Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z. Akira Toriyama does.
Spring made Chichi's flights smooth soaring on Kinto'un. Flying used to be her favorite way to travel. Goku, who didn't drive, had obligingly lifted her to wherever she specified, be it the mall (apprehensively) or the waterfall deposit (ecstatic with anticipation). She had always been busy keeping house, and those flights allowed their love to flow between them, without words, only the heart they shared directing them. In the sky she could strip him of his faults, leaving only the warmth of his strong yet bubbly ki and the firmness of his fighter's arms. After his return from his day in the Room of Time she had both he and Piccolo get their licenses, out of necessity and because she wanted him to break from training, but it was a decision she deeply regretted. Wasn't normalcy what she had yearned for, the semblance of an average family environment? Yet the automobile was cold, and Goku's ki was subdued, and she couldn't admit that she had been wrong when he had complied to her witless demand only because he thought it was what she wanted. Once he could drive the car, flying became one less thing it was practical to do together, meaning it was up to him to suggest it, and she had signaled to him she would rather not. So the few final days were without trips in the air. What messes she had made of small things!
But now, flying to Capsule Corp, she only spent the time recollecting those precious heartbeats she had cherished with her late husband. Flight would never be melancholy for her; it was the rest of what threatened to fill her days that slowed her hands and shut her eyelids.
Kinto'un swooped low and Chichi leapt lightly off to land at the door. From there she heard a cacophonous shrieking, from whom she guessed were both child and mother inside. What made it a different sound from that which she normally found was that the child was Bulma and the mother Mrs. Briefs.
"What have you done?! I made that stew especially for that jerk, and now you've ruined it!"
"I don't see what all this hullaballoo is about! I only made some minor adjustments, you know, to make it presentable."
"The point was that it would be all MINE! Mother, how dare you? Now I have to fix it!"
"Dear, there's no need for anything rash—vanilla extract doesn't belong in st—NOOO! See what you've done, you reckless tomboy!"
"IT'S SOY SAUCE! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"It WASN'T, and you've dumped it all in! How could I raise such a senseless daughter!"
"WhatEVER, he won't notice! Half the time he just dumps—" Chichi rang the doorbell, which was set to a popular radio tune, all but impervious to the noise. "Oh, that must be Chi-chan." Abruptly the clamor halted and three beats later the door opened to reveal Bulma, flush-faced but looking happy to see her. "I'm almost done, we can leave in ten minutes, I swear," she said, waving Chichi to the living room. She saw the younger woman to the sofa and then marched back to the kitchen, shoulders rising ominously.
Chichi sat there for three minutes, hands neatly closed in her lap. These distractions happened often enough during her visits that she had learned to tune out the dissonance and meditate while staring ahead in an attentive pose. Midway through the fourth minute she became aware of Vegeta standing by the sofa. He was listening to the clatter in the kitchen. She hesitated, then offered, "Bulma says it's going to be a surprise."
He didn't reply, not changing his stance. She shrugged and faced forward again. He said quietly, "Don't think you can get away with it." She turned to him, taken aback. "I can sense your unrest. Before you try anything, know that you will be monitored." As his lips formed the last word his eyes slid to gauge her puzzled expression. Displeased that she wasn't defensive, but satisfied at least that he had conveyed what he had meant to, he turned on his heel and strode to the door outside. Chichi knew it led to the Gravity Room.
She was watching the door, wondering at his behavior, when Bulma entered. Her hair was frazzled, as if swatted at, but she leaned cheerily over the back of the sofa to lock a sideways glance with her visitor. "No worries, I've got my bag ready, so I'll meetcha outside, k?" she winked and glided past Chichi's demure "Certainly" to snatch a modest duffel bag from a hidden trapdoor. She didn't have to make the trek to her befroom to know the decoy suitcase she had prepared had vanished without a trace. No doubt her permanent houseguest had planned further delay, but she was pumped for the trip and the only way she could get going without affronting his royal sensitivity was to avoid him altogether. As she exited the mansion she felt a scowl directed at her from above, but she knew once she was in public he wouldn't be likely to make a scene and admit to his "partialty".
"Are you ready?" asked Chichi, standing expectantly by Kinto'un.
Bulma laughed. "You know I can't ride that!" Then she covered her mouth, having confessed her sinful nature. Chichi blushed for her, but she ignored the stammering and plucked a capsule from her pocket. "I bet we can get there faster in a jet," she suggested, tossing it within her palm fondly. Chichi hesitated, always the traditionalist, but smiled.
She wasn't smiling when they landed. There were only a few times in her entire adult life where Chichi had been a passenger in aviation machinery, and she recalled each experience with less happiness than that last. It just so happened that one of few technical skills Bulma Briefs had not inherited from her father was the ability to pilot. The best Chichi could do was hold her insides together long enough to point out a fitting site, and then endure the arduous process of landing.
The jet was parked over a period of ten minutes, in the spacious clearing about a hundred or so feet from a waterfall deposit. There were many waterfalls on Mt. Paozu, owing to the glacial activity most prominent in the 22nd century. There were far too many, actually, for Chichi's liking; she remarked this to her guest as they stepped out. "If they weren't so beautiful I would do away with them, they are so dangerous," she said, easily imagining Gohan (in her mind he remained a perpetual baby) going over the rapids and into thin air, hurtling to his doom.
"Well, you gotta take the bad with the good," said Bulma tritely. She checked the dimensions of the temporary living facility she would be activating. Fortunately the ground was level away from the bank and sparsely decorated with tufts of grass. "Stand clear a second," she warned Chichi, and threw the capsule underhanded, immediately covering her ears so the explosion's BOOM would be dulled. When the clouds settled, the house stood, whole, domed, and welcoming to Bulma, who was raised with the technology. Beside her Chichi shook, her senses attacked by the monstrosity's bloom.
"But the one we use for the car sounds…" she rasped, hands gingerly cradling her ears.
"Like a Pokeball, right?" Chichi blinked, having never heard of the obscure 20th century series. She let it pass and moved to the entrance, motioning for Chichi to follow. "Ready for the grand tour?"
"Oh, er," Chichi started. "But I've already prepared a tent for myself, you see, and I don't wish to intrude—" But her frivolous friend was already marching her over to the door, as usual disregarding any protests not in her favor. Well, this time the duo were on Chichi's turf. She planted her feet firmly in said turf and held herself sturdy while Bulma nearly tipped over. "You know me well enough to understand where I'm coming from," she said gently to Bulma's betrayed gaze, "when I say I would rather set up my tent." She brightened. "While I do that, you can go swimming or exploring."
"Exploring?" Bulma laughed, making Chichi blush in embarrassment. It had slipped—all three of her boys were naturally curious, which she usually counted on to keep them occupied while she put things in order during their outings. "What are we, five? If you don't mind, I think I'll start on my tan. Time's a wastin'!" And she disappeared into the Capsule Corp house, giving no sign of having been affronted.
By the time Chichi emerged from the completed tent, Bulma had turned herself over. She looked upward and waved weakly to her host, who wondered what would make someone choose to drain herself so efficiently. Draped along her left arm was her woven beach towel, brought to lay on the grass, but beside the whiz woman was another lawn chair. This time Chichi smiled at her friend's thoughtfulness. "How is the sun?" she asked as she approached.
"Not brutal like the beach—maybe a little too mild, but that's probably for the best," mumbled Bulma. She rested on her belly, and couldn't be bothered to use diction. As Chichi spread her towel an image on it caught her eye. "Yin-Yang? That's what you call an archaic symbol. What's it stand for, you know, for you?"
"Oh, well, it means many different things…" Chichi smoothed a large wrinkle before she lay herself neatly on her spine.
"For you, though?"
"For me, it's a motivational reminder. I use it to think about my boys and how I raise them." Not wanting to expand on this, she artfully changed the subject. "A beach towel was one thing I forgot to pack for Gohan's trip to Namek. I hope he didn't need one!"
Though it was sudden, Bulma took the shift easily, accustomed to her mood swings. "Nah, we didn't even need lawn chairs—though by the way they strolled off the ship, at first I thought they would make it a vacation!"
"You're joking! I thought you all went there to rescue everyone from death!"
"I'm joking," assured Bulma. "Man, Namek! We were only there for a little longer than a week, but that was the longest fight they've ever been in. When you think about it, the others didn't even last a whole day. Boy, a lot sure happened while we were waiting for Son-kun, but it's a good thing we kept the bad guys busy all that time."
"How…do you mean, exactly?" forced out Chichi. She had naturally asked Gohan all about Namek as soon as her little boy's grief for his father began to ebb, but he proved reticent, reluctant to relinquish his experiences, and she had withdrawn her interrogation, willing to let them remain his alone. But she could probe Bulma's memories anytime. Her friend had already regaled her with all her stories, enjoying the reactions she could draw, and being fond of encores. After more than ten years, Bulma remembered quite a lot of details and was all too happy to let Chichi in on them.
"Once the ship was blown up, Krillin and Gohan went to check out the kis they were sensing before, and after that it was just a scramble for the dragon balls. They brought Dende, then Krillin took him to see the elder, but by the time he came back Gohan had gone off to find another dragon ball with the radar—" Bulma was sure to phrase this so she wouldn't be blamed, "—and returned intact despite having met Vegeta on the way—Gohan tricked him, you know—Vegeta still fumes if you mention it—but they both left me again so Gohan could get a power boost. It was a few hours before I saw them again, and that was only a couple seconds! And even then, geez, if you'd been there maybe you'd have done something, but Vegeta was with them, and as soon as they left I had a thousand questions but I couldn't chase after them so—so I had to wait again." As if she had just thought of it, she paused and looked at her audience. "What was I there for, again?"
Chichi began to laugh, which allowed Bulma to join. "Why, to supervise of course!" They both approached hysteria at the thought of Bulma throwing her weight among even the meekest of the Z fighters. Their gaiety went unchecked for half a minute, and Chichi was grateful for the moment. She felt the tension she carried with her melt out of her shoulders and back. She sat up and Bulma followed. "Our men—they're real handfuls. I can never tell who does the real work."
"Us," said Bulma breathlessly. "Always us, cleaning up after them!"
"We let them do these things. We're enablers." Chichi rarely laughed whole-heartedly, and it was allowing her to say this objectively.
"And they love us for it. I wouldn't change a thing I've done." Bulma stretched like a cat reveling in its own glory. Chichi didn't answer.
Just then, there came a sound, invading the quietude. It was a softened thump, and another soon followed. The two women looked at each other, faces draining as they judged the proximity. The beats into the earth sent ominous vibrations up Chichi's legs, her feet feeling for a picture. She stood and collapsed the lawn chair, folding her towel smartly. She asked Bulma off-handedly, "Would you like to go inside for a bit?"
"Thanks, but maybe we'd better just move. Gohan can take care of these things singlehandedly, but we don't have a—" Suddenly the footsteps sped up, and before Bulma could stand a dinosaur had crunched his way through the trees and entered the clearing with a boastful, triumphant, fifty-decibel roar.
"I think you'd better get inside, Bulma," said Chichi.
A/N: Next chapter has the first action scene! Well, it's not exactly my forte, but part of why I wanted to do this story was to back up Chichi's fierceness, to vindicate her? I thought it'd be nice. As you've probably guessed, last chapter was more of a prologue, so the tone from here on out will be less on the humor and more experimentation on my part to flesh out certain common ideas. Hope I'm not sounding precocious or pretentious! This is just something I thought I'd share. Till next time!