WARNING! THIS FIC CONTAINS SOME SPOILERS ABOUT THE END OF DBZ. But you
probably won't understand them, because I don't go into detail. This fic
is best understood if you saw how Chi Chi and Goku met in the beginning of
Dragonball, how they married at the end of Dragonball, and, of course, if
you've seen most of DBZ. Especially the end, because that was what
inspired me to write this fic.
PLEASE, this is my first angsty-type fic. I really need to know if it's feasible and you empathize with the character, or whether I laid it on too thick and you have to clear the BS out of your throat. Or whether it is somewhere in between.
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Sometimes, I hear him.
Maybe he's happy: "Great meal, Chi Chi!" Or abashed: "Aww, Chi Chi…" Once, I even heard him say "I love you."
But usually, he is excited. "Goodbye, Chi Chi!"
And when I hear him, I'll turn around, hoping in all the world to see a silly grin on his face and Gohan in his arms, so I can run and hug him and we can be a family.
No…that would never happen. Gohan is old now. Even Goten would feel too embarrassed to run into his daddy's arms. He's old, too…his sunny cheer that made him so like his father has caved in to the pressures of adolescence. His father never had that problem—he was kept away from high schools and malls and proms. All he knew was fighting. And saving the world.
So much responsibility when he was young. So much responsibility.
It never bothered him. If it did, neither I nor anybody else ever noticed. By the time I married him, being a hero was like breathing or—for him—eating. It was just something he did. He loved to help people, and he loved to fight—so heroism was the most obvious occupation.
He had done many things by that fateful Budokai. Defeated the Red Ribbon Army, killed Piccolo. I even got to see him in action, fighting Piccolo and saving the world. Again.
I guess, when I held his hand that day—when he was dying from Piccolo's last blow, and then he was revived—I guess I should have known what I was getting into. I could have walked away. I could have disappeared into the crowd. Would he have come and found me?
I'd like to think so…but I'm not sure.
But I was in love. I, like so many others, was overwhelmed by his warmth, his strength, and the innocence he maintained despite all the horrors he had been through, all the people he killed. My crush had started from when I first met him, and fighting him in the tournament only made it worse, rather than relieving the hurt and betrayal I felt. I wanted him to remember me. I wanted him to so badly.
Huh. Another clue for me. Who forgets the woman he's betrothed to?
It was sweet. He was such a boy. Not moody or tormented or horny—just a wide-eyed boy, but with the responsibilities and knowledge and wisdom of a man. I thought any wildness he had would be tamed by marriage. Our quest together to put out the fire in my father's castle only cemented this.
And I did tame him. For three years, it was bliss. A spot of land in the country, a little cottage, a bath house, and, after a little while, Gohan. Everything was green and peaceful, so I thought it was safe to make Gohan a scholar. Sometimes he left for a day or two to go I-don't-know-where, but he would always return and I never doubted him. I was his, and he was, I thought, mine.
The Sayains came, and he died. Gohan was taken away from me by a—a creature who I had only come in contact with while he was trying to rule the world.
A year. A year without my three-year-old baby—who I loved more than anything else in the world—and my husband. My husband, who had refused to come back. He was training, I was told. He needed to be stronger to save the world.
I had never even seen Radditz. That whole day had been without so much as a word. I told myself they were partying. I grew angry, I screamed at my father to hide my worry. I suspected something had happened. And then Krillin comes, and tells me he is dead and my son has been taken away by Piccolo.
The year was hard. I was so lonely.
It was not just our son. It hurt, it hurt so badly that he did not contact me. That he never told anyone to say, "Tell Chi Chi I'm sorry," or "Tell Chi Chi I'll miss her," or "Tell Chi Chi I love her." If they had just said something, anything! Not just, "I'm dead, and I could come back, but I'm not going to so I can train." It was like he had forgotten about me all over again.
But he came back, and fought, and he and my son were in the hospital.
I know what his friends thought. I was mean, I was stupid and cruel. I cared more about my son's schooling than the fate of the Earth. I hated Goku and beat him down and the only reason he didn't leave me was because he loved me and he had a sense of duty. They thought I played with his heart.
It was all true. A year gone! I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to hurt like I had. I wanted him to know what it feels like to be tossed aside, to see attention lavished on others while you are cold and alone, physically only a few feet away but it may as well be miles.
My son left me again.
I realized something, sitting there in the hospital room, abusing my husband (he took it. He was confused, sad, but he took it and always smiled). He wasn't stupid or heartless or hated me. He just couldn't understand why I was angry. He couldn't comprehend. As he left for Namek, it struck me that he hadn't been mine, after all.
Another three years passed without him. I heard what had happened. I grieved, but I wouldn't let anyone see it. Again, I felt betrayed. Always betrayed. I raised our boy. Gohan was the only thing I had left from him. I didn't want to let him go. He was never there, so Gohan should be. Wasn't it my right to want to keep my child close?
When he returned, he was the same. Cheerful, silly. Loving. Stronger—I could sense in him a frightening power that I hadn't felt before. But it was never, ever directed at me. No matter what I said, he never yelled. He figured I knew best.
They trained, and trained, and he died. A second time. I knew it was coming. From the beginning of the week before the Cell Games I knew. Because it was the one time he ever told me he loved me. It was the night before the day of the Games. He kissed me on the cheek (he never did it before, I always kissed him first) and said he loved me, and went to sleep. And I hated him, because I loved him all the more and knew he was leaving me again. And because I knew what he said must be a lie, because if he really loved me he would stay home and not sacrifice himself and die.
It had been a relief when I found out he was a Saiyan. I thought it could explain his actions. I thought maybe Saiyans just put fighting first, they had an exaggerated sense of honor and were "big picture" people. I felt sorry for Bulma when she married Vegeta. I didn't have any reason to. My husband's behavior was unique. Vegeta turned out to be as passionate and devoted to his family and his marriage as he was to fighting.
By the time he was brought back for a day, though I missed him dearly I no longer felt the betrayal and loneliness so sharply. I could greet him with a smile. Buu came. At the end of it, I was no longer amazed at his strength or skill. Happy, of course, that the universe was saved. But tired. Death was almost pleasant—I thought I would see him eventually.
And as the years pass, nothing changes. I grow older, and older. My hair is graying, the wrinkles show on my skin. Bulma screams and rages at Vegeta—he resembles a man in his early thirties, while he face shows every year. Me? It's inevitable. I'm being drawn away from him again.
After he went away with the little boy, Gohan caught me crying. It frightened him. Gohan had only seen me cry when I was happy. Gohan is a man, but in many ways he is still sheltered. But he is smart, and it didn't take him long to figure out the cause.
I think he had an epiphany. He knew what love was—he had Videl. And I think, at that moment, he realized why I yelled at his father, why I was so harsh and demanding. He caught me nursing my wounds. And with the epiphany came another: he grew angry, terribly angry with his dad. Gohan yelled at me to stop crying, yelled that he would grab his father and drag him back by the hair if necessary. He told me I would never cry again.
I thought it was funny. My first son had always looked at me with wariness, loved me but was never quite sure if I was a good person or not. His father was his hero, and he never understood why I screamed at Daddy. I had always wanted him to see my side but had never had the courage to shatter the boy's illusions about his papa. Now, now that it had, I would have given anything for the illusions to be there again. I had accepted my husband, and my son should, too.
He is not a bad man. He is the most wonderful and generous man in the world. He is wise and noble and can fight like anything for anyone.
But he is as cruel as a child. He loves everything and everyone equally and cannot understand why it hurts me so badly that he loves a dinosaur as much as he loves me, or Ubuu as much as me, or Bulma or Pan or Krillin or Master Roshi or training as much as me. He cannot understand that when he stood by me and said his vows that there was an expectation that he would always hold me and love me and never leave me—and if he did it would only be because he had to, not because he wanted to train. He has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it is so heavy that he cannot feel the feather-light touch that is my hand.
My hair grows gray and my face wrinkles and I will die, die long before he ever feels so much as a pain in his back. I am not him, and so will not come back. And every day I look at his empty chair and curse him for being who he is.
Curse him for being the cruelest, most selfish, most horrible man in the world. He is not mine, but I will forever and ever and ever be his and I love him. I love him and it will always hurt and still I love him.
My Goku. You were never mine and never will be. But when I hear you, I always answer. My Goku.
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Ok, so how was it? Reviews are needed! I'm afraid it went over the top, but am not sure and need your reviews! I COMMAND you to press the button!
And yes, yes! I'm still working on my B/V—I have a chapter in progress right now. School has been taking up all my time. I'm counting down the days to April 19—after that, a HUGE project and a couple of classes are over, so I'll be turning out more stuff.
PLEASE, this is my first angsty-type fic. I really need to know if it's feasible and you empathize with the character, or whether I laid it on too thick and you have to clear the BS out of your throat. Or whether it is somewhere in between.
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Sometimes, I hear him.
Maybe he's happy: "Great meal, Chi Chi!" Or abashed: "Aww, Chi Chi…" Once, I even heard him say "I love you."
But usually, he is excited. "Goodbye, Chi Chi!"
And when I hear him, I'll turn around, hoping in all the world to see a silly grin on his face and Gohan in his arms, so I can run and hug him and we can be a family.
No…that would never happen. Gohan is old now. Even Goten would feel too embarrassed to run into his daddy's arms. He's old, too…his sunny cheer that made him so like his father has caved in to the pressures of adolescence. His father never had that problem—he was kept away from high schools and malls and proms. All he knew was fighting. And saving the world.
So much responsibility when he was young. So much responsibility.
It never bothered him. If it did, neither I nor anybody else ever noticed. By the time I married him, being a hero was like breathing or—for him—eating. It was just something he did. He loved to help people, and he loved to fight—so heroism was the most obvious occupation.
He had done many things by that fateful Budokai. Defeated the Red Ribbon Army, killed Piccolo. I even got to see him in action, fighting Piccolo and saving the world. Again.
I guess, when I held his hand that day—when he was dying from Piccolo's last blow, and then he was revived—I guess I should have known what I was getting into. I could have walked away. I could have disappeared into the crowd. Would he have come and found me?
I'd like to think so…but I'm not sure.
But I was in love. I, like so many others, was overwhelmed by his warmth, his strength, and the innocence he maintained despite all the horrors he had been through, all the people he killed. My crush had started from when I first met him, and fighting him in the tournament only made it worse, rather than relieving the hurt and betrayal I felt. I wanted him to remember me. I wanted him to so badly.
Huh. Another clue for me. Who forgets the woman he's betrothed to?
It was sweet. He was such a boy. Not moody or tormented or horny—just a wide-eyed boy, but with the responsibilities and knowledge and wisdom of a man. I thought any wildness he had would be tamed by marriage. Our quest together to put out the fire in my father's castle only cemented this.
And I did tame him. For three years, it was bliss. A spot of land in the country, a little cottage, a bath house, and, after a little while, Gohan. Everything was green and peaceful, so I thought it was safe to make Gohan a scholar. Sometimes he left for a day or two to go I-don't-know-where, but he would always return and I never doubted him. I was his, and he was, I thought, mine.
The Sayains came, and he died. Gohan was taken away from me by a—a creature who I had only come in contact with while he was trying to rule the world.
A year. A year without my three-year-old baby—who I loved more than anything else in the world—and my husband. My husband, who had refused to come back. He was training, I was told. He needed to be stronger to save the world.
I had never even seen Radditz. That whole day had been without so much as a word. I told myself they were partying. I grew angry, I screamed at my father to hide my worry. I suspected something had happened. And then Krillin comes, and tells me he is dead and my son has been taken away by Piccolo.
The year was hard. I was so lonely.
It was not just our son. It hurt, it hurt so badly that he did not contact me. That he never told anyone to say, "Tell Chi Chi I'm sorry," or "Tell Chi Chi I'll miss her," or "Tell Chi Chi I love her." If they had just said something, anything! Not just, "I'm dead, and I could come back, but I'm not going to so I can train." It was like he had forgotten about me all over again.
But he came back, and fought, and he and my son were in the hospital.
I know what his friends thought. I was mean, I was stupid and cruel. I cared more about my son's schooling than the fate of the Earth. I hated Goku and beat him down and the only reason he didn't leave me was because he loved me and he had a sense of duty. They thought I played with his heart.
It was all true. A year gone! I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to hurt like I had. I wanted him to know what it feels like to be tossed aside, to see attention lavished on others while you are cold and alone, physically only a few feet away but it may as well be miles.
My son left me again.
I realized something, sitting there in the hospital room, abusing my husband (he took it. He was confused, sad, but he took it and always smiled). He wasn't stupid or heartless or hated me. He just couldn't understand why I was angry. He couldn't comprehend. As he left for Namek, it struck me that he hadn't been mine, after all.
Another three years passed without him. I heard what had happened. I grieved, but I wouldn't let anyone see it. Again, I felt betrayed. Always betrayed. I raised our boy. Gohan was the only thing I had left from him. I didn't want to let him go. He was never there, so Gohan should be. Wasn't it my right to want to keep my child close?
When he returned, he was the same. Cheerful, silly. Loving. Stronger—I could sense in him a frightening power that I hadn't felt before. But it was never, ever directed at me. No matter what I said, he never yelled. He figured I knew best.
They trained, and trained, and he died. A second time. I knew it was coming. From the beginning of the week before the Cell Games I knew. Because it was the one time he ever told me he loved me. It was the night before the day of the Games. He kissed me on the cheek (he never did it before, I always kissed him first) and said he loved me, and went to sleep. And I hated him, because I loved him all the more and knew he was leaving me again. And because I knew what he said must be a lie, because if he really loved me he would stay home and not sacrifice himself and die.
It had been a relief when I found out he was a Saiyan. I thought it could explain his actions. I thought maybe Saiyans just put fighting first, they had an exaggerated sense of honor and were "big picture" people. I felt sorry for Bulma when she married Vegeta. I didn't have any reason to. My husband's behavior was unique. Vegeta turned out to be as passionate and devoted to his family and his marriage as he was to fighting.
By the time he was brought back for a day, though I missed him dearly I no longer felt the betrayal and loneliness so sharply. I could greet him with a smile. Buu came. At the end of it, I was no longer amazed at his strength or skill. Happy, of course, that the universe was saved. But tired. Death was almost pleasant—I thought I would see him eventually.
And as the years pass, nothing changes. I grow older, and older. My hair is graying, the wrinkles show on my skin. Bulma screams and rages at Vegeta—he resembles a man in his early thirties, while he face shows every year. Me? It's inevitable. I'm being drawn away from him again.
After he went away with the little boy, Gohan caught me crying. It frightened him. Gohan had only seen me cry when I was happy. Gohan is a man, but in many ways he is still sheltered. But he is smart, and it didn't take him long to figure out the cause.
I think he had an epiphany. He knew what love was—he had Videl. And I think, at that moment, he realized why I yelled at his father, why I was so harsh and demanding. He caught me nursing my wounds. And with the epiphany came another: he grew angry, terribly angry with his dad. Gohan yelled at me to stop crying, yelled that he would grab his father and drag him back by the hair if necessary. He told me I would never cry again.
I thought it was funny. My first son had always looked at me with wariness, loved me but was never quite sure if I was a good person or not. His father was his hero, and he never understood why I screamed at Daddy. I had always wanted him to see my side but had never had the courage to shatter the boy's illusions about his papa. Now, now that it had, I would have given anything for the illusions to be there again. I had accepted my husband, and my son should, too.
He is not a bad man. He is the most wonderful and generous man in the world. He is wise and noble and can fight like anything for anyone.
But he is as cruel as a child. He loves everything and everyone equally and cannot understand why it hurts me so badly that he loves a dinosaur as much as he loves me, or Ubuu as much as me, or Bulma or Pan or Krillin or Master Roshi or training as much as me. He cannot understand that when he stood by me and said his vows that there was an expectation that he would always hold me and love me and never leave me—and if he did it would only be because he had to, not because he wanted to train. He has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it is so heavy that he cannot feel the feather-light touch that is my hand.
My hair grows gray and my face wrinkles and I will die, die long before he ever feels so much as a pain in his back. I am not him, and so will not come back. And every day I look at his empty chair and curse him for being who he is.
Curse him for being the cruelest, most selfish, most horrible man in the world. He is not mine, but I will forever and ever and ever be his and I love him. I love him and it will always hurt and still I love him.
My Goku. You were never mine and never will be. But when I hear you, I always answer. My Goku.
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Ok, so how was it? Reviews are needed! I'm afraid it went over the top, but am not sure and need your reviews! I COMMAND you to press the button!
And yes, yes! I'm still working on my B/V—I have a chapter in progress right now. School has been taking up all my time. I'm counting down the days to April 19—after that, a HUGE project and a couple of classes are over, so I'll be turning out more stuff.