Disclaimer--::walks up to a big concrete building that reads 'Funimation Headquarters.':: ::pulls out keys and unlocks the door, rejoicing as Vegeta, Trunks and the others fly happily off into the distance:: YES! You're FREE! I don't own you, and neither does ANYBODY ELSE! Anime characters of the world unite! All you have to lose is your poor quality dubbing!!! *cackles insanely*
A/N—Chris Marker—do you have any idea how long it took me to stop blushing after I read you review? I don't think it's true—but nonetheless—thank you! Thanks so much for all of the reviews! And the emails too—if I haven't answered you yet, I'm just backlogged—I promise I will soon. Oh, and, if anyone wants to be on the mailing list for this story, just say so in your review and leave your email—I'm kind of absent minded, so if you've asked before and I haven't been emailing you—please leave it again ^_^*
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Gohan walked silently into his first period classroom. So complete was his distraction, that he never even noticed the slight stir of unease as he stepped into the room.
It was the first day of school since Mr. Mazuki's funeral, and the somber crowd still had not forgotten the almost callous ease with which Gohan had announced the man's death.
Gohan stepped slowly up the stairs to his seat next to Sharpener and Erasa, mind transfixed by the problems of the night before: the dream that had almost seemed to solidify into reality that morning with the look in Videl's eyes.
"Gohan? GOHAN!" Gohan was jerked out of his reverie by the voice. Looking up, he was greeted with concerned blue eyes. "Are you alright?"
Gohan smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking, Erasa."
Erasa smiled back, the normal bubble gone from her eyes, face uncommonly sober. But then again, they all were.
Gohan sat quietly as the first period teacher began the lesson, expounding on the virtues of Trigonometry. After ten minutes struggling with her student's collective inattention, the professor gave up and assigned the gloomy class problems to work out instead.
Gohan looked up from his book as the door banged open. In stalked Videl. He was surprised to see her eyes dart intently around the room, only to come to a rest on him, filled with questions.
For several seconds, they stayed that way, until Gohan's gaze broke first. A crawling shiver ran up his spine. For some reason, he knew that Videl's questioning eyes held only heartache in their answers.
He studiously ignored the girl as she handed the teacher her tardy pass and started up the stairs to her seat beside him.
Sitting down, Videl couldn't help but stare at Gohan as he edgily avoided her gaze.
His black hair stood wild, untamable locks adding to the boyish charm of his face. He was focused intently on the problems before him, seemingly oblivious to anything else besides his trigonometry assignment.
Part of Videl wanted to reach out and grab that wild hair—force his eyes to meet her own. She had been chasing down the secret identity of Saiyaman for years, and she wanted to tell him—she knew. She wanted to revel in the competitive flush of victory she had thought she would feel. She had won. But there was no feeling of accomplishment.
It was a fluke—a random twist of fate. Skill had not won her his identity—chance had. And that very same chance had provided her with a dilemma. What had those other words on that paper meant? Looking at the pale boy beside her, only the slight flush of his cheeks giving evidence that he felt her stare, she didn't know what to think.
Was it possible that he was really a murderer? That's what it was after all—'killing,' ha—that was just a cowardly euphemism employed by those who couldn't put up with the shame of their choices.
Videl was conflicted. Stuck between the part that wanted to claim triumph and the part that wanted to reach out and shake the boy—demand he tell her it wasn't true. She wanted him to say it just was one of the slightly sick, twisted little power games that adolescent boys sometimes played, trying to prove their might by claims of violence. But there was a third part that struggled for dominance as well. The part that had seen the pain in Son Gohan's eyes and had reacted to it. The part that had become friends with the silent boy over the last few years. That part knew that Gohan would never play such games. That part feared his answers—feared for him.
With a uncharacteristic hesitation, Videl withdrew Gohan's dream analysis—the sheet of paper that Saiyaman had dropped earlier that morning. In a clear space at the top, she inscribed a short sentence, then folded the paper in half, and wordlessly passed it to Gohan.
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Gohan jerked at the paper that was thrust into his notebook. Giving Videl a wary glance, he cautiously unfolded the sheet. His mind was swamped with confused dread as he saw that it was his dream analysis. At the top of the sheet, in Videl's messy scrawl were the words:
'You dropped this, Saiyaman. We need to talk.'—Videl.
Videl saw Gohan's face drain of blood as he read what she had written. He looked up, and she nodded. She felt none of the triumph she had anticipated. Just a dreadful sort of urgency that he tell her it wasn't true.
She watched carefully as Gohan looked from her, to the note then back again. Folding the sheet in half, he stuck it in his pocket and nodded minutely.
Videl sat back, satisfied. Soon enough, the truth would be revealed.
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Gohan looked helplessly at the girl before him. She wanted answers to questions that he had barely answered himself. What was he to do?
The school day had been long and tedious, but nevertheless, Gohan had prayed that it would never end. Unfortunately, time had not chosen to hold still for him, and that was how he had found himself here on the roof of the school, confronted with questions he did not want to answer.
"It's not true, is it? I mean, I know you're new, and I haven't known you forever like I have Sharpener and Erasa, but it's just not possible, is it Gohan?" Videl's voice was quiet—almost pleading. Gohan was taken aback; not by the question, but by the tone. In the more than two years that he had known her, Gohan had never heard Videl plead with anyone.
He couldn't answer. What was he to say? For some reason, inexplicable to even him, he almost feared Videl. Perhaps it was the feelings that he seemed to have for her—the experiences of his early childhood had twisted sex and love into something more fearful than a beating.
He had had a dream or two about Videl that hadn't included flowers and swarming maggots—dreams that had started out nice, but had in the end, terrified him at least as much.
Videl's touch, which had always started out gentle, had inevitably turned brutal. The brutality he could handle—he'd endured it before—but that she was the source of that brutality—that struck him to his core, and the worst part was, he didn't know why.
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Anger began to stir in Videl's chest as she watched Gohan sit silent, eyes averted, ignoring her questions. Why couldn't he just tell her it wasn't true? She'd believe him, and they'd move on—maybe she'd blackmail him into teaching her how to fly or something—she'd always wanted to learn how to fly. If only he would just say it, she'd believe him. Just say it already!
Gohan was yanked from his thoughts as Videl's shadow fell across his face. Her expression was twisted with urgency, and no little anger as grabbed his shoulders and pulled him around to face her, "Answer me! Just tell me that it's not true!"
Gohan was held, transfixed, by the furious eyes that stared so hotly into his own. Involuntarily, his body was consumed with shudders. He never even heard what she said—all that existed was the angry look in her eyes, and the rough hands grasping his shoulders. As weak as she was, he was helpless against her. Gohan's body gave one last shudder as he was swept away.
Videl watched in horror as the flashback she had unwittingly sparked overtook Gohan. Not knowing quite what to do, she sat down beside him, and hesitantly put one hand on his arm as the boy's body twiched and thrashed on the cold concrete of the school roof.
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Not too far away, Vegeta punched and kicked his way through his daily routine, watching Trunks struggle from the corner of his eye, though he pretended not to.
Vegeta froze in mid-punch as he felt a rather large energy begin to flicker wildly in the distance. It only took a second to recognize it; it was Gohan.
Vegeta hesitated. He was no knight in shining armor—what did he care if the boy was having another flashback? Surely his mother, or his brother…Vegeta paused in mid-thought, his extended senses finding no familiar ki's around Gohan. Damn. Fine—he'd go and retrieve the brat—but only because the boy was late for their spar.
Trunks watched his father's inner struggle curiously as his little body fought to keep itself erect under the enormous force of a hundred and fifty times the earth's gravity. "Dad—what's wrong?"
Vegeta scowled at his son. "Nothing, brat. I've got something to take care of, you stay here, and keep on working—unless it's too much for you?"
Trunks frowned at the little goad, "No way! I can handle lots more than this!"
Vegeta hid a smirk at his son's stubborn determination—it was obvious that the boy was about to collapse, but he kept on trying. Without another word, Vegeta exited the room to collect Gohan.
Trunks watched as his father departed, closing the door behind him, he allowed himself a small smile. After a moment's hesitation to ascertain that his father was indeed gone, the boy shook the hair out of his face and gave a yell. As purple waves floated up and stiffened into a glowing golden yellow, and blue eyes flashed green, Trunks gave an excited little hop. Training was always a lot easier as a Super Saiyan!
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Gohan was lost somewhere between dreams and reality. Not exactly memory, not exactly nightmare, Videl's face had replaced those of the Ginyu force as he relived his childhood rape.
Intellectually, he knew it was impossible. Videl was so much weaker than him, it wasn't even funny. There was no way she could ever do anything against his will—no way she could ever hurt him. Deep down, however, the emotional core of his being knew that his intellect was wrong. Videl didn't need to be physically more powerful to hurt him.
His heart knew why he feared her. Somehow, over the days and weeks, months and years that they had studied together, laughed, eaten lunch, and even fought although she had been unaware of it, he had come to feel something for her. She mattered.
The only other people that had ever mattered in his life were his family, and the Z-senshi, and they all had some sort of tie to him—some sort of connection, making understanding his past that much easier. Videl did not.
That was the source of his fear. Videl had his heart in her hands—all she had to do was squeeze.
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Videl looked up in shocked dismay as a man with swept up hair and flaming black eyes landed on the roof of the school beside her. The man had—flown! Like Saiyaman! Like….Gohan.
With an angry growl, Vegeta pushed his way past Videl to look down at Gohan, whose eyes were rolled up into the back of his head, and whose breath came in ragged, panting gasps.
Vegeta glared over his shoulder at the confused, indignant girl behind him. With a low snarl, he spat out, "What the hell have you done?"
Videl glared back. She may have been intimidated, but there was no way she was going to show it. "I don't know!" she yelled, "I don't know anything, apparently! First I find out Gohan's Saiyaman, then he won't answer any of my questions—do you know? Is what he wrote on that paper true? Is Gohan really a murderer? Could somebody PLEASE tell me what the HELL is GOING ON HERE?!!"
Vegeta gazed wordlessly at the blue-eyed girl whose fists were clenched tight by her sides. The short black locks of her hair rippled in the quiet breeze that swept over them, waiting for Vegeta's answer.
Wordlessly, Vegeta reached down and picked up Gohan, slinging him over one shoulder. Stalking across the roof, he grabbed Videl, and threw her across the other, ignoring her vicious struggles, only wincing slightly at her vocal yelps of protest.
Taking to the sky, he headed back to Capsule Corporation. Videl's struggles ceased shortly after they took to the air, for fear of falling, and Vegeta was left free to ponder the situation. Loaded down with two teenage burdens, one glaring holes in his back, the other silent and shuddering, he hoped that Bulma would know what to do, because one thing was for certain; he sure as hell didn't.
***Next time: Explanations? Maybe. R&R please!***
Advertizing— In Just One Night by Mistress-Rayne. Storyid=748192 This is a very kawaii Goku/Chi-Chi fic which takes place directly after their wedding. I'm not really sure why I love it so much, there's just something about it! If you're in the mood for a change, read this—and if not, read this! It's a just a one shot, but it's a favorite of mine.