Title – Determination

Author – Toreina-Mei (Jenna)

Disclaimer – (forgotten in the first chapter ^_^;;) I own… This story and the idea. Cookies to me. I don't own Dragon Ball Z or GT. *turns nose up at GT series and mumbles to self 'if it wasn't for Pan…'* Read on and enjoy! XD

Chapter Two

:

Readjusting

*****

Just as he claimed he would do, Piccolo had slung me over his shoulder and carried me home. Had I not been fatigued from the day's activities I would have put up more of a fight, but I had enough fight in me to beat on his back and kick my feet wildly and viciously. I elbowed him in the back of the head, on accident, and was proud to have done so. Piccolo promptly put me down and struck me unconscious.

It was morning now, rays of sunlight irritating my eyes. I got out of bed, still in my filthy, sweaty clothes. My skin was grimy and so I stripped, got into the shower and stayed in there for a long while. I washed my hair thoroughly and scrubbed my body clean, taking as much time as I possible could. Eventually I just stood in the spray of hot water.

I was not eager to get out because I would then have to face the tempers of my parents. I knew I couldn't avoid it, nor the long, loud lecture I was sure to receive, but I could postpone it. Which is what I did until my stomach growled. I was hungry and it demanded breakfast. With great reluctance, outweighed by my appetite, as I had not eaten dinner last night, I got out of the shower, dressed and went to the kitchen.

Mom and dad sat at the table, various breakfast foods stacked in a miniature mountain. There was no plate set out for me, which was unusual, so I went to the cupboard to retrieve one and returned to the table, piling food onto my plate. I ignored my parents entirely as I ate.

"Hurry up, Pan, or you're going to be late," said dad.

"I'm not going to school," I said, not bothering to swallow my food.

"I meant for your training with Piccolo."

I let the gob of chewed food in my mouth fall onto my plate with a disgusting slap. I looked up at my father, meeting his gaze.

"You aren't serious, papa."

"I thought you wanted training," mom said.

"Not from him!" I exploded, slamming my palms on the table as I stood. My plate bounced and a few stray morsels rolled off, to which I paid no mind.

"Grandma told me about him. He's a demon! He stole you and nearly killed you, papa. I don't want to train with that monster. I want to--"

"He is not a monster. Or a demon. Piccolo might not be the strongest, but he is the best teacher," dad said forcefully.

Somehow I managed to strike a nerve. Dad had one of his hands on the table balled into a fist, his knuckles turning white. He was defending his childhood kidnapper-turned-friend and the man that Grandma ChiChi had nothing positive to say about. It made no sense to me.

"Yes, he is harsh and honestly, Pan, I think you deserve it. Consider it your punishment for all the worrying you have put your mother and I through."

"Why won't you train me?" I asked my dad, then turned to my mother and repeated the question.

"Pan, you will accept your punishment and you will train with Piccolo."

I clenched my jaw, glaring at my father with all the defiance and abhorrence I could muster. He was set firm in his decision and I was outraged by it, but I could do nothing. I plopped back down into my seat, grabbed my fork, stabbed a sausage and shoved it in my mouth. The food no longer had any taste and the table had become quiet, save for the sound of my fork jabbing the plate.

I stood up, knocking my chair backward to the ground. I was about to leave when my dad called me back to pick it up – I did so begrudgingly. Then I left, shooting off towards the forest. I didn't know where I was supposed to meet Piccolo and was not about to go back and ask. Thus I relied on my energy-sensing ability, touching upon many animals before I reached a considerably large energy. Piccolo didn't feel so impressive now that I was sensing him from afar, flying to where I felt him. I was stronger than him! And last night he had only gotten the upper hand with me because I had been spent.

Piccolo was at the waterfall, hovering above the water. I landed roughly, sneering at the indentation in the ground that my body had made in our scuffle last night. I waited for Piccolo to acknowledge my presence, but he didn't seem to know I was there.

"Hey, demon!" I called nastily.

There was not even a twitch in response.

"You made my dad let you train me, didn't you! Look, you might be able to kidnap him and try to make him an asshole like you, but you can't do that with me!" I remembered what he had told me last night and so, as an afterthought, I added, "You're the weak one!"

Again, I received no response. I was irritated with having to be here and already I had made myself angry with him.

My eyes widened, idiotically amazed, as his power level increased. I should have considered that he had been keeping it suppressed and so I felt dumb for thinking he was that weak. I went back to my original theory from last night, that he was stronger than I was, and if he were to show it I would get pissed.

"Brat, first of all, keep that big mouth of yours shut."

"Stop calling me a brat," I said, the words losing much of their impact because he was so much taller then myself.

"Shut up," he reiterated in a much ruder manner, "I offered to train you, so don't be ungrateful."

"I don't want your training," I said.

"Throw a punch at me."

That was something I had not expected, but I was only too delighted to oblige. His height posed little problem – I jumped, pulled my fist back, and threw all of my strength into hitting him in the face. Piccolo swatted my arm away, instantly infuriating me. I hovered and tried to punch him with my other hand. He caught me by the wrist and lifted me, my shoulder protesting the strain, to his eye level. His curled upper lip, crinkled nose and drawn-down brows conveyed disgust.

"You're slow, brat."

I had already admitted that to myself, but it was something I took great offense to when said by him.

"I am not!" I protested hotly.

Piccolo released me unceremoniously and backhanded me. My head turned to the side, my cheek stinging, before I whipped it back to stare, wide-eyed and disbelieving, at him. He scowled at me.

I lunged, tossing punches erratically. I was focused on hitting him, on hurting him, even as he took to the sky. Each punch I threw was blocked or avoided and yet I still persevered, thinking that I could hit him. Piccolo dodged another attack and hit me with his fist, directly between the eyes. Water automatically sprung into my eyes as I fell backward from the force. I righted myself, holding my nose and trying to hide the tears that had responsively sprung to my eyes because I was embarrassed of them.

There was no time to clear my hazed vision as Piccolo continued his assault. I tried to escape from his onslaught, but he was just too fast. I had to endure this punishment, unable to get away or avoid him.

When it had all finally ended, I was sprawled on the ground. Blood, now caked over, had trickled from my nose and my bottom lip was split; bruises colored my face, ribs and knees; and I was still alive and still in tact. I was also sore and beaten, too tired to return home. Piccolo had returned to his spot above the waterfall, hovering with crossed legs.

Damn him.

Eventually, I fell asleep.

*****

A week passed by painfully. I was getting no where with this supposed training. Each day I would wake to spar with Piccolo, for hours trying to land a punch on him. Then he would call a break for lunch, him drinking water and meditating while I had to catch my own food and cook it. I was more often than not eating an overdone, burnt meal.

In addition, after my first training outfit had been destroyed, I was now wearing the fifth gi crafted by Piccolo. He once put me in an outfit identical to his – I threw a fit, not wanting to be or look like him at all. I had to wear it, though, until it had been shredded in battle. After that he made me orange gi's. I didn't mind that it had his symbol on the back because I couldn't see it.

I had to bathe in the stream and was very uncomfortable about doing so naked. My outfit had no undergarments included except for built-in shorts that were meant to be underwear, so it wasn't possible for me to bathe in bra and underwear. I made sure Piccolo was no where in sight and, after the first time, it became an easier task.

One afternoon I had been so furious with Piccolo that I threw a piece of raw dinosaur at him while he was meditating – It was incinerated with two, thin energy beams from the eyes. I learned that, not only was he always alert, but that he could make his energy come out somewhere that wasn't his hands. I hated him even more.

After lunch came the injurious part. Piccolo launched his own assault and I was forced to remain on the defensive. I avoided few of his kicks and less of his punches and by sunset, I was a pathetic sight.

My body protested these daily excursions. It hasn't had a chance to heal in days, nor has it had a proper, comfortable rest since I have been sleeping on a hard ground. I was not at full strength – I was actually in pain, a lot of it. Yet, somehow, I still had not sustained any incredibly horrible injuries.

As I sat alone in the quiet of night, I relied on my thoughts to keep me company. I thought for a long while, mostly about how much I despised Piccolo, but from my thinking, I realized that he had been taking it easy on me. He wasn't using his full power with me, which is how I was still even alive. He was unbelievably cruel, heartless and infuriating. I needed to recooperate, to let my muscles rest, my cuts heal and my bruises fade. Piccolo would never care, though, and I would never show him any weakness. He just kept pushing me harder, making me keep up with him.

Another week passed by before I was again seated by the gentle stream of water, the rumbling of cascading water far in the background, with my back leaning against a solid, straight up wall of rock. It was dark, but still early in the evening when I began to think. I realized that the training I was doing with Piccolo, fighting and sparring, was what I had been yearning for. Even if he was always yelling at me, demanding that I anticipate his attacks. I tried to guess them, but I always relied on my reflexes because I didn't know how to know what Piccolo was going to do.

By now I hated this man wholly, for his uncaring attitude and nature, but I tolerated him. We argued often, I insulted him with nasty names, and yet I respected him for the fact that he could train me in a way that my family simply could not. My hatred outclassed my respect for him by far.

I had been able to rest today. Piccolo didn't awake me at dawn today, but my body, used to arising then, woke up anyway. I waited for him to come by and try to kick me awake and he never did. He left me alone and I was confused as to why, but was not moronic enough to ask. By afternoon I felt restless, wanting to get up and move around as I had gotten accustomed to do doing, however reasoned that I would be doing that tomorrow. I needed to relax and heal minor wounds, wounds that were accumulating into a larger, scattered pain. I was tired anyway, and so I slept the entire day.

Whenever I woke, which was roughly at hour intervals, I was ready to snap at Piccolo. I swore he was staring at me and I wanted him to stop, knowing that he was mocking me with a scornful look, as if I were weak, but when I lifted my head to look for him I saw him nowhere. I felt dumb for being so paranoid.

I was feeling ill, my face feeling flushed and my body sweaty. I shrugged that notion of being sick as still being groggy from sleep and the hotness induced by the summer day.

I hadn't eaten a lot for dinner tonight, I didn't think my stomach would be able to handle it.

My eyes went out of focus and my vision spun even though my head remained unmoved. I closed my eyes, shutting out the dizziness, which was only replaced with a throbbing in the back of my head and at my temples. I laid down to sleep, confident that more rest would ward away any oncoming illness and headaches.

The next morning I was up early, before the sun had peeked over the horizon. Piccolo was standing atop the waterfall – I only knew he was awake because his legs weren't crossed in a meditative position – with his arms folded in a gesture that had become familiar to me.

An early morning breeze picked up, thick with a sticky humidity that told me it was going to be another unbearably hot day, and made Piccolo's cape billow. I floated up curiously, still a good distance behind him, and looked to see what had his attention. There was nothing unusual in the sky, no birds yet awake, all the nighttime bats having fled before the first rays of light shown. I gave his back an incredulous look, finding it both unimaginable and laughable that he was watching the sunrise.

"You're watching the sunrise?" I guffawed, wanting to rub it in, "The demon is watching a sunrise?"

I forced out another derisive laugh to taunt him further, holding my ribs as if from the laughter when, really, my lungs ached from it. Slowly and inconspicuously, I stopped, wanting to end the tightening in my lungs that was making it difficult to breathe without drawing attention to it.

Piccolo kept his back to me and I was disappointed that I had not been able to rile him.

"You can stop calling me a demon, brat."

"And you can stop calling me a brat, demon."

My stomach twisted painfully and suddenly I didn't want to say anything more. I clutched my stomach at the sides, massaging hard, which did me no good. I considered getting something for breakfast, I was probably so hungry that my stomach was cramping, but I discovered that had no lust for food this morning.

In my pained and impatient state the sun took too long to rise. It was the first time I had actually watched a sunrise and saw the pinks and oranges that colored the sky – There was nothing spectacular about it. I saw nothing enchantingly beautiful.

The pain churning in my stomach had my attention and also seemed to make the wait even longer. Eventually Piccolo turned around and I automatically slackened the muscles in my face, which I hadn't realized I had scrunched in my agony. He failed to notice or acknowledge my pained expression and I narrowed my eyes, aggravated by his lack of consideration, but also relieved that he had not seen my weakness. I followed him to our usual, desolate training ground, trying to fight away the twisted feel in my stomach. We began as always – Me hurling punches and unsuspected kicks that somehow were expected by him.

"You have attempted the same attacks countless times, don't you think that I would be able to anticipate them?"

He hit my hand away, further proving his point.

"Do something different!" he barked.

I screamed, powering up to my fullest extent, concealing my embarrassment and wounded pride with anger. I had every intention of charging Piccolo, with no idea yet of what I would do, when I teetered, suddenly dizzy. I shook my head, closing me eyes and reopening them, pretending that Piccolo hadn't noticed, then launched myself at him. On a spontaneous whim of thought, I zanzokened behind him, meaning to kick him in the head. Rather, Piccolo grabbed hold of my foot, surprising me when I had been so sure that he would not expect that, and whipped me toward the ground.

It should have been reasonably simple for me to halt my descent, but another upsurge of dizziness assaulted me. My vision blurred and jumped as if I had been shaking my head vigorously; my concentration became as fuzzy and boggled as my sight. I closed my eyes, overcome with tiredness and concentrated, with great difficulty, on getting enough power into an energy shield to protect my landing. Upon impact I fell unconscious.

*****

Author's Note – As my beta-reader Ly says, second chapters are the hardest to write. *sighs* Thank you, Ly, for being such a great beta-reader! *huggles*

I am curious to know, as this was mentioned by a reviewer, if anyone is curious as to why Piccolo is not in Hell (other than the fact that I did no appreciate him being killed off in the series and brought him back 'cause I felt like it). If people really seem interested, then I will add that "story" either to the end of this story, or as a one-shot. Just let me know if you can't do without an explanation.

Thank you to Ryukodomo, PiccolosdragoN, The Chosen One, tREK, Hollow and my Anonymous reviewer for the reviews. ^_^ Reviews and criticism are all welcome and very much appreciated. Flamers will just be pitied (and deleted, as most don't have a log-in name). If you tell me what I'm doing wrong I'll love you forever and ever.

Planned Update – 12/23