Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein; they belong to Akira Toriyama and whoever he's decided to share them with.

Author's Notes: I seem to apologize for being late a lot…being involved in someone else's wedding is time consuming. On a positive note, stuff happens in this chapter!

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PRESENT DAY

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Bulma was a wreck all week. Having Vegeta show up out of the blue had been stressful, yes, but it had also been over quickly. This time she knew he was coming, and she knew what he expected from her. The problem was that she didn't know what she expected from herself. Or from him, for that matter. Was she just going to hop back into bed with him without a word? Lie back and get fucked, then get fucked over when he up and left again? Would he up and leave again? She didn't know, and it drove her crazy.

Boundaries. She needed to talk to Vegeta before they ended up naked again, and set down rules, expectations. Like no more unprotected sex, no more destroying mementos of Yamcha, no disappearing in the night without a word…pfft. Yeah right. She could just imagine sitting Vegeta down and setting up some pre-sex rules…He'd more than likely break them, on purpose, the second he pulled out.

God, why was she even thinking of allowing him back into her bed? If she were smart, she'd make him beg for it, tease him till his balls were blue, and then tell him to go fuck himself. “Why am I over thinking this?” She asked aloud, not realizing that her mother had walked into the lab and was standing behind her, bearing cookies and milk.

“Over thinking what, honey?” Mrs. Briefs asked as she set the tray down in front of her daughter, who always marvelled at the way the glass didn't even wobble. Bulma quickly grabbed a cookie and dunked it before popping it into her mouth.

“Ahh, nothing Mom.” Bulma mumbled around her full mouth, trying to weasel her way out of the awkward conversation she knew would follow if she told her mom what was going on. “I'm just stressing over gravity room details, now that the saiyans are coming back.”

“Oh, yes, those lovely young men.” The blonde beamed, and Bulma wondered how anyone could use the word `lovely' to describe a group that included Nappa. “Oh, dear,” Bulma's mother patted her shoulder suddenly, as a thought popped into her head, “do you have lots of condoms?”

“Wh…what?” Bulma shrieked, spraying cookie crumbs all over her workspace.

“Oh, honey, don't talk with your mouth full.” Mrs. Briefs admonished, snagging a rag from Bulma's work table to swipe up the mess. “And don't act as if you don't know what I'm talking about. That Vegeta is just perfect for you.”

“Mom, don't be silly,” Bulma forced a laugh, “there's no way that's happening.”

“Oh, didn't it already?” Mrs. Briefs squinted at her daughter, her rarely seen stern-mother side surfacing as Bulma shrunk back. This side of her mother surfaced about once every decade or so. “Because I might be mistaken, but I thought I raised my daughter to have a little self respect, and to only give it up to men she was serious about!”

“Oh God,” Bulma groaned, burying her face in her hands. Why did her mother pick the most awkward times to be observant? She hadn't felt this embarrassed since being caught making out with Yamcha on the garden swing when she was seventeen, when her mother had handed them a pack of rubbers and given them “the talk.” Bulma had been mortified, and Yamcha hadn't been able to show his face at the Cc compound for weeks afterward. Vegeta didn't seem so easily embarrassed, but Bulma was willing to bet that he wasn't above blowing her mother up if she irritated him too much.

“Oh, honey, it's nothing to be embarrassed about!” Mrs. Briefs chirped and pulled up a chair. “Vegeta's a very handsome man, and with Yamcha gone for some time now, it's only natural that you'd be looking for someone else.”

“How did you find out? Did Puar tell? I'll wring his scrawny neck.” Bulma muttered, and her mother laughed.

“Oh, sweetkin, I'm your mom. We just know these sorts of things. Now,” she stood up and patted her daughter on the head, “play safe, and eat those cookies. Men like a girl with some curves on her. Trust me, I know!” She winked and did a little shimmy, shaking her rounded hips from side to side.

Bulma moaned, burying her head in her arms as her mother danced her way out of the lab. She'd grown quite accustomed to living in such close quarters over the past three years, but in moments such as these, a little privacy was what she craved most. One day, when the threat of Frieza was gone and the universe a safe place to live, Bulma thought, she'd find herself a nice, green little planet and stake out acres and acres of land, all for herself. It would be heaven. But until then, she had to resign herself to the fact that she could hardly walk two feet in this place without running into someone. And soon the saiyans would arrive and it would be even more crowded. They were overdue, in fact, and everyone was that much more agitated, waiting for them to arrive.

*

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Zarbon couldn't keep the frown from his lips as he finished tying off the braid in his hair. He usually liked to start the day with a smile, corny as it sounded, but he worried about marring his skin with unsightly lines, such as those that frowning produced. He wanted to keep his beauty for as long as he could. He had decent reason for his unhappy expression, however, as he'd just received a very important communiqué from one of his best sources. Arxin was dead, found murdered in one of the sheds at the slaver compound where he worked, presumably by the buyer of two particularly strong and rebellious pieces of merchandise. No one had seen the buyers come, no one had seen them go, and the money that made sure no one investigated the instance as theft had come from some untraceable account under a name that had more than likely been made up.

Zarbon sighed and forced his features into a more neutral expression. It wasn't as though he'd particularly liked Arxin; they'd spoken only a handful of times, but the man had been somewhat useful, and Zarbon hated to see such a person go to waste. Trustworthy sources were hard to find in Frieza's corner of the universe, where money overrode loyalty, and the threat of pain was the king of bargaining tools.

No matter, thought Zarbon as he leaned close to his mirror and plucked a stray from one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. There was no time to dwell on the situation, as he was expected shortly in Frieza's throne room and he knew better than to be late. He'd find someone else; he always did. In the meantime, there was an angry lizard to be placated. Neither Vegeta nor Ginyu had reported anything new on the Vengeance situation in weeks, though each claimed to always be right on the cusp of a new discovery. Zarbon secretly hoped that they both continued to fail; despite the fact that he'd suggested Ginyu's involvement in the first place, he had no faith in the flamboyant captain and had quite enjoyed watching Vengeance continually evade and outthink Frieza's favourite pets, despite the fact that he was often left to deal with the tyrant's wrath.

Sometimes Zarbon wondered what Frieza would do to him, if he only knew that his little lap dog was secretly playing for the other team. When he'd first started down this dangerous path, he'd fantasized about running away, about deserting his sadistic master and bringing all his knowledge to the resistance. It had been a glorious daydream and a much needed dose of escapism, but Zarbon was a smart man and he knew that he could be of more use if he stayed put, remained the Master's pet and kept his trust. All the pain of staying would be worth it if someone out there could bring Frieza down. Until then he would remain at the monster's side, subtly sabotaging the empire so that while it grew, it did not always thrive. It was all he could do from his place, so he regretfully left the obvious destruction to crusaders like Vengeance, who were more willing to put themselves on the line.

*

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Goku hauled himself up from the floor, limbs shaking, as Radditz looked on with a frown. It was obvious that his brother was disappointed in him, though Goku couldn't have cared less at the moment. He was tired and hungry, and he was absolutely fed up with being everyone's punching bag. He'd always been one to enjoy a challenge, but he was being absolutely decimated in every match and after several weeks' worth of bruises upon bruises, sparring with the saiyans had begun to lose its charm.

“C'mon dad!” Gohan called cheerfully from the sidelines, and even Goku, with all his typical obliviousness, could tell that it was forced. “You can do it!” The boy pumped a fist and beside him, Piccolo grimaced. Once upon a time, Goku would have been bouncing around the room, cheerfully taking the abuse for the sheer enjoyment of the challenge. Instead, he was dragging himself wearily about, just barely picking himself up every time he was knocked down. Piccolo's frown deepened. The two brothers were not so unevenly matched in power that Goku should be losing so badly; Piccolo could feel it. Yes, Radditz was stronger, but not by such a massive margin.

“I think that's enough for today, Kakarott.” Radditz said, then motioned to Gohan. “Come spar with me, brat.” Gohan bounced up and bounded toward his uncle, patting his father's shoulder as he passed.

“Don't call him that,” came Goku's voice, oddly low, as soon as his son's hand left his shoulder. He straightened, painfully, and fixed Radditz with a glare. “And my name is Goku.”

“Dad, it's okay.” Gohan stepped nervously between his father and his uncle, who returned the glare.

“Your name is Kakarott,” Radditz crossed his arms nonchalantly, though Gohan could see irritation in the way that the tip of his tail twitched. Goku was not so versed in reading the peculiarites of saiyan body language. “And I will call the cub whatever I want. Won't I, brat?” Radditz turned his eyes to Gohan, who stood anxiously between the two posturing men, caught up in their dominance display. “I think I've earned the right, seeing as I've been the closest thing to a father for the last three years.”

“He's my son!” Goku snarled back, dropping into an offensive stance.

“Dad, Radditz,” Gohan begged, spreading his arms so that one palm pointed at each relative. “Please.”

“And who do you have to thank for this happy reunion?” Radditz let his air of haughty superiority drop as he shifted his weight, ready to counter should his brother spring at him.

“Certainly not you!” Goku shot back. “I thought that was Vegeta.” He watched Radditz's tail uncoil and his brows furrowed, recalling a little fact that he'd not thought of in a long time. His fingertips began to itch, wanting to wrap around that furry appendage and yank for all he was worth.

“Dad,” Gohan pleaded again, turning toward his father. His tail had come loose from around his waist as well, but unlike Radditz's thrashing one, Gohan's was curling and uncurling with the jittering of his nerves. Goku watched it for a brief second before his eyes trailed over his son and he realized how strongly Gohan resembled his uncle. It wasn't just the facial structure or the tail, but the clothes, the hair, even his stance; Gohan had modelled himself after this man, this usurper of fatherhood.

“Step aside, Gohan.” Goku growled in a voice that only Piccolo had ever heard him use.

“You'd better do as he says.” The green man was suddenly on the mat, his hand coming down to rest on Gohan's shoulder. The boy jumped in surprise and for a second the ire of both adult saiyans was directed solely at Piccolo. “You two beat the hell out of each other, for all I care.” He looked pointedly at them both. “But don't forget, surrounded by all this testosterone, the reason why you're at each other's throats.”

“Aww, fuck.” Radditz straightened, suddenly sheepish. “Had to ruin a good buzz, didn't you, green man?” He stepped back, hands held upright in front of his chest. “Sorry, cub. No hard feelings, bro?” He turned to Gohan and Goku in succession. “We'll duke it out another time, Kakarott.” He winked and offered a hand, which Goku took after a stunned moment.

“Goku.” He said, as he shook his long-lost brother's hand and felt, for the first time since being brought aboard, a small sense of camaraderie with the strange group that Gohan called his second family. Radditz grinned, and Goku was glad that his own canines were not so large and pronounced. He was sure that Chichi would not have appreciated it if Gohan had inherited teeth like knives. Oh well, he thought, no need to worry about the kid getting into a good school or mixing with the right kind of people now.

Goku released his brother's hand and looked at the boy between them. Gohan had mentioned Chichi, told him about the time he'd spent with his mother, Bulma, Krillin and the others at Red station, and he couldn't help but to wonder how his staid and proper wife had reacted to the three men who'd become surrogate parents to their son.

He also wondered how they'd reacted to her.

Radditz frowned, a deep gouge forming between his lowered eyebrows, and shook his head. “We will call you Kakarott, or we will call you nothing. Vegeta's orders.” His tail twitched and he looked defiant, stubborn. His voice was hard when he next spoke, not at all akin to the teasing, rudely playful drawl that Goku was used to. “And I will not disrespect our father by shitting on the name he gave you.”

Goku watched his son wince as Radditz turned and stalked stiffly from the training room, tail winding itself tightly around his waist once more. “Dad,” Gohan said softly, once his uncle had gone, “you really have to learn to watch what you say to them.”

“Huh? What did I do?” Goku was genuinely puzzled by the reaction of both his brother and his son. He picked up a towel from the floor and wiped his face, waiting for Gohan to continue.

“It's…complicated.” The boy sighed, sounding easily three times his age. “But you have to understand that being `saiyan' is everything to them. Disrespect any part of their heritage or their history, even the parts they complain about, and you'll have three very powerful enemies for life.” He shrugged, helplessly. “They aren't going to understand that you don't get it. I think they were more lenient with me because I was just a kid when they found me, but you're full grown and they're going to be confused that you aren't like they are.”

“Gohan,” Goku paused, stuck on one short phrase that his son had uttered, “you still are a kid. No matter what they want from you, what they've made of you, you're still a little boy. My little boy.” He cracked a smile and reached out to ruffle Gohan's hair.

“Not you too, dad.” Gohan stepped back, leaving his surprised father with a hand out in thin air. “I thought it'd be different with you!” He snapped, sounding frustrated. “It's not us and them, and what they've made of me is a living, breathing person, instead of the rotting corpse I'm sure I would have been.”

“Gohan, I didn't mean it that way.” Goku reached out again, his efforts useless as his son ducked from his grasp once more.

“Yes you did, dad.” Gohan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his frayed nerves. He wasn't mad, not really. He knew that his parents hadn't exactly shared his particular situation, but he thought his father might have been a little more understanding, and he felt foolish and disappointed, as though he should have known better. “You and mom both…you think that these three years never happened, that I'm just some five year old kid who still cries when he falls down and scrapes a knee.” He looked his father in the eye, and Goku was shocked to see the old soul staring him down. Gohan had always been mature, but the eight year old in front of him seemed already an old man. “Well dad, I've done a lot worse than scrape my knee, and it's been a lone time since I've cried.”

“Sorry to bust up the happy family,” Vegeta interrupted from the doorway just as Goku opened his mouth to reply, “but we're docking soon. Gohan, get your ass to the control deck and take your position.” He jerked his head toward the hallway and watched with hawklike eyes as the boy scuttled past him, face pointed toward the floor.

“Um…how long've you been there?” Goku asked, one hand nervously scratching the back of his head. Vegeta glowered, finding the habit incredibly annoying; such obvious discomfort, such a lack of pride was unbecoming of a saiyan.

“Long enough.” The prince grunted and pushed himself away from the doorjamb where he'd been leaning. He stalked up to Goku and planted himself before the other man, feet spread shoulder width apart, arms crossed over his chest, back strait and strong as a steel rod. Goku remained exactly as he'd been when he and Gohan had been interrupted; slightly slumped, weight resting unevenly, the absolute picture of disorganization. “Go get strapped in.”

“Look Vegeta, I didn't mean to -” Goku stammered, suddenly intimidated, despite the fact that he dwarfed the prince by nearly a foot.

“Yes, you did.” Vegeta cut the younger man off, midsentence. “Don't pretend sainthood to me, like you do with every other soul who thinks he knows you. You might not like to admit it, but you've nasty thoughts in your brain, just like the rest of us.” Vegeta scoffed at Goku's surprised face, his wide eyes and slack mouth. “What little brain you have, I suppose.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Now I'm going to do you a favour and let you in on a little secret that your mate had to figure out for herself. That boy may be your son, but he is our kin and our comrade. Don't underestimate such ties.”

“I-“

“Now go and strap the fuck in.” Vegeta said, and stepped away. “You're holding us all up.” He left just as quickly as he came in, leaving a stunned Goku in his wake.

*

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“Crap!” Bulma swore as she swiped a smudge of black grease from her face. The saiyans were docking, several days late and completely unannounced of course, and she looked like shit. It was almost midnight and she'd been in the lab since about six that morning, working on various projects and not making much headway with any of them. She was sweaty from hauling machine parts around and her hair, perm having degenerated into some sort of wave, was pulled back into a messy, snarled ponytail, wisps and stubborn springs of hair protruding from her temples like so many horns.

She really would have appreciated some warning; a few hours to primp and polish herself into something that would make Vegeta eat his heart out at having bolted on her. She grimaced at her reflection and cursed the saiyan prince. Not even time for a shower before the airlocks stabilized the oxygen content and pressure in the dock, thus allowing the saiyans full run of Red Station once more. Briefly, she considered ignoring their arrival, hopping into the shower and getting on with her life, but she knew that Gohan was visiting too and even though he'd only have eyes for his mother, Bulma thought it would be rude of her not to greet him.

Swiping a hairbrush from the meagre pile of beauty supplies she kept in the lab, she yanked the elastic from her hair and dragged the brush through it before tying it back again in what she hoped was a slightly more flattering style. She splashed her face with a little water from the sink and patted her head to tame some of the more persistent flyaways. Better, but far from drop dead gorgeous.

A gong sounded throughout the ship, indicating that the airlocks were opening, so Bulma abandoned her mirror and zipped her coveralls up a little higher to cover the stains on her shirt. She'd spilled some coffee on herself much earlier in the day and had been much too lazy to bother changing; an oversight which she regretted deeply. Gods, she looked like trash; Vegeta would be glad that he'd run when he caught sight of her.

“Fuck him.” She said viciously, swiping some of the shine from her forehead with the sleeve of her coveralls. She wasn't wearing makeup, her hair was a disaster, and she probably stunk like sweat and grease. If he didn't like it, he could just go to hell! With that thought in mind, she lifted her chin, stuck out her chest and strode out into the hallway, back straight, pride intact as though she were the Queen of Sheba, resplendent in silk and jewels, rather than a grubby frump with a wrench in her pocket.

When she arrived, the airlock doors were just beginning to crack. Nobody expected Dr. Gero or Tien to show up, but everyone else had already gathered to say hello so Bulma sidled up beside Chichi, who was busy wringing her apron between fidgeting fingers. Bulma put a hand on the dark haired woman's shoulder and squeezed. “I promise to behave this time,” she whispered with a little grin, “so they won't have to leave so soon.”

“Oh, I bet you'll behave all right.” Chichi directed a sidelong glance at her friend and snickered under her breath. “Should have figured he'd be all into that dominance and submission stuff.” She shrugged nonchalantly, then wheezed when Bulma elbowed her in the ribs. Sixteen had come to stand on Chichi's other side, rather closer than necessary, and Bulma knew for a fact that they had been spending a lot of time together lately…mostly because she'd spent a lot of her own time wondering what they could possibly be doing…

“You don't want me to start a dirty innuendo war, Chi, believe me.” Bulma whispered back. “I'll destroy you. You'll have a permanent blush for the rest of your life.”

“Well, I guess I'd save on makeup.” Chichi cracked, then turned back toward the doors, where the saiyans were stepping out from behind a single ship, much different from the individual pods of last time. Bulma, eyes still on her friend, saw eyebrows come together in confusion, the barest hint of a frown on Chichi's face. She turned toward their guests herself and her own face did the same as she noted their number; two bodies too many.

“Oh my god.” Bulma whispered, her eyes wide as she realized just who was standing there, looking so small behind Nappa and Radditz. “Goku!” She shrieked as her feet began to move of their own accord, carrying her pell-mell across the distance to throw her body into his arms. He caught her, laughing, in a great bear hug and lifted her from the ground briefly. Stone silence had turned into excited chatter as everyone crowded around him, eager to get their own hug or handshake, even just see him up close.

Only Gohan noticed his mother, still far off in one corner of the room, clinging to Sixteen for support as tears rolled down her pale face. He'd watched, as though in slow motion, as she caught sight of her long lost husband, eyes wide and her pink, happy cheeks suddenly draining of all colour. Her knees had buckled and Sixteen's hands had been there to catch her, cradle her, as she tried to pull herself together. Gohan looked to his father, smiling and laughing surrounded by his friends, and he was suddenly angry. Why couldn't he see her up there? Why hadn't he looked first for the woman who was supposed to have been his mate? Gohan knew that if it were one of the other saiyans, Vegeta perhaps, then nothing would have stood between himself and the one most important to him.

Suddenly, and with startling clarity, he recalled the day of Earth's destruction and how his father had laughingly blown everything off to go fishing on a whim. He'd blatantly ignored his wife's wishes and broken yet another promise to her. Had his father always been so selfish? Had he always put Chichi's needs on the back burner while tending to his own desires? Gohan didn't want to think it, but there it was, staring him right in the face in a way he couldn't ignore.

Just as those uncharitable thoughts were taking shape inside Gohan's brain, Bulma was tugging Goku by the arm, trying to pull him from the knot of friends clustered around him. “Chichi is over there!” She said, and Goku's eyes followed her pointed finger to see his wife, pale faced and weak, surrounded and supported by the arms of another man.

A strangled growl escaped his throat, quite without his permission, and he felt his friends fall back, the pressure of Bulma's grip on his wrist dropping away as tension spread throughout his body. He lurched forward, two steps, then halted as though he was as surprised with his reaction as all his friends. He was panting with the effort to draw breath, as though the red haze that seemed to obstruct his vision had also blocked his airways. The tips of his fingers tingled, whether with the urge to touch his wife or strangle her new beau he was not sure. He clenched the fingers of his left hand into a fist and a bolt of pain shot up his arm, as he reached out with his right then pulled back, uncertain.

The weight of someone's hand on his shoulder surprised him and he stiffened, tense and ready to attack, only to relax again when he caught green fingers in his peripheral vision, their long and pointed nails all but digging into him. “Goku, calm down.” Piccolo ordered quietly as he squeezed the other man's shoulder. Goku nodded briskly, finally managing to tear his eyes from the disturbing sight before him.

A howl tore from Chichi's mouth at that point, and with sudden strength, she wrenched herself from Sixteen's arms and stomped toward her husband. He looked up, a hopeful smile on his face, even as she drew back and slapped his cheek for all she was worth. “Bastard!” She sobbed, falling into his arms and burying her face in his shirt, bawling as she clung to him. Goku, as surprised as anyone, drew his wife against him, held her close and buried his face in her hair. He looked up and caught the unhappy look on Sixteen's face, bared his teeth at the big man and rumbled out a throaty growl without even really thinking about what he was doing. Sixteen stepped back, turned, and walked from the docking bay without a word.

“We should leave them be,” a low voice said, and Bulma turned to find Vegeta beside her, a frown fixed firmly on his face as he squinted at the reunited couple. Bulma looked around to find that Nappa had already left the dock, and Radditz was leading Gohan away just as quickly, one big hand on the little boy's back. “Things could get…ah…personal soon,” the intonation in Vegeta's voice made her shiver, “if Kakarott's reaction to Sixteen's presence is any indication.”

“Kakarott?” Bulma asked, choosing not to focus on Vegeta's nearness, the way he stood just a fraction closer than appropriate.

“His name. The one his people gave him.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “I hate to burst your bubble, but I think he'd consider us earthlings to be his people, if you asked.”

“Hmph.” Vegeta scoffed. “I didn't ask, did I?”

“Of course you wouldn't.” Bulma shrugged and turned to follow the others. “You just do, just assume and beat everyone into doing what you want them to.”

“Whatever works.” The saiyan returned and Bulma couldn't help but laugh a little. Vegeta was the kind of man who hardly joked and when he did, if you weren't paying attention or didn't know him well, you might miss it completely.

“Oh dear, we're going to need to change up the sleeping arrangements, aren't we?” Mrs. Briefs was saying, just as Bulma and Vegeta joined everyone else in the common room of the living quarters. “Now, who would you like to room with, dear?” She asked, squinting up at Piccolo, all the while managing to ignore the tension that his presence created in those that had known him on Earth.

“He's not the old Demon King,” Gohan piped up, stepping forward to stand beside the tall Namek. “He merged with Kami back on Earth, I saw it!”

“So who are you, then?” Bulma demanded, hand on hip.

“My name is Piccolo.” He crossed his arms and did his best not to glare at everyone around him. “As the boy said, I am the union of Kami and the Demon King, the best qualities of both good and evil combined.”

“Ahh, so you're like a normal person now, right?” Bulma shrugged, her typical fearless nature coming to the fore. “Okay, you can stay, but be good, okay? When in doubt, follow the Kami side. Now then, if nobody minds, it's almost one in the morning and I'm getting tired, so let's figure out the bunking arrangements. I'm assuming that Goku's going to stay with Chi so Gohan and Radditz, why don't you two share again? Assuming Vegeta gets his own room again, Piccolo and Nappa, you guys are bed buddies. There, done!” Bulma brushed her palms together, as though beating dust from them. Piccolo and Nappa both looked at each other and shrugged; just because they had to sleep in the same room didn't mean they had to socialize. Gohan snickered behind his hand as he imagined the stoic namekian trapped in a room with Nappa's night time smells and sounds.

“Oh Bulma!” Her mother admonished her. “Don't be rude! We haven't even offered our guests anything to eat yet!

“Mom, it's the middle of the night.” Bulma moaned, knowing that everyone would probably follow, and she'd be expected to stay up and be a good hostess.

“But they've just arrived.” Hands on hips, Mrs. Briefs turned toward the new arrivals. “Now boys, whoever would like a snack can follow me into the kitchen.” She sashayed off, hips wiggling as she went, and Bulma was shocked and a little bothered to see Nappa's eyes dart down to her mother's backside before he followed her down the hall. Gohan and Radditz went too, though Vegeta and Piccolo stayed behind.

“What, not hungry?” Bulma teased the saiyan prince beside her. “I thought you guys were always starving.” Vegeta glared at her.

“I'm, uhh, gonna go find Sixteen.” Krillin said, interrupting the look between them. “Make sure he's okay.”

“Oh, wow.” Bulma felt her stomach flop with guilt; she hadn't had a thought to spare for the poor android since Vegeta had stepped up next to her. His proximity scattered her brain, impaired her ability to think rationally and about any topic but him. “Yeah, I didn't even think of that. You want me to come?”

Krillin looked between her and Vegeta, read the death threat on the older man's face, and shook his head. “Nah, you go ahead and get some…sleep. I'm just going to go check on him.” He turned and took himself away, wishing that Vegeta hadn't been there. He really would have liked Bulma to come along; he wasn't sure what to say, wasn't even sure how he felt about it. Goku had been his best friend and was Gohan's father, but Sixteen had helped Chichi pick up the pieces of her life in the aftermath of tragedy, never asking for more than her company.

He knocked on Sixteen's door, and a deep voice bade him enter. “Hello Krillin.” Sixteen's voice came out a little muffled, bent as he was over his desk. “What can I do for you?” He turned a little so that he could look his visitor in the eyes, and Krillin was surprised to see that his left chest panel was open.

“I came to see if you were okay.” Krillin walked over and perched on the bed. He saw that Sixteen had pulled some component from his chest and was fiddling with it.

“Why would I be otherwise?” Sixteen asked in his dry, mechanical voice as he replaced a tiny screw into one corner of the boxy structure. “Chichi is my friend and I am happy to see her husband returned to her.” He picked the box up and fitted it gingerly back into place with a snap.

“Why did you leave then?” Krillin persisted and Sixteen paused in the middle of closing his chest plate. He shut and fastened it after a moment of quiet, though his big hand remained atop the panel, resting lightly as though he might need to open it again.

“One of my components felt suddenly damaged,” he said, “so I came here to fix it.” Sixteen turned fully toward Krillin. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Ahh, no. Just wanted to check up on you.” Krillin rubbed the back of his bald head nervously and wondered if it had occurred to Sixteen to lie, or if he really didn't understand what was going on with him. Or perhaps, Krillin thought, they'd all misinterpreted the strange sort of relationship that Chichi shared with the big android and attributed human feelings in him where none actually existed. Again, he wished Bulma was there. She was good at reading people and at getting them to admit stuff they'd never intended to tell another living soul. Krillin was easy to talk to, but he'd always had a hard time encouraging people to open up and quite frankly, if Sixteen didn't realize his own heart was breaking, Krillin didn't want to be the one to tell him. “Guess I'll go.” He hopped off the bed and slunk out the door, where he ran into Puar.

“Is he okay?” The cat asked, concerned.

“Yeah, I think so…hey where were you anyway?” Krillin was suddenly puzzled. He couldn't remember seeing the cat anywhere at the loading dock and he'd been absent in the living quarters as well.

“I was there.” Puar insisted, suddenly defensive. He floated backward a few feet, whiskers twitching under Krillin's scrutiny. “Anyway, as long as everything is okay, I'm going to bed. Good night!” he squeaked and bolted away through the air.

“Ugh, everybody here's nuts but me.” Krillin muttered and took himself off to bed.

*

Down in the loading dock, Goku and Chichi were still tangled in a tight embrace. Neither knew how long they had been like that, but their tears had dried and their sobs had quieted first into soft hiccups, heavy breathing, and then nothing but the sounds of normal people in some state of contentment.

“Chi, I missed you so much,” Goku breathed, his face buried in the crook of her neck. “I'd started to think I'd never see you again.” He shuddered and squeezed tighter, pulling her to him as she tried to step back.”

“Goku, let go, I can't breath.” Chichi hiccupped, pushing with all her might against his chest. Weak as he was compared to what the Saiyans had hoped he'd be, Goku was still much stronger than his wife.

“Wow, Chi, you got much stronger since I last saw you.” Goku marvelled, not budging as she continued to struggle against his grip.

“It's been three years, ugh, oof!” She wheezed as he hugged her tighter for a few seconds, just long enough to squeeze all the air out of her. “And I've been training with Krillin and Tien…” she paused, “and Sixteen.”

“The big one?” His voice dipped, low and dangerous like it only ever did when he was facing down a serious enemy. The last time she'd heard him sound like that, he'd been fighting Piccolo at the last Boudokai back on Earth. She felt his body stiffen and tense up and this time when she pushed away, he let his arms fall from around her. “The one who had his arms around you?”

“Sixteen has been a very good friend,” Chichi said tersely, not particularly liking the tone of his voice. She'd never seen Goku get jealous before and she wasn't sure she liked it. The funny thing was that back on Earth, she'd sometimes been certain that if he walked in and caught her naked with another man, his first reaction would be to ask her if dinner would still be on time.

“Oh, has he?” Goku examined his wife through narrowed eyes. “How good a friend?” He asked, and seeing her pale face flush crimson, he knew it had been a bad idea to ask. And yet some part of him needed to know. His stomach twisted; he didn't like that part of himself very much at the moment, and yet he could do little to tamp it down.

“How dare you?” Chichi exploded, her fists balling at her sides, positively aching to close around the cold weight of a cast-iron frying pan.

“I'm your husband, Chi.” Goku insisted.

“Don't call me that.” Chichi hissed, stepping back as tears threatened to start falling again. “Don't call me anything, Goku, because right now, to me, you're just the irresponsible bastard who got himself and my son tossed into hell, when he could have been safe all along.” She spun on her heel and stormed out, past the surprised trio in the common room and the baffled group gathered in the kitchen, straight into her room where - because she could not slam the door - she punched the door close button as hard as she could without damaging it. The shrill blip of an electronic lock switching on pierced the suddenly silent air.

A moment later, Goku stepped sheepishly into the common room. “So, um, Bulma…” he scratched the back of his head, “where should I sleep?”

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So that's that for today. Lemme know what you thought. :D