Repeat Waltz: Chapter Five

And it's all Going to be Fine Again

By: Space-Weazel

"Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow.
Don't walk behind me, I may not lead.
Just walk beside me and be my friend."

-Albert Camus


Time passed slowly. From the moment they arrived at the clinic, everything seemed to grind to a halt after the initial hustle and bustle of people racing back and forth trying to control the 'situation' at hand. While all this was going on, Pan, Gohan, and the still slightly shaken Antony were placed into a waiting room to stay out of the way of business.

Relieved, Antony was the first to slump down into the chairs which were padded too lightly for his tastes, but then again, anything had to beat sitting in the back of a trailer that was speeding down a brick road that was slick with rain. His stomach continued to growl, although he paid no heed to it; given today's events, he had lost all of his appetite. The fact that his wound was still coated in congealed blood did not help improve his mood.

As Gohan reclined in the seat he had taken, Pan whipped out her ever-loyal cell phone and skimmed through the address book, seeing if there was anyone who she should call to inform about the kid's condition. Sighing softly in dismay as she saw no one who would really care and offer more concern than the false 'That's a shame, how is he?' remarks, she pocketed the device and sat, slumped over with her elbows on her knees and hands clasped together.

It fell silent.

"You know" Gohan started, keeping his eyes closed and folding his arms behind his head. "This isn't exactly the first time something like this has happened to him." His voice was pointed, but not harsh.

Pan snapped her attention to her father and jerked her head back in mild shock and interest.

"I don't particularly see why how many times 'something like this' has happened to him should matter. He deserves to be helped when he's in need just like any one of us does." She was bluntly defensive about this.

"Yes, but one would get the feeling he wants to injure himself after awhile. I mean, seriously, have you taken into account his history? The boy's not exactly safety conscious."

"Were you as a teen?"

"Need you ask?" He chuckled softly, yet never opened his eyes. "But in all honesty, you can hardly compare us. Given his situation, you would think he would be more sensitive with his actions and, oh, maybe not go leaping off buildings or running down the streets at night. Things that are simply uncalled for."

Pan hushed for a moment and stretched back in the chair, looking half defeated as she did.

The hands of the clock barely seemed to move.

"Like you never wanted some adventure in your life." The whisper could barely be heard as it escaped her chapped lips as though by accident.

At this, Gohan opened his eyes at last.

"Adventure or attention?"

The room fell uneasily silent.

Antony finally could not take anymore. With one swift motion, he rose to his feet and set out to the cafeteria. "I'll bring you back some things, I know how you both get when you're hungry." With that, he removed himself from the situation vanished down the whitewashed hallway.

Things settled once more. The awkward atmosphere permeated the area, hanging over all who were unfortunate enough to be shoved aside there. The smell of antiseptics and new plastic lingered and the quiet sound of people clad in scrubs scuffling around gave some relief from what would otherwise have been a horrible, deathly silence.

This place was always too quiet.

"When are you going to tell Piccolo?"

He sniffed the air, amused.

"Somehow I think he already knows."

Pan arched a brow and turned more to face her father. She never quite understood what he meant when he referred to his early mentor. "Oh?" she chirped in a half interested, half challenging note.

To this, Gohan only smiled and gave a slight nod down the corridor that was facing Pan's back. There, sure enough, stood the man of honor himself, looking as reserved and stoic as ever. He gave no hint that he had heard any part of their conversation, or that he had even been aware of their presence. His eyes were steadily focused on the wall that opposed him as he waited to be briefed on the state of affairs.

As Pan turned to question her father, she saw that he had already stood and was making way to his old friend, undoubtedly to offer consolation. After all this, she relaxed for a few moments, seeing as how there was little else for her to do besides read the crumbly, old celebrity magazines that had been placed on several stands nearby. There had been enough drama for her day.

By the time Antony returned with several vending machine sandwiches in hand three bottles of tea precariously wedged between his fingers, Gohan and Piccolo were farther down the hall, standing just outside the room where Seven had been deposited into. There was no word on anything yet, but the people entering and exiting had decreased by half, which was taken as a good sign.

Everyone seemed too calm about this. Taking a seat then leaning over to his love, Antony whispered as quietly as he could, as to not disturb any one else in the otherwise unoccupied room. "I want you to tell me what's going on here, Pookie." He slipped, using the pet name in public.

"There's nothing to tell." She blew him off "The kid hurt his leg badly and he is getting it fixed. That's about the end of it."

"Pan" His tone was firm, but not sharp. "You know what I mean"

Shifting her weight, she met his eyes. Her face softened and she released the breath she did not realize she was keeping. "Alright, alright."

She leaned in closer to Antony, so they could speak one to one very personally.

"You see that tall, green man?"

Antony made a face and nodded slowly to Pan, idly wondering if she thought he was blind enough to not notice an angry looking seven foot tall person standing in plain sight.

"Well, he's Seven's surrogate father. It's a long story; I don't want to re-tell it. Lets just say the two end on very different terms."

He nudged her gently when she fell silent, but no other words escaped from her lips and he thought it wise to drop the subject for the time being.

A young man dressed in worn blue jeans and a gray hooded sweatshirt, which was marked with Legion's signature winged cross on the back and red star that was encompassed by a green circle on each arm entered the building. With the hood pulled all the way up, it was hard to distinguish his features, even as he sat down in a chair at the far side of them. Tangles of dark gray hair and visible spots of tea green skin spilled out from under the hood, a Roman nose jutted out as well, and a set of the lightest rose-colored lips could be seen bearing a unusual smile. The person could barely have been older than fifteen or sixteen, guessing by his rather lanky, growing figure. He held a hardback notebook at his side; a pen was stuck on the outside of it, with the cap latched fast to the cover.

Antony couldn't help but stare at the fellow for a moment or two. Normally, he was not one to encourage such activities, but given the circumstances of today, he honestly failed to care about his own policy. Pan, too, glanced up at him, but lost interest after a few seconds. Turning to her, he whispered, "I wanted to know about them"

She tapped his leg roughly and shot him a glance that could sour fresh milk. "Not now" the answer was spat quickly with a bite in it.

"Hey, I've been a good sport about this and I think I deserve some answers." Placing the food on the stand between them, he too lounged in the seat.

"It's rude." Her eyes dodged quickly to the stranger who sat across the way.

Antony was muted, as though a spell had been cast on him. Now was not the time nor place to argue. Rarely could he budge the stubborn girl in private, in public she was twice as bullheaded. Sometimes he swore he was fighting an uphill battle with a one-man army.


"Piccolo" Gohan rested a hand on his friend's shoulder and for a moment, nearly rested his head on the soft and familiar fabric of his gi, but hastily recoiled. "My friend," he started again, stumbling over his words "I . . . I . . . Don't work yourself up about this. He'll be fine, it's just a simple break, and it will be okay. I'm sure."

With a more than amused smirk, the Namek turned to look to the younger man. "It seems like you're the only one getting worked up over anything."

The demi-Saiyan choked out a laugh.

"I suppose there's just so much going on lately . . . Just so much everywhere. The kids are growing up, Trunks is inheriting Capsule Corp, Goten's finally found a decent girl, Mom's getting better . . .And my baby's happy . . ."

Piccolo nodded as he listened to the boy, or rather the man who he still envisioned as being a boy, vent his frustrations. He did not offer any advice, for none was asked, but he stayed there, watching Gohan pace and fold then unfold his arms, at times making vehement motions in the air to illustrate his point.

"I don't know" Gohan stopped walking and reclaimed his place beside his companion. "Everything has changed so much; for the better, but still." That infamous smile flashed on his face "I almost miss the days when the biggest thing I had to worry about was some 'unstoppable' force trying to destroy Earth."

"You must be crazy" Piccolo spat without hesitation or consideration to the statement.

Gohan laughed again, this time more at ease. "Yeah, I guess I am."

At last, the door of the emergency room opened and several male nurses exited and went out of sight. Piccolo was the first in the room after Dr. Thompson beckoned them both to enter. Gohan shot a look at Pan, suggesting that she and her hubby stay out of this one, before he followed suit.

The room smelled heavily of cleaner fluid, antiseptics and rotten blood with the faint scent of mint that was brutally overpowered and nearly unnoticeable. Despite what efforts had been made prior to their entrance, it was a fairly clean area. No bloody rags were lying around, every surface seemed to have been disinfected, and perhaps most surprising of all, there seemed to be no signs of a struggle of any kind. For an instant, both of them wondered how heavily they had drugged the kid.

Seven was sitting upright on the examination table in a pair of knee-lengths shorts they had put on him. His sickly, bare torso was strewn with various bandaging and stitches and shaded by bruises of all hues from black to blue. One could not help but notice the scars that riddled him like mock patchwork. He seemed to be a forlorn, old rag doll sitting there with the right leg propped up against his chest, the other rigid and held straight with a splint on the upper part of it. His taloned feet tapped against the cool metal rhythmically as he monitored the new presence in the room. Gaze never shifting from an undeterminable point in space; he sat there in silence, lips drawn tight enough to crack his face. He was pouting.

The doctor sifted through some papers on the counter before picking up a clipboard with the information he was looking for.

"He's in pretty good shape, considering the fall he took. His left femur was broken when he hit the cement, but it's a reasonably clean break and it has already started healing. So long as he stays off of it for a little bit, he should be perfectly fine. The wound really looked much worse than it was. A piece of piping apparently acquainted itself with his thigh sometime in all this, but that has been taken care of." He chuckled to himself and motioned to the counter where a sizeable chunk of broken pipe was setting. "Yep, caught him pretty well there, it did."

All the while Seven sat there without making a sound, although his shoulders slumped as he listened to the man speak.

"All in all, he'll be fine. There are some preexisting problems that have not gotten too much better, but give it some time, and with the prescriptions I'm writing him, he'll be happy as a clam."

Extending a hand, the doctor patted Seven on the back; the motion was rewarded with a shiver and the sound of vertebrae popping back into joint.

Piccolo's inkwell eyes looked the boy over from head to toe. Even though relief flooded his body, he scoffed. As expected, Seven turned his head to face his guardian, even though his gaze was off to the side. For once, his expression eased, not quite into even the faintest of smiled, but the near grimace no longer reigned over his features. Gohan, not pretending to understand the action, stepped closer to the kid.

"We were worried about you." Son said calmly as he examined the bandaged leg.

"You were." The words were spat almost indignantly in that cold, restrained baritone. Seven made sure he accented the first word in an especially harsh manner.

That little shit. . Gohan though, but failed to voice his opinion and smiled curtly in light of that.

"Anyway, I would like to address the matter of his height and weight." Dr. Thompson turned to a graph chart. "You see, Seven stands at 9'6" he pointed to the number on the chart. "But the average weight for creatures like him for his height and build is between 378 and 420." Again, he slid his finger over to the corresponding number. "Seven only weighs . . .Three twenty, even. We'd like it if he'd gain some weight, it would greatly improve his health and the next time he falls, he might not get banged up quite as easily."

"Mrhh. . ." The little, disgusted sound silenced the doctor for a moment.

"Might I suggest sending him to the rehabilitation center on the outskirts of Satan City? It's peaceful, away from everything, and since he's a registered Legionnaire, it's free of charge, so long as he holds a job there. I would recommend it highly, if you would only consider . . ."

Seven was still.

"No." The Namek's answer was blunt enough to catch the man off guard. "I have seen what they offer, I do not approve."

The place they were talking about was little more than a colony of 'defective' projects that had been tossed aside instead of disposed of. There was no rehabilitation involved in the torment of those beings. Day in and day out, they continued on, clinging to the scraps of their lives that they clutched as gold in greedy hands. The overseers were not kind people, but money driven sadists, who would as soon drown the helpless worker for a pretty coin as they would anything else. No, that was not a fate to be imposed on anyone.

"Okay then." Retreating from his prior position, Dr. Thompson gathered his papers up and prepared to exit the room. "If you will listen to this, he needs a high protein and calcium diet, and strength training three to four times a week couldn't hurt." With that, he was out the door and lost down the hallway.

It was only a few moments before one of the nurses that had previously tended to Seven entered the room, carrying with him a change of fresh clothes, all marked with the traditional Legion signs, of course, and Seven's overcoat, which seemed to weigh his small frame down. He set the items down in a chair right inside the door and shook his arms out, looking happy to be rid of them. "Mr. Daimaou, there's some forms we need you to sign before you leave here, it'll only take a couple of min-" He was cut off by the Namek, who simply brushed past him as though the boy was no more alive than the doorway itself.

Seven's head bowed subtly.

The nurse shot a confused look down the hall that the Namek had turned down before glancing up to Gohan. "I'm afraid we won't be able to release him for awhile. His condition warrants a few days stay, just to get him re-hydrated and make sure that he does not do anything that would immediately compromise his health again." Pausing, he sighed and looked towards his patient. "-As he is known to do."

A smile rose, but from neither of the conversationalists.

Gohan nodded slowly and thanked the young man before returning his focus to the chief reason for his stress today. Letting the nurse go about his business elsewhere without any further interruption, he picked up the top and pant set that had been set so kindly on the chair and tossed them against Seven's chest. For an instant, he idly wondered how the kid managed getting dressed with claws that were fit to make cloth confetti out of any apparel in their way.

"You know, things would be a lot easier on you if you dropped the pissy attitude and actually acted grateful for something at least once in awhile." The put-off Saiyan rested his back against the wall and placed his hands inside the pockets of his jeans.

Halting his attempt to delicately unfold the top given to him, Seven tilted his head and looked up out of habit. With a faint smile, he shook his head sadly and continued on. "Do not fault me that you fail to see that I am grateful for everything."

"Mmhmm, I can sense the appreciation. Do yourself a favor and just stop with this . . . this" He motioned in the air, as though it would help get the point across.

"It seems you're the only one getting worked up over anything." Seven met Gohan's eyes dead on as he reiterated with a Cheshire grin on his face.

Holding a white-knuckled fist at his side and eyes soundly closed, Gohan let out a slow, seething breath through his nose. His lips were held in a steady line, as seemed to be the fashion of the day, and he stood there, not saying a word or moving. He didn't want to give the kid any pleasure that might be derived out of a brazen response.

Minutes passed in the blink of an eye.

"You'll see it someday, kid." An honest smile "I'll catch you later, and take care of yourself. Try to avoid sparring with gravity next time." With the farewell wave of a hand, Gohan was gone, intent to make his way home.

As Son made his was past the waiting room and to the exit, a pale face smiled, watching him go. Quaint lips mouthed a deadened word, and fingers that ended in tapered claws coiled out of the gray material hiding them away from the world. With a steady hand, the creature opened the notebook it held so dear, turned pages with the utmost care, and grasped the pen held prisoner in the cover. Hand trembling, it wrote down all that it perceived.

And when all was said and done, when all the visitors had left, and the cleaning crew was making its final round for the night, it stood, and like the others, and left to make the last train home.


"Impossibilities are merely things which we have not yet learned. " -- Charles W. Chesnutt