Disclaimer - I don't own Dragonball Z
A/N: I'm glad that you all like this idea and I hope you keep reading.
Convalescence
Goku stared at Bulma, looking crestfallen. Bulma bit her lip and wrung her hands together nervously. This wasn't quite the reaction she'd expected.
"That can't be true," he shook his head at her former statement, as if when he said it, he would make it false.
Her heart broke for him. "It is." she whispered. Talk about the bearer of bad news…
He looked at her, desperation in his eyes. "Do I have anyone?"
"You have a good job, a nice house-"
"Do I have anyone?" Goku repeated with more urgency. Bulma licked her lips, finding them uncomfortably dry. She got up, suddenly feeling the need to leave the room. Goku's incessant stare was burning a hole into her. She turned her back on him and walked to the window. She stared out of it. He needed and answer and she knew it.
"No." she finally answered. She didn't turn around. She didn't want to see the effect that it had on him.
"I'm completely alone…" he murmured, with such hopelessness, she was compelled to look at him. She saw a young child in a grown man's body. He looked scared and alone. Almost like he was lost and needed to find his mother.
"Not completely… I mean you have your friends." Bulma supplied, trying to make him feel better.
He looked to her, staring blankly. She knew what that look meant. That wasn't good enough. She knew that.
Goku looked around the hospital room. "So this is real." he said, more of a disappointed statement than a question. Bulma nodded.
"What do I do?" His tone of voice was calm. Collected. A complete change from the shaken tone he had taken on a few moments prior.
"Excuse me?" His question took her off guard.
"Do I work?"
Bulma swallowed. "Yes. You're a stock broker."
Goku's gaze became disjointed again. He looked at the window. "I can't believe this." he whispered, clutching the bed sheets. Bulma looked at him questioningly.
"Tell me," he choked out. "Tell me about myself." He was on the verge of tears. His body convulsed as he fought them back. Bulma sat down next to him.
"Your name is Song Goku."
She saw him smirk. "At least that hasn't changed."
She continued. "You live by yourself. You're a stock broker. You live in New York City. You're my best friend and we've known each other since we were five." She didn't know what else to say. There was nothing else to say. They sat in an awkward silence for what seemed like forever.
Goku spoke up. "Would you like to hear about my life?"
Bulma nodded.
"My name was Song Goku. I met you, when we were young. I don't remember what age we were. We grew close because you wanted the dragon balls and I helped you find them."
Bulma didn't understand, but she let Goku continue.
"I met my wife when were young as well. I promised to marry her then. When I was around seven. Can you believe that? I didn't know what marriage was." Goku's tone was nostalgic, and pained. It cracked with emotion. "We met later at the World Martial Arts Tournament. I didn't recognize her, but she recognized me. After a few trials and tribulations, we got married. Had our first child. I died a few times and came back to life by the dragon balls. That's when we had our second child. I didn't get to see him until he was seven. I was dead. Finally I was brought back to life. Last thing I remembered, I had a family."
He stared at Bulma, a vacant look on his face. "I had a family." he repeated, incase she didn't hear it.
"There's nothing I can do." she murmured. She could provide no solace for him. She didn't know what to say. She couldn't make up for all of these unaccounted memories that he had.
"Can I see her?" he asked. It took Bulma a moment to realize what he was asking.
"Oh, Goku. I don't think that's such a good idea."
"Why not?"
Why the fuck is everything I tell him bad news? "You're not on the… best terms."
"Why?"
"What are you, two?" Bulma snapped, hands on her hips. She turned away in frustration. Goku lowered his head. He clutched the sheets in his hands, wondering if they still held the same strength. They shared and indomitable silence.
"Look, it's pretty stressful right now…" Bulma said, turning around.
"No kidding." he remarked. As soon as he said the words he didn't recognize them. Had he said that? Where had that sarcasm come from? For the first time, Goku felt a rush of panic. He didn't know who he was. Was he always sarcastic? All he knew was he didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. He turned to apologize, and found Bulma smirking at him.
"Look. I'll call Chichi if you really want, all right? But for now.. Just get some rest."
"I've been resting. I think I've gone and slept too long."
----------------------
"Turn it down!" she yelled from the kitchen. Her hands were submerged in soapy water. Her latest annoyance was that in small parts, her black hair was falling from its bun. She blew upwards trying to get the loose strands out of her eyes. "Dammit." she mumbled as more hair fell out of the bun. She looked towards the family room. That volume was still too loud.
"Gohan!" she called, trying to get her eldest son's attention. A young 13 year old looked out of the corner inquisitively. "Would you ask him to turn it down?"
Gohan nodded. "Mom said 'turn it down!'" was followed by a loud smack and a whiny cry of "Gooooohhhaaaannn!!!"
Chichi hung her head. "That's not what I meant!" she called, drying off her hands on a nearby paper towel and heading for the family room. Gohan was sitting on the couch next to her youngest son, Goten. Goten was trying hard not to pout and had one hand covering his forehead. Chichi stood in the doorway, throwing a reprimanding look at Gohan who smiled and shrugged.
"Are you all right, Goten?" she asked the 7 year old, who just pouted and nodded. "Gohan, don't hit your brother." And with the motherly reprimand, she returned to the kitchen. She never knew where these things she said came from. The day she told Gohan to eat all of his vegetables or he wouldn't get dessert, she found herself sitting at the kitchen table for an hour, wondering where that came from. She didn't say it for another two weeks, fearing she was sounding too much like her mother. She'd never thought she would have been a mother. She was a strong girl, the least likely to have children. But then she met him. And suddenly visions of white weddings and family barbeques danced in her head. She didn't know where they came from. She had never wanted these things before. She found herself looking at baby clothes in catalogs, and found it a bit frightening. She never brought up a baby or a wedding with him. That was… until the night that strip turned pink. The conversation was overly awkward. It started with "I'm pregnant" and ended with shocked look and "good luck with that."
He wasn't the parenting type. She knew that. He was a kid himself. How could he raise one, if he had the maturity level of a 9 year old. She knew she was better off raising them by herself. Sure, it would attract weird questions and ever weirder looks when everyone found out who their father was. But it was worth it.
"Mom?"
"Hm?"
"Phone for you. It's Bulma."
"Thank you, Gohan." She picked up the phone. Bulma hadn't called in years. They had briefly known each other as mutual friends through him, but never really talked. Only after he'd gone into the coma had they ever had a conversation longer than 5 words. Bulma had called her the day it happened. Chichi knew she was supposed to be sad. And she was. But that small part of her knew he had gotten what was coming to him. Bulma knew it too. Bulma knew all the terrible things he had done and sympathized with Chichi. Bulma knew the unrepairable damage that had been done to their relationship.
"Hello?"
"Chichi? It's Bulma."
"Hello."
"I have some…" she struggled to find the right word. "news for you."
Chichi swallowed hard.
"Chichi… he's awake."
She tried to find her voice. It came out in a shaky whisper. "And?"
"He's asking for you."
"Me?"
"He wants to see you."
She could hardly believe it. After all this time, all those fights between them… he wanted to see her? "All right. When should I come?"
"Anytime you want."
"I'll be there tomorrow afternoon."
Chichi hung up the phone with a terrible weight in her stomach. She couldn't face him. Not after her abandoned her last time. She could still see his face in her dreams, horribly conflicted, as if he wanted to stay but knew he should go. That pain was etched on his face, she thought he would cry. She promised herself she wouldn't. He left that day and she hadn't gotten even a phone call. She would have to see him again. And for the first time in her life… she didn't want to.