Flesh and Bone

by Fallen Angel23

While fighting Spopovitch, Videl struggles with the knowledge that she is not like Gohan. She is only flesh and bone. Can Gohan's influence on her show her she can be more?

FLESH AND BONE

Author: Fallen Angel fallen_angel_2012@hotmail.com

Rating: I'd say PG for violence.

Disclaimer: There once was a girl from Brizzie (Brisbane, Australia, that is)

Who wrote dragonball fics to stay busy

She didn't have claim

To Toriyama-san's fame

But was still a clever little missy.

(Sorry about that: I was just tired of your usual, run of the mill disclaimers. Thought I'd try something new)

Summary: Just a little thought that came to me while I was watching that episode where Spopovitch beats up Videl plus I've been wanting to try writing a shorter story for a while (as opposed to my usual multi-parters). Videl is one of my favourite characters and I was a little disappointed by the lack of attention she got in some parts when she should have. So enjoy and remember to review…constructive criticism is appreciated but not flames.

*This product contains Gohan x Videl and a decent dose of angst. Read at your own risk.*

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I am not flesh and bone.

This is my mantra.

It is what I have lived by for as long as I can remember. It started when my mother died. She was, like so many mothers, something better than normal in my eyes. Perfect even. And then she left us and shattered that image forever.

She was not perfect. She was flesh and bone.

But I would not be so weak.

I can't remember when I started fighting…I'm sure I began mimicking my father almost as soon as I could walk. The day when I began training though, I remember distinctly, as if it were yesterday. And the funny thing was, the person I was fighting was me.

I was eight at the time and it was mother's day…the first one since she'd left. The knowledge that this would be the first lonely mother's day of many, I had felt weighed down by my sorrow all day. Dad was still sensitive about the whole thing and had thrown himself into his training for the world championships with even more determination than usual. He went to the gym to train, since this was before we had our own. The only fighting equipment in the house was a large punching bag set up in our basement.

I had wandered down looking for him, only to find the house empty. The house was never empty when mother was alive. Never.

The tears welled up quickly…I was still too young to know how to hold them back…and before I knew it, I was beating against the bag with my tiny fists. It was futile, I knew, but it made me feel better. I hit it with all my anger and all my hate and all my horrible loneliness that hung around me like some dark cloud that never dispersed. I threw everything I had at it until I could see, just faintly, a small indentation in it's otherwise smooth surface. What was more incredible than the fact that it was there was that I had been the one to do it. Me. Weak, tiny, little me. Videl Satan, the shortest in her grade and most likely the frailest. I made that tiny indentation and I knew I wasn't going to be weak anymore. I would train with Dad, make him take me where he went…fight as he did…become as strong as he was. A delicious thought tempted my still innocent mind…maybe even stronger.

The days became weeks. The weeks, months. Months, years. I barely even noticed the transformation from scrawny girl to slender young woman. Sometimes I do, when I take out old photos and barely recognise myself. It's not surprising, though. That little girl who felt so terrified of death, so fearful of her own mortality is dead. I killed her and replaced her with this young woman who fights for justice and trains at least 6 or 7 hours a day in order to be better…better than what, I'm not sure. But is anyone? Do you know what that final goal is you're striving for? I sure don't. Better than my father maybe?…well, I have a sneaky suspicion that I'm stronger than him now anyway, and he's the strongest man in the world. So there's no one left between me and that plateau of greatness…that place where the lines between body and spirit and mind blend into one and I'm no longer flesh and bone. I'm no longer weak.

At least, I thought there was no one left. Until he showed up. The Great Saiyaman. Even knowing he's Gohan, or Gohan is him, I still can't shake the feeling of annoyance and downright jealousy I felt when I saw him. He was flying. Not just leaping high, he was flying. And fighting as if it were second nature. I know that most people just saw a super hero, but I saw beyond the silly costume. I saw a fighter who was able to make his thoughts reality…he was doing what I dreamed of, making will and actions one. And he did it so effortlessly, like the rest of us were nothing.

Like the rest of us were only flesh and bone.

I hated him at first, more than I've ever hated anyone else in my life. Not even these two bit criminals made me as angry…after all, I was stronger than them. But the Great Saiyaman was stronger than me.

I'll admit, the thought of him distracted me more than I wanted it to. And that only made things worse, since whenever I made a mistake, he would be there to save me. The irony of that would make a great comedy.

That's why I had to know who he was. I had to know how he did it. I could handle him being able to do such amazing things if I could do them too.

Looking back, I can't believe I didn't realise earlier who he was. I can understand how he fooled the others, but I should have spotted the lean muscles and perpetual alertness in his stance - trademarks of a good fighter - sooner than I did. Perhaps my father's 'Size is everything' mantra was wearing off on me. It won't happen again.

I don't know when I fell for Gohan. If I told Erasa this story, she would tell me it was when I first saw him in his navy gi, which could never hide his build as well as his school outfit does. But I'm not so sure what I fell for him is purely physical. It's more like…energy. Like the energy Gohan taught me about when I fly. It courses through me and concentrates in my stomach until I feel almost sick when I'm with him. But sick in a good way. Like I've just done a heavy session of training and my heart is beating fast and my skin is warm to the touch. I feel like I can fly.

It was feelings like this that almost distracted me from why I'd made that deal with him in the first place: so that we could fight each other at the Tenkaichi Budoukai on equal terms. So that I could prove to myself that I was still strong, still capable of proving myself better than just human.

Did I still want to, though? That was the question. After all, I didn't really dislike Gohan as much as I once did. Far from it, in fact. I really liked him. A lot. And he'd already shown me that what he could do was not impossible and that with time and training I could do it too. And I didn't want to hurt him, nor be hurt by him. I wanted…I wanted to stand by his side. I'd never felt as safe as I did with him. That doesn't mean that I wanted him to ride up on a big white stallion and carry me away, but when you're the strongest girl in the world it's not often you get to indulge in protectiveness from anyone other than your father.

These questions were still going through my mind as I approached the ring to fight Spopovitch. I cleared them as soon as we reached the ring, just like I trained myself to, but from first impressions I could probably do this with little thought at all. I'd watched videos of Spopovitch's fights with my father and even if he'd trained every day since those fights, it wouldn't change the fact that he had poor technique and simply not enough control over his anger to make a decent fighter. Despite his size, I was feeling confident.

The feeling of confidence grew as I made my first hits…there was no advantage to be gained by waiting. Certainly not with Spopovitch. He wasn't even blocking for Pete's sake. I know that there are some fighters who can never attain the kind of build my father or the almost inhuman control Gohan has over his ki, but at least a degree of skill and training in technique should make up for that. I couldn't understand why Spopovitch wasn't even fighting back with the basics. He certainly couldn't be enjoying the pain.

That's when I fought harder…not much, just enough to try and finish this quickly. I completed a neat set of torso-high punches with my last - usually jaw breaking - attack. That would've done it.

But it didn't.

He got up again. By some miracle, he made his way back on to his feet. And that's when I first got the hint that something wasn't right. It didn't worry me too much though…so this guy had endurance. I would get him down eventually. The next set should do it.

They should have done it. But again, he got up. By this point even the announcer wasn't sounding so impressed as worried. Even the crowd saw that this might take me longer than I'd planned. But I was getting tired. You can only beat your fists against the closest flesh can get to a brick wall before things start to hurt. It begins in your fingers - they're only tiny bones, after all - and slowly works it's way up your arm, burning in your joints and stinging in your muscles.

I needed to finish it. And soon. It was time to go to my stronger attacks, namely kicks. I'm female, after all, and I would be the last to deny that a woman's strength is usually concentrated in her legs rather than arms. A few decent kick combinations followed with a sharp one to the neck that will knock out an elephant if you time it right.

But my timing was off. I don't know whether I was thrown off by the easy way he was taking all my kicks or worse, that smug half smile he was wearing when it should have been a grimace of pain but when I went to throw my leg around like I'd practiced so many times, I missed. Not by much, just a few inches. But that was all it took.

With a chilling crack, I heard Spopovitch's neck snap. I hoped for the best when I landed - that I had only thrown a bone off centre - something that could be healed. But when I turned around, I could nothing was going to mend that.

His neck was broken, all right. Completely. His head had done a complete 180 degrees. I was sickened at the sight and even more so by the knowledge that I had done it. My strength wasn't looking nearly as honourable a gift as I once thought it. As Spopovitch fell, he announcer was stating the obvious: I had won. But I was disqualified.

I lowered my head. I couldn't look up - I would see Gohan's face amongst the other warriors. He would be so ashamed.

But I never saw that look on his face. There wasn't time. A split second later, the crowd was making a commotion over something and when I looked up Spopovitch was standing. I froze. I admit it. The sight of a man who, by all physical laws, should be dead, made me freeze. It wasn't any easier to move when he raised his hands to his head and twisted his head back into place. I wouldn't have believed it unless I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes.

I did try to move. But it was if my body were in slow motion…unable to do anything on it's own until my brain sorted out how a man who was dead five seconds ago could be alive again. Eventually, I did move. When Spopovitch hit me. And then again, and again. I couldn't find the time to defend myself. I don't think I was even hitting the ground. It was if I were suspended in mid-air by his bone-shattering hits, bounced around like a rubber ball.

Then came what would have been the decider: the punch that had me flying towards the grandstands, flying out of the ring.

Flying.

I had mastered flying, I thought at the time, surely I could master just floating.

And I did. A few inches away from kissing green grass, I suspended myself in the air and prayed I had enough focus and strength to get me back to the ring.

I surprised myself by doing that, not just the crowd. And boy, were they surprised. I couldn't help but feel a little proud, imagining what they would say later. I bet not many people had managed to keep themselves from losing by controlling their ki enough to float themselves back into the ring.

But flying or no, I still had to fight Spopovitch to win. And it would have to happen that the guy had gotten his second wind back, if he'd ever had a first. As I was used as a punching bag for a few more hits, the chilling thought went through my head that maybe this had been Spopovitch's plan all along - force me to wear myself down and then bring out the big guns. I cursed myself for being so stupid. But then again, I never would have been able to prepare myself for a guy who can bring himself back from the dead.

That wasn't all he could do, either. Deciding that cowardice might be the better part of valour for the moment, I choose to put Gohan's lessons to good use and flew into the air. I ignored the crowd's shouts of surprise to watch Spopovitch's face. I wanted to see his anger at being cheated of his favourite punch bag.

I never saw it. If anything, he was smiling. And then I saw why. He was flying. And fast. I tensed myself for his attack - I'd never tried fighting midair but now seemed a good time for a crash course. But Spopovitch didn't attack me. He flew straight past me. Was he showing off, I wondered, until I saw him bring his hands together. Too late, I realised he was doing what Gohan was doing, concentrating his ki energy into a weapon.

But like I said, I realised that too late and the blast hit me full on. It was only by some miracle I was able to pull myself out of the fall when I did.

I thought it would be over then. I thought Spopovitch would take that opportunity to attack me from above and finish the match. But he didn't. I don't think he wanted to. That was why, when I was thrown out of the ring, he didn't let me go, as any other fighter would have. And go I would've. I didn't have the strength, or the focus, to pull myself back in this time. But he stopped me and I wish he hadn't.

It was as if, with each hit I took, Spopovitch was getting stronger, almost feeding off my pain. And there was a lot of it. My jaw looked like it was out of commission and a few teeth felt off-centre. And that was only the least of it. My ribs were hurting and some of them were broken. Which is fine on it's own until you have to breathe, or worse still, you get punched in the same spot again and you can feel bone and lung making contact where they shouldn't. On top of that, my legs were fractured, I'm sure and my fingers…well, I don't even want to think about how many pieces they were in.

All this I was able to take note of as I lay on the cold of the ring, contemplating the wisdom of getting up again. It's amazing how easily you can take account of your injuries when you're in pain, and even more amazing how loudly the pain can be screaming at your psyche to just give it up already.

But I couldn't. I couldn't let something as ultimately pathetic as my body slow me down. Gohan had taught me there was so much more to your fighting skill than muscle and bone. Flesh and blood.

I could hear him, though, above the din of the crowd. He was trying to tell me to stop. He was trying to tell me to stay down. Why did he care? If I was eliminated, he would have a clearer shot at the finals.

Even as I thought it, I knew that wasn't fair to Gohan. He did care. Indiscriminately. He cared about his family, so he kept his powers a secret. He cared about the city so he risked exposure by trying to save people who would worship him until they found a new hobby. He even cared for me. And I had tried to ruin him.

I had to prove it to him. I had to prove that I had the kind of courage he seemed to be made of, that some part of me was brave not because it was the strong thing to do, or the most popular, but because it was right.

I stood up again. God knows how. I think I just tried to rely on the parts of my body that weren't broken to hold me up. But that was all fine until I tried to attack Spopovitch. His body was like steel now, while mine felt as if it had been through the wringer a few times over. I had no hope left, I knew, as I was held up like a doll and punched in my stomach. I'm sure something ruptured then, but couldn't even muster enough focus to remember the biology lesions when we'd covered internal organs.

I fell to the ground, like the limp bag of bones and flesh I was. But there was something left inside me - spirit, maybe. Something that transcended the pain and hummed in response to a rising ki nearby.

Not Spopovitch. This ki was pure, kind, honest…

Maybe it was being so close to death, maybe it was the clarity of mind you get when your body is useless, but I could swear the ki's was Gohan's.

I saw the shadow of Spopovitch's foot rise above my head. This was it. The end. Spopovitch wouldn't care if he was disqualified for killing me. It wasn't about winning for him. I saw that now. There was something much bigger going on, something I could only grasp at.

"Videl!"

Was that Gohan's voice calling out? Possibly. Hero that he is, he was coming to save me. But I knew he would be too late. I heard death calling, chilling my bones and slowing my heart, waiting for the finale. I felt sadder than I thought I would, but not because I didn't want to die. I didn't want to leave my father all alone. I didn't want to leave before apologising to Gohan for not appreciating all the goodness that he was and for not telling him that, if he gave me a chance, I would fall in love with him. And not just in a teenage crush kind of way. Love as in forever. Love as in death do us part.

Death was coming early this time, though, and the words I wanted to say so badly were going to be silenced along with me.

At least, that's what I thought. Until I was saved.

Not by Gohan.

Someone else. He told Spopovitch to end it and next thing I knew, I was outside the ring, lying on the grass.

And then Gohan was with me, leaning over me. I couldn't open my eyes, but I knew it was him. He was warmth and strength combined, love and hope, my future, all in one man. That other man may have saved my life, but as I heard Gohan promise to defeat Spopovitch, I realised that he had saved my humanity. It was because of him that I was able to see the differences between who I was and who I could be in those last few moments. It was because of him, I could be saved from becoming something like Spopovitch, with no will for anything but fighting and being strongest.

"Gohan," I whispered. I couldn't take air to do much else.

"Shh, don't talk. I'm going to take care of you, Videl."

I smiled. Those visions of the future I'd had were like the sweet remnants of a dream, fading into memory. Still, I remembered all that was important: it was a future beside Gohan.

Yes, I am flesh and blood.

But I'd forgotten I am something as well as that.

I am heart.

A/N: Short (sorta) but sweet, I hope. Agree or disagree, let me know. Read and review or email me. Also, this is hopefully just to fill a small gap until I can get around to writing the next epic. Sorry to all those who've been waiting patiently for me to get my ass in gear. I am getting there. Slowly.