"Weakness"
by Acey
Disclaimer: Sheesh. Do you know how little money I have to my name? If that isn't an indication of how I'm not Mr. Toriyama, I don't know what is.
Author's Note: Since this centered, narrow bit here on ff.net hasn't stopped yet, unless you're used to/good at reading fics that look all messed up (which I'm not, as you can tell by the fact that I haven't reviewed in forever, but I promise I will), I'd suggest you do what one of my friends on this site (xXEvil OneXx) has been doing, pasting it onto Notepad to read. Be sure to thank her and not me for the suggestion!
The former monk stood out on the beach, fuchsia shirt in contrast with the sand. It was fall, but there were almost no seasonal changes to be noticed on the island. Kuririn could detect only minute differences between the island's versions of summer and autumn, a minor temperature drop, a cooler breeze. Other than that, Roshi's island was nothing more or less than in eternal summer.
Kuririn didn't mind or notice. His thoughts were not turned to the tropical island, hadn't really been in years. Lately it had taken his daughter pointing her chubby hand and a "Look, Daddy" for him to realize the quiet beauty of the sunset, something that he would never have missed before. Marron's wonder at things, childlike and appropriately so, was renewing his own. The little blonde girl didn't know how much her happy three-year-old innocence cheered him and kept him optimistic. Optimism was a good quality and in short supply among most, cynics and pessimists overriding it and dismissing it as a character trait. But Kuririn had maintained optimism as his way of thinking for years, and felt he was happier for it.. But Kuririn had maintained optimism as his way of thinking for years, and felt he was happier for it.
He was not at ease today as he looked out at the ocean before him looming in an aquamarine tide, stretching seemingly forever from the point that he was standing. There was little of the normal relaxedness to his small body; he was slightly tense, strained. Very unlike him, especially since he had not fought-- at least had not thought there was reason to fight-- in years.
Kuririn even at his peak had never been a match for the alien warriors that had come to the planet in the years past, even before they had reached unspeakable power levels thanks to super forms. He had been content enough with this lot of destiny, accepting it and delving into the fray despite lack of huge power-ups, despite that more so than the majority of those he fought beside, his was a heightened chance of being killed. He had made up for this in jokes, letting himself be the humble sidekick with a sense of humor throughout.
Then years later had come Buu, at a time when no one had really prepared for villians, after nearly a decade of peace. Buu, whom Vegeta-- Vegeta! one of the few that had trained in those seven years! Vegeta, prince of Saiyans!-- had died fighting before the monster was at his complete power. Who had killed Gohan as well (or so Kuririn had thought), though Gohan had defeated Cell. All this before the monster had changed into a more powerful form, attained while those fighters still alive were at Kami's Lookout, praying for a miracle to come out of a fusion.
And this form had been Kuririn's luck to fight, or try to fight, after it had escaped. His luck to try to fend off for long enough to let the others escape. His luck--
He had been defeated, failing faster than any one of the few who had attempted to hold the monster back, being turned into a piece of candy as his family and friends looked on in horror, and as mere seconds later the same happened to them. They had died because he could not protect them, could not protect any of them with his weakness, a weakness all too human and unavoidable. Kuririn blamed himself for not being able to hold Buu back for a moment, himself and no one else. There could be no one else to blame, no one else accountable for it. It was his fault entirely.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure coming from the house, coming to meet him. A blonde woman, as unchanged in appearence as the island from season to season. His wife.
"Juu."
She nodded and stood beside him, finding no interest in the waves rushing by. She turned to him and looked at his small face with the sooty black eyes filled with sadness and worry. No self-pity, merely a disappointment in himself. Kuririn turned away, not wanting to see Juuhachigou and her accusing face, her blue eyes snapping with anger and displeasure at his weakness, all of which he felt he deserved completely.
He did not expect what she said to him next.
"Look at me, Kuririn," and her tone was neither cold nor incensed, with a note-- such a subtle note, so easily to be missed, so uncharacteristic-- of almost pleading. He obeyed, unwillingly, avoiding her eyes. But they were kind, so much more kind than he expected, the closest the cyborg Juuhachigou would ever manage to come to gentle.
"It's all right. Believe me, Kuririn, it's all right."
He did not ask for more confirmation. The optimism had returned a little to his face after she had spoken, spoken so definitely, with no room for anything different. His angel had said that it was all right, and that was all he needed or would ever need.
"Come on, it's time for supper," and they walked back toward the little pink house, Kuririn and Juuhachigou, together.
finis
Disclaimer: Sheesh. Do you know how little money I have to my name? If that isn't an indication of how I'm not Mr. Toriyama, I don't know what is.
Author's Note: Since this centered, narrow bit here on ff.net hasn't stopped yet, unless you're used to/good at reading fics that look all messed up (which I'm not, as you can tell by the fact that I haven't reviewed in forever, but I promise I will), I'd suggest you do what one of my friends on this site (xXEvil OneXx) has been doing, pasting it onto Notepad to read. Be sure to thank her and not me for the suggestion!
The former monk stood out on the beach, fuchsia shirt in contrast with the sand. It was fall, but there were almost no seasonal changes to be noticed on the island. Kuririn could detect only minute differences between the island's versions of summer and autumn, a minor temperature drop, a cooler breeze. Other than that, Roshi's island was nothing more or less than in eternal summer.
Kuririn didn't mind or notice. His thoughts were not turned to the tropical island, hadn't really been in years. Lately it had taken his daughter pointing her chubby hand and a "Look, Daddy" for him to realize the quiet beauty of the sunset, something that he would never have missed before. Marron's wonder at things, childlike and appropriately so, was renewing his own. The little blonde girl didn't know how much her happy three-year-old innocence cheered him and kept him optimistic. Optimism was a good quality and in short supply among most, cynics and pessimists overriding it and dismissing it as a character trait. But Kuririn had maintained optimism as his way of thinking for years, and felt he was happier for it.. But Kuririn had maintained optimism as his way of thinking for years, and felt he was happier for it.
He was not at ease today as he looked out at the ocean before him looming in an aquamarine tide, stretching seemingly forever from the point that he was standing. There was little of the normal relaxedness to his small body; he was slightly tense, strained. Very unlike him, especially since he had not fought-- at least had not thought there was reason to fight-- in years.
Kuririn even at his peak had never been a match for the alien warriors that had come to the planet in the years past, even before they had reached unspeakable power levels thanks to super forms. He had been content enough with this lot of destiny, accepting it and delving into the fray despite lack of huge power-ups, despite that more so than the majority of those he fought beside, his was a heightened chance of being killed. He had made up for this in jokes, letting himself be the humble sidekick with a sense of humor throughout.
Then years later had come Buu, at a time when no one had really prepared for villians, after nearly a decade of peace. Buu, whom Vegeta-- Vegeta! one of the few that had trained in those seven years! Vegeta, prince of Saiyans!-- had died fighting before the monster was at his complete power. Who had killed Gohan as well (or so Kuririn had thought), though Gohan had defeated Cell. All this before the monster had changed into a more powerful form, attained while those fighters still alive were at Kami's Lookout, praying for a miracle to come out of a fusion.
And this form had been Kuririn's luck to fight, or try to fight, after it had escaped. His luck to try to fend off for long enough to let the others escape. His luck--
He had been defeated, failing faster than any one of the few who had attempted to hold the monster back, being turned into a piece of candy as his family and friends looked on in horror, and as mere seconds later the same happened to them. They had died because he could not protect them, could not protect any of them with his weakness, a weakness all too human and unavoidable. Kuririn blamed himself for not being able to hold Buu back for a moment, himself and no one else. There could be no one else to blame, no one else accountable for it. It was his fault entirely.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure coming from the house, coming to meet him. A blonde woman, as unchanged in appearence as the island from season to season. His wife.
"Juu."
She nodded and stood beside him, finding no interest in the waves rushing by. She turned to him and looked at his small face with the sooty black eyes filled with sadness and worry. No self-pity, merely a disappointment in himself. Kuririn turned away, not wanting to see Juuhachigou and her accusing face, her blue eyes snapping with anger and displeasure at his weakness, all of which he felt he deserved completely.
He did not expect what she said to him next.
"Look at me, Kuririn," and her tone was neither cold nor incensed, with a note-- such a subtle note, so easily to be missed, so uncharacteristic-- of almost pleading. He obeyed, unwillingly, avoiding her eyes. But they were kind, so much more kind than he expected, the closest the cyborg Juuhachigou would ever manage to come to gentle.
"It's all right. Believe me, Kuririn, it's all right."
He did not ask for more confirmation. The optimism had returned a little to his face after she had spoken, spoken so definitely, with no room for anything different. His angel had said that it was all right, and that was all he needed or would ever need.
"Come on, it's time for supper," and they walked back toward the little pink house, Kuririn and Juuhachigou, together.
finis