18 smiled reassuringly, "This is the first time they've let me out of my room. How is Kuri?"

Kuririn looked again at his son, noticing had not once changed position - not even a finger or toe had moved in the five days since the little boy's birth. "The same," he replied dully, feeling the good mood that had come with seeing #18, begin to fade.

"Can I see him?" piped up a little voice.

Kuririn glanced down in surprise and saw Marron standing on the other side of #18, holding her free hand. "Sure, Firefly, you can see him. But he's sleeping, so it probably won't be very interesting."

"I don't care," Marron tugged on Kuririn's pants. "Pick me up!"

Kuririn bent down and picked her up, holding her around the waist, and he lifted her up so she could peer into the incubator. "Wow . . . he's so small!" Marron breathed, almost reverently. "He's like Mister Piccolo Doll!"

"Yeah, he is," Kuririn agreed. In more ways than one, he thought sadly.

"Was I that little when I was born?" Marron inquired.

#18 shook her head. "No, you were bigger than that."

"He's cute," Marron observed, smiling. "He's just like I thought he would be. I bet he'll play tea party with me when he's bigger."

"What about me?" Goten pouted, coming up behind them. He and his parents had left the night before and just now come back.

Marron giggled. "We can all play," she declared generously, "I'll be the Mommy, you can be the Daddy, and Kuri can be our baby."

Goten thought for a minute, then decided he liked that arrangement. "Okay."

Kuririn suddenly shivered, and he had to set Marron down in case he dropped her. Goku must have noticed, for he put a comforting hand on Kuririn's shoulder, giving him a squeeze. "Any change?"

"No," Kuririn shook his head. "I don't know what else we can do. The doctors have tried everything . . ."

Goku gripped his shoulder firmly. "Kuririn, I know you don't want to hear this, but maybe the only thing left to do is -"

"NO!!" Kuririn shouted, so loudly that Goten and Marron, who had been playing on the floor, looked up in fright. Kuririn quickly lowered his voice. "What kind of father stands there and lets his own son die?"

"Kuririn . . ."

Kuririn, Goku, and ChiChi turned to look at #18. Her blue eyes were shimmering with tears, and the Sons were startled - they had never seen her cry before. "Kuri doesn't even know he's alive. In all honesty, he isn't alive. A corpse could be hooked up to machines like this and made to look like it's breathing, and that's what's happening here. Please, Kuririn, we don't even know if he's feeling pain. If he is, it isn't fair to make him suffer."

#18's hand went to her cheek, to wipe the tears away. "I don't want to lose him, but we can't keep him alive just because we're too selfish to let him go."

"Selfish?" Kuririn yelled, pulling away from everyone. "Is it selfish to love my son? Is it selfish for a father to want to give his child every chance he has at life? I don't think so! I can't believe that you, of all people, would be willing to give up on him so easily."

#18's face fell at that last remark, and Kuririn knew he'd hurt her - but she held firm. "Giving up and letting go are not the same thing," #18 argued. "If you love someone, sometimes the best thing you can do for him is to let go."

Kuririn's expression was stony and his voice low with betrayal. "I don't believe you. I don't believe any of you. How can you ask me to kill . . . to kill my . . ." but he was overcome with emotion and had to turn away, hiding his face in his hands.

It was then that a doctor came up to them, and the look on his face was so solemn that everyone in the group knew what he was going to say. "Excuse me, may I have a word with the parents?"

Goku and ChiChi glanced at each other, then nodded and stepped back. Goten and Marron continued playing - Goten was on his hands and knees, "galloping" around the room while Marron sat on his back and giggled happily. Kuririn took a deep breath, and he looked the guard directly in the eye. "The answer is no," he declared simply, "I'm not going to let you kill him."

"If there was even the slightest chance, I wouldn't be asking this question," the doctor reminded hin gently. "I'm very sorry, but it's been almost a week now, and the life monitors haven't even peaked once."

"But isn't there any chance he'll start living for himself again?" Kuririn pleaded desperately, feeling his hope slipping away like grains of sand in an hourglass.

The man's eyes held infinite sadness as he gazed at the once-happy family. "You could keep him hooked up for years, waiting for something that would never happen, and you'd end up killing yourself emotionally. However, if you release him now, he will move on to a better place and you could begin healing."

A loud sound filled Kuririn's ears, like wind rushing through a long tunnel, and the only thing that kept him connected to reality was the feel of #18's hands on his shoulders. He half-turned and glanced up at her, and her eyes were glistening. #18 closed her eyes, and when she did, the tears spilled over, cascading down her cheeks like a dam had burst inside her. As for Kuririn, he was not crying, but he did not know why. For once, his emotions seemed to have hit upon a wall.

#18 nodded, just once.

Kuririn amassed his courage and he faced the doctor. "All right," he had been prepared for his voice to tremble and break, but it sounded calm and collected. It felt like he was somebody else trapped in this person's body, forced to watch and listen while the person spoke. "We agree to . . . to . . ." Kuririn let the sentence dangle, unwilling to finish it. It was so . . . so final!

Across the room, Marron toppled off Goten's back as she realized what her parents had just agreed upon. "No!" she cried, ADaddy, don't!"

She started to run, but Goten caught her arm. "Marron . . . they're gonna let the baby go home," the boy was crying, too. "He won't hurt anymore."

Marron let out a sob, then she collapsed into Goten's lap and cried. The boy wrapped her shaking form in his small arms, resting his head on her back, and the two children wept together.

ChiChi pressed her face into Goku's chest as the doctors surrounded the incubator, and Goku enfolded her in an embrace that brought neither of them much comfort. "The poor little thing," ChiChi whimpered.

"There was nothing else to do," Goku sighed, his voice thick with remorse, "The kid won't feel a thing."

"Let us hold him," Kuririn spoke up suddenly, unable to tear his gaze away as the various life support equipment was removed from his son's frail body. #18 stood close to him, holding his hand, and her fingers were wet from a futile effort to dry her eyes. "Just this once, before he goes."

The last tube was disconnected, and the infant was lifted gently into the arms of his parents. The tiny chest fell one final time, expelling the last breath of air the respirator had given him, then he was still. What little life energy he had possessed disappeared forever.

#18 let out a small gasp, trying not to cry. Kuririn just stood there, holding the doll-like body, eyes dry. "I love you, Kuri-chan," Kuririn said softly, "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help you."

No one spoke after that, and the only sounds were those of everyone crying.

******

Poor Kuri-chan! I got rather emotional when I was writing this, which is not unusual for me, but what is odd is that I actually considered letting him live at first. My sister can attest to the fact that I sat there for about half an hour with the pen poised over the paper, wondering whether or not to turn off life support. I hope you don't all hate me for my decision. (Kuririn does. He won't speak to me.)

So there you have it. How will Kuririn & co. deal with such a loss? And what about the Dragonballs? Couldn't they be used to revive Kuri? If ff.n cooperates, chapter 3 should be up soon.