I guess I could spend several pages detailing everything that has been going on in my life that has (quite justifiably) kept me away from writing, but I figured that you guys don't want to hear any of that! To make a long story short, think this: a serious case of disillusionment with myself and society, the strains of marching band and winter guard, and the horror that is the college application process. But, hey, what you want now is the story, no? Well, here she is.
Warning: The same warning still applies: shounen ai, male pregnancy, and a generally liberal viewpoint regarding these topics. ; ) I defer all responsibility for whatever mental or physical harm that may arise from reading this story to the readers themselves. You have decided to read it, so no ad hominem (read: don't kill the messenger.)
"Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
A farewell, and then forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me."
-- Robert Burns, "Ae Fine Kiss"
It had begun with a simple itch, a brief spark of the infamous woman's intuition, and soon grew into a terrible suspicion of the truth so intense that it was all Bulma could do not to burst with questions every morning when she, as per usual, would run into her mystifying partner in sexual exploits: Vegita. Now that the object of her irrepressible worry had confirmed her premonition, Bulma found herself uncertain as to how to react. Shock, of course, had come first, along with the terrifying whirlwind of denial, of heart-wrenching pain and crushing despondency. But a strange calm had rushed upon her soon after, scattering her surprise to distant mental realms like terrified mice before the aloof presence of a cat. She found herself unable to summon up any convincing amounts of what would be perfectly justifiable fury, incapable of any definite acts that would permanently remove the source of her betrayal.
Now she stood in the serene quiet of her bedroom, which mirrored the strange quiet of her own mind. Face slack and down turned, she stood in a way that suggested deep, sibylline thought but gave little hint as to the subject of her attentions. I know now I know, yes, but do what, what can I do I don't who, how, who is it, do I know The gently tumbling, rambling, churning thoughts mulled endlessly inside her, a sluggish river-muck of vague ideas and half-ideas that flowed just beneath the glassy calm that wrapped about her, the words, dark-toned, monotonous, like an ancient chant to another world. Soft blue eyes adopted an almost prescient appearance, and Bulma hardly noticed as she moved, trancelike, to her dresser and began to dress for the evening, either not comprehending or not caring that the sun had not yet even begun its ritual descent from its glorified perch in the sky, that is was in fact not even midday. A strange sense of lethargy had suddenly come upon her, fogging her mind and making sluggish her every movement. She felt as if her physical body now was swimming in the same thick stew of emotion and thought that her mind was entrenched in.
She fell asleep, not even bothering to turn out the bed sheets, her circular thoughts revolving endless around that same, baffling question of 'Who?'
Vegita had not moved from the living room for a long while, his mind assimilating the confrontation that had just occurred. He realized with a twinge of guilt that the words spoken in the past hour could not be forgotten, and whatever the results, for good or ill, he had broken his promise to Gohan. He had revealed their secret, however indirectly, without the boy's consent. Certainly, no specifics had been mentioned; Bulma did not even know that this other 'mate' was not another woman, not even of the female sex. In a way, Vegita was rather proud of how he had worded the confession, for he had given nothing but the bare minimum away; yet in doing so, he realized he had unconsciously started a chain reaction that he could neither stop nor predict where or when it would end. Kami only knew what Bulma would do with this newfound information - he never could claim the foresight needed to preempt anything that woman chose to do. So there was only one act Vegita knew he had to carry out, and that was speaking with the mate in question, Son Gohan.
Pulling himself to his feet with all the refined grace that his noble bloodline allowed him, Vegita strolled swiftly down the halls of Capsule Corporation, past the living quarters and kitchen, down the stairs and through the maze of shuttered offices and lonely cubicles, and finally through the front lobby and out the wide, glass doors. Once outside, the sun pulsing with the summer heat that drew out all the moisture in the air and left shimmering illusions on the concrete, Vegita took one last glance back towards the large multiplex of Capsule Corps and then launched himself into the cloudless sky and headed towards the distant mountains that skirted Satan City.
Gohan had come to the depressing conclusion that a boiling sun and mountains of schoolwork simply did not mix, despite the ever-present, godly eye of his mother and her studious designs. His head lolled to the side, turning listlessly towards the single round window in his room as he allowed his current textbook to fall from its perch on his knees back to the desk. Weary eyes caught the tantalizing shimmer of the glasslike surface of a distant lake and the heat suddenly became unbearable. Brows drawn together in wishful consternation, Gohan stared intently at the gleaming water, so cool and refreshing underneath its private canopy of trees and the protective shade of a cliff. His reverie was broken, however, when he felt a familiar energy swiftly drawing closer to his position. This time the warmth that filled him was welcome and he could not help the giddy smile that broke across his face. He would recognize Vegita's chi anywhere.
Glancing towards his bedroom door, he stretched his Saiyajin hearing to assure himself that Chichi was still busy in the kitchen. (He sometimes wondered how she could spend her days in there, always cooking or cleaning!) Concerns assuaged, he darted over to his window and carefully opened it. With a final check on his mother's occupation, Gohan squeezed through the hole – he would not be able to do so much longer! – and was soon flying to intercept the subdued but still prideful chi of Vegita.
During the brief minute of flight, Gohan had time to examine Vegita's energy, to delicately taste the subtle emotions hidden just beneath its surface. The anger he found was familiar, as was the warmth of love – though that had been discovered only recently - but his heart clenched when he sensed worry, even fear, and regret.
When the pair met, Vegita made no move to embrace him, as was the normal greeting; he merely hovered a few feet away, head bowed the slightest bit and his dark eyes angled downward. Concern blossomed instantly in Gohan, but his shock at such a reluctance to initiate anything stayed his tongue. And just as well, for suddenly Vegita's strange hesitation melted away; his shoulders squared a bit more, his back straightened slightly, and his eyes rose to meet the youthful face watching him carefully.
"She knows." As soon as the words left his mouth, Vegita cursed himself for acting so bluntly. He moved quickly to sooth Gohan's growing alarm: "I didn't tell her who. She just… startled me, and-" He trailed of when Gohan suddenly closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms firmly about Vegita's neck, the boy's face resting on his shoulder. Both hovered quietly for several long minutes, unwilling to contemplate further the ramifications of this new turn of events. The golden heat of the sun beat relentlessly down on them. Up in the cloudless, pale sky, they were free from the nagging grasp of everyday life. Alone but certainly not lonely in the absolute silence that seemed to blanket the world, they knew they had each other, if no one else. Vegita gradually became aware of an almost imperceptible trembling in his partner and he knew the boy was fighting back tears. And I'm not to far from them, either. But what Gohan said next was certainly not what the prince expected.
"I think… we need to tell her – tell them." They both knew who 'them' was, and Vegita knew what it had taken for Gohan to even suggest such an action. He knew the boy was extremely uncomfortable discussing the logistics of their relationship, even with him; he simply accepted it as the truth and that was that. The problem lay in that he also knew (or at least believed) that no one else save Vegita would be able to see it that way. The older Saiyajin tightened the embrace just enough to make known his intended comfort and support. "We should…. We should…" Suddenly, Gohan shrugged away from Vegita, angrily wiping away tears that refused to stop. He wanted to scream. Though his mind knew it was unlikely his friends and family would react negatively to the news, his heart recoiled in fear from the simple possibility of such rejection. It was a strangely violent reaction that Gohan felt he couldn't control, and an endless string of fabricated scenarios, none ending with any hint of happiness, filled his mind with such confusion that he didn't know what he should do. The overwhelming despair he felt triggered anger at being unable to better control his emotions. This was not the first time he had had such outbursts, though they had never happened in the presence of Vegita. This time he did let out a choked half sob, half growl of frustration, the tears continuing the relentless trek down his face.
Vegita, for his part, remained where he was, startled at Gohan's show of anger. Emotional as he was apt to be, Gohan hardly ever fully lost control. At this thought, Vegita suddenly understood the issue and moved forward to take the boy in his arms and sooth the turmoil so apparent on his stricken face, tell him that it was perfectly natural for him to act this way.
"No!" Gohan backed farther away from Vegita, shaking his head fiercely, his hands clenched at his sides so hard the pale white of bone shone through the skin. "No! You promised! You promised, Vegita!" His voice cracked with raging emotion as the words ripped themselves from his throat. How could they possibly reveal their secret? never trust, need, what if, rejection? how, love, but I feel, can't do it, won't, must… why, why? "You said – said no more than… you promised – I -" Eyes clenched shut, he stumbled blindly over the words, unable to convey the hurt, the anger, the betrayal that he felt. Vegita had broken his confidence, had shared, however subtly, the one secret he wanted to keep hidden above all else.
So consumed was he in the ruthless maelstrom of distress and fear and shock, the continuous, deafening roar of his own tumultuous thoughts, that he never noticed Vegita move toward him once again, but when he felt those familiar, powerful arms settle about his body and pull him close, he suddenly reared back.
"Haven't you done enough?!" Vegita seemed to wilt at the bitter venom in Gohan's normally tender voice, the hurt more so because it was aimed at him, but Gohan either never noticed or didn't care through the veil of his frustration, continuing on in a softer, but no less harsher, voice, "I need… alone. Just - leave me alone right now, please! Alone…" Before any words could be uttered in response, Gohan's chi erupted about him and he shot off away from Vegita, away from the problem, away from the pain.
He left the prince hovering defeated, his arms dangling loosely at his sides and dark eyes following the fading energy trail of the only one he had ever loved. Above them both the halcyon light of the shining sun never faltered as it bore witness to their parting in worldly silence.
Gohan flew blindly, his eyes open to the world but his focus invariably drawn within. A relentless buzzing filled his head, following in the wake of the initial wave of emotion, and made coherent thought nearly impossible. The din grew to such incredibly levels that he fought desperately against losing himself in the chaos, but the pain in his head was but a mere echo and a shadow of the overwhelming pain in his heart, a tightening of the chest that left him breathless and confused. For a long while he flew in no particular direction, giving in to the primal instinct of all mammals to flee from a threat. Suddenly, however, he halted and then dropped toward a small clearing in the center of the forest that surrounded his home for endless miles. As he felt himself accelerating to dangerous levels, he loosed all control over his chi and allowed his body to enter freefall, closing tight his eyes as the wind ripped through his hair and slapped at his face. Let the wind decide my fate… At the last possible second, mere inches from the unforgiving earth, Gohan gathered all his energy beneath him and let it buffet his collision, falling into a smooth roll and finally coming to a stop on his back.
He lay there for what seemed like ages, and he imagined, in the quiet and isolation of the forest, that the world continued on just as it always had: people lived and died, were hurt and were forgiven, loved and hated. Nothing had changed, and nothing ever would, when considered from such a universal angle. He forced himself to focus through the pandemonium crashing about his head and dragged his mind, kicking and screaming like some wild thing, back into perspective. Suddenly releasing a loud burst of air he had not realized he had been previously holding, Gohan found himself able to observe his emotions from the detached, analytical gaze of a third person. He felt the anger, the despair from a distance, and slowly, as he gradually assimilated these roiling, violent feelings, he discovered acceptance. He lay with his face turned toward the sky, feeling the softness of the grass beneath him and the endless, open void of space above him, and very deliberately began to ground himself in both body and mind, gradually entering a lighter version of the meditation Piccolo had taught him so long ago.
At great length, Gohan's thoughts finally ordered themselves into at least semi-articulate ideas. The pain remained still, lurking like a dark, evil thing within his heart, but he forced himself to ignore it – at least for now. The acceptance he had felt earlier convened with laser-like precision into one intelligible plan, and he realized what he now faced, what he now had to do. It has to come out… our secret. There's no other way.
But still, a tiny yet persistent voice in the back of his mind cried out in protest and unleashed a fresh wave of doubt and fear. You can't! You can't! They'll never understand – never forgive! You can't do this!
"But what else is there…" The words were whispered and so slurred with emotion that any outside observer would never have understood, but just as well, for Gohan meant them only for himself.
Think of what they'll do! Mother will never accept this! Her disappointment, her horror…
A terrible vision of Chichi, her normally beautiful face now pale and twisted in revulsion, blossomed before Gohan's closed eyes. She recoiled with fear and distaste, and only hate could be seen within her black eyes, flaming up about her as she mouthed a silent cry of fear. And Gohan knew that this reaction was aimed at him, and no other. "Mother…" I… what if – no! She'd never do, never, my mother… Okaasan…
All of them – mother, our friends, the entire world – Piccolo. You can't betray the secret. You don't know what will happen!
Gohan struggled to control his breathing as the panic grew and threatened to once again overwhelm him. The thought of his beloved sensei discovering the truth terrified him, as much if not more so than that of Chichi. Gohan relied on the stoic Namekseijin as a teacher, a friend, and a sometimes-father figure; he could never live with the knowledge that he had somehow disappointed Piccolo, somehow betrayed his love, or in some way earned his disgust. Eyes stinging with the salt of tears, he forced the rebellious voice away, trying to bury the doubt in the comfort that there was no escape. He had no choice in this matter. Sitting up hesitantly, Gohan gazed at his hands, watching them twitch in an outward presentation of the conflict he felt within and hardly noticing the silent streaks of sorrow trekking down his face. But despite his reservations, he held no uncertainty as to what needed to be done, and his eyes hardened with determination. "I must tell them now."
The admission finally spoken aloud, Gohan fully stood and faced toward home, his posture that of a man heading toward death but knowing that in doing so, he would not lose his honor. With nary a second thought, the boy drew out his chi, embracing its familiar and comforting warmth, and headed back home to mystery and dread.
Well, that took quite nearly a year, but I got it done. The hardest part will be the third and final chapter; I have to figure out how all of these confrontations will play out… Hm, well with college apps nearly completely done, it shouldn't take anywhere near as long as this one did. For those of you wondering where the hell Piccolo is, I say don't worry. : ) I have my reasons, though none of which you all will be privy to until I post the next chapter! Until then, Namarië!