The Searching:
Storm-Tossed
Kuririn woke to the sound of heavy rain battering against the side of the house and drumming against his window.
Sighing, he rolled over in bed, trying to hang on to the last fragments of his dream: blonde hair, so close he could reach out and touch its silky strands. Blue eyes shining. Warm lips brushing his own…Juuhachigou…
A crash of thunder shook the house and the dream fled into the dark recesses of his mind. He sighed again, and threw back the warm covers, grumbling. He glanced at the clock over on the nightstand; it was just past noon. Stifling a yawn, he stretched and stood up. He walked over to the window. The rain was coming down harder now and all he could see was wet grayness beyond the pane.
All he could see for his life was depressing grayness.
The death of his best friend--his first friend--hit him harder than any physical attack he had ever suffered. He couldn't remember his own deaths clearly--which was probably a good thing--but he even now he could still see the sad, determined smile on Goku's face as he prepared to die. Son Goku was the best, the bravest, and the kindest man Kuririn had ever known. Goku was the man who fulfilled and created legends, the man who could have been God, the man who should have lived forever…
But Son Goku was dead.
He had died to save the planet he loved so dearly--and the people he loved even more. He did the only thing he thought could beat Cell--but Goku had failed because Cell was too powerful.
But Cell wouldn't have become so b if he hadn't absorbed Juuhachigou…if Kuririn hadn't let Juuhachigou live…
Kuririn gritted his teeth and ground his palms into his eyes, rubbing away guilty tears. He could never have hurt Juuhachigou. She had captured him with only a single kiss, and against all logic, he was in love with her. Of all the women in the world, it had to be the enemy cyborg programmed to kill his best friend, the terror who would leave the world in ruins in another future, the tragic young woman who had her humanity stolen by a wicked scientist, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life--
But she was also the last element Cell needed to reach his Perfect Form, to gain power far beyond that of even a Super Saiyajin. His thoughts led to the same inevitable conclusion, as they had each day since Goku's death:
If I had killed Juuhachigou, Goku would still be alive.
But he hadn't killed her. What was the reward for his compassion, his weakness?
Nothing.
Goku was dead, and Juuhachigou had flat out rejected him.
Damn it all. He stormed into the tiny bathroom adjacent to the bedroom and turned on the shower. The rush of water muffled the sound of pounding rain outside, but failed to drown out the thoughts inside his head. Kuririn shed his rumpled pajamas and stepped under the warm cascade. The hot water pounded against his back and shoulders, until he turned and let the stinging drops batter his face, the water running down his face in rivulets like tears.
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Kamesennin sat in the living room watching TV with his turtle when Kuririn came down the stairs, wearing a faded orange gi and toweling dry his shaggy black hair. After the drastic events of the Cell Games, Kuririn had let himself go; he no longer shaved his head, and rarely even shaved his face. The rugged beard on his chin didn't suit the young man at all, but Muten Roshi said nothing. He watched Kuririn wander into the kitchen, then turned his attention back to the television.
"Tropical Storm Cinthy has been downgraded to a tropical depression," the weatherman announced. "We expect the storm to continue to decrease in intensity as the day progresses." The screen switched to a radar display of the storm superimposed over a map of the sea.
"Where are we on there?" the turtle asked, nodding his heavy head at the TV. Roshi extended a bony arm and jabbed at a small speck on the screen that represented his island. "Here," he replied, "Just on the edge of the storm. We got lucky this time. It's moving away from us." Thunder growled outside as if to remind them that the storm was still out there.
Kuririn banged around the kitchen looking for something to eat and Roshi changed the channel. The turtle crawled out to the small front porch to watch the rain and the waves. After flipping through several more channels, Roshi finally turned off the TV and got up to join Kuririn in the kitchen.
"Sleep well?" the old man asked, picking up the coffee pot and swirling around the dregs at the bottom. Deciding it wasn't worth drinking, he dumped out the pot in the sink and set about making fresh coffee.
"Hn," Kuririn grunted, shoveling a spoonful of soggy cereal into his mouth. Roshi put coffee grinds in the machine, poured in the water, and hit the "on" button.
"The storm didn't bother you?" He slid the pot back into the coffee machine just before the hot liquid started to drip.
"No."
Roshi's eyes widened momentarily behind his ever-present sunglasses. The simple response indicated a change for the better. A few months ago, Kuririn had awoken screaming in the night during a thunderstorm. In his dreams, the thunder had become the terrifying explosion of Cell's ki. The old teacher had stayed awake, thinking, long after Kuririn had cried himself back to sleep. After that night, Roshi slept in the living room instead of his room upstairs; he wanted to leave the young man some dignity.
Roshi pulled up a chair and sat down across from Kuririn. The house was silent except for the sound of pattering rain. He waited until Kuririn finished eating before speaking. "Kuririn."
The younger man scooted back the chair and got up to wash his bowl in the sink.
"Kuririn," Roshi said again. Kuririn scrubbed the bowl, ignoring his former teacher, then put the clean bowl in the drainer and turned around. "What?"
"It's been a while since--" the old man ran his hands along his white beard, trying to phrase his words the best way. "--since Cell."
"Three months and eight days," Kuririn said softly, looking down at the floor.
"More than enough time to mourn and move on."
Kuririn clenched his fists. "No." He looked up, eyes flaring with anger directed as much at Kamesennin as at himself. "No! We can't just forget him!"
"We won't forget him," Roshi continued patiently. "But you can't forget your own life either. Goku wouldn't want you to."
"I don't care about my life."
That statement hung in the air like a suspended guillotine--it held the threat of death. Roshi had to be careful or he could become the executioner. "You've moped around the house for three months. It's time to stop," Roshi accused, watching for a reaction. "Goku lived his life to the fullest. He never gave up, no matter how bad it got."
"I'm not Goku."
"You're damn right. You're Kuririn." He paused, knowing his next words would stab at the former monk's heart. "He's dead, and you're alive," he pushed onward stubbornly. "I tell you this not only as your teacher, but as a friend. It's time you stopped lying around like a dead man! Go out into the world and have a life again! Train as a fighter, or get a job, or settle down with a beautiful young girl and have a family--just do something to make your life worth living again!"
Kuririn stared at the old man and stammered, "You--you're kicking me out?" His face was pale.
Roshi shook his head. "No. I'm simply telling you it's time to leave. You have until tomorrow morning to pack up."
Having said all that was necessary, Muten Roshi stood up and walked past Kuririn to join the turtle outside in contemplating the falling rain.
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Kuririn woke up early the next morning to pack up the last bits and pieces: his toothbrush, his pajamas, a pair of socks, and a hat he had found under the bed. He crammed everything into two brown leather suitcases, then stood in the center of the bedroom, silently saying goodbye to the place he had called home for so many years. Kame House was his home, much more than the small village he had been born in ever could be. That place held few good memories for him, and although Kame House had seen its share of problems, he felt more safe and comfortable here than anywhere else in the world.
He'd come back here someday. He was sure of it. No matter what Roshi said.
He picked up his luggage and walked out of the empty room.
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Kamesennin waited at the front door with the turtle, his expression unreadable behind his glasses as he watched Kuririn carry the suitcases down the stairs. Kuririn stopped in front of Roshi, dropping his baggage with a thud. "I hope this makes you happy," he said, attempting to put an angry edge to his voice but failing. He stared down at the turtle, unsure of how to say goodbye. Roshi cleared his throat, equally uncomfortable. Abruptly Kuririn turned to face his teacher.
"Muten Roshi--" The words caught in his throat and he suddenly wrapped his teacher in a bear hug.
After a moment, he released the old man from his choking embrace. "Sorry," he laughed, embarrassed. Roshi coughed to get some air back into his lungs. Kuririn had neglected his fighting skills for several months, but he still had rib-cracking strength. " 'S okay, Kuririn," he replied, coughing again. Something seemed to be stuck in his throat…
Kuririn smiled. The first time I've seen him smile in a long time, the old man thought to himself. I guess I did make the right decision… "Where will you go?" he asked aloud.
"Capsule Corporation to see Bulma," Kuririn replied. "After that--I don't know."
"I wish you well, wherever you go." Roshi's throat felt thick.
"Thank you," Kuririn told him, bowing deeply. "For everything."
Roshi bowed his head in acknowledgment, then opened the door. Kuririn lifted his suitcases and walked outside, followed by Roshi and the turtle. The beach was littered with driftwood and seaweed tossed ashore by the storm. Kuririn looked around, surveying the island one last time, taking in the whispering palm trees, the golden sand, the salty smell of the sea, the gently lapping waves, and the unmistakable pink house in the middle of it all.
"Well, I guess I should go," he finally said, tightly gripping the handles of his suitcases.
"Come back soon," the turtle spoke up. "The house will be too empty."
"Take care of yourself, Kuririn," Roshi added. Kame House would feel empty without his student--his son. The realization hit him like a tidal wave; Kuririn was more than just a student of his, more than just a resident of his house--he had become part of his family.
But all children grow up eventually. It was Kuririn's time to leave home and go out into the wide world, yet it was still hard for the father to let him go. Behind his glasses, Roshi's eyes stung and he blinked rapidly to clear them.
"Goodbye, Roshi, Turtle!" Kuririn shouted, bounding into the sky. He circled the island once, then powered up and zoomed away into the deep blue sky, leaving only a pale trail of ki behind him.
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The morning sky was crisp and clear, and the sun shone down warmly on the small figure soaring over the glittering sea. It had been a while since Kuririn had taken to the air, but the skill was so deeply ingrained in him that he flew effortlessly. Flying with hair was a new sensation, however; the wind whipped his hair around, tickling his scalp, and pulled at his beard. He laughed and felt a sudden urge to ascend as high as he could, to leave the earth behind and touch the blazing sun. With a grin, he changed his course and flew upwards, extending his arms and spiraling madly as he rose. The air grew cooler, and the sky ahead became a deep cobalt as he flew higher.
I could go up and up and up forever and never have to worry about anything, never have to feel anything again…
The thought jarred him from his giddy reverie, and he slammed to a stop. He looked down, mildly surprised he was still holding on to his suitcases, but even more amazed by the sight below him. The ocean was a distant blanket of sapphires, speckled with a few emerald islands. Closer to the curving horizon lay a massive chunk of brown and green, the main continent. He hovered for a moment taking in the incredible view. The world seemed so small, yet so vast at the same time. Compared to the grand scheme of the universe, his life seemed inconsequential, his problems meaningless. From out here, the earth seemed simple and undemanding…
He was starting to feel chilly and lightheaded from the thin air. Kuririn raised his ki and dropped to a lower altitude. He got his bearings and aimed for his destination: the Western Capital. As he picked up speed, he closed his eyes and let the air caress his face as he extended his senses. He had ignored his friends for the past three months and no longer knew their whereabouts. Perhaps he could locate some of them by their ki. The Saiyajin like Vejita and Gohan should be the easiest to find since they were the most powerful on the planet--
--now that Goku is no longer in this world--
Something clenched in his gut. He tried to push the thought aside and concentrated on finding a bright ki instead. He couldn't explain how he did it; it was a talent he had, feeling ki at distances greater than most others could--
--but Goku is still better at that than I am--or he was--oh God--
He swallowed and gritted his teeth, berating himself mentally for being so emotional. Roshi had told him to go out and make a life worth living. A life of guilt and tears wasn't worth anything. He gave up his search for a familiar ki now that his concentration was broken. He knew where the Western Capital was, and that was all that he needed to focus on at the moment; any other emotions were irrelevant.
If only it was that easy…
With a livid burst of ki, Kuririn sped towards his destination.