Chapter 13: The Pieces Try To Fall Into Place

Bulma shifted her helicopter into high gear, and noticed for the third time that the cat sleeping on the passenger seat beside her, while not actually sharing her coloration, did... compliment it. The fact had been nagging at her mind. What did it mean about Yamucha's taste? It made her brain travel down alleys of thought she really didn't want to follow. She turned away from Puar, scowling.

Puar had already proven her usefulness; one dragonball shone in the boot of the copter already. Without even having to transform, Puar had simply floated down and snagged it from the bottom of a well, then joined Bulma in a mad dash away from the farmer who probably thought they were tampering with his water supply. In a way, it was good to be back on the hunt again, Bulma reflected; it reminded her of old times. Other than Puar on the seat to remind her of the friends she had found, it had somehow all come back down to Bulma Briefs, driving across the countryside with only her trusty dragon radar, hunting for treasure and her heart's desire.

Sudden memory flashed across her mind. A country road; a dark-haired, wild boy, fierce-eyed but grinning, tail flashing merrily behind him. He had thought her car was a monster- Bulma abruptly felt her throat tighten. She wiped preemptively at her eyes, and shot a glare at Puar, defensive- but the cat only slept on. Bulma slowly let her gaze drift back to the windshield of the helicopter. There was no country road here; only an aging woman, a sleeping cat, and the open sky below and before them. She was adrift in a barren and empty sea. The dragon radar showed her sure direction, but nevertheless Bulma found she had never felt so lost and alone.

After leaving his brother to play with Trunks, Gohan wandered downstairs to find the other fighters, only to find that they had already completed a plan of attack in his absense. Tenshinhan had gone to overfly the country, looking for signs of suspicious military activity; Chaotzu was on his way to track the footsteps of the soldiers who had fled Capsule Corp, and attempt to spy on them using his psychic abilities, and determine anything he could. Dende was off to pay an afternoon visit to Vegeta, feeling that his own energy had recuperated more from healing Piccolo, and wanting to give the Saiyajin Prince a second try. Piccolo himself lay napping on the couch- the first time Gohan had seen him lie flat when he was not severely injured- in fact, the first time he'd ever been entirely certain that Piccolo was actually sleeping, not merely in a meditative state.

In a way, it was a great relief to him; he hadn't realized how much worry for Goten and Piccolo had been weighing on him. And now, Goten was happier than he'd ever seen him. His head felt light with the lifting of his burdens, but also giddy, questing around for something, as if all that worry had lost a target but not been dispelled. He felt almost disoriented with the sudden lack of responsibility. He hadn't relished having to make a plan to rescue his mother, but now that everything had been done for him, he found himself wanting to simply sit and let his spirit plummet.

He found Kuririn in the kitchen.

"What should I do?" he asked.

"You should probably sleep as well," Kuririn said, smiling sympathetically. "It was a hard night for you, too- for that matter I should sleep as well- but there are people I need to check on." He stuffed a sandwich into his mouth, then went on: "We haven't heard anything from Roshi's island, and... someone there..." He blushed.

"I understand," Gohan said, and Kuririn nodded, grateful to be off the hook to explain, and then politely took his leave.

Eventually, Gohan wandered back to the living room. He sat beside the couch. Piccolo was snoring, sharp teeth menacingly bared in his mouth. His turban was askew. Upstairs, the children laughed. Gohan wondered if he should go back to his own house, perhaps study. He held his hands nervously in his lap. Or perhaps he should go to the gravity room, train for the first time since Cell- but with that thought, flashes of cruel laughter and explosions burst into his mind with all the vividness and immediacy of that horrible day, and he jerked his head quickly, slamming the door on all of the confusion and light and pain. Taking a ragged breath to calm himself, he allowed his eyes and ears to feed him the here and now: carpet. Sunlight. Snoring. He breathed deeply in earnest- safe again.

The patch of light from the window was slowly wending its way across the carpet. Gohan sat quietly, watching it, and wondered where he belonged. The children were upstairs wrestling and playing, belonging to one another; he felt shut out of his younger brother's life- jealous of a two year old? No, that was unworthy of him. He just wasn't a child, that was all. He had fallen so easily back into letting the others take care of him; but he knew from his father's words and actions that he was supposed to be the one to take care. He had bungled it up, that was all. Now it was time to take up the reins his father had left to him, demand a place in the plan, go and be the hero- if only he could figure out how. It had always been so easy to be heros with his father there.

Gohan watched the light slowly crawling, fading away. Funny how when you stared at it directly for a long time, then looked away, the whole room and everything in it was dark and dismal, as if the afterimage of light were not something added to vision, but something taken away.

The desk nurse stared skeptically at the small figure in front of her. Wearing a baseball cap, truly enormous sunglasses, a scarf pulled up over its nose, gloves, and some sort of strange robe, and measuring in at under four feet, the stranger was not exactly what you would think of as reputable- but she remembered that the shift before hers had mentioned a bunch of circus performers coming to visit the patient in 408. So she only sighed. If this little kid wanted to put on a disguise, it was his own business; but to be sure, she'd stay in the room.

"Which patient was it again?" she said.

"Vegeta Briefs," said the mystery man, enunciating politely.

"Follow me."

When they entered, Yamucha jumped up from the chair where he'd been dozing, falling into a casual defensive stance and quickly looking from side to side. The nurse jumped back, but Yamucha smiled upon seeing her companion, then stifled a chuckle.

"That's my team," he said, noting the hat. "Dende, I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow!"

"The more often I come, the better his chances are," said the small man.

"Would you mind giving us some privacy?" Yamucha said, without turning his head away from Dende. The desk nurse, who had thought she had been fairly stealthy in taking up a position in the corner behind them, started.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that- the patient's wife gave you proxy status as next of kin, but this kid doesn't have it, and visiting hours are over. I only brought him here because..."

Actually, when it came down to it, she realized she didn't have a clear idea as to why she'd brought him here outside visiting hours. It had just seemed like the thing to do... she squinted, suspicious again.

"It's all right, Yamucha," Dende said. "I'll only be a minute." He turned to her. "May I touch the patient?"

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Just lay a hand on his forehead," Dende smiled. "Don't worry."

"All right, I guess..."

As the suspicious masked figure bent over the patient, Yamucha tapped her on the shoulder, turning her view away from the scene.

"Tell me, is there a chance he'll have a better recovery chance today than yesterday's chance if yesterday's chance was worse than his chance the day before?"

The nurse spluttered, gears whirling. "I.. wh... yest... his chart, maybe..."

"Never mind," said Yamucha, smiling, "That's answer enough."

"Now see here," the nurse said, "What's this about?" She wheeled to catch sight of the patient behind her, and caught a glimpse of a bright light receding into the small man's hand.

His small, GREEN hand.

"On second thought," she said, smiling, "Maybe you'd like some time alone?" And she ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.

In Vegeta's room, Yamucha raised an eyebrow, then quickly reached for the lock on the doorknob.

"Did she see you? I did my best to distract her..."

"I'm not sure," Dende frowned. "What happens now?"

Someone rapped smartly on the door.

"Open up! Security!"

"There's our answer," Yamucha said. "Can you carry Vegeta? I can hold them off-"

"He's too heavy!" Dende protested, removing his cap and scarf now that his disguise was moot.

"You'd better open up," came the voice again, "The army's on its way."

"The army?" Yamucha exclaimed. "Dende, get that window open, and hurry!"

"It won't move!"

Yamucha turned to go to the window, hesitated- the door lock was only a simple one- he wedged a chair under the handle, then turned and punched the window. The plexiglass cracked and splintered, but the thick steel wire bracing the pane cut deeply between the joint of his forefinger and middle finger, nearly splitting his hand. He cursed, but before the shock had been replaced by pain, Dende's warm hand was hovering over his, taking the injury away.

"Can you break it?" the little god asked, intently, as the sweet wholeness spread up Yamucha's limb, in the process healing a sprained muscle he'd had from batting practice and had barely noticed until now. The chair thumped convulsively; they were breaking down the door.

"It will probably be easier to break the wall, actually," Yamucha said, sizing up the wiring that now hung, razor-sharp, in the frame where there had formerly been a window. "I'll need to charge a ki blast- damn it, I don't know if I have time-"

And with a great crack, the back of the wooden chair snapped, and the door burst open.

Everything seemed to happen at once then.

"One of the aliens you warned us about, and he's-"

"ON the floor, or I shoot-"

"-unarmed. Affirmative, capture alive-"

"...Take him now, or wait and see if we can take more of them?"

"HYAAA!"

This last was Yamucha, as a blast of yellow light sprang from his hands into the wall beside the window, blowing plaster, brick, and boards out into the hospital courtyard three floors down. Two of the guards fell back, gasping, but a third took the opportunity to dive, knocking his shoulders and his full weight into the back of Yamucha's knees. Prepared, his stance perfected after years of training, Yamucha did not fall, but he staggered, and turned to see them shove a bag over Dende's head.

Yamucha went berserk. He knew that he should have grabbed Vegeta and flown through the convenient hole he'd just made before the army actually arrived; his little explosion would attract the attention of his friends, much more capable in such matters than he, and maybe together they could even track the soldiers back to their base. But all he could see was red. Wolves howled in his ears. His hands curled into claws, and he dove across the hospital bed at them, snarling. Dimly he was aware that Dende had caused a small knife to materialize, and slashed at the bag himself before whatever anesthetic the fabric had been steeped in caused him to pass out. Yamucha kicked the knife away; it was too much of a risk to bend and lift it, it would leave him exposed. As his attack hit the nearest guard, a truncheon descended on his neck. He blocked left, ducked, back-kicked the man in the knee- wheeled as he was falling to strike him in the chin. The guard's neck snapped back, and his head lolled, truncheon clattering to the floor. Yamucha did not turn his head to watch the man fall; the guard before him was doubled over his own injured stomach, and Yamucha raised a leg for a fierce ax-kick strike to the man's shoulder, dropping him cold. To his left he blocked a blow, then dodged quickly as he heard the sound of a gun at close range. Turning, furious, he came on the armed guard lightening quick; the man recoiled in horror, hands shaking on the gun, squeezing the trigger spasmodically, but to now avail as his feet were swept from him, his gun exploded in an unholy blast of light, and his jaw bloodied.

Panting, Yamucha wheeled, hearing the sounds of pelting feet. Outside, a helicopter was descending. Dende was gone.

Yamucha snatched up the knife and ran into the hall to see the door at the end of the hall waggling in the wake of the guards. Leaping into the air, he slammed through the double door as if it were nothing. Half of it unhinged and spun down the hallway crazily, smashing a gurney as it went. Nurses and doctors were crowding into the hall behind him. He could see the one remaining guard carrying Dende in a sack, pelting down the hall as if all hell were following.

A brief grin crossed his face. All hell was, in fact, about to arrive.

He slammed into the guard with his shoulder, ki gathering in his hand, and the man crashed into the hallway at an angle twenty feet away. He flung the energy at the wall, tearing another breach, this one onto the street.

He shook Dende awake.

"Can you fly?" he cried urgently. Dazed, the Namekian child nodded.

Yamucha flung him out of the building, then turned.

Vegeta- back to Vegeta- he slammed his way through the hallway and back to the room, then stopped cold. Vegeta's body was gone.

As he stood, trying to decide on a direction, he felt a sharp jab in his rear. Turning, fist first, he saw a white-coated doctor fall to the ground. Several nurses gasped in horror. Yamucha brandished Dende's knife at them, threateningly. The helicopter noise was quickly receding- all of a sudden, he understood. They'd taken Vegeta through the very hole he'd blown himself.

He jumped through it, hearing the startled gasps again, and emerged into the late afternoon. The helicopter was just a speck in the distance, wavering in the light. For some reason, he was finding it difficult to breathe. He began to chase after it, mustering as much speed as he could, but for some reason what he thought was up turned out to be down, and instead of bursting into the sky, he was descending gently onto the grass. So much for flying. He ran a few steps, then sank to his knees. The world was blending into soft waves of color. Vegeta was alive, but taken by the enemy.

[Note: the last line here is a reference - I am quoting from The Lord of the Rings, the final sentence of The Two Towers.]