I hope you'll forgive for the delay. School is being an absolue whore these last days, but fret not! In just three jolly days, I'll be free of her forever-er-for the summer! I'll be snappier then, no doubt.
The instant Gohan opened his eyes, he felt absolutely amazing.
The sun shone down through the window of his kitchen, the linolium floor beneath him was almost soft. It was quiet. He was in his own home. He was safe.
He sighed with absolute contentment, releasing the tension that had built up within him from a night of bad dreams.
He stood slowly; a cheerful waking doesn't mean his injuries had miraculously healed over. But he felt better. Optomistic, even. He almost went outside to find Sunow--he had questions he needed answered about the planet Aeesu--but decided against it. He was happy, but in no mood to see anyone.
Looking around, he was upset to find his kitchen messy--he hadn't cleaned up the mess he made shuffling through the first-aid kit yesterday, or cleaned the mess he had made eating. Crumbs, dried globs of food, there were a few dishes uncleaned by the sink. He hadn't cleaned the pan he used to cook eggs with days ago.
It wasn't really much of a mess, but it bugged him. His mother would throw a holy fit if she knew how untidy he was being. She had made him promise, before she let Bulma give him this house, that he would keep it neat and clean at all times.
Muddy foot prints--he could tell that while he was gone his house had been open to anyone that wished to enter--various sized, three-toed foot prints prooved that the Aeesu-jin had been coming and going, smaller foot prints of Garlic, and, only on rare here-or-there basis, were the large marks of Bojack.
It was rather irritating, but Gohan didn't let it bring him down. It felt nice being up again.
There was a pretty bad smell wafting off of him; sweat, blood, fear; that was greatly interrupting his peace of mind. He would clean himself up good, he decided, then clean the kitchen. Hell, he would clean the whole house. He smiled to himself as he made his way to his bathroom, realizing how crazy it was that he was looking forward to doing chores.
He turned the water on in the tub, and slowly began to undress.
It wasn't that he was a particularly messy boy. He always kept his room tidy and his bed made, did his dishes when he was through eating, and tried to take a bath once a day. But those weren't really chores. The plans he had for the house were going to involve hands-and-knees scrubbing, sudsy surface cleaners and strong smelling solvents. He was anticipating it.
Once the tub was full, he slid himself into the warm water, mindfully keeping his bum leg out of the water--he wasn't supposed to get his stitches wet. He scrubbed at his skin thoroughly, picking at clumps of dried mud and working at red stains with lathered soap until there was more grunge in the water than on himself. He drained the tub, then refilled it and repeated the process; scrubbing behind his ears and under his arms, soaping up his head--first time he washed his hair since arriving on this kami forsaken planet!!-- and working away every little speck of crud he could find on himself until his skin positively glowed and squeeked when he ran his hand over it.
Using a damp washcloth, he carefully cleaned off his left leg. He drained the tub and refilled it once more to rinse off, washing away all the bubbles left over, splashing water into his face and rubbing it down his neck and shoulders, then leaning back to soak for a while. In his own home. With lavender-smelling soap. And no one else around.
If his leg wasn't such a wreck, it would have been virtual paradise.
He climbed out of the water when it began to get cold, wrapping a fluffy towel around his shoulders, and, barefoot, he padded across the bathroom to the crumpled, stained, foul-smelling pile that was his gi. It wasn't orange anymore. It was mostly brown and black; mud and blood; and shredded in too many places to count. Crouching, he picked it up and inspected it carefully, but with a sinking feeling.
Perhaps his mother, with all her expertise and years of expiriance, could have been able to mend it. But Son Gohan knew, beyond a doubt, that there was no way he would be able to fully repair it. He couldn't even find a place to begin, for its material was worn thin from abuse, burnt from chi and that cursed Chah't ceptre, and shredded from his untidy decent down the mountain. He was afraid to even wash it, for fear it would dissolve altogether and clog up the filter in his washing machine.
He carried it into his bedroom, crumpled it into a wadded ball, and threw it into the back of his closet. He would just have to deal with it later.
He pulled on his white study shirt and black slacks and, still rubbing at his wet hair with a towel, returned to his kitchen where he began systematically picking up and putting away all articles on the floor. Then he cleaned off the counters with a kitchen rag. Then he swept. Then he mopped. Then he cleaned the sink of any remianing stains of blood or chunks of stone from yesterdays unpleasant business.
It was nearly an hour later when he had completely finished with the kitchen. His leg hurt a good sum, but long ago he learned to ignore this kind of pain; he was too busy being proud of how nice his kitchen looked to care, anyway.
He returned to his room, limping, thinking that perhaps he would lay down on his bed for a few hours; let his leg up and relax. And just heal. His mother never understood how, but even after the roughest days of training with Tousan and Piccolo-san he only needed a good night's sleep to recover for the next day's strains. Each night as he went to bed he pretended he was in one of the healing chambers Vegita-san had shown him on Namek. He pretended he could feel himself healing, his cuts closing, his swelling receding, and, sure enough, by the next morning nearly all the damage was gone.
It was a silly game, and he knew he wasn't really healing that fast. As he got older, he imagined it less and less. He stopped completely in the Room of Spirit and Time and, truthfully, had forgotten about it until that moment on planet Aeesu as he limped to his room.
He had the crazy impulse to start pretending again, and he couldn't come up with a single reason not to.
But when he lay down, his head on his soft pillow that smelled of home, sleep was far from his mind and his eyes wouldn't close. He kept thinking about that dirty gi all crumpled up in his closet. It would start smelling. If his mother knew he had just thrown an article of clothes into the back of his closet, she would be upset with him. How does one get rid of the smell of blood? What if it left a stain on the floor?
It was such a minial chain of worries that it almost made him happy. No worrying about Henning. No worrying about the plan. Just worrying about a dirty gi leaving a smell in the back of his closet.
Nevertheless, he got up from his bed and collected the rotten looking little ball of cloth from his closet, carried it down the hall from his room, and layed it out on his washing machine where it wouldn't disrupt him.
He returned to his room, but found he didn't feel like pretending or sleeping anymore. It had been just some crazy notion. He almost wished he would get more. He kind of liked when his thoughts caught him by surprise.
He stared at his bed, not laying down, unable to take his eyes off a crease in the sheet. It wasn't a big crease. But it held his attention captive. He finally shook his head, straightened out the sheet, and decided that if he wasn't going to sleep, he might as well start cleaning his room.
Joru Le'Armont cringed against the wall as a stray chair sailed over his head and crashed against the wall. A second article was hurtled against a different wall with a louder crash, where it shattered.
"Brother, that was a priceless vase!" Joru yelled, ducking against the wall as Henning threw another object--a flowery statuette depicting a plump alien female--and it exploded into stoney shards above Joru's head, "Brother, calm down! You're not well! You won't be able to heal if you keep-"
"It's not fair!" Henning yelled, oblivious to his brother's words as he pounded his feet against the ground and beat his fists against the walls, "I had him, dammit, had him in my fucking palm!" He held his hand up in example, his trembling fingers clutching at the air as though grasping for something beyond his reach, "How, how, how could he have escaped?!"
Joru trembled to his very soul, Oh, if only you knew, Brother......
Henning began coughing and clutched his side, the veins in his temples pulsing out horrifically, and he sank to his knees, punching at the ground, ranting like a maniac, "Son Gohan is mine!! My prize!! I caught him!!"
"I know, brother, I know," Joru said, trying to sound soothing despite the fact he was almost urinating on himself. He put a hand on his brother's back, agreeing with him and saying, "I know, he was yours. All yours," because he couldn't think of anything else to say and he was afraid Henning was going to destroy the entire fortress as well as himself if he didn't calm down, "All your-"
"But you can't possibly understand!" Henning cried, spinning around and grabbing Joru by his shirt collar. He dropped his voice suddenly to a wild whisper, "I had my hand against his face....like this...," and he pressed his cold Tahch-jin palm against his brother's face, "And I felt his beautiful little thoughts....."
Joru pulled away from his brother, "I know, I know!" he insisted, "I know, I know!" He retreated backwards, fumbling his hands behind him to avoid stumbling over anything.
Henning stalked after his brother, his arms wide as though about to tackle him and wrestle him to the ground, "I want him back! Oh, I need that precious boy back!!" And Joru continued to say, "I know, I know!" until Henning suddenly dover after him, his hands outstretched to grab hold of Joru's shoulders.
The smaller Tahch-jin retreated further, running almost backwards, looking over his shoulder to keep from tripping over the rubble of some smashed artifact. Henning pursued him, keeping one hand pressed against his ribcage where not long ago Son Gohan had struck him, and his other hand reaching forward, trying to catch hold of his brother.
Suddenly, he went into a flying leap, just missed the back of Joru's robe, and went tumbling to the floor, hunching over his aching side. Joru watched him with a mixture of pity and horror.
"You'll find another...boy...and maybe he'll be even better," Joru attempted comfort, but was unable to hide the revultion he felt. He remembered the way young Gohan had looked after spending less than an hour with Henning. It was such a sight, burned forever into Joru's mind, that he almost wanted to kill his brother to insure it would never happen again.
Henning shook his head, "I don't want another one." His head slowly rose, "I'll get him back!"
"Oh, brother, just let him-"
"No, I'm thinking clearly now. I have it!" He turned his head to look at his brother, and truely his eyes gleamed once more with his cold Tahch-jin genius, "Gather your forces, brother dear, we're going Saiya-jin hunting!"
"What!?" Joru said, "When!?"
Henning began calculating, "A day to get the men prepared....perhaps two to collect all the supplies we would need....and to chart off the planet.... Brother, how many sentry do you have now?"
Head spinning, Joru approximated, "Well....about three hundred on the planet. You know I don't really like having too many-"
"Collect them all. Tell them we're going treking across the Aeesu-jin planet."
"When?"
"Three days."
It was when cleaning under his bed that he found the box. It was a large box, cardboard. At first, he didn't even recognize it. It took a moment's time to get it out from under the bed--it had been slid way back against the wall, as though hidden, and when he got it out into the light were he could see it, he found it was covered in dust.
It looked pretty old, as though it had been stashed away in the far corner under his bed for years. Very curious.
He brushed the layer of dust off the lid, and found that something was written on it in black permanant marker--he recognized it as his own handwriting, though it was a bit less coordinated. It was his handwriting from years ago, when he was still very young.
On the lid, it read "In case of Emergency".
It was very odd. Why would something like this be hidden in his capsule house? Perhaps he put it here years ago and forgot about it? He was almost hesitant to open it, as though it was some ancient artifact that shouldn't be disturbed, or someone else's property. He ran his hand over the rest of the box, ridding it of the soft layer of dust, sneezing.
Finally, carefully, he pulled up the tape securing the box shut, and the instant he open it, he remembered.
For inside, was his old Saiya-jin armor; the one he had worn on Namek eight years ago. When he had been only five years old.
He remembered, now, why it had been hidden.
His mother had wanted to get rid of it. On every turn, she would nag him about it, telling him he didn't need it because he wasn't going to fight anymore and it was ugly and the kind of clothes the enemy wore--at that time she was very against all Saiya-jins--and it represented evil, and other tripe that she layed on so thick it irritated Gohan.
He was usually a good boy, and tried to do everything his mother told him to, but for some utterly unknown reason, he had been unable to throw it away.
So he did something he normally couldn't do.
He lied.
He told her he had thrown it away. She was proud of him, smiled, hugged him and called him her good little boy. He felt rotten. But he kept the suit; hidden in his closet or under his bed, always moving it to make sure his mother wouldn't find it.
When Bulma-san gave him his capsule house, he finally had a secure hiding place. He stashed it under his new bed, where he completely forgot about it. Until now.
Carefully, as though expecting it to break, he pulled out the white body armor, inspecting it carefully, remembering this was the first Saiya-jin armor he had ever looked at closely, and he recalled how it had perplexed him so. He stretched it expirimentally, finding it was just as pliable as it had been so many years ago.
Bulma-san's version of the armor deteriorated after a year or so; near the end of his stay in the Room of Spirit and Time, his armor was so far gone that it cracked and chipped at every impact. She was still far from discovering the recipe required to make a suit as advanced as this.
Perhaps she never would.
He layed the armor aside and pulled out the snowy white gloves, and boots--checking each over for any signs of aging, finding none--and finally the dark blue undersuit.
It wasn't until after he pulled the undersuit out that the idea occured to him.
Perhaps he could still fit into it.
His gi was wasted, unrepairable, and filthy. He wouldn't be able to fight in his study clothes--the material was far too flimsy. Why not wear the Saiya-jin armor to battle? It brought him luck against an Aeesu-jin eight years ago, and considered what was ahead, he would need it.
It looked extremely small, though. Would it stretch to fit him? Perhaps. There was always one way to find out.
On another swing of impulse, he didn't bother finishing cleaning his room. He stripped off his slacks and shirt, mindful of his bum leg, and grabbed up his dark blue body suit. He had almost forgotten how to put it on, to tell the truth, and it took supreme time and care to pull it over his abrasive, scabby skin, and he nearly cried out when he accidentally raked his fingers across the jagged stitching on his calf while straightening out the leg of his body suit.
Amazingly, it fit as well as it had eight years ago, snug, but not uncomfortable. The ends of the sleeves ended, perhaps, a few inches higher on his wrists and a tad too high on his ankles, but once on it gave him the same peculiar feeling of power that Bulma's version seemed to lack.
He hefted his body armor next, tossed it back and forth from one hand to the other, still surprised at how it weighed nothing more than air itself. It looked rather small. His torso and shoulders had broadened considerably in the past eight years--and would no doubt continue to grow larger--and the suit, ment for a child's physique, simply did not look equal to his proportions.
Nevertheless, he wiggled and squirmed into it out of curiosity. And immediatly regretted it.
Perhaps if he had been in better health, it wouldn't have bothered him so much, but the instant it was on, it seemed to shrink around his ribcage, hindering his breathing. Though whatever damage his ribs themselves had sustained had knitted, they were still tender as hell. The pressure of the small armor was extremely unpleasant and felt as though it was crushing him slowly and surely. Besides that, it squeezed up under his arms, chafing at his pits, and came in uncomfortably tight around his neck.
He quickly took it off, coughing for moment as he regained his breath. The undersuit fit fine. The body armor did not.
The boots, he found, were too small for his feet, and crumpled up his toes so bad he couldn't walk properly in them. They, just like the armor, were no good. The gloves were about as useful. Apon trying to pull them onto his hands, he found that though his hand fit well enough, his fingers had gotten quite a bit longer--there just wasn't enough glove for his hands. Useless as well.
In the end, only the bodysuit fit him comfortably. Struggling to keep his optimistic attitude, he decided that the undersuit was more than what he had before finding the box. It would work. The material, he knew, was extremely tough, perhaps even tougher than his gi. Though it wouldn't protect him as the armor would have, it would serve its purpose well enough.
In any event, he wouldn't have to fight in his house clothes. Quite actually, the suit was far more comfortable than his house clothes. And the cloth didn't swish when he walked like his either his gi or his house clothes did. That sound always bugged him and his accursed Saiya-jin hearing.
What about shoes? Though he could always fight barefoot, it was a smart idea to protect as much as possible; damaged feet make for hard fighting.
He went searching through the house, looking for his original boots, and found them in his living room where he had removed them yesterday. They were made of a tougher material than his gi had been, and in fact, they didn't seem damaged at all. Just really, really dirty. And smelly. And bloody.
He picked them up, one boot in each hand, and walked down his hall, holding them at as far a distance from himself as he could. He threw them in his washing machine--his mother would be whopping mad if she found out he was washing his shoes in the clothes washer--added extra soap, and turned the machine on. He could always get a new washing machine. He didn't have another pair of shoes. This was an emergency.
While he waited for the wash to get done, he returned to his room and finished cleaning it, going so far as to find the glass cleaner in the bathroom and scrubbing off his windows and mirror.
When his shoes were done, he hobbled down the hall, collected them, returned to his room, pulled them on, and stood before his freshly-washed mirror to see how he looked. It was strange, but he found it oddly appropriate that he was wearing Saiya-jin clothes, and his father's style of shoes.
Whatever fashion statement it made, it gave him a good sum of confidence. He nodded at himself once in the mirror, then glanced at his bed, wondering if he should perhaps take his nap now. Once again, however, his body stubbornly insisted he was not tired. He was thinking of the plan. Of how to take down the Tahch-jin.
He needed to talk to Sunow. He would actually prefer to talk to the doctor, but that wasn't an option at the moment. Either way, he needed information on planet Aeesu-sei if his scheme was really going to work. And he was going to need it soon.
He went to his kitchen where he paced a few moment, his limp getting worse with each turn, and finally collected a bin of food from his fridge, and sat down. He slowly enjoyed his meal, carefully savoring each morsel and ignoring the outside world completely until the container was empty and he was certain hunger wasn't going to suddenly raise its mighty voice.
Then he walked outside in search of Sunow.
To be continued......