Disclaimer-I don't own DBZ (though I'd love to) and I don't own 'Angel's Lullaby' (I'd also love to own that). DBZ is owned by Funimation (shudder, shudder) and Akira Toriyama, and 'Angel's Lullaby' is owned by Reba Macintire.
Summary-18 sings a lullaby to her daughter the night she's born.
Angel's Lullaby
18 could never get used to so many smiling faces around her. All her life, all she'd ever seen were frowns, snarls, and lots of glares. An occasional smirk from her brother. But this time, even the cyborg 17 was smiling; though it was pretty unusual to see him like that.
Well, he did have every right to be happy. His niece had just been born.
And what a beautiful niece he had. Unlike most babies, who were red and wrinkled, Marron Angela Chestnut was born with a full head of blonde hair, and brown eyes that were quick to change from newborn blue. Even though experts say it was impossible, young Marron was smiling. Boy, was she smiling!
She was alone in her small, private room. Everyone else had left. Bulma had dragged Vegeta and Trunks in to see her. Bulma had been okay, but Trunks, at being almost a year old, had been a little annoying. Vegeta—well, she could've done without Vegeta, but he had been tolerable.
Tien, Launch, and their daughter Paris, who was the oldest among the babies, had come to see her. Well, they'd actually come to see Krillin, but they'd felt obligated to see her. Chiaotzu, Yamcha, and Piccolo, too, had come to see Krillin, but they'd looked in on her.
Of course, 17 had come in. He'd felt uncomfortable at first, but then relaxed. Not even 17 could resist the powers of Marron's absolute cuteness.
Even the Son family had shown up. Gohan and Chichi, how came in carrying the nearly 1-month-old Goten, had come in. 18 thought it strange that the family of the person she was supposed to destroy had come and see her deliver.
Krillin, too, had left, trying to catch some sleep at Kame House, where Roshi and Oolong waited for news of her.
So, she was alone with her baby.
Outside, the snow was drifting in small, crystallized white flakes. Well it was December 15th. Inside the room, it was warm and cozy, the snow adding an even safe feeling to the room. It was peaceful and quiet, the sound of the busy hospital locked away from her room.
18 looked down at the tiny girl she held in her arms, and she, too, had to smile. Marron had irresistible charm; no one could deny that. Everything about her was soft: her skin, her hair, and even her tiny nails were smooth as silk.
As she watched, 18's thoughts began to wonder. Why was she here? She was a cyborg. She was supposed to kill babies, not have them. But here in her arms was a tiny, innocent life, waiting to love and be loved. What if 18 couldn't be womanly enough to be a mother? How could she face herself knowing that she'd failed…
A tiny stir jolted 18 from her thoughts. Marron had sighed and turned over a little. With a tiny giggle, 18 shifted her arm to accommodate the new position. Then, suddenly, a memory hit her.
It was of her own mother. Kimberly, her name was? Kimberly had looked exactly like Marron, right down to the shape of the hands, small and thin. But moreover, Kimberly had had a beautiful voice. And she'd often used it in song.
And that was what 18 remembered.
The beautiful song Kimberly had sang just for her, when she was a fussy baby. It was her only memory, and it was far-flung to only her first few days of birth.
Which was a miracle in itself.
Almost not realizing it, 18 began singing.
Midnight moonlight shining through the curtain lace
Paints a perfect picture on your perfect face
One sweet angel sleeping in my arms
You are the promise I knew God would keep
You are the gift that makes my world complete
And you'll never know how much I love you
But I'll keep telling you my whole life through
Now I believe in miracles and you're the reason why
18 smiled, and then kissed her daughter's forehead.
So dream on while I sing you my Angel's Lullaby
- I wrote this after watching the finale of Reba. It instantly reminded me of 18 and Marron. I revised this practically a year and ½ later.
