Note: When I wrote this, I was exploring the concept of how Piccolo might handle an emotional situation when he's totally alone where nobody can see him. I'm sure that he would let loose with his feelings, because whenever anybody is alone they are free to do as they please and I hope this note makes sense. Anyway, on with the story.
Not Meant To Be
Like so many friends we've lost along the way
And I know eventually we'll be together
One sweet day…
Panting, in pain, Piccolo stumbled through the morning sunlight and out of the valley. His hand was clutched to his chest, where the white of his cape covered a huge swelling just under the spot where his collar-bones joined his sternum. Pain had glazed his eyes over. Agony had contorted his ruggedly handsome features into a twisted ghost of his normal scowl.
For several months, he had just had a small ache in his chest, as well as felt occasional movements. He'd just figured it was indigestion from training too soon after taking a long drink. But as the months passed, the swelling and pain had started. Now it was so bad that the Namek couldn't even train. He didn't want to go to Kami, but he knew he had to eventually.
I don't think I have a choice anymore.
Piccolo slid into a sitting position beneath a large tree to rest for a few moments. When he regained his breath, he gathered just enough energy to fly and lifted off, his flight hampered by his pain.A wooden stick tapped lightly on a smooth white stone surface. Wrinkled green fingers curled gently around the wooden stick, contrasting with the brown.
"Piccolo is coming." Kami sighed simply, feeling the pain of the Namek he was bonded to. "Just like I knew he would."
"Won't he cause trouble?" Mr. Popo, who had been watering the plants, dropped the watering pail with a loud thud.
The wise old Guardian of the Earth shook his head, causing his withered antennae to sway slightly, "No, but he is with child. I can't put my finger on it right now, Mr. Popo, but I think there may be something wrong. Piccolo would not come to me otherwise." He turned to the western edge of his Lookout, and was just in time to see Piccolo land on his hands and knees.
Mr. Popo's already large round eyes doubled in size. "P-Piccolo?"
"Hello, Piccolo." Kami spoke calmly as he approached the fallen Namek.
With his left eye twitching slightly, Piccolo managed to get into a standing position so he could glare right into Kami's face, "I'm not here to exchange pleasantries, old man." He winced and grabbed his chest, "I only came so you could get rid of whatever is causing me pain."
Calm as ever, Kami leaned on his wooden stick and spoke, "Piccolo, you are with child. The pain is being caused by the egg itself, and I'm afraid to say that it's sitting at an angle that is making it impossible for you to regurgitate it."
"What the hell are you trying to say!?"
"I'm saying that if you don't have it removed soon, it'll kill you. And me as well." The older Namekian stepped closer to the younger one.
A child!? A son…
Piccolo's mind raced, Am I ready to father a child? Yes…I can. I can and I will. He will become a warrior just like me…Turning his dark eyes to Kami, he spoke with a sneer, "Just how do you plan on taking this egg out of my chest?""Simple surgery is in order. You can regenerate the wound once the egg has been removed from your body." Kami replied simply, folding one arm behind his back while his free hand remained clutched around his wooden walking stick. "I can do the operation quickly, but it would be even quicker if you let me knock you out first. Much less pain."
Piccolo narrowed his eyes and sneered, wrinkles forming across the bridge of his pointed nose. "Don't get sentimental with me! Just get it over with."
"Have it your way." Before his younger counterpart could blink, Kami had phased behind him and knocked him out with a chop to the back of the neck. He caught Piccolo as he started to crumple forward and looked to Popo. "Mr. Popo, we must move quickly…"
Terrible pain greeted Piccolo when he regained consciousness. He was aware of lying on a cot, stripped to the waist with two foreign hands fiercely holding his chest together. The pain was so bad that he wanted to just go back to sleep, but a voice shouted to him.
"Piccolo! You must regenerate now!" It was Kami's voice.
Piccolo was in too much pain to argue, and gritted his teeth as he pulled in just enough energy to force his body to heal at an ultra-fast speed. A wet, sloshing sound broke the silence as the gaping wound in his chest filled itself in with new flesh, muscle, nerves and blood vessels.
The hands on his chest moved away slowly. Piccolo turned his head to glare up at Kami, "Where is my son?"
Kami's face fell, "Piccolo…"
The younger Namek sat up, "I said: Where is my son?!"
Sighing, Kami looked to the tiny bundle, which was wrapped in a white blanket and left on the cot next to the one Piccolo was laying on. Piccolo followed Kami's gaze, his eyes glinting with the reflection of the tiny white bundle lying there. The bundle wasn't moving at all; usually, newborn Nameks were supposed to cry for water and warmth.
Piccolo got up, replaced his clothing with a flick of his eyelids and walked to the cot where the tiny bundle was lying. He stood over the bundle with his arms crossed for the longest time, almost as if willing it to move. When nothing happened, he reached for the blankets that blocked his view from the newborn.
"Piccolo…you shouldn't let yourself imprint with him." Kami spoke again, almost begging him not to look.
"Why the hell not? It's my son!" Piccolo snarled back.
"He's dead, Piccolo. There wasn't even an eggshell around him when I took him out." The old Namek lowered his eyes and sighed, "I'm sorry…" He watched the back that was presented to him give the faintest twitch.
"Was he alive when you took him out?"
A tear sparkled as it skittered down Kami's age-worn cheek, "Yes, he was. He looked towards you as soon as I lifted him from your chest, smiled and then went limp. No pain, no suffering."
Piccolo's hands balled into fists, and he closed his eyes to calm himself. His lips pulled back until his fangs were exposed as his voice issued forth in a hateful, acid tone, "Get out." When Kami didn't move, his voice grew louder, more threatening and darker, "GET OUT!!!"
Kami just gave a nod, turned and quietly left the room. Mr. Popo was just outside the door, a clear question mark on his face. The old Namek just gave him a sorrowful look and said, "Come, Mr. Popo. Piccolo needs to be alone for awhile." He gestured towards the front of the Lookout, and Mr. Popo gave a silent nod as he walked with Kami towards the direction indicated.
Back in the room, Piccolo had calmed himself down to a degree, and stood staring down at the tiny white bundle for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he reached one of his long-fingered hands towards an edge of the blanket and yanked it aside to find miniature version of his own face. He could see the baby's limp little hands poking above the blankets and realized that he'd never seen hands so tiny and delicate before.
The newborn's little pointed nose was tipped up, he had a pointed chin, his dark glittering eyes were still open and his lips were curved into a tiny smile. Seeing that tiny, innocent little smile did something strange to Piccolo's mind; he could feel tears welling in his eyes as he brushed his fingertips over the dead child's eyelids to close them.
Hastily unwrapping the unmoving little form, Piccolo soon discovered that the baby was wearing a gi identical to his own, like a miniature version of himself. The little shoulderpads were no more than a foot across, and Piccolo could have fit the child's turban in the palm of his hand.
"You're…you're so perfect…" Piccolo whispered as he reached down, lifted the tiny green body into his arms and clutched it to his chest. He sank slowly to his knees, pressing his forehead gently against his dead son's as he felt tears fall down his face for the first time in his life.
Emotions like none he had ever known before began to surface; mainly in the form of a hot lump in his throat and an aching in his chest. "My son…I…" He moved to sit indian style with the child still clutched in his arms, having regained some control of his emotions. "…I would have called you Flute. I would have trained you to be a fighter, like me…you probably would have been friends with Gohan, and all three of us could have sparred together when you were old enough…" Piccolo wasn't sure when he'd started, but he was suddenly aware that he was rocking the tiny figure in his arms.
With gentle care, he reached down and used his index finger to open Flute's mouth, to see if something in there had killed him. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and Piccolo quickly noticed how perfect the baby's little white teeth were. Perfect and untouched, just like the rest of his little body.
Still holding the tiny form, Piccolo left the room and walked out into the open air. He walked right past Kami and Mr. Popo, took flight and disappeared into the distance.
"Kami? Is he alright?" Mr. Popo asked, worriedly tapping his fingertips together.
Kami nodded slowly, his bond with Piccolo allowing him to feel his wounded spirit, "He just has to say goodbye and heal, Mr. Popo. Don't forget that it was part of him that died today. Part of his soul. Part of his own flesh and blood."
Piccolo's white cape rustled as he landed in his favorite area of the valley. He looked down at Flute in his arms, as if expecting the child to have somehow revived, but the little body was inert. The hot air in the valley offered no comfort to the Namek who was almost a father. High overhead, the sun beat down and caused the horizon to ripple like water. Wind played in the leaves of trees, causing spots of sunlight to dance about on the grass.
"This would have been where I'd have raised you." Piccolo whispered, carrying Flute towards a small patch of trees that hid a beautiful sparkling waterfall. The water splashed into the stream with a soft pattering sound. "I could have taught you how to swim here, and how to get your own water without falling in. This would be the spot where you'd have begun your training…" He fell silent and sighed, looking down at the tiny face that mirrored his own. His emotions were swirling so fast, so out of control, that he wasn't sure which one was which anymore.
Piccolo wanted to bury Flute and get it over with, but some part of him said that no, it wasn't time yet. He put Flute down in a place where nothing could get to his little body, then went to the nearest tree and tore out a good-sized chunk of bark with his bare hands. After that, the tall green man spent hours working on that chunk of bark, using small ki blasts and his sharp nails to shape it into a tiny, smooth coffin. He lined it with soft grasses and even the pale yellow and white petals from a desert flower that he often used as an herb to ease the pain of torn or pulled muscles.
He used what was left over to start a campfire, putting a circle of stones around the burning wood to make sure the flames behaved. Once that was done, Piccolo sharpened an ovular rock to a point, held the sharp end over the flames, then used the hot sharp edge to carve Flute's name across the top of the little coffin. He worked for hours on that, meticulously carving the name in English letters and in Namekian symbols. When he was done, he brushed his hand over his handiwork and held it at arm's length to make sure there were no flaws.
After finding his work to be satisfactory, Piccolo stood up and walked back into the little circle of trees. He turned to the tree which he'd torn bark from and blasted the top off, burning it so it couldn't grow back. Then he shaped the wood with small ki blasts, smoothed it down and used the tip of the still-hot rock in his hand to carve something into the wood. Once that was complete, he pointed his hand to the ground beneath the tree and blasted a small hole in the dirt.
Sighing as he finished, Piccolo returned to where Flute's little body was laying. "There are so many things we could have done together…" The hot lump returned to his throat, stronger than it had ever been before. He realized that he couldn't even speak anymore, and quietly allowed himself to succumb to his emotions.
Diamond-clear and glittering, the tears filled Piccolo's onyx eyes, blurring his vision as they slid smoothly down his emerald cheeks like rain runs down a window-pane. "I think…" He bit his lip, "…I think that even though I never got to know you…I still love you, my son." Closing his eyes, he lowered his face to Flute's and touched his lips to the spot right between his tiny, deathly-cold brow-ridges.
The sun was just starting to go down, causing the sky to blaze with brilliant oranges, reds, pinks and golds. Piccolo watched it for a moment, then heaved a sigh and picked Flute up. He carried the tiny body to the coffin and placed it carefully inside. At first, he laid the tiny shape on its back in the coffin, but then he remembered that babies don't always sleep on their back. So he turned the baby over, curling him up on his stomach with his miniature cape acting as a blanket.
"Now, you can sleep, my son." Piccolo felt another tear slip down his cheek as he touched Flute's soft, flawless cheek. He placed a kiss where his hand had just caressed, then straightened again. Picking up the lid of the coffin, he looked down at Flute one last time and took the tiny turban off from his head. He placed the little turban in his belt, then settled the lid in place and sealed it there with a small blast of ki. "Now, I'm going to put you to bed in the ground, tuck you in with Earth and let you rest…" After speaking, he lifted the small coffin with delicate care and placed it into the hole he'd made earlier.
For the longest time, Piccolo stood there and stared down at the small box in the hole as the wind caused his cape to ripple slightly. When he finally found his voice, he could only manage one word. "…Goodbye…" With that, he used his feet to sweep dirt over the small grave and pat it down.
He lifted his head as he sensed a power approaching, and quickly composed himself to his usual stony expression as he stepped out of the grove of trees. Gohan was approaching, flying like a bat out of Hell.
"Videl's having the baby!" He shouted.
"So soon?" Piccolo rumbled, not letting his emotions show. He was jealous, jealous because Gohan was going to have a living child.
"Yeah! C'mon!"
Two shapes flew into the city a few minutes later.
Everybody was at the hospital. Tien, Krillin…everyone. They all had presents of some sort, and Piccolo realized that he was the only one there without a gift. He was sitting alone in the waiting room, waiting for everyone else to finish visiting Videl, Gohan and their new daughter Pan.
When everyone else was done scaring the poor newborn, Piccolo got up and walked into the room. Videl was asleep, but Gohan was wide awake and holding a small bundle in his arms. He grinned up at Piccolo and pulled the blankets aside to reveal a pudgy little face with locks of black hair just barely starting to grow.
"Isn't she beautiful?"
Piccolo's large Adam's apple bobbed up and down slowly as he swallowed the lump in his throat with minor difficulty. It was even harder to do when the little girl was placed into his arms. "She…" His grief was momentarily lifted when he saw Pan's dark eyes open and look up at him. They reminded him of Flute's. "She's perfect Gohan…" He suddenly remembered something, reached to his belt and settled a tiny turban on the baby's head, then smiled slightly, "You should keep this, little one…"
"Hey, where'd you get that little turban? Did you make it?" Gohan asked, touching the tiny purple and white adornment on Pan's head.
For the longest time, Piccolo stared down into Pan's eyes before lifting his gaze to Gohan, "…yeah…you could say that I did…and I can't think of a better little person to keep it." He looked down at Pan as she yawned, stretching in the powerful arms that held her. She started to fall asleep, but not before trying to smile up at the big green man that was looking down at her with his pretty black eyes.
"She'll love it." Gohan flashed a crooked grin as he carefully took Pan, rocked her a little and settled her down in the little cradle that had been set up in the room.
Piccolo sighed out loud, "Well, I think I'd better get out of here. This mushy stuff is too much for me."
"Heh," smirking, Gohan continued, "See you later, Piccolo."
As always, Piccolo left without a word. When he reached the valley where he lived, he did something that he rarely ever did anymore: he slept. Stretched out comfortably beneath a tree, Piccolo slept deeply and dreamed of training a miniature version of himself.
Hours later when the sun rose, Kami straightened from his meditation to watch. He could feel that for the most part, the pain in Piccolo's soul was eased. His mind opened, searching his counterpart's memory for what was done with the child's body. The images of the grave put his own soul at ease.
Then Kami saw an image of Piccolo lying on his back under a tree with his head lolled to the side, one hand acting as a pillow while the other rested on his stomach. The wise, old Namek smiled at the image.
"Sleep well, Piccolo…"
Down below, on Earth, the rays of the sun began to reach between the trees to illuminate a wooden gravestone, where a simple poem in the form of a letter was carved into it's smooth surface:
Flute,
Your life ended before it had begun,
And I shall miss you, my little one.
Though you weren't meant to be,
You are still a part of me.
Rest in peace.
--Your father,
Piccolo.