Gohan lay back in bed. Normally at this time of the morning he'd be getting dressed for work, or maybe still taking a shower if Videl was in there with him. But not this morning.
"Achoo!"
This morning he had the flu. Ever since he'd woken up he'd been coughing, sneezing, and blowing his nose. He'd also had a bad fever. Even Gohan, devoted educator that he was, knew better than to go to work today.
Videl mopped his forehead with a wet washcloth. Normally the only things she had in common with her mother-in-law were her gender and her love for Gohan. But whenever he got sick, she displayed a strain of over-protectiveness that would have made Chi-Chi proud. Nappa stood nearby holding a tray with toast and warm tea. He was also ready to fetch any other food or drink the under the weather King of the Saiyans may ask for, as he was required to do as the loyal manservant.
He coughed again. He supposed he needed to let his boss know. "Could you call up Dean Gakkan and let him know I won't be teaching classes today?" he asked Videl. "His number's in the cabinet, I think."
She nodded. "Of course I can." She got up and walked to the kitchen. He waved at Nappa.
"Do you desire something, sire?" the bulky Saiyan inquired, moving closer. Gohan answered by taking the cup of tea off of the tray and sipping from it. Videl re-entered the room, holding the mobile phone in one hand.
"It's the dean. He says not to forget that under the new policy, if you're going to be sick for more than one day you need to choose someone to act as a substitute professor."
Setting the tea back on the tray, Gohan muttered an expletive. "Tell him I'll think of someone later today and that when I do I'll let him know." Videl relayed the message, minus the invective, and hung up. She looked at her husband.
"Any idea on who you're going to pick?"
He closed his eyes and was silent for a few seconds. Then he said, "Unfortunately, I think I do. Nappa, time for you to act as messenger boy."
***
An hour and a half later, Piccolo walked into Gohan's bedroom. The scholar was still lying down, and Videl had just brought in a bowl of soup, which he was eyeing warily. She was many things…a beautiful and intelligent woman, a superb fighter, and his soul mate. But a natural-born cook she was not.
"Sorry to see you're not feeling well," said the tall Namek as he ducked through the door. "What do you need to speak to me about?"
Gohan explained the situation, in-between sneezes and coughs. When he was finished, Piccolo was skeptical. "I don't know," he said cautiously. "Can't you find someone with more experience, or is more suited to teaching?"
"No," said the half-Saiyan. "Not on such short notice. And I don't know how long this damn flu is going to stay with me."
"What about you?" Piccolo asked Videl. "You must know his lesson plans better than anyone." She shook her head.
"I'm not leaving here while he's sick. I've already told Satan City's police chief not to expect either Great Saiyaman for a while."
"Couldn't you just get Dende to heal you?"
Gohan nodded. "I could, but I don't want to bother Kami-sama with something so trivial."
"Then I'll do it."
"Thank you, Piccolo-san. You don't know how much this means to me." He took a sip of his wife's soup. It was actually quite good.
***
The next morning, Gohan's first group of pupils entered the class to once again find him absent. With the strange mixture of patience and anxiety that can only be mustered by students waiting to leave class early, they awaited the clock to strike 8:15. It would be then that they could leave, the required 15 minute grace period having ended.
Their fantasies were not to be granted.
At exactly 8:00 the door burst open. A tall figure walked through, carrying a stack of books and papers. He was clad in a turban, an odd white cape, a purple fighting gi, and pointed boots. He looked a rather sickly shade of green. He stalked to the front of the room and sat behind the professor's desk, setting the stack of materials on top of it.
"What's going on? Where's the professor?" one student demanded.
"Professor Son is sick," the figure behind the desk said. "He has influenza. I'm substituting for him until he recovers."
"And who're you?" another student asked.
"I have many names. You can call me Mr. Namek." He grinned. It wasn't pleasant.
"Achoo!"
This morning he had the flu. Ever since he'd woken up he'd been coughing, sneezing, and blowing his nose. He'd also had a bad fever. Even Gohan, devoted educator that he was, knew better than to go to work today.
Videl mopped his forehead with a wet washcloth. Normally the only things she had in common with her mother-in-law were her gender and her love for Gohan. But whenever he got sick, she displayed a strain of over-protectiveness that would have made Chi-Chi proud. Nappa stood nearby holding a tray with toast and warm tea. He was also ready to fetch any other food or drink the under the weather King of the Saiyans may ask for, as he was required to do as the loyal manservant.
He coughed again. He supposed he needed to let his boss know. "Could you call up Dean Gakkan and let him know I won't be teaching classes today?" he asked Videl. "His number's in the cabinet, I think."
She nodded. "Of course I can." She got up and walked to the kitchen. He waved at Nappa.
"Do you desire something, sire?" the bulky Saiyan inquired, moving closer. Gohan answered by taking the cup of tea off of the tray and sipping from it. Videl re-entered the room, holding the mobile phone in one hand.
"It's the dean. He says not to forget that under the new policy, if you're going to be sick for more than one day you need to choose someone to act as a substitute professor."
Setting the tea back on the tray, Gohan muttered an expletive. "Tell him I'll think of someone later today and that when I do I'll let him know." Videl relayed the message, minus the invective, and hung up. She looked at her husband.
"Any idea on who you're going to pick?"
He closed his eyes and was silent for a few seconds. Then he said, "Unfortunately, I think I do. Nappa, time for you to act as messenger boy."
***
An hour and a half later, Piccolo walked into Gohan's bedroom. The scholar was still lying down, and Videl had just brought in a bowl of soup, which he was eyeing warily. She was many things…a beautiful and intelligent woman, a superb fighter, and his soul mate. But a natural-born cook she was not.
"Sorry to see you're not feeling well," said the tall Namek as he ducked through the door. "What do you need to speak to me about?"
Gohan explained the situation, in-between sneezes and coughs. When he was finished, Piccolo was skeptical. "I don't know," he said cautiously. "Can't you find someone with more experience, or is more suited to teaching?"
"No," said the half-Saiyan. "Not on such short notice. And I don't know how long this damn flu is going to stay with me."
"What about you?" Piccolo asked Videl. "You must know his lesson plans better than anyone." She shook her head.
"I'm not leaving here while he's sick. I've already told Satan City's police chief not to expect either Great Saiyaman for a while."
"Couldn't you just get Dende to heal you?"
Gohan nodded. "I could, but I don't want to bother Kami-sama with something so trivial."
"Then I'll do it."
"Thank you, Piccolo-san. You don't know how much this means to me." He took a sip of his wife's soup. It was actually quite good.
***
The next morning, Gohan's first group of pupils entered the class to once again find him absent. With the strange mixture of patience and anxiety that can only be mustered by students waiting to leave class early, they awaited the clock to strike 8:15. It would be then that they could leave, the required 15 minute grace period having ended.
Their fantasies were not to be granted.
At exactly 8:00 the door burst open. A tall figure walked through, carrying a stack of books and papers. He was clad in a turban, an odd white cape, a purple fighting gi, and pointed boots. He looked a rather sickly shade of green. He stalked to the front of the room and sat behind the professor's desk, setting the stack of materials on top of it.
"What's going on? Where's the professor?" one student demanded.
"Professor Son is sick," the figure behind the desk said. "He has influenza. I'm substituting for him until he recovers."
"And who're you?" another student asked.
"I have many names. You can call me Mr. Namek." He grinned. It wasn't pleasant.