Title - Determination

Author - Toreina-Mei a.k.a. Jenna

Chapter Three

:

Ambitions

*****

When I regained consciousness I was still weary, but also very disappointed in myself. I was baffled, not knowing how I could have possibly passed out. I berated myself over it.

Someone held me in his or her arms; the position was uncomfortable and I didn't think I was able to shift or get comfortable anyway. I could hear my dad's voice coming from right above me and determined him to be the one who was holding me.

"Videl, he trained me the same way. Don't worry about her, she'll be just fine," dad said lightly.

I certainly felt far from fine and knowing that my father was not showing the tiniest amount of sympathy or worry for my condition made me feel worse. When I heard momma begin a harsh tirade, I felt a little better. At least she was on my side.

"How dare you do this to our daughter! She isn't Goku or any one of your other Saiyan buddies that can just triple their power whenever they feel like it. She's human! She has limits, you know."

She was yelling at Piccolo, I realized, and dad had been trying to defend him. My mother was trying to defend me, but she was doing a lousy job. Piccolo had started to reply and I cut him off, so insulted that I had to say something.

"I am Saiyan, momma," I said rudely, "and how dare you say I can't fight."

"You know that's not what I meant-"

"That's exactly what you meant. You think I can't fight so you don't want me to do it!"

Weak, drowsy and having said what I felt I had to, I resigned myself to being a listener. A constricting knot had formed in my chest, so I couldn't have said anything more even if I'd wanted to.

"Pan!"

"Pan, be respectful," dad reprimanded.

"Actually," Piccolo finally spoke, "your daughter has improved remarkably. I believe you would be rather surprised at how far she has come."

My ego swelled, just a bit, at his compliment. I was surprised that he would stick up for me like that, but it actually held very little meaning to me because of my dislike for him.

"Well thanks to you she's sick with who knows what! You tell me how that's an improvement."

"Pan is just a little over-exerted. Her body couldn't handle all of this adrenaline so she just needs to rest for a few days. Then she'll be perfectly fine," dad said.

Papa was doing his best to make Piccolo seem like a good guy, or at least a not-so-bad guy, and was acting like this was no big deal. I was laid down on the bed and they left my room: mom still fuming, dad remaining calm, Piccolo as grumpy as usual.

A while later, after everything had calmed down, while I was awaiting sleep, I listened to the small pieces of conversation that managed to float through the wall.

"So, Piccolo, how did you get out of Hell?"

"Good behavior?" he offered flatly.

I stopped listening and fell asleep.

*****

My parents expected me to stay in bed, instead I was up, walking carefully so as not to stumble and feel incompetent. I had to prove to myself that I was strong. Which I was.

Piccolo was outside, hovering in meditation; I could see him through the window. I opened it, looking at him as if he had put on a curly red wig and was doing a jig. \line

"What are you doing here?" I asked caustically.

It was typical of him not to respond, but since I was not in the mood, I picked up the nearest object, a small mirror on my dresser, and threw it at him. Piccolo's eyes popped open and the mirror was disintegrated. My own eyes grew wider then a steering wheel.

Energy beams.

From his eyes.

"Teach me that."

"What?"

His voice was very snappish.

"Teach me how to make energy come out of my eyes."

The ridiculousness of that comment was lost to me then, I was so serious about learning that that I didn't think about what I was saying.

"Go back to bed, brat," he commanded sharply.

"No."

I sat down on the window ledge, brought my knees up to my chest, turned, and scooted outside. I ignored the cramping in my abdomen from that brief movement, making my expression of pain one of adamant resolve.

"You're my trainer. So train me! It's not like I'm dying of some incurable disease, you just can't beat me up for a week. And I'm sure you're disappointed, but you can still train me. Teach me, Piccolo." t felt weird saying his name.

"Please." It felt even weirder to say that.

"No."

I gaped at him, then I got peeved. I try to be nice to him and he throws it right back in my face! My abdomen wrenched, my chest broiled with searing heat and my throat tightened to the point where I couldn't breath. Torn between hiding my pain and winning this argument, my chest heaved as I sought to inhale the air that was impossible to get. I spun and made a dash for the nearest support, that being the window, and unable to make it I collapsed onto my knees on the ground.

"What's wrong?"

Piccolo lacked compassion and sympathy, offered no touch or consolation. He just stood where he was, pretending like he gave a damn.

The knot in my throat disappeared and I choked on the air that rushed in. The other pains were still there, licking with greedy dementedness, slowly dissipating. Normally I would have responded with a "nothing", but since it was obvious that there was something wrong, I went for the next best answer.

"I don't know."

I never realized excessive adrenaline could do this to a person. In all actuality, I think a lot of this may be from injuries that I got from Piccolo that were finally showing up to slap me across the face.

"Here," he said, shoving a canteen into my hands.

I unscrewed the lid and drank, realizing at that moment just how dry my throat was. Piccolo watched me intensely. I disregarded his unfriendly staring.

"Tomorrow."

I looked at him oddly, handing him back his canteen of water. What about tomorrow? Oh.

Inwardly, I smiled, satisfied.

*****

It was early, late by Piccolo's standards if we had been in the woodland, and the sun was not fully risen. We were a short distance into the forest, my house still in sight. I was standing, Piccolo behind me growling orders.

"How do you bring out energy?"

A sarcastic reply came to mind that I thought better of saying, knowing I would have been back-handed for it. It would have pissed me off to say anyway. 'With my hands.' Hmph.

Truthfully, I had never really thought about how the energy came out. It just did.

"I- I don't know."

"Can you feel it?"

I felt for my energy, touching upon it.

"Yes," I answered.

"Then feel it up to your eyes. Don't try to visualize it," he warned, as if he could pluck the very thoughts my mind, "let it flow naturally."

When it came out through my hands, I was so frustrated that I was ready to throw a fit. Somehow I stayed calm.

"Stop restricting yourself. You're too narrow-minded. Just feel for your energy, just like if you were sensing me or my energy. Focus on it and instead of following it, make it follow you."

While it made sense and was a nice theory, it wasn't so simple to actually do. I worked on it for nine days, alternating between my training, sleeping and eating (whenever I could stomach any food). My reward was energy spouting from my ears, which left them tingling and ringing.

Maybe I should have been proud that I had accomplished something, but it wasn't what I was aiming for, so I got no satisfaction from it. Only frustration. I kept at it, though, refusing to stop until I achieved my goal.

I had just eaten brunch, as it was too late to call it breakfast, and was feeling better than I had in previous days. There was no pain, burning or cramping to slow me down; not a trace. I was heading outside, but I got distracted. It was very strange, and somewhat amusing, to see Piccolo standing in the family room. I had never actually seen him in the house before and he looked much too large for our ceilings even if he had enough room to stand at full height.

There was something in his presentation and mannerisms that conveyed seriousness, or more seriousness than usual. He spoke in a tone that someone might use if they were trying to convince a crowd to agree with their cause.

"Yeah," papa nodded, "I can feel it."

Piccolo glanced out of the window, his eyes narrowed and looking ultimately grim.

"Originally I thought it was one enormous power, but there is a lot of them, Gohan."

"I know. But who says they have to be hostile?"

"When have they not been?" Piccolo pointed out.

"Well let's just go see. If we don't get too close, then there's no harm done, right?" he smiled gently.

"Go see what?" I asked.

I had tried to follow their conversation, but I think I missed a large part of it.

"Piccolo says there's a ship that landed somewhere around Satan City. We need to go see what, exactly, is going on."

Dad had spoken to me as if I were a child, but I let it roll off. The prospect of seeing aliens outweighed anything else, except for my excitement that I could finally test my techniques in a real battle, one that would actually have some kind of importance.

I desperately wanted to go with them.

*****

Author's Note – I'm thinking, almost positive, that there will be only two more chapters to this. And, since no one has acknowledged wanting to know the 'How Piccolo got out of Hell'-end-of-story-filler, then my job has been made easier.

Aaand, my computer has broken, so I have to work on my laptop and go to my brother's computer for any uploadings. This shouldn't cause any problems, though.

Thank You's – To Ly, my favoritest, and only, beta-reader. And to PiccolosdragoN, Larania, Jazne4, Sukie Chan, Ryukodomo, kitsu, and especially Chaotic-Soul (you're so loveable, and I don't even know you ^_^;;) Thankies folks! J

Planned Update – 1/2/03