Anecdotes

The two-week drive through the desert was uneventful as far as ambushes or attacks from the Red Ribbon Army were concerned. Not that nothing happened because there were moments between the four teenagers.

Yamcha was on kitchen-duty. The group had nothing to eat except for the rations Bulma packed and while they were nutritious, they tasted like cardboard. He did his damned best with what he had and produced something he personally thought was edible. Krillin never complained about his cooking but then again, it wasn't his fellow student he was worrying about.

ChiChi was surprisingly critical about their food and when it had been her turn to make dinner, she managed to make something tasty out of the rations. He couldn't let someone younger than him show him up.

And of course, there was Bulma.

The mere thought of the blue-haired girl made his palms sweaty and looking at her even from the corners of his eyes made his mind go blank. She was definitely the prettiest girl he'd ever seen and Kami did she have high standards. Which was kind of funny considering her cooking involved popping the rations into the microwave and getting Krillin to boil the water for her.

So he was understandably nervous when he ladled stew into the two girls' bowls. While he braced himself for complaints, he did not expect one spoonful could have ChiChi in tears.

Bulma nearly threw the bowl at him in anger as she demanded to know just "What the fuck did you put in this?"

ChiChi managed to stop Bulma from hurling the flatware at him. "Th-there's nothing wrong with the stew, Bulma. I-it's just," she sniffled, wiping at the tears pouring down her face. "Th-this stew tastes like something my dad makes. I mean made, I mean-"

"I-I'm sorry," Yamcha mumbled, grabbing a roll of paper towels from the capsule house's kitchen and passing them to the dark-haired girl.

"N-no, don't apologize!" ChiChi laughed despite her watery eyes, "You're an amazing cook! You could show me a thing or two."

Yamcha wasn't sure what to say or do. On the one hand, it was praise. One the other hand, it was for a bittersweet reason. Also, Bulma was staring at him like she couldn't decide if she was going to stab him for making ChiChi cry or hug him for giving ChiChi something she liked.

In the end, Yamcha decided to position Krillin between himself and Bulma. Just to be safe.

When ChiChi finished the strength-training regimen Master Roshi had assigned her, she fell back onto the capsule house's floor, generating a loud thud on impact. Bulma didn't run out to check on her this time. The older girl had grown accustomed to the sound of ChiChi's exhaustion by day three of their journey and left all of Roshi's students to their own devices. ChiChi would have appreciated a pitcher of cold water or towel right about now though. Especially when she remembered she still had weapon drills from Son Gohan.

Once she retrieved her Bo staff, she braced herself and stepped out into the scorching desert morning. If she hadn't already been sweating before, the heat rising from the sand would have seen to that. Shielding her eyes from the sun's harsh glare, her ears picked up the sounds of Yamcha and Krillin sparring. Both of the older boys were wearing weighted clothes just as she was but the fluidity and speed of their movements gave no indication of it.

ChiChi vowed she'll catch up to them sooner rather than later and immediately began to go through the stances Son Gohan had shown her. She swung and jabbed and struck air again and again, grim determination etched all over her face.

That taste of stew had reminded her of everything she'd lost, of everything she was fighting for: Home. The knowledge that she was not going to be alone in her battle against the Red Ribbon Army was comforting but she did not want to rely too much on them. She had to extinguish the fires of Frypan Mountain on her own, her father said so. Only then will she be able to truly mourn him.

But until then, she was going to do everything she can to keep the Dragon Balls and Bulma from the Red Ribbon Army. Even if it meant dragging the older girl back to the Diablo desert where ChiChi could keep a proper eye on her.

Krillin was a good-natured kid. He was friendly and easy going, always ready with a smile or a joke, and he was especially nice to the ladies. There were times his competitive side got the better of him but it was never for long and whatever rivalry he got involved in never became malicious or bitter. All the same, he was only human and couldn't help but envy Yamcha.

It's not that he didn't like the guy but Krillin was short and, thanks to his monastic background, needed to shave his head. People liked him or at least seemed more willing to drop their guard around him but that was because he made them laugh.

Just once it would be nice if, and this was all completely hypothetical and not something that actually happened a couple of weeks ago, the cute girl at the vegetable stand would approach him to ask if he was single rather than his tall friend with the scar. (He told her yes, as much out of honesty as spite because he had a running bet with Son Gohan about how long Yamcha could hold a conversation with a girl before high-tailing. So far, Krillin was winning.)

When Bulma sauntered up to him during one of their pit stops, the monk could only assume she wanted him to do her chores for her. To his surprise she was already finished and just wanted some company. To his amazement she actually wanted to know "What's your story?"

"My story? You wanna know about me and not Yamcha?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment and Krillin wished he'd kept his mouth shut. If she hadn't been interested in his friend the first time, she probably was now.

"Well, I wanna know about you both. I figured I'd ask tall, dark, and bashful about himself later. When he stops acting like I'm gonna shove a knife into his kidney or something." Bulma fixed those wide aqua blue eyes of hers on him and gave him one of those dazzling smiles she made look so effortless.

Huh. Krillin thought. Miracles do happen.

"So uh, what exactly do you wanna know?"

"I dunno. How about how you ended up in the desert with Roshi as your sensei?"

Krillin straightened himself up to his full height, cleared his throat and began, "I started out in a monastery but it wasn't what I was hoping it would be so I left. Went looking for a martial arts master and when I heard about Master Roshi and his, um," he fidgeted, "Entrance fee, I decided I'd study under him."

"What was his entrance fee?"

Krillin felt his cheeks burn at the memory of the dirty magazines he had to swipe from newsstands. Rather than tell her the truth, he babbled, "It's a secret, only students are permitted to know, and anyway he stopped asking for it once..." he stopped, sighed, and rubbed the back of his shaved head.

"Once what?" Bulma demanded, clearly getting impatient.

"It's my story. I'll tell it how I wanna. Anyway, I've been studying under sensei for over half a year now but we've only been staying at the desert for the past two months. When I started learning, he was still living on this island in the middle of the ocean. Most martial arts masters unless they go commercial tend to live a simple life. It was a small house, had surprisingly great reception, but nothing fancy. Oh and there was Turtle."

"What kind of person calls themselves Turtle?"

"Someone who's an actual turtle," Krillin said wryly. "Master Roshi's best friend was an old sea turtle who lived with him and, get this, actually helped with the training."

"You're bullshitting me."

"No! I'm not! Turtle knew a lot of things about self-defense and yeah you had to wait a bit for him to finish explaining, but that was patience training too."

"So where is he? Don't tell me he's still on his way to the desert."

"I'm getting to that," Krillin frowned and here he looked uncomfortable. "About two months ago, Son Gohan dropped by the island to warn us that the Red Ribbon Army was after the Dragon Balls. He got chased out of his mountain home by some blond guy but Son Gohan sent him packing."

The short boy stared down at his cloth slippers, "Turns out the Red Ribbon Army was following Son Gohan and they tracked him all the way to Master Roshi's. The blond guy wasn't there though. Some jerk named Dark was calling the shots. And he..." Krillin shuddered at the memory.

"You have until the count of three to tell me where your Dragon Balls are before I start getting serious," Dark warned, his gun cocked and the safety off. His men had fanned out, flanking Kame House and its inhabitants to ensure no one would think of escaping into the water. "Well?"

No one spoke. Neither Roshi nor Gohan looked worried about the weaponry. The two seniors only looked like helpless old men but they both had enough Ki in them to render bullets useless. It was only when their gaze fell on Krillin and the sea turtle hiding behind him that concern flickered across their features.

Unfortunately, Dark proved more observant than Krillin gave him credit for. He fired the gun and Turtle sported a hole in his head. "It'll be the toddler next."

"I am fifteen years old!" Krillin yelled.

"You are?" Dark goggled, "Damn kid, you really got the short end of the heredity stick, didn't you? I mean, just look at y-" he was suddenly airborne from an uppercut to the jaw. And he stayed in the air for a long time as Roshi struck and struck and struck. The turtle hermit's weedy limbs were like whips, each blow a resounding crack as Roshi juggled the officer until the man was little more than pureed fat and broken bones held together by skin.

One of the other soldiers tried to fire on Roshi but a chop from the edge of Son Gohan's hand on the man's neck changed his mind.

Krillin blinked and the next thing he knew, the squad of armed men were on the ground in various states of pain.

After an angry grunt and dropping an elbow point into Dark's gut, Roshi let the man plummet. Sand fountained where the officer fell and of course Krillin was the only one from Kame House to be covered in grit afterwards.

Roshi and Son Gohan spoke to each other in hushed tones before Krillin's sensei finally snapped out, "We're leaving for my Sister's. Krillin, pack everything you can into a container capsule. I'll carry Turtle. We'll give him a proper burial later."

"Turns out Baba was already waiting for us at the mainland. She said the best place to hide was in the Diablo desert and that's where we ran into Yamcha," Krillin finished and leaned back to stare at nothing in particular. Before an awkward silence could descend, he turned to Bulma.

Apparently, Krillin didn't need silence to make things awkward. He would do a damn fine job of it on his own by asking her "So, what's your story?"

Between hours of driving and numerous pit stops, Bulma would have thought the journey to West City would have taken them longer. They'd kept off the main highway and stuck to dirt roads thanks to Baba's warning. But it had been smooth sailing for the four of them and Bulma was starting to think that the old crone wasn't as infallible as she made herself out to be.

She shouldn't complain, really. They made good time despite taking the long way and their destination was only a day away. But something nagged at the back of her mind that she shouldn't lower her guard. Something was bound to go wrong.

Or Yamcha's insistent pessimism had rubbed off on her. She hadn't expected it to happen, considering how the older teen could barely carry a conversation with her at the start of the journey. His shyness had been cute at first but the lack of eye contact got old the third time. They finally managed to get a real discussion going between them when Bulma made good on her promise to give Yamcha's desert buggy a look-over.

It took all her self-control not to tell the guy his precious ride was better off as a compacted cube and shipped off to be recycled. The engine, the fuel tank, the exhaust ports, the suspension system, basically with the exception of the chassis, everything needed a replacement. Kami only knew how Yamcha managed to keep it running.

"This is quite a vintage model, huh?" she said.

"You don't need to sugar-coat with me. I know my ride's old," he said.

"Ancient is more like it," she teased. "Why haven't you replaced anything?"

"I might as well buy a new buggy with how much that would cost me," he said.

"Okay but why haven't you gotten it cleaned? I mean, seriously, what's with all the cat hair?"

Whatever connection they'd slowly begun to form was quickly lost as Yamcha's expression turned stormy and he folded his arms across his chest. "That's none of your business."

Yamcha was less chatty after that. Not that he was chatty to start with but even Krillin was getting the brush off whenever he tried talking to his friend. Bulma eventually asked the former monk what Yamcha's deal was but that proved to be a dead end.

"It's not my story to tell, sorry," Krillin apologized.

A/N: According to the Dragonball Wiki, Akira Toriyama said Yamcha and Ox King were the best cooks in the series and that bit of trivia demanded I write it into the fic. Sorry, not sorry. To make up for the lack of action in this update, you get a fairly lengthy one and the least tragic backstory of the cast!