Chapter 19: In Memoriam
It had been still for a long time, still beyond blackness, beyond consciousness, beyond being. With that knowledge, though, she knew that she was still living-- a being; a mind; a woman.
A light breeze, breathing the cool scent of cut grass and morning-- and just a hint of motor oil-- brushed up against the woman's cheek in the darkness. Somewhere, inchoate voices swam around in eddies above the deep water she rested in. She felt warm, and comfortable, floating in some embryonic state below places and names, her entire self wrapped up in the all-encompassing state of being still and whole. But something was pulling at her-- some sense that once, she had been more than this quiet ocean creature-- a woman with a name-- a silly nickname, and two sons-- Chichi. Yes. She was Chichi.
She opened her eyes then-- vision swimming a little; her eyes were caked with grit from a long, long sleep. She rubbed at them-- her arm felt light as gauze-- and tried to make sense of her world. A fancy bedroom, and in the distance a telltale clanking; and from a distant part of the house, enough voices for a raft of people. All of the old gang; and the young children, as well-- and over all of it, Bulma shrieking at somebody like usual. She smiled-- then caught sight of a familiar, friendly face.
"Good morning," said Kuririn. "Told Gohan to get some food-- he was looking peaked! But Goku would never forgive me if I let his girl wake up alone, so here I am. Should I call Gohan?"
"Wait," Chichi croaked. Her throat was so dry! "How long...?"
"Don't panic," Kuririn nodded seriously. "About five days--"
"FIVE--" Chichi coughed, and Kuririn rushed to her side, squeezing water from a sponge into her mouth, until, embarrassed by such a show of weakness, she waved him away, reaching for the glass herself. The taste of the water was a thing of pure miracles, and as it soothed her parched throat, she got her bearings.
"What happened?" she asked. "Is Vegeta all right? Tell me everything!"
"Okay, okay," Kuririn laughed, waving her down. "But take it slowly with the water. We've been feeding you intravenously, and your stomach isn't used to it. Vegeta's fine, woke up for good the morning after the assault complaining that he hadn't gotten to fight Kakkarot. Idiot." He shook his head. "Around the time Bulma says you passed out, he decided that the best way to get out of a maze of tunnels is to blast through hundreds of cubic tons of rock with a Big Bang Attack. After the avalanche buried most of the enemy troops, finding you was a cinch."
Chichi's eyes bulged. "Go on."
"Well, let's see; we found one sleeping Saiyajin, one dead assassin, Bulma with a blood-coated screwdriver, one wife of my best friend, barely clinging to life, and a very distressed cat. Yep, that's it." he grinned. "Once Piccolo convinced Gohan to calm down, the two of them grabbed Vegeta and you-- Yamucha insisted on taking Puar, even though he's slow in the air-- and they hightailed it out so fast I could barely follow. Especially since Bulma insisted I carry her. She's pretty threatening as the world's greatest assassin. Her covering my eyes and screeching always made flying her kind of a challenge." Kuririn laughed, glancing nervously to both sides, as if afraid that psychotic Bulmas were lying in wait everywhere to pounce.
"By the time I got there, Dende had pronounced Vegeta already healed, and had cured all of the damage you took in your fight with Tao Pai Pai," Kuririn continued. "But he said that all of the energy from the small beings in your cells... mitoo... I don't know-- had been depleted, and that you had to rest and recover it." He smiled. "So, here we are at Capsule Corp, where we could get an IV into you-- after what happened to Vegeta, nobody was particularly happy with the idea of a hospital."
"What happened to the soldiers at the compound-- did they all die in the avalanche?" Chichi felt slightly guilty. Those men had just been following the orders of a madman; in truth, the whole affair smacked of treachery, especially when she considered the thought of them trying to fight her son in a fit of rage. Like throwing ants at a bonfire.
Kuririn frowned. "I'm not sure, you know," he said. "The General was killed, but we just... left the rest to sort it out. I suppose we should go back; after all, we don't even know where they were getting their information..."
"Ah!" Chichi lit up. "Are my clothes from that day still here?"
"Yes," Kuririn said, still frowning, "But after three days and a fight to the death... I mean, what I'm saying is, we brought you some fresher clothes from..."
"Give them to me," Chichi ordered, pulling herself up. She was beginning to feel like her old self.
Kuririn reluctantly handed the ragged, stinking clothes to Chichi; as she rummaged through them, he asked, "Should I send Gohan up? He'll want to see you..."
"Got it," Chichi muttered, then, Kuririn's question registering: "No. Give me those fresh clothes; I'll go down myself."
"Then why--"
"It occurred to me-- not that I do anything but frown on consorting with known psychotic murderers--" Chichi turned a disapproving frown into a mere grimace-- "-- that you might happen to know someone who would appreciate this." And she handed him the battered chip from the army base.
Kuririn turned the mangled thing over in his hand, gazing at it in wonderment. "This is the central processor from Android 16," he said, then looked up: "these contained databases on all of the z fighters-- power levels, locations--"
Chichi nodded. "The General's informant."
Kuririn shook his head angrily. "That damned Gero," he said. "So after all of these new happenings, it all comes down to Goku and the Red Ribbon Army yet again..."
"A last hurrah," Chichi said. "And over now."
"No," said Kuririn firmly, and with one last flick of the chip, he pocketed it, then looked up-- and his face transformed itself with a smile. "Not over. Transformed. Thank you, Chichi. A piece of her past-- this could mean a lot to 18."
"Oh, get out before I throw you out," Chichi said, irritably. Wasn't it enough that she handed prizes over to evil robots without having her husband's best friend gloat about it? "Can't a lady get some privacy?"
"But there's one more thing I forgot to tell you," Kuririn said, his face suddenly falling. "It took us long enough, but Chichi-- after we got back to Capsule Corp, and we had some time to spend looking for him, we found Oolong."
Chichi raised an eyebrow-- then slowly lowered it as she watched the expression on Kuririn's face grow increasingly miserable.
"He was killed in the first attack on Capsule Corp. He hadn't gotten far-- a few hundred meters from the outer walls. Puar and Roshi and everyone else from Kame house, they're all there, burying him according to shifter traditions..."
Kuririn trailed off, but Chichi was no longer listening. Poor, perverted, hopelessly terrified Oolong, who had wanted nothing more than to avoid danger-- cut down by soldiers-- as if he were an enemy threat!-- and left alone, friendless, to die on a battlefield? And she'd dragged him into it. With Bulma's bra. The sheer ridiculousness of the horrible situation-- she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Oolong, the brave, heroic sacrifice of this battle?
"I promised to make him dinner," she said, lamely. Kuririn looked like he wanted to speak again-- his mouth gaping with words that wouldn't come. "No, just go, I'll be down in a minute," she said. She wanted to be alone to think through this one.
It was nearly an hour later when Chichi had dragged her feeble, now-thin limbs into her clothing and to a standing position. Her arms looked as if a ghost had sucked the marrow from them, skin hanging loose-- a shadow of her former self. So that was the price of truly exceeding the energy limits of a human body-- without Dende's alien healing, the fire would probably have consumed her utterly in the end. A hard price had been exacted on her, in truth-- but the price she'd exacted on her erstwhile friends was harder still. She would have to find some penance she could make to salve that wound. Now, though, her energy was returning to her moment by moment, and hunger was starting to loom ominously in her stomach. She started for the stairs.
"Maaa!" It was Goten who found her first, hurling himself at her from a crawl, as little Trunks looked at this relative stranger suspiciously. She hoisted him, laughing, and he clung to her neck, strong and healthy-- probably no thanks to Piccolo, she reflected. Everyone seemed to be coming around to look at her-- Yamucha, Chaotzu, the green menace-- hadn't anyone left?
Then her older son was running up, and the hug he took her in was so fierce and quick that it caught her up by surprise.
"Mom. Mom." he whispered, brokenly, his eyes squeezed shut, until she reached down, detaching Goten from her neck, and turned his face up to meet hers. His eyes were despairing; she could see her face, frightiningly gaunt, reflected there. "I... "
"Shhh," she said, running her hand through his wiry hair. The scrutiny of everyone around them needled at her neck. "We'll talk later. First we'll have this party; then we'll talk about it." He put his head in her shoulder, nodding.
* * *
The party for Chichi's awakening, which was also the postponed celebration of the warriors' latest victory, was of course a raging success. Despite the loss of Oolong, despite the fact that it had been several days, everyone remained in high spirits-- even Piccolo, who stood impassively in a corner, but with a slight smirk to his mouth. Chaotzu got roaringly drunk. The caterers, who brought the best food that international corporate money could buy, cowered in fear at the apparitions that loomed before them, but were too well paid to run away.
"Did anyone ever tell my father what was going on?" Chichi asked Kuririn. Gohan seemed to be avoiding her-- he was over trying to get Piccolo to talk to him, without much success.
Kuririn looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, it was only really the one day we had," he said. "By the time we got around to stuff like talking to relatives, we'd already found you, and then, well, we... figured we'd just let you tell him about it."
"Oh. Great."
"Ox King is a little scary, you know, even with the glasses and all..." Kuririn trailed off, looking around for an escape.
"No, no, I understand," Chichi sighed. "I'm going to have quite some explaining to do in a few days, that's all."
In another corner of the roudy room, Bulma bragged to a bored Yamucha, "Anyway, since I'm now the greatest assassin in the world, all of you noble warriors had better watch out. I could stab you in your sleep, you know. What's all this fuss over Chichi, anyway? I was the one who saved the world this time. Me, Bulma Briefs. I found the secret hideout. I killed the bad guy. I unlooped the video feed so you could fight."
"And if Chichi hadn't first *defeated* Tao Pai Pai, Vegeta would have been possessed," Yamucha pointed out. "Nor would you have been able to kill him, and become the world's greatest assassin. Maybe it's her we should be watching out for."
The two of them were lounging behind a table of hors d'oevres, watching an informal wrestling match that was about to break out between Kuririn and Tenshinhan. As they began noshing on chips and fancier appetizers, Tenshinhan kept pinning Kuririn, who kept turning a wrist to wriggle away, infuriating the giant. Everyone else was cheering; except Chaotzu, who was too busy hiccuping.
"Well, and if she hadn't decided to poison Vegeta in the first place," Bulma growled, "we wouldn't have been in this mess anyway, would we?"
"But the General would have found some other way to attack; maybe worse!" Yamucha popped a small crab-stuffed mushroom into his mouth.
"I don't want to hear it, Yamucha!" Bulma turned away, crossing her arms. "I don't know why people put up with that woman! She's bossy, overbearing, manipulative, always used to getting her own way-- a spoiled princess who never thinks about how her actions are going to affect others!"
"Fime, fime," Yamucha mumbled, mouth full. He seemed to be too busy looking amused to swallow his mushroom.
At this point, Vegeta's voice came soaring over the crowd, bragging to an unresponsive Piccolo and Chichi: "After I swallowed the potion, I was brought to a great underworld tournament, where I fought my way up through rank upon rank of Ice-jin. They were no match for me. Finally I came to the final opponent: Cell. He was organizing a coup to escape from the guardians of hell. It was a fierce battle-- lightning touched the sky..." his voice trailed away.
"Did you tell him yet what Dende said-- that all those opponents he vanquished in his dream were actually his own brain cells that he was killing?" Yamucha whispered.
Bulma shook her head, alarmed. "Better he doesn't know. For his own good." She brought her mouth close to his ear, conspiratorily-- her breath, warm on his neck, made him shiver. "I mean, he can hardly stand that Son beat him. It's even worse that that robot woman did. Now, a silly potion?" she leaned back. "He thinks he fought his way out of it himself. And I'm not going to be the one to disabuse him of the notion. Are you?"
Yamucha grinned.
At the end of the evening, after all of the food had been thoroughly demolished (as well as the liquor), Kuririn had finally and conclusively pinned Tenshinhan, and Chaotzu had been woken from his passed-out state, everyone gathered at last on the Capsule Corps lawn.
"See you in the next crisis," Yamucha joked, winking.
"I hope not," Vegeta scowled, folding his arms.
"He means, we hope there won't be a next crisis," Bulma corrected.
"No, woman, I--"
"Enough, I get it!" Yamucha blushed. "We'll go!"
The Son and Briefs families stood, Bulma holding a grouchy Trunks, Chichi a sleeping Goten, as Kuririn, Yamucha, Piccolo, Tenshinhan, and Chaotzu jumped into the air, making a wheeling turn to avoid the high-roofed gravity room-- a flock of warriors, vanishing back into the night. Just before he disappeared from view, Kuririn turned to flash a smile at Chichi, holding up a glinting chip in thanks and farewell.
Bulma looked askance at Chichi, but she shrugged, smiling, as Gohan whistled down Kinto-un from the sky to take them home at last. The golden cloud whisked them up and away so quickly, she barely got a backwards glance at Trunk's face, uncomprehending and angry at the sudden abduction of his playmate. Goten, on the other hand, was long gone and snoring on her shoulder.
Chichi patted him absently-- the sweet smell and softness of baby sent calm all the way down into her stomach, and the warm glow of Kinto-un, the way it gentled the wind that blew the hair from her face in the silent reaches of the evening sky, completed the feeling of peace she felt. Whatever happened, her children were safe, and going home.
In front of her, Gohan's back was silent and all too rigid; tense-- but he didn't seem to want to start a conversation anymore. Chichi resigned herself-- and then suddenly it dawned on her:
It wasn't Gohan who didn't want to have this conversation. It was her. True, he'd also avoided it, but she was the adult; she was in charge of her family. And that night-- six nights ago now, although to her memory, only the night before last-- they had begun to talk about the loss they had suffered. Until rather than truly talk about it, honestly and openly, she hadn't been able to bear the sadness in his eyes. She'd had to try to cheer him up, instead-- embarked on her harebrained scheme-- sparked this whole mess. Because hadn't it been enough that she was suffering? Did she have to know-- to really know-- what her son, who had been there when Goku died, experienced as well? Wasn't a year long enough to put such matters behind them?
No. As clear as the night sky above, she saw it now. He would not bring it up; Gohan was too self-controlled, too much the warrior. But he was still only a young man. No matter his strange, god-like power, he was still her son. Bringing up the subject was her job.
"It was a good party," she said.
"Yeah."
"But the whole time, I couldn't help-- feeling like someone was missing."
He tensed further-- she hadn't thought it was possible-- pulling every muscle along his spine into rigid alignment. Yes-- her guess had been right.
"You know what I mean?" she prodded, gently.
He dropped his shoulders, changing his mind, then nodded. "You know about Oolong, then."
Chichi sighed. That wasn't what she had meant, and he knew it! But still-- no need to press the subject. Let it come up on its own if it was meant to. If it was on his mind, it would. "Kuririn told me."
"It was our fault."
"No, not our fault, Gohan-- the army killed him, not us," said Chichi. "But I, at least, am partially responsible." She paused, then decided. "Well, I was going to wait to tell you, but-- after we get settled back in, I'm going to find the dragonballs and wish him back. Wish I had time to do it properly, on foot, a real penance, but there is Goten to look after, so I'll probably just take Kinto-un..." she looked up; the stars were brightening in the dimming light. "Maybe I'll wish back the soldiers who were killed following Gao; it wasn't their fault they had a bad commander..."
"No!" Gohan's voice jolted her back down out of the stars. He had turned, wild-eyed and upset. "It's too dangerous! You can't!"
"Gohan, I'll be fine!" she reached a hand to his shoulder-- the air around him was beginning to crackle with energy, and it tingled. Why was he so upset? "Bulma gave me the dragon radar before I left, and we have two already, between yours and the one she and Puar found--"
"I'll do it!" he interrupted. "You stay at home. I'll find them for you. I'll protect you, Ma, I'll--"
She tightened the hand on his arm, interrupting his frenzy, speaking quickly and low. "Gohan, no. You can't protect me. You-- you don't have to take his place!"
"Yes I do!" he shouted, aura flaring. Kinto-un jolted, dropping a precipitous several meters, then wobbling to take a steady course. Gohan took a deep breath, controlling his energy until it was a barely perceptible burn, close around him, but intense, like embers. "If not me, then who? Everyone needs him-- we don't know how to BE without him-- and I'm his son, and I took him away! I'm old enough now. I must be old enough now. Or why would Dad have left the battle in my hands?"
He sat there, dangerous fire coursing down his limbs, and anguish just as palpable. Chichi found she couldn't move. Goku-- that fool, that blessed fool, had a lot to answer for here.
"No, Gohan," she said finally, and with the silence broken, he took a ragged breath, holding himself fiercely in control, then returned. He couldn't meet her eyes. "He made a mistake. We do that, adults, even fathers. God knows I make them all the time," she added ruefully. "But the world isn't who needs Son Goku. The world, Bulma, everyone-- survived just fine before and after him so far, one way or another. Can't you see?" it was coming, she couldn't bring herself to say it-- but she did anyway-- "The one who needs him is you." Her son's aura was blindingly strong now-- she could not see him, could only hear him gasping for breath, so she went on. "And I need him too," she said, and heard unashamed now the tears in her own throat: "But he's gone, Gohan, and neither you nor I can bring him back."
The fiery energy guttered, went out; and then her son, gangly limbs and all, fell forward into her lap, burying his face like a much younger child. In her surprise and tears she could not understand, at first, what had happened; then the heat of his forehead, his shaking body, came to her clear as speech. She sniffed away her own tears, unable to stop them from continuing to fall; well, you've done it now, Chichi, she thought; you've broken your son. Hope this works better than poisoning Vegeta.
After some time, the shaking subsided, and Gohan lay still, sniffing.
At last, he said, "I thought if... if I took his place, everything would go back to normal, but... I couldn't even bring myself to train. Not even the way I used to before we'd even heard of Cell."
"Of course not," Chichi said. "You couldn't force yourself be someone else. Least of all someone like Goku!"
"But he's my father!" Gohan sat up, wiping his face. "Everyone says we're alike!"
"Everyone looks with their eyes, not their common sense," Chichi sniffed. "If anything, you're more my son than his. Smart? Wanting to live an ordinary life, without fighting? Prone to fits of violent rage?"
She was rewarded with a slight twitch of a smile.
"I know it's ugly, but face it-- you're *my* son." she patted Goten's butt. "Maybe this one's his. Who knows. But in the end it doesn't matter whose son you are-- look at Piccolo! Though I hate to admit it. You can't force yourself to be someone you're not. Is there something so wrong about just being Gohan, and seeing where you go from there?"
He smiled. "Does this mean you won't force me to study all the time?"
She frowned, mock-serious. "We all have our responsibilities. But I guess I could let up on you a little. A little. As long as it's clear that I'm the one in charge."
"Deal." Gohan nodded. Then he turned away. "Mom..."
"Yes?" The anxiety in his voice told her that what was coming was something he'd been meaning to ask for a long time, but hadn't been able to bring himself to say.
"Missing someone... does it ever fade away? Get easier?"
Chichi closed her eyes. It seemed that somewhere, a fading memory in her nerves, she could feel Goku's presence-- as if he would suddenly pop up, apologize, miraculously appear as he'd done so many times, and as she'd for a moment thought he would in General Gao's prison cell. But no, she had had to face that battle herself; and the feeling that he was present only made the fact of his absence beat on her the stronger, a storm at sea.
"No," she said. "Sometimes you think it has-- but never really. Not someone you love. God, I miss him so much."
She saw from behind him his head drop down to his chest.
"But Gohan, ask yourself this-- do you really *want* to stop missing him?"
His head lifted; the wind played in his hair. Below them, the silent landscape swam by in oceans of trees; above them, a half-moon was rising. Goten sighed, contented, at his mother's breast.
Gohan turned. He was smiling-- an honest, whole-hearted smile, not the silly grin that he'd been forcing onto his face for the past year. It was a sad smile, but it was his own smile at last.
"I guess not," he said. "Because I don't want to forget him."
Chichi breathed in relief. "Some days, you will forget him, though," she said. "But he'll always come back to you again. Goku is hard to get rid of, that way."
Gohan broadened his smile momentarily, then dropped it, contemplative.
"To Goku," said Chichi, then impulsively pulled a long, shiny pin from her hair, and threw it up into the air-- an offering to the dead. It spiralled up, up, and then down, winking its way in a long arc behind them, a tiny, falling star.
She had turned to watch it fall, but then, in front of her, Gohan pulled himself upright on the cloud, balancing carefully. He raised a hand.
"To my father," he said, solemnly, and fire exploded silently into the sky.
For a brief, wonderful moment, half of the world was bathed in sudden noon.
In Capsule Corporation, Trunks began to wail at the strange light, but then quieted, inexplicably; Bulma, who had run to him half-clothed, rubbed her head in consternation. At Kame House, a memorial to a fallen friend ended in bright glory. In forests that once dwelt in twilight, Piccolo raised his head, eyes closed, to soak in the energy. To him, this light was no mystery. Korin and Yajirobe watched it from their tower, as below them Upa and Bora smiled without knowing why. And above them, in the Lookout itself, Dende folded his arms, knowingly.
"So much for *hidden* power," he said to himself. "A light like this could penetrate all the way to heaven!"
He was right.
But the three people riding the golden cloud didn't know that. All they knew was that as Gohan dropped back to his seat, slightly and surprisedly breathless from his outburst, as the light faded as quickly as it had arisen, Goten woke up from his sleep and began laughing, infectiously, as if there were some great and beneficent joke he wanted to share. Chichi found herself caught up in it, laughing along with Goten, her tears at last beginning to dry up. And once he caught his breath, Gohan laughed sheepishly, too.
"I guess that was a little extreme," he said.
"Just like Goku," Chichi said. "I think he would have liked it. 'Wow, sugoi!'. That's what he would say."
"Better than poisoning Vegeta." Gohan grinned.
Chichi nodded firmly. "A MUCH better plan than that."
He smiled. In the distance, their house was rising up to meet them. "So does this mean I'm still forbidden from training if I want to? I should give up martial arts, like you-leave protecting the world to Vegeta and all?"
"Heavens, no!" Chichi frowned. "Did I really say that? ...I did, didn't I. Well, I take it back. After all, you have to help me train this little guy!"
"You? Train Goten?" Gohan's jaw dropped.
"And why not? I've been neglecting training, too, you know... I wasn't meant to be a fighter, clearly, but that doesn't mean one has to entirely abandon martial arts." Chichi spoke the words half to convince herself.
"Mom... are you sure you're feeling all right?"
"I don't hate kung fu!" Chichi felt slightly insulted. "I just-I don't think you realize how completely, utterly insane everyone we know is! Vegeta lives in that gravity room! Piccolo never stops thinking about honing body and mind! Goku was the worst of the lot-when he was your age he used to live from Budokai to Budokai. Training with Roshi, Korin, Kami, ...training while he was DEAD..."
Gohan began laughing.
"And don't even get me started on Tenshin and Chaotzu," Chichi went on, "...at least there's some hope for Kuririn, if he can get 18 to pay attention to him..."
"Mom, mom! I get the picture!"
"...so remember, no matter what all these crazy friends of your father say-there is more to life than training. Say it, Gohan! There is more to life than training!"
"There is more to life than training." He grinned.
"Right," she said, feeling somewhat mollified. "So... all things in moderation, then. Figure out what you want before you devote your whole life to one thing."
"I will."
As he smiled at her, Chichi thought that her son grew taller. Well, it would be no surprise. He seemed to get taller every day-stretching his compact musculature up and into the shape of a handsome, thin young man. They had put off this conversation far too long, but she would keep him her son now that Goku was gone. He wouldn't grow up crazy, like his father, or worse, also like his father-dead. Perhaps, she reflected, it was selfish of her to take his gifts from the world; but he was her son. And she would do anything in her power to turn the tides, and give the world to HIM instead.
"I want so much for you," she found herself saying. "You should get out more-maybe a public high school? Pursue your studies, your gifts there... meet a girl someday, I know it, beautiful, and you'll have a family, and bring home grandchildren..."
Gohan turned a shade of beet. "Ma..."
"Oh, I'm sorry- past my bedtime," she smiled, embarrassed. "We can talk about it in the morning. Look, it's our house-we're home now."
She found that she was surprisingly exhausted; she had, after all, only just woken up from a week-long coma. She gratefully took the hand that Gohan profferred to her, letting him help her from Kinto-un, which sped away, its work done.
"Mom, you're right that I'm not really much of a fighter, I guess," Gohan said, as they walked to the house. "I don't care about competition; I don't care about being stronger than anyone else; I never did. But no matter what I do otherwise, I'm always going to be kind of like Dad, too. I want to protect people. I can't sit by watch bad things happen-I get angry, and I have to protect the things I care about. No matter what it costs me."
"I know," Chichi nodded, proud. "That's because what you are is not a fighter. What you are is a warrior."
Gohan nodded back, quietly. They had reached the door; Goten was drowsing again on her shoulder, and it seemed like her son was taller than she was all of a sudden. When had he grown up? But he still smiled like an idiot. Insects were chirping in the grass, and a light breeze rustled in the branches around their mountain home; it was, if truth be told, a beautiful night.
As they stepped over the doorstep to their home, Gohan said, "And Ma... so are you."
It had been still for a long time, still beyond blackness, beyond consciousness, beyond being. With that knowledge, though, she knew that she was still living-- a being; a mind; a woman.
A light breeze, breathing the cool scent of cut grass and morning-- and just a hint of motor oil-- brushed up against the woman's cheek in the darkness. Somewhere, inchoate voices swam around in eddies above the deep water she rested in. She felt warm, and comfortable, floating in some embryonic state below places and names, her entire self wrapped up in the all-encompassing state of being still and whole. But something was pulling at her-- some sense that once, she had been more than this quiet ocean creature-- a woman with a name-- a silly nickname, and two sons-- Chichi. Yes. She was Chichi.
She opened her eyes then-- vision swimming a little; her eyes were caked with grit from a long, long sleep. She rubbed at them-- her arm felt light as gauze-- and tried to make sense of her world. A fancy bedroom, and in the distance a telltale clanking; and from a distant part of the house, enough voices for a raft of people. All of the old gang; and the young children, as well-- and over all of it, Bulma shrieking at somebody like usual. She smiled-- then caught sight of a familiar, friendly face.
"Good morning," said Kuririn. "Told Gohan to get some food-- he was looking peaked! But Goku would never forgive me if I let his girl wake up alone, so here I am. Should I call Gohan?"
"Wait," Chichi croaked. Her throat was so dry! "How long...?"
"Don't panic," Kuririn nodded seriously. "About five days--"
"FIVE--" Chichi coughed, and Kuririn rushed to her side, squeezing water from a sponge into her mouth, until, embarrassed by such a show of weakness, she waved him away, reaching for the glass herself. The taste of the water was a thing of pure miracles, and as it soothed her parched throat, she got her bearings.
"What happened?" she asked. "Is Vegeta all right? Tell me everything!"
"Okay, okay," Kuririn laughed, waving her down. "But take it slowly with the water. We've been feeding you intravenously, and your stomach isn't used to it. Vegeta's fine, woke up for good the morning after the assault complaining that he hadn't gotten to fight Kakkarot. Idiot." He shook his head. "Around the time Bulma says you passed out, he decided that the best way to get out of a maze of tunnels is to blast through hundreds of cubic tons of rock with a Big Bang Attack. After the avalanche buried most of the enemy troops, finding you was a cinch."
Chichi's eyes bulged. "Go on."
"Well, let's see; we found one sleeping Saiyajin, one dead assassin, Bulma with a blood-coated screwdriver, one wife of my best friend, barely clinging to life, and a very distressed cat. Yep, that's it." he grinned. "Once Piccolo convinced Gohan to calm down, the two of them grabbed Vegeta and you-- Yamucha insisted on taking Puar, even though he's slow in the air-- and they hightailed it out so fast I could barely follow. Especially since Bulma insisted I carry her. She's pretty threatening as the world's greatest assassin. Her covering my eyes and screeching always made flying her kind of a challenge." Kuririn laughed, glancing nervously to both sides, as if afraid that psychotic Bulmas were lying in wait everywhere to pounce.
"By the time I got there, Dende had pronounced Vegeta already healed, and had cured all of the damage you took in your fight with Tao Pai Pai," Kuririn continued. "But he said that all of the energy from the small beings in your cells... mitoo... I don't know-- had been depleted, and that you had to rest and recover it." He smiled. "So, here we are at Capsule Corp, where we could get an IV into you-- after what happened to Vegeta, nobody was particularly happy with the idea of a hospital."
"What happened to the soldiers at the compound-- did they all die in the avalanche?" Chichi felt slightly guilty. Those men had just been following the orders of a madman; in truth, the whole affair smacked of treachery, especially when she considered the thought of them trying to fight her son in a fit of rage. Like throwing ants at a bonfire.
Kuririn frowned. "I'm not sure, you know," he said. "The General was killed, but we just... left the rest to sort it out. I suppose we should go back; after all, we don't even know where they were getting their information..."
"Ah!" Chichi lit up. "Are my clothes from that day still here?"
"Yes," Kuririn said, still frowning, "But after three days and a fight to the death... I mean, what I'm saying is, we brought you some fresher clothes from..."
"Give them to me," Chichi ordered, pulling herself up. She was beginning to feel like her old self.
Kuririn reluctantly handed the ragged, stinking clothes to Chichi; as she rummaged through them, he asked, "Should I send Gohan up? He'll want to see you..."
"Got it," Chichi muttered, then, Kuririn's question registering: "No. Give me those fresh clothes; I'll go down myself."
"Then why--"
"It occurred to me-- not that I do anything but frown on consorting with known psychotic murderers--" Chichi turned a disapproving frown into a mere grimace-- "-- that you might happen to know someone who would appreciate this." And she handed him the battered chip from the army base.
Kuririn turned the mangled thing over in his hand, gazing at it in wonderment. "This is the central processor from Android 16," he said, then looked up: "these contained databases on all of the z fighters-- power levels, locations--"
Chichi nodded. "The General's informant."
Kuririn shook his head angrily. "That damned Gero," he said. "So after all of these new happenings, it all comes down to Goku and the Red Ribbon Army yet again..."
"A last hurrah," Chichi said. "And over now."
"No," said Kuririn firmly, and with one last flick of the chip, he pocketed it, then looked up-- and his face transformed itself with a smile. "Not over. Transformed. Thank you, Chichi. A piece of her past-- this could mean a lot to 18."
"Oh, get out before I throw you out," Chichi said, irritably. Wasn't it enough that she handed prizes over to evil robots without having her husband's best friend gloat about it? "Can't a lady get some privacy?"
"But there's one more thing I forgot to tell you," Kuririn said, his face suddenly falling. "It took us long enough, but Chichi-- after we got back to Capsule Corp, and we had some time to spend looking for him, we found Oolong."
Chichi raised an eyebrow-- then slowly lowered it as she watched the expression on Kuririn's face grow increasingly miserable.
"He was killed in the first attack on Capsule Corp. He hadn't gotten far-- a few hundred meters from the outer walls. Puar and Roshi and everyone else from Kame house, they're all there, burying him according to shifter traditions..."
Kuririn trailed off, but Chichi was no longer listening. Poor, perverted, hopelessly terrified Oolong, who had wanted nothing more than to avoid danger-- cut down by soldiers-- as if he were an enemy threat!-- and left alone, friendless, to die on a battlefield? And she'd dragged him into it. With Bulma's bra. The sheer ridiculousness of the horrible situation-- she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Oolong, the brave, heroic sacrifice of this battle?
"I promised to make him dinner," she said, lamely. Kuririn looked like he wanted to speak again-- his mouth gaping with words that wouldn't come. "No, just go, I'll be down in a minute," she said. She wanted to be alone to think through this one.
It was nearly an hour later when Chichi had dragged her feeble, now-thin limbs into her clothing and to a standing position. Her arms looked as if a ghost had sucked the marrow from them, skin hanging loose-- a shadow of her former self. So that was the price of truly exceeding the energy limits of a human body-- without Dende's alien healing, the fire would probably have consumed her utterly in the end. A hard price had been exacted on her, in truth-- but the price she'd exacted on her erstwhile friends was harder still. She would have to find some penance she could make to salve that wound. Now, though, her energy was returning to her moment by moment, and hunger was starting to loom ominously in her stomach. She started for the stairs.
"Maaa!" It was Goten who found her first, hurling himself at her from a crawl, as little Trunks looked at this relative stranger suspiciously. She hoisted him, laughing, and he clung to her neck, strong and healthy-- probably no thanks to Piccolo, she reflected. Everyone seemed to be coming around to look at her-- Yamucha, Chaotzu, the green menace-- hadn't anyone left?
Then her older son was running up, and the hug he took her in was so fierce and quick that it caught her up by surprise.
"Mom. Mom." he whispered, brokenly, his eyes squeezed shut, until she reached down, detaching Goten from her neck, and turned his face up to meet hers. His eyes were despairing; she could see her face, frightiningly gaunt, reflected there. "I... "
"Shhh," she said, running her hand through his wiry hair. The scrutiny of everyone around them needled at her neck. "We'll talk later. First we'll have this party; then we'll talk about it." He put his head in her shoulder, nodding.
* * *
The party for Chichi's awakening, which was also the postponed celebration of the warriors' latest victory, was of course a raging success. Despite the loss of Oolong, despite the fact that it had been several days, everyone remained in high spirits-- even Piccolo, who stood impassively in a corner, but with a slight smirk to his mouth. Chaotzu got roaringly drunk. The caterers, who brought the best food that international corporate money could buy, cowered in fear at the apparitions that loomed before them, but were too well paid to run away.
"Did anyone ever tell my father what was going on?" Chichi asked Kuririn. Gohan seemed to be avoiding her-- he was over trying to get Piccolo to talk to him, without much success.
Kuririn looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, it was only really the one day we had," he said. "By the time we got around to stuff like talking to relatives, we'd already found you, and then, well, we... figured we'd just let you tell him about it."
"Oh. Great."
"Ox King is a little scary, you know, even with the glasses and all..." Kuririn trailed off, looking around for an escape.
"No, no, I understand," Chichi sighed. "I'm going to have quite some explaining to do in a few days, that's all."
In another corner of the roudy room, Bulma bragged to a bored Yamucha, "Anyway, since I'm now the greatest assassin in the world, all of you noble warriors had better watch out. I could stab you in your sleep, you know. What's all this fuss over Chichi, anyway? I was the one who saved the world this time. Me, Bulma Briefs. I found the secret hideout. I killed the bad guy. I unlooped the video feed so you could fight."
"And if Chichi hadn't first *defeated* Tao Pai Pai, Vegeta would have been possessed," Yamucha pointed out. "Nor would you have been able to kill him, and become the world's greatest assassin. Maybe it's her we should be watching out for."
The two of them were lounging behind a table of hors d'oevres, watching an informal wrestling match that was about to break out between Kuririn and Tenshinhan. As they began noshing on chips and fancier appetizers, Tenshinhan kept pinning Kuririn, who kept turning a wrist to wriggle away, infuriating the giant. Everyone else was cheering; except Chaotzu, who was too busy hiccuping.
"Well, and if she hadn't decided to poison Vegeta in the first place," Bulma growled, "we wouldn't have been in this mess anyway, would we?"
"But the General would have found some other way to attack; maybe worse!" Yamucha popped a small crab-stuffed mushroom into his mouth.
"I don't want to hear it, Yamucha!" Bulma turned away, crossing her arms. "I don't know why people put up with that woman! She's bossy, overbearing, manipulative, always used to getting her own way-- a spoiled princess who never thinks about how her actions are going to affect others!"
"Fime, fime," Yamucha mumbled, mouth full. He seemed to be too busy looking amused to swallow his mushroom.
At this point, Vegeta's voice came soaring over the crowd, bragging to an unresponsive Piccolo and Chichi: "After I swallowed the potion, I was brought to a great underworld tournament, where I fought my way up through rank upon rank of Ice-jin. They were no match for me. Finally I came to the final opponent: Cell. He was organizing a coup to escape from the guardians of hell. It was a fierce battle-- lightning touched the sky..." his voice trailed away.
"Did you tell him yet what Dende said-- that all those opponents he vanquished in his dream were actually his own brain cells that he was killing?" Yamucha whispered.
Bulma shook her head, alarmed. "Better he doesn't know. For his own good." She brought her mouth close to his ear, conspiratorily-- her breath, warm on his neck, made him shiver. "I mean, he can hardly stand that Son beat him. It's even worse that that robot woman did. Now, a silly potion?" she leaned back. "He thinks he fought his way out of it himself. And I'm not going to be the one to disabuse him of the notion. Are you?"
Yamucha grinned.
At the end of the evening, after all of the food had been thoroughly demolished (as well as the liquor), Kuririn had finally and conclusively pinned Tenshinhan, and Chaotzu had been woken from his passed-out state, everyone gathered at last on the Capsule Corps lawn.
"See you in the next crisis," Yamucha joked, winking.
"I hope not," Vegeta scowled, folding his arms.
"He means, we hope there won't be a next crisis," Bulma corrected.
"No, woman, I--"
"Enough, I get it!" Yamucha blushed. "We'll go!"
The Son and Briefs families stood, Bulma holding a grouchy Trunks, Chichi a sleeping Goten, as Kuririn, Yamucha, Piccolo, Tenshinhan, and Chaotzu jumped into the air, making a wheeling turn to avoid the high-roofed gravity room-- a flock of warriors, vanishing back into the night. Just before he disappeared from view, Kuririn turned to flash a smile at Chichi, holding up a glinting chip in thanks and farewell.
Bulma looked askance at Chichi, but she shrugged, smiling, as Gohan whistled down Kinto-un from the sky to take them home at last. The golden cloud whisked them up and away so quickly, she barely got a backwards glance at Trunk's face, uncomprehending and angry at the sudden abduction of his playmate. Goten, on the other hand, was long gone and snoring on her shoulder.
Chichi patted him absently-- the sweet smell and softness of baby sent calm all the way down into her stomach, and the warm glow of Kinto-un, the way it gentled the wind that blew the hair from her face in the silent reaches of the evening sky, completed the feeling of peace she felt. Whatever happened, her children were safe, and going home.
In front of her, Gohan's back was silent and all too rigid; tense-- but he didn't seem to want to start a conversation anymore. Chichi resigned herself-- and then suddenly it dawned on her:
It wasn't Gohan who didn't want to have this conversation. It was her. True, he'd also avoided it, but she was the adult; she was in charge of her family. And that night-- six nights ago now, although to her memory, only the night before last-- they had begun to talk about the loss they had suffered. Until rather than truly talk about it, honestly and openly, she hadn't been able to bear the sadness in his eyes. She'd had to try to cheer him up, instead-- embarked on her harebrained scheme-- sparked this whole mess. Because hadn't it been enough that she was suffering? Did she have to know-- to really know-- what her son, who had been there when Goku died, experienced as well? Wasn't a year long enough to put such matters behind them?
No. As clear as the night sky above, she saw it now. He would not bring it up; Gohan was too self-controlled, too much the warrior. But he was still only a young man. No matter his strange, god-like power, he was still her son. Bringing up the subject was her job.
"It was a good party," she said.
"Yeah."
"But the whole time, I couldn't help-- feeling like someone was missing."
He tensed further-- she hadn't thought it was possible-- pulling every muscle along his spine into rigid alignment. Yes-- her guess had been right.
"You know what I mean?" she prodded, gently.
He dropped his shoulders, changing his mind, then nodded. "You know about Oolong, then."
Chichi sighed. That wasn't what she had meant, and he knew it! But still-- no need to press the subject. Let it come up on its own if it was meant to. If it was on his mind, it would. "Kuririn told me."
"It was our fault."
"No, not our fault, Gohan-- the army killed him, not us," said Chichi. "But I, at least, am partially responsible." She paused, then decided. "Well, I was going to wait to tell you, but-- after we get settled back in, I'm going to find the dragonballs and wish him back. Wish I had time to do it properly, on foot, a real penance, but there is Goten to look after, so I'll probably just take Kinto-un..." she looked up; the stars were brightening in the dimming light. "Maybe I'll wish back the soldiers who were killed following Gao; it wasn't their fault they had a bad commander..."
"No!" Gohan's voice jolted her back down out of the stars. He had turned, wild-eyed and upset. "It's too dangerous! You can't!"
"Gohan, I'll be fine!" she reached a hand to his shoulder-- the air around him was beginning to crackle with energy, and it tingled. Why was he so upset? "Bulma gave me the dragon radar before I left, and we have two already, between yours and the one she and Puar found--"
"I'll do it!" he interrupted. "You stay at home. I'll find them for you. I'll protect you, Ma, I'll--"
She tightened the hand on his arm, interrupting his frenzy, speaking quickly and low. "Gohan, no. You can't protect me. You-- you don't have to take his place!"
"Yes I do!" he shouted, aura flaring. Kinto-un jolted, dropping a precipitous several meters, then wobbling to take a steady course. Gohan took a deep breath, controlling his energy until it was a barely perceptible burn, close around him, but intense, like embers. "If not me, then who? Everyone needs him-- we don't know how to BE without him-- and I'm his son, and I took him away! I'm old enough now. I must be old enough now. Or why would Dad have left the battle in my hands?"
He sat there, dangerous fire coursing down his limbs, and anguish just as palpable. Chichi found she couldn't move. Goku-- that fool, that blessed fool, had a lot to answer for here.
"No, Gohan," she said finally, and with the silence broken, he took a ragged breath, holding himself fiercely in control, then returned. He couldn't meet her eyes. "He made a mistake. We do that, adults, even fathers. God knows I make them all the time," she added ruefully. "But the world isn't who needs Son Goku. The world, Bulma, everyone-- survived just fine before and after him so far, one way or another. Can't you see?" it was coming, she couldn't bring herself to say it-- but she did anyway-- "The one who needs him is you." Her son's aura was blindingly strong now-- she could not see him, could only hear him gasping for breath, so she went on. "And I need him too," she said, and heard unashamed now the tears in her own throat: "But he's gone, Gohan, and neither you nor I can bring him back."
The fiery energy guttered, went out; and then her son, gangly limbs and all, fell forward into her lap, burying his face like a much younger child. In her surprise and tears she could not understand, at first, what had happened; then the heat of his forehead, his shaking body, came to her clear as speech. She sniffed away her own tears, unable to stop them from continuing to fall; well, you've done it now, Chichi, she thought; you've broken your son. Hope this works better than poisoning Vegeta.
After some time, the shaking subsided, and Gohan lay still, sniffing.
At last, he said, "I thought if... if I took his place, everything would go back to normal, but... I couldn't even bring myself to train. Not even the way I used to before we'd even heard of Cell."
"Of course not," Chichi said. "You couldn't force yourself be someone else. Least of all someone like Goku!"
"But he's my father!" Gohan sat up, wiping his face. "Everyone says we're alike!"
"Everyone looks with their eyes, not their common sense," Chichi sniffed. "If anything, you're more my son than his. Smart? Wanting to live an ordinary life, without fighting? Prone to fits of violent rage?"
She was rewarded with a slight twitch of a smile.
"I know it's ugly, but face it-- you're *my* son." she patted Goten's butt. "Maybe this one's his. Who knows. But in the end it doesn't matter whose son you are-- look at Piccolo! Though I hate to admit it. You can't force yourself to be someone you're not. Is there something so wrong about just being Gohan, and seeing where you go from there?"
He smiled. "Does this mean you won't force me to study all the time?"
She frowned, mock-serious. "We all have our responsibilities. But I guess I could let up on you a little. A little. As long as it's clear that I'm the one in charge."
"Deal." Gohan nodded. Then he turned away. "Mom..."
"Yes?" The anxiety in his voice told her that what was coming was something he'd been meaning to ask for a long time, but hadn't been able to bring himself to say.
"Missing someone... does it ever fade away? Get easier?"
Chichi closed her eyes. It seemed that somewhere, a fading memory in her nerves, she could feel Goku's presence-- as if he would suddenly pop up, apologize, miraculously appear as he'd done so many times, and as she'd for a moment thought he would in General Gao's prison cell. But no, she had had to face that battle herself; and the feeling that he was present only made the fact of his absence beat on her the stronger, a storm at sea.
"No," she said. "Sometimes you think it has-- but never really. Not someone you love. God, I miss him so much."
She saw from behind him his head drop down to his chest.
"But Gohan, ask yourself this-- do you really *want* to stop missing him?"
His head lifted; the wind played in his hair. Below them, the silent landscape swam by in oceans of trees; above them, a half-moon was rising. Goten sighed, contented, at his mother's breast.
Gohan turned. He was smiling-- an honest, whole-hearted smile, not the silly grin that he'd been forcing onto his face for the past year. It was a sad smile, but it was his own smile at last.
"I guess not," he said. "Because I don't want to forget him."
Chichi breathed in relief. "Some days, you will forget him, though," she said. "But he'll always come back to you again. Goku is hard to get rid of, that way."
Gohan broadened his smile momentarily, then dropped it, contemplative.
"To Goku," said Chichi, then impulsively pulled a long, shiny pin from her hair, and threw it up into the air-- an offering to the dead. It spiralled up, up, and then down, winking its way in a long arc behind them, a tiny, falling star.
She had turned to watch it fall, but then, in front of her, Gohan pulled himself upright on the cloud, balancing carefully. He raised a hand.
"To my father," he said, solemnly, and fire exploded silently into the sky.
For a brief, wonderful moment, half of the world was bathed in sudden noon.
In Capsule Corporation, Trunks began to wail at the strange light, but then quieted, inexplicably; Bulma, who had run to him half-clothed, rubbed her head in consternation. At Kame House, a memorial to a fallen friend ended in bright glory. In forests that once dwelt in twilight, Piccolo raised his head, eyes closed, to soak in the energy. To him, this light was no mystery. Korin and Yajirobe watched it from their tower, as below them Upa and Bora smiled without knowing why. And above them, in the Lookout itself, Dende folded his arms, knowingly.
"So much for *hidden* power," he said to himself. "A light like this could penetrate all the way to heaven!"
He was right.
But the three people riding the golden cloud didn't know that. All they knew was that as Gohan dropped back to his seat, slightly and surprisedly breathless from his outburst, as the light faded as quickly as it had arisen, Goten woke up from his sleep and began laughing, infectiously, as if there were some great and beneficent joke he wanted to share. Chichi found herself caught up in it, laughing along with Goten, her tears at last beginning to dry up. And once he caught his breath, Gohan laughed sheepishly, too.
"I guess that was a little extreme," he said.
"Just like Goku," Chichi said. "I think he would have liked it. 'Wow, sugoi!'. That's what he would say."
"Better than poisoning Vegeta." Gohan grinned.
Chichi nodded firmly. "A MUCH better plan than that."
He smiled. In the distance, their house was rising up to meet them. "So does this mean I'm still forbidden from training if I want to? I should give up martial arts, like you-leave protecting the world to Vegeta and all?"
"Heavens, no!" Chichi frowned. "Did I really say that? ...I did, didn't I. Well, I take it back. After all, you have to help me train this little guy!"
"You? Train Goten?" Gohan's jaw dropped.
"And why not? I've been neglecting training, too, you know... I wasn't meant to be a fighter, clearly, but that doesn't mean one has to entirely abandon martial arts." Chichi spoke the words half to convince herself.
"Mom... are you sure you're feeling all right?"
"I don't hate kung fu!" Chichi felt slightly insulted. "I just-I don't think you realize how completely, utterly insane everyone we know is! Vegeta lives in that gravity room! Piccolo never stops thinking about honing body and mind! Goku was the worst of the lot-when he was your age he used to live from Budokai to Budokai. Training with Roshi, Korin, Kami, ...training while he was DEAD..."
Gohan began laughing.
"And don't even get me started on Tenshin and Chaotzu," Chichi went on, "...at least there's some hope for Kuririn, if he can get 18 to pay attention to him..."
"Mom, mom! I get the picture!"
"...so remember, no matter what all these crazy friends of your father say-there is more to life than training. Say it, Gohan! There is more to life than training!"
"There is more to life than training." He grinned.
"Right," she said, feeling somewhat mollified. "So... all things in moderation, then. Figure out what you want before you devote your whole life to one thing."
"I will."
As he smiled at her, Chichi thought that her son grew taller. Well, it would be no surprise. He seemed to get taller every day-stretching his compact musculature up and into the shape of a handsome, thin young man. They had put off this conversation far too long, but she would keep him her son now that Goku was gone. He wouldn't grow up crazy, like his father, or worse, also like his father-dead. Perhaps, she reflected, it was selfish of her to take his gifts from the world; but he was her son. And she would do anything in her power to turn the tides, and give the world to HIM instead.
"I want so much for you," she found herself saying. "You should get out more-maybe a public high school? Pursue your studies, your gifts there... meet a girl someday, I know it, beautiful, and you'll have a family, and bring home grandchildren..."
Gohan turned a shade of beet. "Ma..."
"Oh, I'm sorry- past my bedtime," she smiled, embarrassed. "We can talk about it in the morning. Look, it's our house-we're home now."
She found that she was surprisingly exhausted; she had, after all, only just woken up from a week-long coma. She gratefully took the hand that Gohan profferred to her, letting him help her from Kinto-un, which sped away, its work done.
"Mom, you're right that I'm not really much of a fighter, I guess," Gohan said, as they walked to the house. "I don't care about competition; I don't care about being stronger than anyone else; I never did. But no matter what I do otherwise, I'm always going to be kind of like Dad, too. I want to protect people. I can't sit by watch bad things happen-I get angry, and I have to protect the things I care about. No matter what it costs me."
"I know," Chichi nodded, proud. "That's because what you are is not a fighter. What you are is a warrior."
Gohan nodded back, quietly. They had reached the door; Goten was drowsing again on her shoulder, and it seemed like her son was taller than she was all of a sudden. When had he grown up? But he still smiled like an idiot. Insects were chirping in the grass, and a light breeze rustled in the branches around their mountain home; it was, if truth be told, a beautiful night.
As they stepped over the doorstep to their home, Gohan said, "And Ma... so are you."