[Saga] The Future - Gohan's Death

He walked briskly toward the room in which the patient’s family was waiting, clad in his white lab coat, stethoscope ‘necklace’ and clipboard. He peered down once more at his well organized paper file and sighed to himself; this wasn’t going to be easy. Actually, only one family member was present in the waiting room, but that didn’t stop Dr. Yusuke from quickening his pace slightly to reach the girl. Girl…the woman was more than twice his age but he still called her a girl. Funny, he’d never really thought about it until now.

“Hello, Saito-san.” Dr. Yusuke said nicely.

“Kajitsu, Yusuke-sama.” She returned, standing to greet him. “Well, please…fill me in.”

Dr. Yusuke nodded for her to follow him back through the ICU ward of the hospital. He waited for just a moment before turning to her and speaking.

“Your father is stable.” He began. He watched the woman, whom he had known for nearly two decades now, let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh good,” She said, playfully hitting his arm. “Ya had me worried for a minute their Doc.”

“Pan…” He said, turning to her in the empty hallway. He looked at her intently, knowing this must be hard for her to hear. “I said he was stable…now. But you can’t let him keep ignoring this. It won‘t just go away.”

“You think I knew about this?” She asked in exasperation. “He never even let on about it. How was I suppose to know if he didn‘t even hint about it? I mean, he seemed to be in good heath to me.”

“Well, I would have told you myself but you know I can’t. Confidentiality between patient and doctor, remember.” Dr. Yusuke began walking again.

“So, how bad is it?” Pan finally asked.

“Bad.” Dr. Yusuke said plainly. “The cancer has moved into his bone marrow. I recommended Chemo treatment months ago but he refused.”

“What?” Pan asked in disbelief. “Refused? Why? Does he want to die?”

Dr. Yusuke shook his head and turned to her intently. “Pan, I know it sounds crazy to someone your age but…put yourself in his shoes. He’s told me on several occasions that his life isn’t what it used to be.”

Pan’s eyes were blurring and turning red. No. She couldn’t do this now, not here. Why did her father refuse the Chemo?

“So what are you saying? That he just wants to end it all?” Her voice cracked with suppressed emotion. How could her father do such a thing?

“Well, in essence…yes.”

Pan scoffed and glared at him. “That does not sound like my father. He’s not the type to just give up. He’s a fighter, he always has been.”

“Yes, but he’s not been able to really fight in a long time, has he?” He asked, making it more of a statement than a question.

“So. He never liked fighting all that much anyway. Besides, he has his family to stick around for. Why would he just want to leave us?”

“Pan, when was the last time you visited your father…before his entering the hospital?”

Pan crossed her arms and furrowed her eye brows. “I don’t neglect him.” She spat. “We go to see him when we can, and he comes to see us too. We see each other several times a month.”

“I see.” Dr. Yusuke said. “But what other interaction does he have beside those few visits?”

Pan again scowled. “I don’t know. None, I guess.”

“You see.” The doctor said as nicely as he could. “He’s probably lonely. He’s been without your mother for some years now. You know, rarely do older couples outlive their spouses for long. They just can’t seem to get used to living by themselves again.”

“He just doesn’t seem old enough to die yet.” Pan finally said. “I mean, he’s part Saiyan. Wouldn’t that keep him alive longer than usual?”

“From what I can tell, it already has.” Dr. Yusuke looked at the woman oddly. “Pan, he is seventy two years old. Don’t tell me he hasn’t had his share of time on Earth. Maybe he’s just ready to go. Sometimes, we just have to let nature take it’s course.”

“If you’re so ready for him to go, why are you yelling at me for letting him ignore all this.”

“Don’t do this Pan, you know I like your father very much.” Dr. Yusuke began walking ahead of her, turning toward the rooms 200-299. “My point is to make him take his pain meds. He keeps refusing them too, but I don’t like to see him suffer.”

“Pain meds? He has pain meds he takes?” She asked.

“Suppose to take, but doesn’t.” The Doctor said annoyed. “I can understand not undergoing chemo, especially at his age. It would put him at higher risk of getting sick, and do little good. But refusing pain medicine when you have bone cancer, it’s absurd.”

“I’ll talk to him about that. He should take them if he has them.” She said, tone low and defeated.

“Don’t be so depressed Pan. He’s lived a long and happy life. He’s told me he has no regrets and will die a fulfilled old man.” The doctor chuckled. “He really has a way of growing on you, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. He does.” Pan said. “Everyone loves him, everyone who knows him. He’s a very good man.”

“Yes, and he deserves to be in as little pain as possible. So please, make sure he takes the meds. He should have plenty of prescriptions for them so…just keep at him to take them.”

“I will, thank you doctor.” She held out her hand to shake his. He took it. “Thanks for everything.”

“You welcome. Now, you can go in.” He said, hand directed at room number 246.

Pan walked to the door and watched the doctor’s back retreat down the hallway. Could she do this? Was she strong enough to handle loosing him? And why had he kept all this a secret form her in the first place? She didn’t know, but she would find out.

-X-x-X-x-X-

Gohan sat on the edge of the bed, changed and ready to go home. He hated hospitals. Probably because the only memories he had of them were bad ones, mostly. Only once could he remember going to the hospital for a good reason…Pan. His beautiful daughter was born in the very hospital he was in now. It seemed like yesterday to him, but it had in fact been nearly half a century ago. Kami, how time flies.

The door opened and Gohan was faced with a stern looking demi-Saiyan. She crossed her arms and glared his direction, mimicking that of a mother who’d just found their child in the cookie jar. Just who was the parent in this outfit, anyway?

“Don’t look at me like that Pan.” He sighed.

“Like what?” She barked. “Like someone who just got told something by her family physician that should have been said by you? Or like a daughter who just found out her father has a terminal illness?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Gohan chuckled lightly.

“It’s not funny dad!” Pan all but screamed. “Don’t make a joke out of this! Your seriously sick and refusing help. Why?”

“I’m sick, yes. But I feel fine now, so can we just get going?” He practically jumped out of bed and strolled over to her.

“Goodness, dad, you’re not well enough to be bouncing around like that. You do realize you have an incurable type of cancer…don’t you?”

Gohan’s eyes darkened and his face hardened, which he did rarely outside of battle. “Do you hear yourself? That is the reason I didn’t tell you in the first place.” He opened the door and walked out, leaving Pan no choice but to follow him.

“Pan, I don’t want to be treated like an invalid. I feel fine, I don’t know why Yusuke even called you.”

“Because he was worried about you. How did you even end up in the hospital to begin with?”

“Oh, those doctors…they get frantic if I so much as hiccup. They don’t know-” Gohan was cut off by his quickly angering daughter.

“They know plenty, that’s why they get paid so much to help us.” She scathed, then forced herself to calm down. “How did you end up in the hospital dad?”

“I was in the store filling one of the good Doc’s prescriptions when I just…I don’t know. I can’t remember anything after seeing the pharmacist.” Gohan opened the doors leading to his freedom, out into the fresh air; no longer was he imprisoned by the overly sterile and blank walls of such a morbid place. He never wanted to enter that place again, not for any reason.

“Next thing I knew I was waking up on a bed…in there.” He pointed behind him to the brick, three story building.

Pan didn’t say anything, there was nothing she could say. This was really happening, it was all true. Up until that very moment, watching her father stroll down the sidewalk like a man without a care, she’d never noticed just how much he really had aged.

Thanks to the Saiyan genes, his hair had barely even lightened from it’s natural jet-black shade. Still, though, some light gray could be seen above the temples and forehead, but it was certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Why, if he was any other seventy-two year old on this planet (save for the remaining Saiyans) he would probably be nearly bald. So, that was a feature well retained after so many years. And Pan secretly hoped her 1/3 Saiyan genes would help her in such a way as well.

His face. Unfortunately it was not so ageless as his Saiyan-inherited hair. Though his eyes were the same brilliant onyx color they’d ever been, sparkling with the youth he preserved metaphysically, it was the way in which they were set into his beautiful head that made all the difference. His eyes were indeed aged, wisdom was reflected in them as one’s face was mirrored by a still pond. Love, too, was present in them; in all they beheld, in all forms of existence. Her father simply loved life. Or, at least, he once had.

His body. Still muscular after all the years of peace and family life, without age spot or blemish. He had his wrinkles, even his Saiyan genes could not prevent them, but he looked more nearer to her fifty years of age than his seventy-two. Now, seldom did her father fight, other than the occasional spar with her uncle Goten or a family friend. But even those rarities had ceased once her mother had died six years ago. Not once, to her knowledge, since that fateful morning of August 12, had her father done so much as a sit up. It seemed that something that had once given him pleasure simply brought back painful memories, and so he gave it all up. Not that he’d ever experienced the thrill from fighting that his own father or Vegeta…or even his long-time sensei Piccolo got. It just wasn’t something he needed anymore.

Son Gohan. Even the name brought the warm feeling of love Pan associated with her father. He’d always been there for her, he’d always been a steady rock of support when she needed one. Or a shoulder to cry on should she need one. Or a protector if she was in trouble…a bank if she was in a financial crisis…a babysitter both to her and her own children. He was, for lack of a better word (for she believed there simply was no other word for him), the perfect father. Provider, protector, ever present with unwavering devotion and unconditional love. Kami, she was so indebted to him. Just looking at him, being able to say “This is my father”, gave her a sense of pride she couldn’t measure.

“You’re staring.” He said, jerking her out of her thoughts.

“So.” She said, taking his arm. “Gonna sue me?”

Gohan chuckled and smiled at her. “I wouldn’t win anyway.”

Pan smiled too, her short black hair being blown by the wind. Gohan seemed to be in a daze while looking at her, like he was lost in deep thought. Pan frowned and squeezed her father’s arm.

“What is it dad?” She asked.

“Nothing.” He said quickly, and began walking again. “It’s only…you looked like your mother just now.”

Pan could have cried, but she didn’t. She leaned up and kissed her father’s cheek caringly, and he hugged her tightly. They turned to walk again, heading toward her air car in the parking lot. She knew her father must miss her mother terribly. In fact, she could count on one hand, in all the years she’d lived at home with them, just how many times her parents had spent the night apart. Over the years, her father had been adamant, obsessed even, about being at home with his family. Even if it meant getting a lower paying job as a nearby college professor when he could have been a world renown scientist, as he very well could have with his intelligence. But he still refused to do the extensive traveling a scientist as such must do, saying he didn‘t need it…he only needed his family.

At first, Pan never gave the matter much thought. But as she grew older, especially after her Grandpa Goku had traded his life in exchange for the Earth’s future, she wondered what had made her father act as he did. So, she confronted her mother about the subject. Not that she was intimidated about speaking to her father, it was quite the contrary. But when a matter that concerned her father come about, her mother seemed to be the expert on reading his behavior.

XxXx--

“Momma,” came the voice of a bold teenage demi-Saiyan as she entered her mother’s bedroom, where Videl was currently putting away clothes.

“Yes dear?” She answered, her gaze leaving her daughter and returning to her unfinished clothes.

“I want to ask you a question, and you give me an honest answer.” She demanded.

“Ask away.” Videl said, sitting on her bed to listen intently.

“I know how smart dad is.” She began. “And I know he could have done so much better than a college professor. So why did he take that job and never agree to travel anywhere?”

Videl thought for just a moment. “What’s on your mind to make you ask something like that?”

“Well, its just that…dad is always home. No matter what!” She said in frustration.

“Um, dear…that’s a good thing.”

“I’m not complaining.” Pan corrected. “I’m just asking why he’s so obsessing with ‘being there’. I mean, no matter what was going on with me, he always gave me that stupid speech ‘I’ll always be there for you Pan, no matter what.’ And to be honest, I don’t know anyone else’s dad who so…” She searched for the right word. “…devoted.”

“Well, you’re right. He is very devoted to us.” Videl patted the bed beside her and her daughter plopped down with a loud thud. “But I suppose he did get a little carried away with it.”

Pan just nodded.

“It’s really not all his fault. He was just trying to make things better for you than they were for him.” Videl playfully flicked at her daughter’s hair.

“But Grandma and Grandpa were great.” Pan said. “Well, when Grandpa was around anyway.” Then, almost as soon as she said the words, realization hit Pan like a freight train.

“Momma!” She exclaimed. “Was Grandpa always like that. I mean, gone all the time?”

Videl just nodded consent.

“Makes sense.” She said. “I just thought it was because of Uub that he was gone for all those years, and now he’s dead.”

“Yes, and it’s not the first time he’s died either.” Videl said sadly.

“I know, dad told me all about Uncle Radditz, Grandpa and Piccolo-san. Can’t believe Piccolo-san killed them both.”

“Well,” Videl said thoughtfully. “From what I’ve been told, Piccolo was very different before your father came along.”

“Yeah, I know that too. Seems all those bed-time stories dad used to tell me were true.” She sighed. “Dad said once he had to grow up too fast, and that Uncle Goten was lucky he got to have a more normal childhood. But Uncle Goten just laughed about it.”

“Well, it’s been a long time. It’s really nothing to worry about anymore.” Videl said, standing to finish putting away clothes.

“Dad says all the time that he loves us.” Pan said thoughtfully. “He really means it, doesn’t he.”

“Of course silly, and I’m sure he’d love to be interrupted right about now to be told the same thing.” Videl smiled and winked at Pan.

Pan grinned viciously and took off for her father’s study, then realized she was being followed closely by her mother. It was kind of an unwritten rule that one didn’t interrupt Professor Son while he was working or preparing for work, whichever the case may be. But Pan didn’t even bother knocking as she entered the room clad with paperwork, a computer, printer, huge mahogany work-desk and swivel chair. And there, in the chair, hunched over some mysterious paperwork Pan didn’t even wish to know about, was her father.

Gohan’s head popped up at the intrusion and his face dropped. “Something wrong?” He asked worriedly, taking off his thick black glasses. He knew Pan wouldn’t interrupt him so early in the day without good reason. It was rare anymore that he even brought his work home to finish, so why was she bothering him?

Pan just shook her head and walked closer to him, slightly eyeing the project he’d been working on. Behind her was Videl, making Gohan wonder what was up.

“Pan, hun, I’ll be done soon. Just-” He was cut off by his daughter and wife tackling him to the floor, then sitting on either side of him.

He leaned up cautiously, staring at them like they’d gone mad. Then Pan wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him hundreds of butterfly kisses on his cheek.

“I love you soooo much daddy.” She said, leaning back to smile cheekily at him. He looked from her to Videl, then back to his daughter.

Videl leaned against his side and slid her arms around his torso. “That goes double for me.” She said before she pressed her lips against his quickly.

“Well,” Gohan said, smiling and holding his two most precious processions tightly. “I wouldn’t mind being interrupted like this more often.”

XxXx--

Gohan stopped short of reaching the air car. Pan walked on ahead and unlocked the doors, then turned and stared wonderingly at her father.

“Well, get in.” She said.

“Um, you know what? I think I’ll just fly.” He said.

Pan’s jaw dropped two feet and she just sputtered for a moment. Then she found her voice, most vehemently.

“YOU ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT!” She screamed, frightening nearly every onlooker within a mile.

“Pan…”

“No.” She said, hands on her hips. Gohan couldn’t help but notice again how much she resembled Videl…and oddly enough, his own mother. “You know you can’t. It could honestly kill you dad.”

“I won’t fly myself.” Gohan said sweetly. “I’ll take Nimbus. So see, I won’t get hurt.”

She shook her head. “Nope. You’re coming with me. What if you black out again, hundreds of feet in the air? No. Can’t let you do that.”

“Well, Pan…try and stop me.” He grinned roguishly and jumped a good fifty feet in the air, calling for the puffy yellow cloud mid-jump.

Pan wanted to fly after him, but it would be pointless. He was, even at the age his was and the condition he was in, stronger than her. As much as she loved and cherished her father, he could honestly be more frustrating and stubborn than Vegeta himself sometimes.

X-x-X-x-X

Gohan rode over the ocean, letting it all sink in. He knew his time on Earth was nearly up, and he knew he only had so long before he wouldn’t even be able to leave the house on his own. He had visiting to do, and he had to do it now. So, first things first, it was time for a trip to Kami’s lookout. Mr. Popo, Dende, and, most importantly, Piccolo-san.

Now, Piccolo had died well over forty years prier to this day in time. But as much as Gohan had wanted to respect Piccolo’s wish to stay on Earth and die, in essence destroying the Black Star dragon balls in the process, he simply couldn’t. He knew, as did all the other Senshi, that Piccolo was the type to end something by whatever means necessary. In this particular case, the Earth had been put into serious jeopardy because the Black Star dragon balls had been used. The only way for them to be destroyed, and to keep the Earth safe from them, was for Piccolo to die.

It took several years and a trip to Neo-Namek to do the trick, but Piccolo was successfully brought back to life. Gohan, Goten, Pan, Uub (who was curious about seeing another planet) and Videl all took the trip. With technology being what it was at the time, the trip only took fifteen days to complete. Three to arrive, eight to find the dragon balls and make the wishes, and three to return home. It had taken Gohan several months to form a plan that would allow for Piccolo to return and not endanger the Earth again, which he knew would be the only condition by which Piccolo would agree to come back.

First, he wished to connect directly with Piccolo to find out if he did, in fact, even want to be restored; he did. Second, he wished that the Black Star dragon, the entity itself, be removed permanently from Piccolo’s physical and spiritual being. Third, and lastly, Piccolo was wished back to the land of the living. And so, for the past forty-odd years, Piccolo had housed himself on Kami’s lookout with Dende and Mr. Popo; occasionally visiting Earth’s surface for one reason or another. Usually, that one reason being to converse (spar) with a certain halfling he knew.

And so, Gohan’s ascent began as he neared the palace. He could feel Piccolo’s ki move away though, and he frowned. Surely Piccolo had felt him coming, hadn’t he? But, it had been how long since he last visited with his sensei? Gohan frowned and mentally kicked himself for being neglectful. Kami, he couldn’t remember a single time he’d seen Piccolo since Videl’s funeral…was Piccolo angry with him? Well, then again, this was a two way street…Piccolo could have come by on his own. Still, Piccolo had never refused a visit from his student, not in the sixty-eight years they’d been friends.

Sixty-eight years. Gohan thought in astonishment. Has it really been that long, old friend?

He landed on the marble surface of the grand lookout, marveling slightly at the well kept greenery at such an extreme altitude. He stepped slowly, carefully, off the cloud and onto the tile. He couldn’t jump and carry on like he once could; it simply hurt him too much. Then, out of the darkened sanctuary, came a pair of green elfin ears, pink tinted muscles, two antennae, a pair of fangs…contorted by a wide smile.

“Dende.” Gohan said in greeting.

“Gohan!” Dende nearly yelped, then he smirked. “Thought I caught whiff of a Saiyan up here.”

Gohan held his side as he belly laughed for at least five minutes straight, then wiped away a tear of mirth.

“Gohan, my friend, it’s been too long.” The guardian said, walking up and engulfing the man in an enthusiastic hug. Unfortunately, Gohan was not the youngster he used to be and a light cracking could be heard by the Namek’s sensitive ears.

“Oh Gohan, I’m sorry.” He apologized immediately, turning a darker shade of green.

“Aw, no harm done. Besides, at my age, my body makes a new noise every day.” He joked, and grinned as Dende doubled over in laughter.

Dende had not changed a bit, Gohan couldn’t help but think. He didn’t look his age, not at all. At least, on a human scale. For a Namek, Dende had barely even entered his prime, and the same could be said for Piccolo. Both would long outlast even Vegeta, who’s pure Saiyan blood would allow him a minimum of 120 years of life…should he die of old age this time. The Namek’s, however, could live to be anywhere from one to six hundred years old. Guru, the oldest known Namek thus far, had lived to be such an extensive age; and Guru had not been in near as good health as Piccolo, in Gohan’s opinion anyway.

“So,” Dende started, after wiping away his own tears of amusement. “How are you feeling?”

Gohan frowned, he’d almost forgotten that Dende knew everything that happened on Earth…especially to those he considered his friends.

“Okay.” He replied, sounding uninterested.

“You know, Gohan…” Dende said, sounding serious for the first time. “You must listen to the doctors. They are well trained and know what they’re talking about.”

“I know Dende.” Gohan sighed. “And I was filling the prescription for the pain medicine when I blacked out, so don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry?” Dende asked. “You’re a dear friend, how can I help but worry? I don’t want to see you in so much pain.”

“Dende.” Gohan said, sounding almost wistful. “I only came by to say goodbye.”

Dende bowed his head.

“No, look at me.” Gohan said sternly. Dende raised his head and looked his friend full in the face.

“I won’t be around much longer. I’m not…” He stopped. “I’m not angry, or frightened, or even sad about it. I just don’t want people to treat me differently now.”

Dende nodded. “I understand.”

Gohan smiled wryly. “Do you? Do you really understand how it feels to be dying?”

Dende again blushed a fiercer emerald. “No, I guess I don’t…not really.”

“Well, its not fun. But, in a morbid sort of way, I’m glad it’s happening.”

“What? Why?” Dende prodded.

“I’ve lived a long life. I’ve watched mom and dad, Videl, Krillin, Bulma, Master Roshi, Tien, Yamcha, Oolong, Puar…and a hundred other human friends I’ve made over the years die. Just…die. And to be honest, I’m ready to join them.” Gohan picked at imaginary lint on his attire.

“I see.” Dende said, clasping his staff tightly. “I suppose, you’ve lived a rewarding life…and are ready for an equally fulfilling death.”

“Hit the nail on the head.” Gohan said, looking around. “So, where did Piccolo fly off to?”

“Oh, you know him…does as he pleases.” Dende said. “But Mr. Popo would enjoy seeing you.”

“Hai, take me to him.” Gohan said, following Dende into the sanctuary.

X-x-X-x-X

“Gohan was here.” Dende said as Piccolo landed, silently as ever, onto the marble floor.

“Hm.” Piccolo practically grunted, walking past the guardian who was only shy a few inches of his own height.

“We had a good visit, but I know he came to see you.” Dende walked to the edge of the lookout and viewed the outspread before him. How he loved this planet.

No reply from Piccolo, who merely levitated in the lotus position next to a tree. Dende turned to him and frowned, wondering what had caused Piccolo to leave so suddenly. Normally, the older Namek would have been overjoyed, in his own mundane way, to be visited by the demi-Saiyan.

“I think he’s worried that you’re angry with him.” Dende prodded farther. “Are you?”

Piccolo cracked an eye toward the guardian. “What nonsense is this?” He spat.

“It’s not nonsense Piccolo, he came to see you and you left. Why?”

“I’ll do as I please…when I please. Now buzz off.” He again closed his eyes and attempted meditation.

Dende had acquired over the years a certain…understanding…of Piccolo. One could only push the warrior so far without seriously regretting it later, aside from the sole exception…Gohan. Even as the years passed by, Gohan remained to be one of the very few who could prod and tempt the high-strung Namekian’s patience and, in the end, remain unscathed. In fact, the only other two (still alive) who could even come close in comparison would be Son Goten and Son Pan. But the tolerance Piccolo exhibited for them, though now sincere, was at first only shown because they were essentially connected with Gohan himself. So actually, it was quite by default that Goten and Pan had ended up on friendly terms with the aloof Namek.

“Say what you will Piccolo.” Dende braved, walking again toward the ledge of his summit. “But as I see it, you’re afraid to face him.”

The next moment Piccolo was beside Dende, glaring down at him with a look of pure venom. That particular expression, which was quite effectively intimidating in battle, had never been directed at the guardian. And from that moment on, Dende vowed never to provoke it again.

“I am afraid of nothing and no one!” Piccolo scathed, lowering his pitch at least an octave. “Least of all Gohan. So you can take that load of bull and shove it-”

“Piccolo, that’s not what I meant and you know it.” Dende started, knowing a long stream of obscenities were about to flow freely from Piccolo’s unforgiving mouth. His correction, however, didn’t invoke the desired affect. If anything, Piccolo become even more angry.

“I know exactly what you meant, now shut up.” He turned and retreated to “his” tree, floated to the lotus position and resumed meditation.

“Piccolo, please, you must accept what is happening and simply let it go.” Dende dodged an eye laser pointed at his feet. Though he was sure Piccolo would never do him any permanent damage, he knew Piccolo’s fleeting patience was now bordering on non-existence.

“Fine.” Dende threw up is hands in symbolic surrender. “Do as you wish. But I promise you…you will regret this for the rest of you life.”

Having said that, and knowing his very presence was tempting his Namekian senior into violence, he withdrew into the sanctuary. He needed to enter his own meditation now. He wanted to somehow understand what was causing Piccolo’s reaction. He’d known of Gohan’s illness for months, Dende himself was the one to tell him. It had come as a shock to them both, especially since Gohan didn’t bother to treat the cancer with Human medicine. But the guardian had never thought Piccolo would simply shun Gohan altogether, it didn’t seem plausible. But…even guardians can be wrong.
Gohan now lay on his couch, unable to get up simply because he ached too much. Pan had moved in with him nearly a month ago, but at the moment she was at work. She had bills to pay, and no husband to bring in money to help, so Gohan understood why she couldn‘t take off from work. Saito Rei, her late husband, died in a car accident some years back. Gohan had one granddaughter, Mira, who was away at school. Pan had waited to get married until she was nearly thirty, then gave birth to Mira at the age of thirty five. Gohan still didn’t know why Pan and Rei had waited so very long to get married, but he supposed it was just their own timing that needed to be right.

Mira, his precious granddaughter, was a beautiful girl with long black hair (now practically a family air loom) and her father’s green eyes. She was not the fighter that Pan had been, she was actually rather sickly. She would get bronchitis at least once during the winter and a fever during the summer. The doctors were never sure why, but they didn’t think she’d live past her twenties at that rate. Just the thought of his granddaughter made Gohan frown.

She deserves better than that. Gohan thought. He didn’t want his granddaughter to be denied any of the gifts life had to give: children, grandchildren, dear friends and marriage. All those things should be treasured, one never knows when they will be taken away.

“Oh me.” Gohan sighed as he attempted to sit up.

He was becoming too weak to even move around the house on his own. Pan helped when she could, but her work took her away for the majority of the day. She’d tried to hire a sit-in nurse but that was just too expensive. Besides, Gohan had forbidden even the mentioning of a nurse. He was determined to make things his own way, he’d not become a cripple before his time.

He reached his hand out toward the coffee table, on which was located his pain meds. He’d been reduced to taking them out of sheer necessity now, he simply couldn’t handle the pain anymore. A month ago the doctors had located three large tumors on his person. One, the largest, was planted firmly on his stomach. The second largest was attached to his left lung, and the smallest was in his abdomen-like that of a cyst growing on the right kidney. All in all, he was in terrible shape.

Gohan stretched out his hand, trying to reach the pills that were mere inches from his fingers. But unfortunately, he would have to sit all the way up to retrieve them. It hurt, so much worse than anything else ever had. At times, when he’d have a spasm of pain (an “attack”, the good doctors would call it), he couldn’t help but wonder if what he felt throughout his body was similar to what Piccolo had felt when deflecting Nappa’s blast.

Piccolo had described to him once about how that blast had felt. It had been many years since the incident but Piccolo had seemed to remember every gruesome detail. Imagine using your body as a shield against an oncoming freight train. Except instead of your body being crushed and ripped apart instantly by the cold, unforgiving metal; you stay intact willfully, but the end result is still the same. Broken, split, shattered, and disintegrated bones float around inside skin that has been tainted nearly beyond recognition. Burns from heat that could have rivaled the sun itself are probably the least your worries, because the energy shield you put up to block the blast from certainly destroying you (or what happens to be behind you) has depleted your energy. Now, instead of being burned alive like before, your freezing. And so, the pain is thorough and complete.

Unfortunately, the scenario just represented was not far from what Son Gohan had been feeling as of late. No, his body didn’t burn or freeze; but he could feel the lumps of cancerous cells that were growing with each passing day. They were painful to even feel, it was like touching a softball through warm flesh. The thought alone was sickening, but Gohan was just having to deal. The doctors were very upset at his refusal of treatment, but finally Dr. Yusuke simply complied with Gohan’s demand at being left alone. In truth, with the cancer developing as rapidly as it was, he explained that Gohan had only a small amount of time left.

Pan had taken the news harder than even Gohan. Gohan was more or less reserved to the idea that he was going to die. And, in a small sense, was ready for it to happen. He’d outlived most of his friends, family and his soul mate. And he was in such pain anymore, death seemed to be more a means of escape and relief than pendulum doom. Pan, though, was in tears by the end of the doctor’s visit, and she’d not treated her father the same since. She even took days off work when he woke in pain, and he had to admit that the company was nice. It made him dread being alone during the five days of the week when Pan was usually working, in which he remembered the past where he first turned Super Saiyan Grade 2 in order to defeat multiple monsters, with Trunks, Goten and Vegeta stood by his side.

Gohan was in better shape one month prior to the doctor’s visit that revealed he had cancerous tumors. It was then that Trunks and his adolescent grandson, Tobias, had visited. A few days later Marron and her husband (whom Gohan couldn’t remember the name of) had visited; she’d felt compelled to visit the man that her father had liked so well as a boy. Often Krillin had told the wild tales of Son Goku and his halfling son Gohan, their trip to Namek with the late Bulma Briefs had been a bedtime story, of sorts, when she was little.

Bra had ended up calling, she wasn’t able to make a trip to see him because she was President of Capsule Corp. now. Though the conversation was rather stale-mated, for the two had never become very close, she’d given her condolences. And, as if in family order, Vegeta came to see the son of Kakarrot soon after. Though more out of sheer respect for Gohan’s late father than anything, though the proud Saiyan prince would never of admitted it. Vegeta’s visit had actually been a highlight of the year for the demi-Saiyan.

XxXx--

Gohan was alone, as usual, reading an article from a scientific journal he had stashed beside the couch. He was slimmer than he’d been, for eating was no longer the delight it once had been. And so, he simply read and thought about what point the author was trying to make. Quantum Physics and the Electron Transport Chain…Physiology mixed with Neo-Darwinism. Finally, Gohan put the article down and clasped his hands over his eyes. He had a headache again, for at least the millionth time that week. If only he could keep his thoughts straight.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It was a different kind of knock than one would hear from a passerby, or even someone coming to call. It was more like someone banging to be let in immediately, without delay.

So, Gohan walked over and opened the door. And there he stood, clad in breaches, a “wife-beater” shirt, and training boots. His hair stood on all ends, like a black flame. His widow’s peak heavily accented by his high forehead.

How old was Vegeta now? Gohan had never known for sure, but he’d been older than Goku so…he’d be at least…ninety years old? Yes, ninety and then some, but he didn’t look a day over fifty…probably not even that old. His Saiyan genes allowed him to retain his youthful looking skin and hair, but it was his eyes that were different. Mellowed now, and not so cold and hard as they once were. Oh, he was still haughty and looked down his pointed nose at most other creatures…but the good in him was present in those ebony orbs. Vegeta was a sight to the demi-Saiyan.

“Hello.” Gohan said, a little shocked. He’d known that Pan had made some phone calls, to let his remaining contacts know that he was…well…in poor condition. And he’d known that most would come by, out of morbid curiosity if nothing else. But, he’d never expected to see or hear from Vegeta. In fact, Gohan had always gotten the distinct impression that his highness didn’t like “Kakarrot’s first brat” very much.

“Let me in brat.” Vegeta said, then snorted as he crossed the threshold into the Son’s relatively modest home. Gohan figured Vegeta was too used to Capsule Corp. and living with the ‘high maintenance’ Brief family to appreciate anything Gohan’s home had to offer.

“So, how are you Vegeta?” Gohan tried with small-talk. Vegeta grunted and crossed his arms, then turned to practically glare at the younger man.

“How long has it been Vegeta? Twelve…thirteen years?” Gohan asked, honestly not remembering the last time he’d seen the Prince.

“Fifteen brat.” Vegeta answered after a few moments silence, still in as gruff a tone as ever. “The Onna’s funeral…fifteen years ago.”

Gohan was stunned silent for a few moments. Vegeta was right. It was Bulma’s funeral fifteen years ago that had brought the remaining members of the Z-senshi together. Yamcha had long since passed on, Krillin was in poor shape, and Videl had started getting sick by then. But they had all gotten word, and all showed up for the elaborate funeral and burial. Odd, it didn’t seem like it had been so very long ago.

“Hm, yes. You’re right.” Gohan said, almost wistfully.

Gohan walked into the kitchen, knowing the first instinct of a Saiyan was to find food. Vegeta followed and stood, arms crossed and scowling, as Gohan opened the fridge.

“Is there anything I can get you?” Gohan asked.

Grunt.

“Okay, what about to drink?”

Curt nod.

So Gohan got them both a glass of ice water, and sat at the table after giving Vegeta the glass. Gohan was too tired to keep standing and too old to care if he looked weak in front of Vegeta for doing so. He was aching and longed to take two of his pain meds, but he did have a small amount of pride left (blame his Saiyan intuition) and he refused to pop any pills in front of this man. Had it been anyone else, Gohan still wouldn’t have taken the meds, but it being Vegeta made the tension all the worse.

Vegeta, much to Gohan’s surprise, sat at the chair to Gohan’s far right, at the end of the table.

“What ails you brat?” Vegeta asked, lacking nearly all emotion except feigned annoyance.

“Cancer.” Gohan said lightly, then chuckled. “And you?”

“Nothing. I’m in prefect health.” Vegeta nearly screeched.

“Goodness, Vegeta…I was only joking.” Gohan said, hands up in fake surrender.

Vegeta “humphed” and took a large gulp of his ice water. He forcefully slammed the glass down, nearly breaking both it and the table.

“I only came to see you old and decrepit, whelp.” Vegeta said standing. “Now that I’ve done that, goodbye.”

“Well, Vegeta, it’s been…entertaining.” Gohan said, standing to show Vegeta to the door, even though he knew it wasn’t necessary.

As Gohan stood, his stomach protested by making him nearly double over in pain. He let out a huff of air, as though he’d been kicked in the stomach, and fell back down into the seat. He’d hoped Vegeta didn’t see or hear him, it would be embarrassing to know Vegeta had been present during one of his “attacks”. But Vegeta had heard, and he turned to face Gohan just in time to see the elderly man collapse into his wooden table chair. Gohan’s head was beaded in sweat, his hands shook and his eyes were clouded over in pain. But through it all he managed a shaky smile and formed even shakier words.

“Nice to have a nice dose of mortality…so early…in the day.” He held in a cough, which made it sound more like a severe clearing of his throat. “Thanks for coming. Goodbye.”

Vegeta just stood there, seeming to be in more a daze than actual reality. He’d suddenly gotten a bitter taste of transience, and he didn’t like it at all. His time would come, it wouldn’t be soon (hopefully), but it would come nonetheless. He did hope that when his end neared, he could die honorably and in Saiyan fashion. Battle would be best, but that didn’t seem likely. So to die without fear or regret, that would be just as well.

“Keep your fighting spirit and Saiyan pride to the end boy.” Vegeta said, turning. “That’s an order.”

With that, Vegeta left he room and Gohan heard the front door shut moments later. Vegeta’s strong ki was fading…then gone, away from the Son house. Gohan doubted he’d ever see the last full blooded Saiyan again, even though he hoped that Vegeta would somehow find him and the other Senshi in the afterlife. That would only be fitting.

XxXx--

Gohan obtained the pills and laid down quickly, emitting a strained sigh. He swallowed two pills dryly, for it was impossible to get up and fetch water, and waited with closed eyes for the pills to take effect. As he lay there, he remembered Goten’s visit’s the past few weeks. His younger brother had wife but no children. His wife was barren, the doctors couldn’t get her to conceive no matter what treatment they used. So, Goten and she settled for fostering children for a local orphanage. It had been good for them, but they had never decided to adopt.

Gohan had missed his brother, the lovable young boy who grew into an almost carbon copy of his father: both in maturity, intellect and looks. Goten was as innocent and naïve as his father had ever been, it was almost supernatural the way he resembled Son Goku on so many levels. But Goten had his own life he was leading, and Gohan understood the ageing demi-Saiyan couldn’t drop everything he was doing to visit with his dilapidated brother for days upon days. But today, Gohan wished desperate to have someone come by. Anyone.

Well, no…not just anyone. There was one particular person that Gohan wished to see more than anyone else right then. A certain Namekian that lived on Kami’s lookout. Piccolo had been avoiding Gohan for two months solid. Gohan’s first visit, after leaving the hospital, had ended in Piccolo’s disappearance. For two weeks after that Gohan had tried contacting Piccolo on his own. He’d always been connected with the warrior, somehow. He could tell when Piccolo was nearby, and on a deeper level than just reading his ki. And when they were around each other long enough, Gohan could hear or picture some of Piccolo own thoughts, and he was sure the same could be said about Gohan’s thoughts.

It had happened so long ago, when Gohan was just a child, that it had become almost a sixth sense. It was called a Namekian bond, one that Piccolo had made with Gohan by complete accident. Dende had to explain to Gohan that since Piccolo was not raised on Namek, when the impulse came to create the bond Piccolo just didn’t realize what he was doing. And once the bond is made, it is unbreakable and irreversible, except through death.

But for the past few weeks Piccolo had been blocking Gohan. He knew Piccolo was still alive, he could sense his ki. But for the first time in countless decades he wasn’t able to feel Piccolo. It was odd, and it was frightening. But Gohan didn’t know what to do, and he was desperate to see his longtime friend and sensei.

He’d managed a second trip to the lookout two weeks after the first. Piccolo wasn’t anywhere to be found and Dende had to make an excuse that Piccolo was off doing “gofer” work for the guardian. Gohan knew it was either a lie or an extreme exaggeration of the true reason Piccolo was gone. Any time before when Gohan had visited, Piccolo would return within minutes of Gohan’s arrival…no matter what he was doing.

So, Gohan left and had nearly decided to give up on any other visit. But, then, the doctors found the tumors. And Gohan was too afraid that if he didn’t try one more time to see his sensei, he would have to wait until they met up in the afterlife…if they were able to meet up at all.

Gohan arrived, in pain and utterly disgusted that Piccolo was gone again. If he weren’t the age he was, or too filled with escalating pride, he could have cried. There was no possible way he was going to be able to make the trip to the lookout again. So, he did the only thing he could think to do…he waited. And he waited. And he waited.

Finally, it was dark and he was in dire need of his pain meds. He left a note for Piccolo, apologizing for anything he’d done to anger the Namekian so much. He said goodbye, in case it was his last chance, and wrote for him to please…please visit his old deshi. The note was left in Dende’s own hand, and so Gohan knew it would get to Piccolo some how.

That had been nearly a month ago, and to this day no word had been sent to indicate that Piccolo had even read the note. Something was wrong, Gohan didn’t know what, but something was desperately wrong. He wanted to see Piccolo, he wanted to talk to him. He wanted Piccolo to tell him to get up and shake it off, to beat this thing that he had before. But it didn’t look like Piccolo was going to show up this time.

Pain. So much pain. The pills weren’t taking quite the effect he’d wanted. Sometimes this happened, and he was instructed to take more that the recommended dose. At first, Pan had worried that he would O.D. on the meds and kill himself. But Dr. Yusuke said that if more meds eased the pain, and he somehow died from it, it would be better than suffering without that small relief.

Gohan swallowed two more pills dry, and waited for either sleep or death…whichever would claim him first.

X-x-X-x-X

“PICCOLO!” Dende yelled from the ledge of his summit. “You can’t keep doing this, you must go see him. He isn’t going to last much longer.”

“You can shut the h-ll up.” Piccolo muttered, not even bothering to open his eyes or raise his voice.

“Piccolo, you are his friend. You’re his sensei. He nearly killed himself trying to visit you THREE times! Why are you doing this to him?”

Nothing from Piccolo. He sat in the lotus position, arms crossed and eyes closed. His face was stone cold, like that of a statue. Nothing penetrated his thick skull or elfin ears.

Dende huffed and turned toward the Earth again.

“Some friend you are.” He mumbled.

Piccolo’s eyes snapped open. Dende turned to see if he’d had any effect. Right now, he’d do anything and say anything to get Piccolo down to the Son house. Anything.

“You heard me. You’re a coward and won’t face the truth.”

Piccolo stood and walked toward the guardian. Though Dende hoped he’d not get killed for this, he doubted Piccolo was still capable of such a crime.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Piccolo said, inches away from Dende’s face.

“I don’t? Well, from what I can see…I’m sure glad I never put my faith in you to be my most trusted friend.” He turned away from Piccolo and looked down on the earth. He felt Piccolo’s anger rise with his ki, but didn’t care.

“What?” Dende asked. “You think Gohan would be avoiding you if you were the one dying. Ha, I think not. He’d actually be a friend, which is more than I can say for you.”

“ENOUGH!” Piccolo snapped, raising his hand in an offensive motion.

But the hand never came in contact with the guardian. Before Dende realized what had happened, Piccolo was gone. Not a trace of his ki or person remained on the guardianlooked over the ledge and eyed the ki trail being left byPiccolo's flight downward, and Dende knew instantly where the Namekian warrior was headed.

Dende smiled. “It’s about time.”

He landed, leather shoes coming in contact with the lush ground mutely, and he restrained himself from taking flight again. Part of him didn’t want to do this, and had been fighting to keep away. But now, thanks to Dende’s bitter words, an even larger part of him knew he had to stay. It was difficult, knowing that this may be the last time he saw the kid alive. And that solitary thought hurt worse than anything else could.

He opened the door silently. He’d never bothered with knocking, for he knew instantly what was happening inside and where everyone was located (thanks to his acute hearing), and plus, he’d always felt welcome. Odd, he never pictured living like that. He never thought, when he was younger, that he’d find a solace in the Son family. Well, some of the Sons anyway. He’d actually grown somewhat attached to Gohan’s mate, Videl, over the course of fifty-odd years. She really hadn’t been half bad, for a human anyway.

It took a fraction of a second to pinpoint Gohan because of his rough breathing, and Piccolo made his way over to his old denshi. The kid…man…was laying on the couch, head pillowed and body limp. In fact if it weren’t for the heavy, but constant, breaths he was taking, Piccolo would have thought his old friend was dead. Kami, that was a slap in the face if ever Piccolo had been given one.

“Gohan?” Piccolo asked, wondering if he could rouse his aging student. There was no reply, and no response whatsoever to indicate the halfling had heard him at all.

“Gohan.” Piccolo said again, louder. Gohan’s eyes fluttered, barely, then he simply rolled his head to the side. Then, the pill bottle that he’d been clutching fell to the floor. Piccolo bent down to pick it up. “Use in moderation…For Pain”. Piccolo grunted, sat the pills on the nearby table, and stood in the corner of the room.

Weaklings took pills for pain, that’s what first hit Piccolo. He couldn’t see himself ever taking pills for any reason. But, maybe, if Gohan was taking them…the pain must be horrendous. Piccolo felt a stab of guilt on his part…he’d received the note weeks ago, but still remained gone. He’d crumpled it immediately after reading it, but still remembered what it said:

Mr. Piccolo,

Ha, you haven’t been called that in a while have you? But there are a lot of things we haven’t said or done in a while, and talking is one of them. I wish I knew why you’re avoiding me, I don’t understand any of it. I know it’s been a few years since we’ve seen each other, but that’s both our faults. I’m old, Piccolo. I can’t make another trip to the lookout. I hope you understand, Sensei.

Whatever I’ve done to anger you so much that you won’t see me or return my visits, I’m sorry. Deeply sorry, and I hope you forgive me before it’s too late. I’ll leave this note with Dende, so I know it’ll get to you somehow. But please, if you’ve ever had any respect for me or our friendship, please come see me before I die. I am going to die Piccolo, and very soon. But I don’t want to leave this life and not say goodbye to you.

Your desperate friend and denshi,

Gohan

Piccolo had been stupid, and selfish, and a coward for avoiding his student. But, you must understand, Piccolo was barely entering the prime of his life, yet loosing probably the most important person he’d ever known. That was a hard realization to come to, especially for someone who (to put it bluntly) had never really understood all there was to friendship and, well, love. Yes, he loved Gohan. As a father loves a son, as a teacher loves a student, and as a friend loves a friend.

Sentimental rubbish. That was the term given to feelings that confused and/or stirred something within the former Demon, in one way or another. And usually, the term was used to describe feelings for or concerning Gohan. It was odd, and it was irritating. But, in the long run, it was for the best. If Piccolo was given the chance to return to the way he’d once been: evil, twisted and living in his own dark contempt for life, attempting to take over the world: he’d deny the opportunity. Even though he’d never openly admit it, not even to Gohan, he wouldn’t change anything about his past; not even his deaths…especially the first.

Though the last time he died had been sacrificial, as much as the first, it was not a turning point in his life. You see, if one could understand the life Piccolo led (if one could even call it living) before Gohan came along, then you’d understand better as to why Piccolo was so obsessed with keeping tabs on the boy. Piccolo had been lonely, on a scale that probably no human could relate to.

Humans are never fully alone. Even at birth, someone is present for them…the mother, if no one else. But Piccolo had been alone at birth, he’d always been alone. There was no one for him to talk to, or fight with, or anything that a normal person would have. Piccolo’s only reality, only form of rational thought, was to kill Son Goku. Hate him, Kill him, dominate the world…avenge his sire. That was the only thoughts that drove Piccolo for the first eight years of his life.

But then that idiot Son not only gave the Demon King a senzu bean after the Tournament (an act of charity-but a product of Love), he sacrificed himself for the Earth and his only son. In essence, he died for Love. And Love was one thing that eluded the Namekian to this very day. Oh, make no mistake, Piccolo certainly knew what Love felt like; he’d actually been experiencing the phenomena for some years now. But he didn’t understand it any better now than he did sixty eight years ago.

To look at the emerald skinned warrior now, in the darkened corner of a room housing a dying demi-Saiyan, one might not think he’d changed all that much. He looked the same, save for some new scars or age marks, but it was his soul that was different. Not only that, but the fighter knew now that he had a heart. And, to that end, he knew why: because he’d felt it breaking. Three times in his life he’d felt that particular muscle split.

First was when Nappa’s blast, that held enough power to knock a planet out of orbit, was directed at Gohan all those years ago. Did you think he desperately wanted to go diving in front of that blast and kill himself? HFIL no! He wanted to live to fight another day, he wanted to just shut his eyes and turn away from it all. But, more than anything else, he wanted to stop it from happening. He wanted to save the brat. And, so, he did. And when Gohan was above him, crying for the loss of his mentor (which was something he knew no other creature in existence would have done) his heart broke. It did, he’d felt it. It broke in two and the kid slipped right through the crack, and has just never come out.

The second time was thirteen years later, in the battle against Majin Buu. For several days it was believed that Gohan was dead. In actuality, he’d been taken to the Supreme Kai’s planet to train. But, that was not known until later. It was then, when he’d been given the news that Gohan had died, and he could no longer sense his friend’s presence, that his heart was torn yet again. And as if the kid wasn’t already entangled in the Namekian’s heart strings enough, that little episode was the end of any debate the warrior had about having a son. He did, by all rights and reason (save for blood), have a son.

And the third time was reading that note. That horrible note the boy had written just one month prior to this blasted visit. When Piccolo had read that, it felt like worse than a broken heart. It had felt like someone was repeatedly squeezing his heart with a sharp metal wrench, then hammering it dead for good measure. That was a feeling he’d rather not experience ever again, nor did he wish to be reminded of it.

Gohan mumbled something incoherent in his sleep and Piccolo was brought full force to the present. He stared at Gohan for some time. He could still see the wetnosed runt that he’d trained in the wilderness all those years ago. He could still see the boy wearing a miniature version of his own gi, with a “mop top” hair cut, begging his ‘Mr. Piccolo’ for a spar. He remembered the amazing display of power this boy showed in the Cell games, the vehemence with which he cried out for his dead father. His mystic ability to see the good in all things, and his overwhelming love for his family.

Gohan must be the most loyal person in the world. He took care of his family and loved them with a passion Piccolo could only imagine. He was, well, a perfect son, a devoted brother, a faithful husband and supportive father. Who else could say that? Piccolo couldn’t; he’d completely shamed his father’s name, and never had any offspring. Even if he had procreated, or ever did, he’d not be a fraction of the person Gohan was. Not by a long shot.

An air car pulled into the drive and Piccolo heard the engine cut off. It was Pan, Gohan’s daughter. Piccolo liked her well enough, though she wasn’t so much like her father as she was her mother and grandmother. He watched her enter the house, bags in hand, and shut the door behind her. He’d petrified the girl once, even made her cry, by complete accident. So, this time, he cleared his throat loudly before speaking or showing himself.

Pan turned his direction and gasped, then calmed down when recognition seized her.

“Goodness, Piccolo, give me a heart attack why don’t ya?” She said, heading toward the kitchen. Piccolo followed suit and was given a glass of water to drink.

“So, how was your visit with dad?” She asked while putting away groceries.

“Haven’t visited yet.” He said plainly. “He was passed out when I got here.”

“Oh, well, he’ll wake up soon. Please stay, he really wants to see you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Piccolo said irritably. He didn’t like people playing the “lets-tug-on-Piccolo’s-heart-strings-for-a-while-and-see-how-that-works” game, and that’s what Pan was doing.

“Okay, okay. I was just lettin’ you know.” She said defensively, then continued with her groceries.

“Piccolo, do me a favor, would ya?” She asked after a few minutes.

Grunt.

“I left some bags in the car. Would you be nice and go get ‘em for an old lady?” She asked.

“Ha, old. Your not old. You’re just lazy.” He said, getting up.

“Maybe a little bit of both.” She said, laughing as Piccolo made his way outside to retrieve the bags of meaningless items.

X-x-X-x-X

He opened his eyes and blinked away the fuzziness, then yawned. How long had he been out cold? What time was it? He didn’t know, and was still numb from the pain meds, so he sat up to look at the clock.

7:37 pm, it read. Good, Pan should be home.

“Pan?” Gohan called, but his voice didn’t sound quite right. He cleared it and tried again. “Pan?”

“She’s gone.” Came a low voice from a darkened corner of the room.

Gohan jerked his head in the direction of the noise, but a huge grin contorted his face. He could recognize that voice from a mile away…and plus, he’d felt the Namekian’s presence the moment he’d become even half awake. But, he didn’t know Piccolo was inside the house…or even nearby for that matter.

“Piccolo…” Gohan started, but he lost the words. He opened his mouth to say something to his beloved sensei, but nothing came.

“Yeah, good to see you too.” Piccolo said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Emotions just weren’t his thing.

Gohan leaned back down and relaxed, he was pleased beyond words…that, he supposed, was a little too obvious. But, all the same, Piccolo had come to see him. That small truth was enough to allow the dimi-Saiyan to die happy, even if he’d passed on the next moment. Piccolo, though, didn’t seem as happy to see his friend.

“You know,” Gohan started. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.”

“Huh, if it were only that easy…” Piccolo stated gruffly, making Gohan laugh. “I’d of been rid of you decades ago.”

“Oh, right…I suppose getting rid of a snot-nosed brat that idolizes you would be far out of your abilities. Hm?”

Grunt.

That was Piccolo’s usual reply, that was what he’d been accustomed to doing when he either didn’t care about giving an answer…or simply couldn’t form the words. Articulation and a wide vocabulary were not two of his best features, in fact they were two of his worst. He’d never really learned to express himself through words; and emotions on nearly every level eluded him. He’d always hoped that stupid human cliché was true…“Actions speak louder than words.” If that happened to be correct…Piccolo spoke volumes.

“So…” Gohan said, reaching for the afghan on the other side of the couch. “Where did Pan go?”

Piccolo finally reached out and handed Gohan the cover, the old man had actually been struggling to get to it.

“Gone to get your granddaughter.” He stated flatly.

“Oh, really? Mira’s coming home this weekend?” He asked, but it didn’t sound like a question.

“When was the last time you saw her Pic?” Gohan asked, grinning as Piccolo glared at him for using the hated prefix of his name.

“Years ago.” He replied, mentally counting the long span of time since his last encounter with the weakling Son child.

“The funeral maybe.” Gohan said. “Videl’s funeral?”

Piccolo nodded slightly. How long ago had that been? Oh, yes, six years. The girl had been barely entering adolescence by then.

“She was nine when you last saw her.” Gohan explained. “She’s grown a lot since then. She’ll be sixteen her next birthday…and she’s beautiful.”

Piccolo snorted. He’d often heard other members of the senshi call females beautiful…personally, he didn’t see it. All the humanoid females tended to look the same, and most of the men on this planet did too. Save for color and size, they were all the same. Well, almost all of them. Gohan was different. Piccolo didn’t really know how (or why, for that matter) Gohan was so very different from the remaining populace, but he certainly was.

Gohan sighed and closed his eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep again.” Piccolo said coolly. “I didn’t come over here to listen to you snore.”

Gohan laughed, then coughed, but then continued to laugh. “Dende-sama, I missed you…and I’m sorry it‘s been so long.”

Piccolo made a noise that could be classified as a mixed grunt and growl, but which was indistinguishable. Besides, he’d missed the kid too. It had been way, way too long since their last visit or sparring match. And, before he could stop himself, Piccolo let a tiny grin grace his face.

“Yeah, well, you should be sorry.” Piccolo said. “Now you wouldn’t even make a decent punching bag…much less a sparring partner.”

“Hehe, yeah. I guess you’re right.” Gohan said, chuckling slightly. One thing remained constant and unchanging over the years…Piccolo could always make him laugh. Even though he never really tried to. Well, almost never.

Gohan’s stomach suddenly growled lightly, but it broke the silence between them. Gohan laughed and Piccolo rolled his eyes, his form of showing amusement. Gohan was slightly hungry, but not nearly enough to risk eating. He couldn’t keep most of anything down for very long, thanks to the tumors and pills, and so he simply didn’t bother with the notion of it.

“Well, what do you want?” Piccolo asked, standing up.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Gohan asked.

“Unless I missed something, you’re hungry aren’t you?”

“Um, yes. But-”

“Well what do you want to eat so I can get it.” Piccolo practically spat out, already entering the kitchen.

Gohan knew Piccolo was attempting to help, in his own gruff way, and so he hated not to indulge the rarity. But he was just too sick to eat, at least for the time being.

“Really Piccolo, I don’t want anything.” Gohan said.

“That’s bull if ever I’ve heard it.” He said, opening the fridge. “You could out-eat a heard of dinosaurs if you wanted.”

“Not anymore Piccolo, just don’t worry about it.”

Piccolo was no longer listening. No wonder the kid was so thin, he wasn’t eating. Well, Piccolo wouldn’t let him starve himself to death. So, the former demon picked the first container he saw. He opened it, it looked edible, and so he took it to his friend on the couch. He all but flung the jar of slush (at least, it looked like slush to Piccolo) at Gohan and took a seat directly in front of him, on the table.

Gohan frowned and resisted the urge to promptly whack Piccolo on the head with the spoon. He really didn’t want to eat, he’d only regret or regurgitate it later…either way it wouldn’t be pleasant.

“I’m not going to spoon feed you.” Piccolo growled. “Now eat.”

Gohan sighed, knowing Piccolo well enough to see past the grumpy exterior. Piccolo was worried about him, and apparently very worried if he’d bring him food willingly. Plus, Piccolo was more distant than usual. Albeit, he was never your typical chatter box, but he was still more aloof than normal. In the past, they had been able to talk freely (or, at least, Gohan would talk and Piccolo would listen) with one another about everything. Anything that happened to jump into each other’s minds, which also had to be guarded slightly because the two were mentally linked, was spouted without a second thought.

Gohan supposed that aside from Nail and Kami, who were physically bonded to the Namekian warrior, he was as close as one could get to Piccolo. It was a little ego boosting to know that out of all the billions of people on the planet, Piccolo was a kindred spirit only to Gohan. Sure, Piccolo had made allies (and perhaps even some unsteady friendships) with the Z-Senshi. But he never talked openly, or as openly and Piccolo could get, with any of them…save for one sole exception. Gohan.

Gohan sighed heavily, rolled his eyes, and opened the jar. Applesauce…that numbskull had brought him applesauce, of all things. Infants eat applesauce. Then, Piccolo hit Gohan’s arm lightly…just enough to get his full attention.

“Call me a numbskull again and I’ll throw you through that wall.” He said, feigning anger and covering his bluff as best he could.

Gohan smiled and took a bite, which seemed to calm Piccolo down somewhat. Gohan took another bite, then another. After just a few more spoonfuls Gohan stopped and tried giving the jar back to Piccolo.

“No more.” He said. “I’m full.”

“And what are you trying to pull?” Piccolo said angrily, passing the jar forcefully back at Gohan. “You could down that whole jar if you wanted-”

“Not anymore.” Gohan said, voice rising just a little. Was Piccolo acting this way on purpose, or did he really not grasp the fact that Gohan simply wasn’t the same as he used to be? Any good psychologist would call his actions extreme “Denial”.

“I said eat it brat.” Piccolo said, baring his impressive fangs. To what point and purpose he didn’t know, the kid wasn’t the least bit afraid or intimidated by him. Which, ironically, was what had drew him to the boy to begin with.

“Piccolo, just stop it. I’ll just get rid of it later.” He slammed, or tried to slam, the jar onto the table. “Besides, I mainly wanted you over here to ask you a favor.”

Piccolo just glared at his defiant student for a minute, then grunted.

“I want you to give the eulogy at my funeral…please.” He said, sounding as pleading as he could. Perhaps he could play on Piccolo’s nerves just enough to make him do it.

Piccolo’s eyes widened ever so slightly, then narrowed into slits.

“No.” he said meanly.

“Piccolo, there’s no one more fit to do it. Pan’s family…but so are you.”

“Shut up.” Piccolo all but shouted, and desperately wanted to rip his ears off from hearing anymore of this old man’s ramblings.

“Piccolo be reasonable. This is happening-”

“I said SHUT UP!” Piccolo said again, accenting the last two words as if they were part of an incantation to keep the boy silent.

Gohan jerked and blinked a few times. This was new, and very disturbing. Piccolo had never done anything like that, or let so much emotion show through his words, ever before. Was he simply going to hide from this? He had to face the truth, for both their sakes.

“Picc-”

“Shut up.” Piccolo scathed, this time hissing his words like a snake. He was beyond fear or even rage. He was, for the first time in his life, petrified. If he didn’t have his immense pride and a life time of practice being stoic, he could have broken down into tears just then. Why did this hurt so bad?

“You can’t just keep pretending this isn’t happening!” Gohan yelled, trying to knock some sense into his sensei. “I’m going to die. Okay. It’s going to happen whether you, or I, like it.”

Piccolo remained silent and still, eyes now closed as in meditation.

“Piccolo, please, just accept this.” Gohan was much calmer now. He reached to touch his friend’s arm but Piccolo pulled away as though Gohan’s fingers were rattle snakes.

Gohan then grabbed Piccolo’s hand forcefully and put it on his tumorous stomach. Piccolo’s eyes were first ablaze with anger, then etched in confusion…then blank. Gohan knew Piccolo could feel now, with his own hand, the deadly results of cancer. It seemed that Piccolo now understood why Gohan was so weak and in pain. But, it didn’t help matters.

“Piccolo,” Gohan said kindly, knowing Piccolo was immensely troubled. “Please don’t worry. Do the Eulogy and tell everyone I was your friend. That’s all I’m asking from you.”

“No, that’s not all you’re asking.” Piccolo said, a harsh and nearly forgotten darkness behind his words. “I’m not worried about you. Not about you or anyone else.”

Piccolo stood up and hovered, almost dangerously, several feet above the Saiyan.

“I have no friends. I don’t need friends. I won’t give a Eulogy for you or any other pathetic being on this miserable planet. Ever!”

Piccolo glared down unblinking, his words reaching a deeper level of cruelty. But never had such harshness been directed at his student.

“Now take your cancer and die whelp, and you can burn in h-ll for all I care.” With that, Piccolo walked out the door.

Gohan blinked again, then again. His vision became blurry. And there on the couch, for the first time since his wife had died, Son Gohan wept.
Piccolo slammed his fist into the cliff, causing it to turn to rubble almost instantly. Then, he fazed next to another cliff…turned it to rubble. After nearly an hour what was once a beautiful canyon, with earthen walls that rivaled heights of skyscrapers, was now a slope-less valley. Then, out of the dust, came the figure of a nearly seven foot giant, clad in royal indigo. He breathed heavily and took flight, directed toward the next natural formation he could destroy.

But, then, he reached his destination. Apparently, Fate liked making the Namekian suffer. For the place he reached was one that brought back bitter-sweet memories for the warrior. It was not too grand, not too large and certainly not very “homey”. But, it was where Gohan was first trained, where he first threw a ki blast. Piccolo turned to his left and eyed the nearby clearing, then cringed. That was where Gohan first took flight…and first showed what he was made of.

Memories flooded Piccolo’s mind before he could stop them, or prepare for them. Sixty-eight years worth of memories grew nearly unbearable for the stoic warrior. Then he felt his eyes burn, his face get wet, if only slightly. He reached up and wiped his face angrily, smearing dirt across his cheeks.

“Just a waste of water.” He said lowly, his breath catching slightly.

That was the first time he’d ever cried. He’d vowed never to do so, it was just more pointless emotions getting to him…making him weak. He didn’t care about Gohan. He didn’t. Or, at least, that was what his mind tried desperately to convince his heart. But, it seemed his heart was too stubborn to listen. Or maybe, it was his mind that was being the stubborn one.

He sat down in the lotus position and closed his eyes. Meditation was certainly out of the question, but maybe relaxation wasn’t. He had to sort himself out. He had to think and be reasonable.

“Piccolo, be reasonable!” Gohan’s voice echoed in his ears. He did need to be rational about all this. Gohan was going to die. It was a fact. Now the question remained: could Piccolo accept it?

No, probably not. Could anyone face losing their best friend like this? Maybe a human could, but Piccolo found it very difficult…if not unbearable. Just the thought made Piccolo ready to vomit, which was no easy feat. Again Piccolo tried to imagine life without Gohan. It was, well, impossible.

Gohan had been a light when there was nothing but darkness in Piccolo’s life. A kind of darkness that overwhelms and devours, the kind that would either kill or control. Though Gohan always believed it was more Piccolo’s doing than his own that brought them together, what with Piccolo dying and all. But Piccolo was convinced beyond even the shadow of a doubt that Gohan was the main reason he was no longer evil. Gohan had turned him good, without even realizing or meaning to. That in itself was a miracle.

It had taken several years and testy confrontations to earn the trust of Son ChiChi, but it was eventually received and maintained. It was odd to think that the Son’s would be the family that would welcomed the offspring of Daimaou, since it was Son Goku that had been Piccolo’s target for bitter hatred for many years. But, Fate seemed to have alternate plans for the son of the Demon King, and he became an actual member of the Son family. Clad with a birthday party (which angered the Namkian to no end), sleeping quarters (the family couch), and a leachy (but unpleasantly loveable) “mini-me”.

Piccolo shook his head clear of such thoughts. He’d blown it now, whatever mislead admiration Gohan might have had for his weaker sensei (for Gohan had long since surpassed Piccolo’s power), it was surely gone now. How could he have lost his temper like that? What possessed him to do such things? He couldn’t go back, he couldn’t face him. And, though pride seems of little consequence in matters of life-and-death, Piccolo didn’t think he could bring himself to formally apologize. He’d never said “I’m sorry” to anyone, not even Gohan. Gohan had always just known, or the simple phrases “Shake it off”, “Don’t worry about it”, and “Forget it” would suffice. Piccolo got the distinct impression those little phrases wouldn’t bail him out this time.

But, as much as Piccolo wished to deny it, he had to go back. He had to set things right…didn’t he?

X-x-X-x-X

Gohan lay motionless and still for what seemed like days, waiting for Pan and Mira to return home. He wanted solace and comfort, which could only be given by people who cared for him. He knew better that to take Piccolo’s words to heart. Honestly, even as hurtful as they had been, Gohan knew it was both Piccolo’s prideful and stubborn nature tripping him up. If only the Namekian wasn’t so high strung over emotions and affection. It’s not like they were bad, or even looked down on. They were very useful at times. Why, Gohan wouldn’t be half as strong as he was if he’d never gotten emotionally driven.

But, that was Piccolo for you. He would never admit to having feelings for or about someone. It wasn’t his way. Still, though, Gohan had never though such an outrageous outburst would come from Piccolo. His sensei had seemed not only angry, but hurt and even…dare he say it…scared. Gohan wanted to help, but in his condition there was little he could do. Normally he might have given Piccolo a little time to cool off, then go find him to make amends.

Suddenly, Gohan felt the intense urge to relieve himself of the offending applesauce. He was feeling very sick now and needed to get to the bathroom, or there was no stopping himself from making a mess. Gross as it may sound and unpleasant as it is to hear, it is the truth. He was not in good condition.

Gohan leaned forward and shifted to a sitting position, feet touching the wooden floor. He paused, gaining his breath (and courage) then stood. Aching and unbalanced he made his way toward the bathroom, which was unfortunately at the end of a long hall at the back of the house. Why had they put the bathroom there? Why couldn’t they of built it adjacent to the living room?

Gohan lost his balance and had to lean against the wall for support. His pills wouldn’t help him much if he kept this up, he was meant for nearly complete bed rest. From now on he needed to stay in the guest room nearer to the bathroom, this was ridiculous. Then, a sharp ache sent him doubling over in pain. He felt, crazy as it sounds, like he could actually feel the cancer growing and eating away at his flesh. Yes, such morbid thoughts did occur to the Saiyan, though he’d always considered himself an optimist. It seems death takes it’s toll in many ways.

He reached the halfway mark, just a little farther now. But his stomach was heavily protesting the food he’d presented it just over an hour earlier. He didn’t know whether he’d make it or not, the pain was more intense than anything he’d ever felt, and not something he’d wish on even his worst enemy…if he had one.

He wished desperately to take his pain pills, he could take another dose about now. But, no. Seems today would not be good to him. His pills were still in the living room on the table, he’d have to go back to get them and start over again. His stomach wouldn’t last that long. As he neared the bathroom, he thought he heard some faint noise in the background. Perhaps a door? Pan and Mira most likely, and he’d never hear the end of it from Pan if she caught him up and walking. But, he had to get to the bathroom…Now.

He his vision blurred over and went black for a few seconds, almost sending him crashing to the floor. When he came to moments later, he was in the bathroom. Had he made it anyway, even though he’d blacked out? Didn’t matter at the moment, he practically threw himself over the toilet and emptied his stomach. When he was finished, and practically sitting in the floor, he felt an arm wrap around him and sit him on the commode. He turned his head and looked up, and was instantly relieved.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been on the receiving end of an apologetic visit, though he and his sensei had never been the type to really fight. Still, Piccolo had come back and was attempting to make amends in his own way. Gohan knew better than to take Piccolo’s words to heart, he’d known Piccolo far too long to still get his feelings hurt through Piccolo’s harsh words and tone. Piccolo was Piccolo, Gohan wouldn’t have him any other way…and certainly not any nicer because then he’d probably not act on his feelings, which was better all around.

Piccolo’s face was contorted, easily reading as an “I’m sorry” visage, but he seemed to be having the trouble saying the words. Gohan, who was used to having to read between the lines for his sensei, smiled at him. Piccolo looked slightly calmed, but apparently still felt bad. Gohan could have chuckled, but didn’t; it was somewhat amusing to see how easily he could get under the emotionally-detached warrior’s skin.

“You know, being friends means never having to say you’re sorry.” He felt like a walking cliché, but it obviously helped. Besides, Piccolo would never judge him like that.

Gohan cringed and looked down as a pain hit him full force, his eyes rolling white.

Piccolo lifted Gohan, as one would lift an infant, and carried him to the couch. Gohan laid down and sighed, relieved that he was off his feet and in the presence of one he trusted so very much. He hurt badly, so much so that he wanted to pass out. But, he wasn’t going to be that lucky without his pills. Where were they? He couldn’t think straight, he was too sick feeling and too tired to concentrate for long.

“My pills…” Gohan started, barely in a hoarse whisper.

He was rewarded by his pill case being put into his hands, without even so much as an irritated grunt from Piccolo. Downing two of his pills and clasping the case tightly in his hands, he looked wearily up at his sensei. Gohan knew that look, that impassive cold stare that would have fooled everyone else. Upon seeing Piccolo the first time (or the first thousand times, depending on who you are), most are intimidated, in awe, or just plain terrified of the towering warrior.

Few knew that his hard ebony eyes, set in a face that seemed to be forever fixed into an angry scowl, could hold as much encouragement and sincere care as any father. Gohan knew well of Piccolo‘s ability to feel, and was perhaps (save for a short number of paternal moments Piccolo had shared with Dende over the years) was the only one to ever be on the receiving end of affection…of any type. That was a feat most would deem impossible to achieve; yet, for Gohan, it had been easily maintained. That alone was yet another miracle. And so, it seems, Fate found it reasonable and, even, expected for the two opposites to become a team. For whatever reason.

Piccolo leaned closer to Gohan as his friend attempted another sentence, but the pills were taking affect and he could barely breathe the words. Luckily, the Namekian’s ears could have picked up even a hitch in Gohan’s heartbeat, much less missing a word he said.

“Piccolo…don’t leave.” He said, not meaning to look as desperate as he did.

Again, something tightly clinched the overly reserved warrior’s heart and his iron clad defenses faltered, even for just a brief moment. He nodded, and watched his younger student drift into a much more relaxed slumber. Piccolo reclaimed his protective stance in the darkened corner of the room, but not without forcefully clearing his throat.

Much as he would have liked to have said something remotely comforting, at least as comforting as Piccolo could get, he was too afraid of how he’d sound. Unfortunately, and it seemed only his trusting denshi could ever do this to him, an iron-clad lump had taken firm root in Piccolo’s throat. And that was as uncommon an occurrence as a heartfelt apology from Prince Vegeta.

X-x-X-x-X

“Grandpa!” Mira shouted as she threw open the door, slinging her book bag at the nearest piece of furniture.

“Quiet.” Piccolo said, coming out of his corner for the first time in an hour.

“Ah!” She yelped, jumping a good five feet in the air.

“I said quiet!” Piccolo managed to half-whisper meanly.

“What…who…” She began, but then Pan walked in.

“What is going on in here?” Pan halfway screeched, arms crossed angrily.

“I swear I’ll blast the both of you into Outer World if you don’t shut up.” He said, but not too loudly to disturb his friend on the couch.

“Sorry, goodness. Is he still sleeping?” Pan asked, walking around to her father’s side. Oddly enough, all the shouting that had just took place didn’t faze the Saiyan at all. But, then, he’d always been a heavy sleeper.

“He woke up earlier.” Piccolo said plainly, but quietly.

“Aw, I was wantin’ to see Grandpa.” Mira wined, earning a glare from Piccolo. She wasn’t scared anymore though, it had only taken her the first minute and a half to recognize him. Besides, it’s not like one could easily forget a tall, green fighter who wore a purple gi.

“He’ll be awake later. Don’t bother him Mira, just let him rest.” Pan said, pushing her daughter toward her room.

“It’s late, go get ready for bed.”

“Mom, it’s only ten…and on a Friday night too!” Mira stomped her foot and pouted.

“Yes, but you’ll be helping me clean our own house all day tomorrow. Poor place has barely been lived in for a month.” Pan handed Mira her book bag and duffle bag, both had been carelessly dumped by the lamp table.

“I never get to have any fun…I’m gone to that stupid boarding school all week then I gotta do a bunch of chores when I get home…” Mira’s slowly fading voice ended as she promptly slammed her door at the top of the stairs.

“She’s really not so bad once she’s had a good nights sleep.” Pan reassured Piccolo. “And not been traveling for so long.”

“Hm.” Piccolo hummed, not paying much attention. Then he turned his eyes toward Pan, who was shifting the pillow under Gohan’s head.

“Get in the kitchen.” Piccolo said, not bothering to see if she followed him…he knew she would.

“What is it?” Pan asked as she entered and took a seat at the table.

Piccolo didn’t sit though, he had his mind set and an important decision had just been made.

“I’m going to stay here with him.” Piccolo said.

“Oh.” Pan said. “For how long?”

“Until the end.” Piccolo said flatly.

“Oh…” She said again, a little lost for words. “You mean live here and everything?”

“Yes.” Piccolo said, arms crossed as if daring her to argue.

“That’s good.” Pan said, even sounding a bit relieved. “I have to work to make enough money for his meds and doctor visits…among all the normal bills. Mira’s gone all week, and only home two weekends out of the month.” Pan sighed to herself. “He wouldn’t let us get a sit-in nurse and I loath the thought of putting him in a Nursing Home…you know those places have a reputation for-”

“He’s not going anywhere.” Piccolo said, a small inkling of some emotion seeping through his tone, but not enough for Pan to understand what it was or it’s importance.

“I just said I didn’t like that idea.” Pan crossed her legs. “But you…you’ll be good to him. And I wont have to worry all day long about his well-being.” She smiled. “This is a good arrangement.”

“Arrangement.” Piccolo repeated, sounding a little detached. Then shook his head quickly. “I’ll stay wherever he stays…where does he sleep?”

“In the guest room mostly. It’s downstairs and closest to everything, especially the bathroom.”

“Fine.” Piccolo said, leaving the kitchen.

Pan started to follow but stopped when she noticed Piccolo bend down near the couch. She wondered at first what he was doing, and was about to ask. But then he carefully lifted Gohan up, who shifted and stirred under the change in position, and began walking down the darkened hallway…headed for the guestroom.

Pan smiled. Things might work out after all, with Piccolo staying with them at least her father wouldn’t be so lonely or in danger of hurting himself. Still, it hurt to see her father so weak…he disserved a peaceful and painless death, not what was being done to him. It wasn’t fair. None of it…it simply wasn’t fair.

X-x-X-x-X

He sat cross-legged, floating five feet above the glimmering marble floor, and in complete relaxation. His meditation was peaceful and serene, as it normally was, without even the quiet ramblings between the guardian and genie to concern him. Suddenly, he felt that tugging sensation in the back of his head, much like how it would feel to have a suction cup attached to the base of one’s skull.

“Piccolo…” Gohan’s voice echoed in his mind. He sounded urgent, excited and scared at the same time. Piccolo knew something serious and important was happening for the kid to contact him like this, something was definitely up.

“It’s time.” He said, then the sensation was gone.

Piccolo knew what that meant, and a moment later he was off the lookout and flying toward the ki of his student.

The hospital came into view soon enough, and Piccolo had to fight the urge to cringe. He didn’t like going into those places, he’d rather train with King Kai than go inside. But, a promise was a promise…he had to find Gohan. No other person, for no other reason he could think of, would be able to talk the Namekian into willingly entering the “death house”, as he unaffectionate called it. But today Piccolo was slightly proud to be invited to share in the occasion, it was something he’d been both anticipating and dreading.

“Piccolo.” Gohan’s voice boomed and echoed throughout the waiting room.

As Piccolo made his way toward his student, he caught the high pitched screeching of ChiChi in the back, mixed with Hercule’s annoying bass and Goku’s giddy baritone. He wondered if he seemed slightly out of place, not being immediate family and all, but Gohan didn’t seem to mind.

Gohan met him in the hallway, all smiles, and lead the way toward the double doors leading to the private hospital rooms. But, then, a small blonde nurse stood in the way of Piccolo, scowling about as meanly as he was.

“Sorry sir.” She said haughtily. “Only family allowed back here.”

“Relax Sonya,” Gohan said, smiling around at her. “Don’t you see the family resemblance? This is my Uncle Piccolo.”

Piccolo smirked at Gohan’s antics, but his charms worked on the young girl and she let Piccolo back into the private ward of the hospital. Seems Gohan had that ‘you-must-give-in-to-me’ look down pat, for he seemed to be able to charm anyone he wanted…including Piccolo. Gohan strolled along like the happiest man in the world. But, then, under the circumstances he probably was.

“It’s a girl.” Gohan said proudly. “She’s perfect. Her name is Pan.”

“Son Pan.” Piccolo stated. “Not bad.”

Gohan‘s smile broadened, knowing the full meaning behind the simple, gruff words. Then they reached the room, inside the mixed voices of three eager grandparents filtered into the hallway. And then another voice, one of a teenage Goten joking with Videl, could be heard. “Aww’s” and “Ooh’s” and all forms of baby talk made the Namekian role his eyes, but he’d die before saying anything to ruin Gohan’s big day.

The door opened and five expectant eyes (six if you count the newborn, though they can‘t make out shapes yet) became fixed on the entering Saiyan and Namek. Videl was already smiling, but she beamed as her husband walked back into the room. One thing Piccolo commended, and respected, Videl for was that she was completely devoted to Gohan. And at the moment, she seemed to be glowing. Did all new mothers do that?

“Piccolo!” Goten yelped in both surprise and excitement. And by the look on the other’s faces he just voice the thought running through all their minds.

Hercule back away a few steps. He was more accustomed to Piccolo than before, needless to say, but the Namekian still frightened the weak human. But then, not much about the Z-senshi didn’t frighten poor Hercule. Goku just smiled and ChiChi did too, though as of yet she still had her reservation about the green giant.

“Piccolo…” Gohan said lightly, smiling kindly at his mentor.

Piccolo looked over at him and quirked a muscled eye ridge. A bundle was in Gohan’s arms, clad in all pink, and squirmed slightly at being taken from her resting spot. Gohan walked up to Piccolo, who stiffened instinctively. Emotions were running through him like water flows down stream, and it was making him uncomfortable.

What happened next baffled the Namekian for some years, until he just decided it was a fluke of nature and nothing more. Gohan handed the precious bundle over to Piccolo, carefully because he was unsure as to whether or not it was too much to ask of Piccolo. But to his surprise (and Piccolo’s as well) green arms accepted the pink bundle and held it. Held it! That was what had been most baffling to the warrior.

Piccolo looked down at the demi-Saiyan. It was the first time he’d held a baby. Actually, it was the first time he’d really held anything willingly, accept the occasional hug from Gohan over the years. But this was different, this child was part of Gohan…his flesh and blood. That counted for something, didn’t it? Besides, the little thing wasn’t so bad really. Kind of cute, as a human might say. But he’d blast his own head off before cooing the little creature, no matter how “cute” he thought it was.

He looked at Gohan, who was hovering directly next to his daughter, and tried to get him to take her back. He did soon enough, but Gohan looked at Piccolo in a way that was different than before. Piccolo didn’t know what it was, a new respect maybe, but it was pleasant nonetheless. And Piccolo honestly liked the feeling of belonging, sappy as it may sound, to the Sons. He even restrained himself from throttling Hercule’s neck for a good hour in the hospital, and that was something worth noting.

Piccolo’s reverie was broken when Gohan yawned and stretched, as best his body would let him, then opened his eyes. It was early now, Piccolo was unsure what time, but definitely early. Why his meditation had led him into that memory was uncertain, but it left Piccolo in an odd mood. It wasn’t necessarily a good or bad mood, just odd. But, then, the past day had been nothing but odd.

Gohan’s mind was clouded and fuzzy. He last remembered Piccolo, being sick, being in pain…on the couch. Wait, he was in the guestroom. He recognized the blue paint instantly and the faint smell of a lilac freshener. But he was in bed? How?

“I put you there.” Came Piccolo’s voice from across the room.

“Oh.” Gohan said. “Why?”

“Isn’t this where you sleep?” He asked, but it was more a statement than a question.

“Yeah. Okay.” He said sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “Where’s Pan and Mira?”

“Still asleep.” Piccolo said.

“What time is it?”

“Morning.”

“How long was I out?”

“Hours. Now stop with the interrogation.” Piccolo said, taking some steps toward the bed.”

“Okay then.” Gohan said leaning back. “Did you stay all night?”

Piccolo nodded.

“Thanks. But you didn’t have to do that.” Gohan said.

“You told me to.” Piccolo said lowly.

“I did?” Gohan asked, wondering if now he was suffering from memory loss.

“You said ‘don’t leave’…so I didn’t.” Piccolo said, leaning on the foot of the bed.

“Well, I’m glad.” He said smiling. “Wouldn’t mind you staying more often.”

“Good.” Piccolo said, and Gohan made an inquiring face. “I talking to Pan. I’ll be living here now.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, I mean, why?” Gohan asked, leaning up in total curiosity.

“Because you’re too weak to live alone.” Piccolo growled, becoming irritated.

“Okay. So, you don’t mind staying? I mean, all the time?”

“No.”

Gohan smiled. He reached up and held out his hand for Piccolo. Piccolo slapped it away lightly, his unique form of a handshake, and stood next to his student.

“You know, you’re my best friend Piccolo. Always have been.”

Piccolo made a face, and seemed to be debating with himself. But, within a minute he smirked and ruffled Gohan’s hair, the only true show of affection he’d allow himself.

“Hai, well, same to you kid.” He said, walking back over to his corner as Gohan laid down to try and gain a few more hours of needed sleep. This would work out, he was sure of it.

“Love is patient, Love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails…

And even now these three remain: Faith, Hope and Love.

But the greatest of these is Love.” - First Corinthians 13:8-13

“No fair! You cheated Grandpa!” Shouted an irritated Mira as she lost her third game of chess against Gohan.

“Nope, sorry hun, no cheating here.” Gohan chuckled, coughed lightly, then continued to chuckle. “Just plain know-how.”

“Oh, you think you’re so smart.” Mira teased, setting the board for yet another rematch. “Let’s see you beat this!”

She moved her pawn forward, and Gohan moved his. Within only a few minutes it was painfully obvious who was going to win. But Gohan humored his young granddaughter by allowing her to penetrate his defenses more than once. He smiled as she became frustrated and blundered move after move. Finally, he could delay her defeat no longer, and moved into check mate.

“Ooh!” She huffed, cramming the pieces into the box and standing to put the game away.

“I’ll beat you some day.” She said, standing on tip-toes to reach the tall game cupboard.

“Maybe so, hun. Maybe so.” Gohan grinned, and slid back against the headboard.

She kissed his pale forehead as she left the room, softly letting the door ‘click’ into place. Gohan was bedridden now, completely unable to leave the room on his own. Many adjustments were made to his room, so he’d be comfortable and as immobile as possible. First, he didn’t have to go far when Mother Nature called. Second, a stand was set up at the edge of the bed for his many pills and medicines. Third, and lastly, a pager was put on his wrist so he could get Pan’s attention if he needed it. But, as of yet, he hadn’t.

“You spoil that brat.” Came the familiar bass voice from the corner of the room.

“Perhaps, but that’s what grandpa’s are for.” Gohan never let the grin escape his face as Piccolo scoffed at him.

“You should be more strict. You were the same way with that daughter of yours…and now look at her.” He said, watching Gohan’s puzzled reaction.

“What about her?” He asked curiously.

Grunt. “She turned into your mother.”

Gohan outright laughed at that, he supposed it was true. Pan did have a tendency to be pushy, bossy and otherwise domineering…just like ChiChi had been (and Videl for that matter). Gohan mingled coughs and laughs until his chest hurt from the shear force of it all. Piccolo had only rolled his eyes at first, but had to smirk once Gohan started to pound the bed in a fit of amusement. Piccolo had never been the type to joke around, or attempt any form of humor. But Gohan seemed to find the most mundane of Piccolo’s statements funny, even hilarious. And the Namekian would never understand it.

“You know, after a time, mom didn’t really mind you so much.” Gohan said, sobering up.

“Yes. And it only took her twenty years.” Piccolo said sarcastically, again earning himself an earful of laughter.

“Not twenty! Mom was okay with you holding Pan in the hospital, so it was really only about sixteen years.”

“Either way, it took a while.” Piccolo’s folded arms came to rest by his sides, and he watched Gohan yawn.

“But it was worth it, in the end. You two got along pretty well after that didn’t you?” Gohan asked.

“So long as we didn’t speak to one another, or look at each other, for any amount of time.” Piccolo walked toward the bed.

“Aw, come on. It wasn’t that bad.” Gohan said smiling. “Besides, who could blame her. You are kinda funny lookin’, ya know.”

Piccolo snorted and Gohan’s smile broadened. He liked teasing Piccolo, the Namek always made a sound or face that amused the demi-Saiyan.

Piccolo stood by Gohan’s bed until his younger denshi started nodding off. He knew it was the time of day when Gohan had to sleep for a few hours, and he was ready to meditate outside for a while. Gohan patted Piccolo’s arm lightly as his tall friend walked by him, and stood transfixed at his bedside. Piccolo didn’t leave Gohan alone anymore, at least not while he was awake. And Gohan appreciated the company, even if all his friend really did was meditate in mid-air.

“I’m glad you’re here, I used to get kinda…lonely.” Gohan said faintly, smiling up at him. “It’s nice to have a friend.”

“Hm” Piccolo said, still unable to form words to meet those of his student, even after sixty eight years.

Gohan released Piccolo’s arm and shut his eyes, within minutes he’d dozed off for the afternoon. Piccolo looked at him for a minute before ruffling the man’s hair, the only genuine act of affection he’d ever allowed himself to perform. He looked at Gohan for a minute, his thoughts scattering to earlier days, less intense…less frustrating days.

Memories of a boy with black spiky hair and a miniature version of his beloved mentor’s gi came to mind. What an innocent, carefree boy Gohan had been… and he was always smiling. Why smiling? Because the boy was almost always happy, contrary to his best friend’s coarse approach to life. Odd how two such opposites can become such close friends. But, Piccolo no longer questioned it, for fear that he might tempt fate.

Like you really understand loneliness. Piccolo thought at Gohan, though he knew his denshi wasn’t going to hear him.

You’re right though…it is good to have a friend.

X-x-X-x-X

One day during the week, after Mira had left once again to continue her education, Piccolo sat outside; he meditated under a tree in front of the Son home. The days and weeks seemed to mesh together, and it became impossible to discern one from the other. Gohan seemed to be doing well enough for the time, better the past few days than he had in a long time.

Piccolo was jerked from his thoughts when he heard the not-so-familiar sound of an air car coming his direction. It didn’t take long for the vehicle to come into view, when it did Piccolo rolled his eyes in part annoyance, part trepidation, and part relief. It was Goten, Gohan’s younger brother…Goku’s clone.

Piccolo grunted, he really wasn’t one for reunions of any kind. But, for whatever reason, Gohan seemed truly taken with his brother (and had been sense the day the runt was born). The second Son of Goku had also, somehow, managed to worm his way into Piccolo’s affection as well, though Piccolo still didn’t know how or when it happened.

“Hey there Dill Pickle!” Goten yelled through the open door of the car, though still inside and seated.

Piccolo would have liked to send a ki blast through the metal transportation devise, but found he could only scowl in the direction of his student’s brother. The reasons being that first: the man’s wife was in the car with him…and she had never irked the Namek the wrong way before, so he had no reason to execute her. Second: Goten was getting old…older than Piccolo liked to admit; and firing a ki blast like that might just kill the guy. So Piccolo endured the hated nick name for Peace’s sake, but didn’t like it.

“Where’s that brother of mine?” He asked buoyantly. Piccolo resisted the urge to punch that goofy grin off the halfling’s irreversibly “Son” face.

“Inside. Where else would he be?” Piccolo said, standing and walking toward the pair.

Seemed Goten’s wife would never get used to Piccolo’s intimidating presence, she tensed as soon as she noticed he was coming closer. But, then, she’d never been around him enough to get past the fangs, claws, skin color and height. Not to mention the very tough looking muscles…ones that could probably crush anything they needed to.

“Okay then, lets go bother the bum.” He laughed while walking past Piccolo, his wife not far behind, and into the house.

“Yo! Gohan, where you be?” Goten yelled as he entered the living room, where his brother usually greeted him.

“He’s still sleeping.” Piccolo said, slightly annoyed, as he entered the house behind them.

“Sleeping? In the afternoon?” Goten asked, eyeing his wife. “Sense when? And Why?”

“For weeks now…and because he’s tired.” Piccolo snapped angrily.

Goten’s mouth clamped, he knew from his friend’s tone that he was beginning to lose his cool. So silence ensued for several seconds until Goten’s wife decided, out of character as it was for her, to speak up.

“So why are you here Piccolo-sama?” She asked nicely, and formally.

“Drop the formalities, it’s just ‘Piccolo’.”

“Yes. Of course. Then, Piccolo, why are you here? Did you come to visit Gohan too?” She cocked her head slightly and eyed his reaction. Or, rather, his odd lack of reaction. The man had no facial expressions whatsoever. He didn’t even blink.

“No.” He said.

“Then, what’s up?” Goten asked, in his normally flippant tone.

“He’s dying. That’s what’s up.” Piccolo said, arms now crossed over his massive chest.

Goten turned his head sharply, trying to avoid the flood of emotions that now ran through him. Tears threatened to make an appearance, but he forced them down. He knew Piccolo hated to see a warrior cry…or anyone cry for that matter.

“Please, Piccolo.” Goten’s wife said sadly, her cheeks wet from her own tears. How was she to know Piccolo despised said action.

Another awkward round of silence proceeded until Goten’s wife had enough.

“This is ridiculous.” She stated flatly. “We are adults, lets behave that way.”

Piccolo huffed slightly, and Goten nodded consent.

“If you’re not here to visit, Piccolo, then why are you here?” She asked again.

“He asked me to stay…” Piccolo began irritably. “So I stayed.”

“You mean, like…living here?” Goten asked, somewhat shocked.

“Yes. Have a problem?” Piccolo glared.

“Nope. No problem.” Goten said, then he broke into a wide grin and snickered. “That‘s so sweet of you Piccolo-san. But, then, you always did have a soft spot for Nii-san, didn’t you?”

If Piccolo had not been so well trained to keep his anger or embarrassment in check, he would have blushed a fierce violet then punched the intrusive brat in the gut. But, he had more self control than that. He simply snorted.

“That really is very loyal of you, to stay with Gohan while he’s…ill.” She said, attitude changing somewhat.

“He would do it for me. Now drop it.” Piccolo turned and walked down the hallway. He’d heard a sound from the spare bedroom, Gohan’s room.

As he entered Gohan was sitting up and scratching his head, then grinned at Piccolo’s entrance.

“I was wonderin’ where you’d run off to.” He laughed, then settled down as he noticed Piccolo’s unease. Had Gohan been anyone else, he’d never of noticed Piccolo’s slightly narrowed eyes, his more tense arms and hands, or that his ears were pointing out more than usual. But since he was, indeed, Gohan…he noticed.

“What’s wrong?” He asked seriously.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t try to pull one over on me, you know you can’t.” Gohan smirked at the Namekian. “I can read you like a book.”

“So you can.” Piccolo said, but fell silent once again.

Just then the door burst open and Goten bounded into the room.

“Oi bro! I heard you were sleepin’. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten that lazy.” Goten smiled and nodded toward Piccolo. “But then, I guess anyone would get lazy bein’ waited on hand and foot.”

Piccolo snorted again (for the second time in ten minutes) and glared daggers at Goten. This was routine for the pair. Goten would do or say anything to rile Piccolo, and Piccolo would have to keep his temper in check. It had not been so when Goten was younger, but by his teenage years he’d found that being a pain was rather enjoyable…at least when dealing with Piccolo. On more than one occasion Goten had gone too far with his favorite Namek, and Gohan had to be the referee.

“Hello Gohan.” Came the only feminine voice in the group.

“Hey Clair, you making this lunatic behave himself?” Gohan asked, giving the noticeably aging woman a hug as she bent toward him.

“As always.” She said, teasingly hitting Goten’s arm.

Goten sat on the edge of the bed and began, what seemed to Piccolo, a long stream of incoherent babble. How Gohan could stay so interested and focused on his idiot brother for so long, Piccolo didn’t know. But, to be perfectly honest, Piccolo was glad that Goten had come.

Piccolo was ignorant, for the most part, about issues related to or dealing with family. First of all, he’d never had any. Gohan, at one point in his younger years, had called Piccolo “his big, green uncle”…for which he ultimately got yelled at for. Truth be told, Piccolo liked thinking that in some way, his friendship with Gohan was close enough to be called a brotherhood with him. At least that way he, a former demon, could consider himself a part of a family. His family.

Piccolo hated to succumb to such sentimentality, it was very out of his character. But everyone has their weaknesses, and Gohan (and, unfortunately, basically his whole family) tended to be Piccolo’s. Why did Gohan, or Goten, or Pan, or that spoiled little Mira continue to burrow their way into Piccolo’s heart? The stoic warrior didn’t know (and, in a way, didn’t want to find out) why this happened. Irritating to his pride as it was, Piccolo enjoyed feeling wanted…and needed.

As the conversation in the room continued, now entering it’s second hour, Piccolo allowed himself to drift almost completely away from the corner of the room. His meditation became deeper, until he dove full force into one unexpected memory from decades earlier. Before Gohan was even married, when Goten was still in diapers. When Gohan was going though, probably, the worst episode of grief and sorrow Piccolo had ever seen.

XxXx--

Piccolo sat in meditation by his waterfall, which he happened to be visiting this particular day. Though he liked staying at the Lookout well enough, he had to come back to this place once in a while. It was the only place he’d ever considered home, just like Earth would always be his home…never Namek.

Feeling his presence even before the boy knew where Piccolo was, the warrior waited patiently for his young apprentice to come to him. It never took long, and it happened every time Piccolo came to his waterfall to meditate. Secretly, and Piccolo would never admit to it, his main reason for visiting the waterfall was not only to be in the lush surroundings…but to see his best friend. Gohan was his best friend, one of the very, very few he considered to be anything near a friend. And he enjoyed the attention Gohan gave him, he made him feel (weak and foolhearty as it may sound) special.

So Piccolo waited. It only took an hour for the boy to make his way over to his mentor, and Piccolo was ready for him when he arrived. But what Piccolo wasn’t expecting was the extra bundle the kid had with him. Another little life force was being toted by his student, and almost immediately Piccolo knew who that was.

“Hey Piccolo!” Gohan yelled up at his friend, as he reached the waterfall. “Come on down here.”

Piccolo obliged and floated down in front of Gohan. The small toddler in the boy’s arms squirmed a little, and clapped his hands above his head joyfully.

Then shouted, as loudly as a near-infant can shout “Piggwowo!”. Then smiled triumphantly.

Gohan laughed.

“That’s right Goten.” He said. “That’s Piccolo.”

Grunt. “The brat’s only seen me once before. How does he know my name?” Piccolo asked.

“I still have your favorite picture of you and me. I’ve shown it to him lots of times, and told him who you are.”

Piccolo’s anger rose immediately at being reminded that such a photo existed. It was several years old by now, but one of Gohan’s most treasured possessions. One reason being because it truly embarrassed his sensei. And that was a rare feat indeed.

It wasn’t Piccolo’s fault that the picture had been taken. Goku, that immature (now deceased) ex-enemy of his had done it to make Piccolo mad, so to get a “good spar” out of him. The Saiyan had, somehow (for Piccolo can’t fathom how he was able to do it) snuck up on him after he and an eight-year-old Gohan had been training. From the bushes he’d snapped a horrendous picture of Gohan leaning contently against Piccolo’s knee…and Piccolo just happened to be ruffling the boys hair at that moment!

Showing affection of any type was not typical of Piccolo at all. But someone, other than Gohan, actually witnessing the action was unheard of…and unwanted. Goku had succeeded in enraging Piccolo, sparing with him, then getting the film developed. And that picture has been the bane of Piccolo’s embarrassment since it was taken.

But Gohan liked it.

“There you go.” Gohan said, putting little Goten on the ground to play. The child could walk, but he couldn’t go very far.

“How’ve you been sir?” Gohan asked.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Gohan said, throwing a rock into the lake. “Goten’s been saying several words. Right now it’s just ‘No’ and ‘Mine’ mostly. But last week he said a new word.”

When Gohan didn’t finish, and Piccolo knew the boy was trying to make conversation, he asked “Well, what was it?”

Gohan sighed, tried skipping another rock, and answered.

“Dada.”

It only took a moment for Piccolo to realize that ‘dada’ was baby talk for “daddy”. And after realizing that he put his hand on Gohan’s shoulder, trying to send some measure of comfort. The boy was still just that…a boy. Not even fourteen yet, and having to be the man of the house. And Gohan had been mourning his father’s lose for more time than Piccolo thought necessary. Yes, losing Goku hurt his family and friends, but you have to let go and move on sometime.

Gohan suddenly lunged himself at Piccolo, wrapping his arms around his teacher’s waist and burring his face into his chest. Piccolo didn’t really have time to react at first, he just stood there. But when Gohan’s frame began to shake with sobs, Piccolo swallowed the harsh reprimand he had on the tip of his tongue about being weak. He pulled his friend closer to him and let Gohan cry it out.

Emotions are never good things to keep locked up. Piccolo knew this better than anyone. And Gohan had never been the type to keep his feelings from Piccolo, he’d always been open with him. But this was different, there was so much pain. And so much guilt he’d tried to bury.

After what seemed like an eternity, and little Goten confused and leaning solemnly against a tree, Gohan began to calm down. He’d somehow crawled into Piccolo’s lap, and the two were on the ground. He knew Piccolo really didn’t like displays like this, and knew also that Piccolo didn’t like for him to be weak. But it hurt. It hurt so bad.

“Are you finished?” Piccolo asked, not sounding as much like an insult as he’d feared.

“Yeah.” Gohan said, wiping his eyes. “Sorry. I…just-”

“I mean really finished.” Piccolo cut in. “Finished with all this guilt your holding on to.”

Gohan looked down. “I can’t help it.”

“Yes you can.” Piccolo said, still allowing Gohan to stay in his lap.

“No I can’t! I just feel the way I feel, I have no control over it.” Gohan said, tears streaming down his face again.

“Besides,” He started. “I should feel guilty. Dad would still be here if it wasn’t for me.”

Piccolo stood at that, and Gohan was dumped unceremoniously on the ground. He stood next to Piccolo, looking up from red rimmed eyes into cold onyx ones.

“I thought you were past this useless pity party of yours.”

“It’s not a pity party, Piccolo. It’s the truth!” Gohan yelled, voice cracking both from emotions and his age. “Admit it. If I had just halfway listened to what dad was saying, he’d still be here. Say it’s the truth Piccolo! Say it!”

“You don’t know that.” Piccolo started lowly. “Something else might have gone wrong if you’d listened to Goku, Cell might have beaten you somehow…or found another way around you. Think of what would have happened if he’d tried to self-destruct at his full power. He might of just succeeded. Then where would we be?”

Gohan fell silent.

“So, get over it. You might have saved the planet because of what you did. You saved billions, and only lost one.”

“So!” Gohan yelled. “That one meant more to me than any of the billions I saved.” Gohan glared up at Piccolo. Hurt etched into every corner of his face.

“The fact is I killed dad. I killed him, Piccolo.” Gohan sucked in a breath and swallowed a sob. “I’m a murderer, and no better than Cell.”

Piccolo lost his composure and smacked Gohan hard across the face. Gohan’s eyes widened in both shock and pain, then he held his quickly reddening cheek. He looked down, but Piccolo grabbed the bottom of his jaw and jerked his head up. Their eyes met.

“If you ever say something like that again, I’ll hit you ten times harder than that. And I’ll keep doing it until you get the message.” Piccolo let him go.

“You are good.” Piccolo said. “And honest, and loyal, and a hundred other noble things that Cell was not…not by a long shot. So do yourself and your precious family a favor, stop grieving for the lose of your father. He wouldn’t want you to keep this up.”

Gohan shifted and looked down. When Piccolo growled, he looked back and returned the gaze.

“Do not let hatred for someone else, or yourself, overcome you. I remember what the feeling was like, and trust me…you don’t want to know.”

Gohan swallowed hard and turned to check on Goten. His brother had nodded off during Gohan’s crying spell and was now sleeping against the tree.

“Piccolo.” Gohan said.

“What?” Piccolo snapped, still heavily angry (and sympathetic) with the boy.

“Thank you.” And then he reached for Piccolo again, this time hugging his friend’s torso tightly.

Piccolo realized that some sort of progress had been made, and put his hand on the boy’s head.

“You’re welcome.” He said, slinking away as the hug lasted too long. “Now get outta here. You’re too much trouble.”

Gohan chuckled slightly, and picked up Goten as he passed the tree.

“Bye Piccolo-san. I’ll see you soon.”

Grunt. “Yeah. Too soon, I’m sure.”

Gohan outright laughed that time and waved goodbye to Piccolo. Piccolo flicked his hand up, his unique form of a wave, and floated up to begin meditation again. Once Gohan was out of sight, and safely home, Piccolo growled and huffed.

Stupid kid. He thought. Never fails to get to me.

He smirked.

Never Fails.

XxXx--

“You know, Piccolo, you snore pretty loud.” Goten said, dodging a green fist that came at him (slower than it’s capable speed).

“And you smell.” Piccolo said, relaxing his legs and standing.

“Oh!” Pan yelled, pointing at her uncle and laughing. “Oh, ho, ho! He got you Unkie!”

“Hehe, well, I’m not much of a bather.” Goten grinned and was promptly smacked in the back of the head by Clair.

“You are so embarrassing!” She said, hands over her face.

“Please, someone tell me I’m not really related to you.” Gohan said, pointing at his brother.

“Sorry buddy.” Goten said. “Were flesh and blood, same genes and all.”

“That hasn’t been proven yet.” Gohan said smirking.

Goten laughed.

Pan sat on the edge of her father’s bed and Piccolo looked out the window. It was dusk already and darkening fast, and Pan was home from work. Odd that Piccolo had been meditating for so long, and didn’t notice Pan’s arrival.

Gohan yawned and scooted down, laying his head on the soft pillow.

“If you guys will excuse me.” He said. “I think I’m gonna sleep now.”

Goten and Clair walked over to him, said their goodbyes, and left. Pan stayed until her father was asleep, then began cleaning from the mess they’d made earlier. Saiyans had to eat, and her uncle was definitely part Saiyan.

“I love you daddy.” She said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Gohan was sleep, and didn’t answer. But she knew that, had he been awake, he would have said the same to her. And that was a comforting thought.

“Goodnight Piccolo.” She said.

Grunt.

“I wanted to tell you something.” She said, her tone changing slightly.

He opened his eyes and faced her.

“Dad seems to be doing very well these past few days.”

“Yes. So?”

“Well,” She squirmed a bit. “I just wanted to be honest with you. I don’t want you to get your hopes up about his…condition.”

Piccolo’s stone face let no thoughts or emotions penetrate. But he wondered how in the world she’d guessed how he felt. He had, since seeing Gohan’s improvement, hoped against hope that he was somehow winning the battle.

“It’s just that…” She paused. “I’ve done a lot of reading on his illness, and others like him. Doctors say that a cancer patient will often times seem to do very well at the…end.”

Piccolo swallowed hard.

“I just…” She cleared her throat. “Wanted you to know that, so it wont be such a shock when he…goes.”

Piccolo managed a curt nod, and Pan left the room.

Better at the end? Piccolo thought. How absurd is that? Who ever heard of someone doing better just before they die?

But as Piccolo looked at Gohan, something inside him told him it was true. Something told him to prepare himself, Gohan’s time was nearly at hand.

“He never fails to get to me.” Piccolo whispered, as if in a dream. “Never fails.”
“Life is grand, and resides so well

By those who wish to see;

That care, and hope and faith do bow,

In awe of Charity.

True friends are more than family

They are not from blood akin,

But loyal are they, and gracious too,

Until thy fateful end…

My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the morning sky,
But ere the shades of evening close
Is scattered on the ground—to die.” - Anonymous Author and John Bartlett

Piccolo walked down the hallway, and began to climb the stairs. He stopped short, halfway up, and scrutinized the wooden railing. He recognized his handiwork, and remembered the care with which he’d built it. The smallest of smiles played at the corner of his lips, as he remembered the look on Gohan’s face when he’d seen the railing for the first time. Piccolo would never forget.

XxXx--

Gohan and Videl had been engaged for a few weeks, and Gohan was attempting to build them a house. It wasn’t far from his parent’s house, but close enough to the city that he could get to work without trouble. Gohan was excited and happier than Piccolo had seen him in years. The boy…young man…was anxious to get the house done.

But finances seemed to get him down at times. Gohan would tell Piccolo of how Hercule had offered to give them a place, to lend them any money they needed, even though Piccolo had less knowledge on money than he did family issues. But venting seemed to help Gohan’s frazzled nerves and damaged pride. Gohan didn’t want to take money he knew he wouldn’t be able to pay back soon…if ever.

It angered Piccolo that the idiot human with the big mouth (Hercule, in case you were wondering), who’s lucky daughter was marrying the best person Piccolo had ever known, would treat Gohan indifferently sometimes. It was no secret that Hercule had not been all too happy to hear of his “little girl” having a serious boyfriend. And he’d only recently become accustomed to the idea that Gohan was, indeed, going to be his son-in-law soon enough.

The lucky buzzard. He didn’t know how good he had it.

One thing Piccolo could remotely respect, or even consider a worthy trait, in Gohan’s future mate was that she truly loved his student. It was evident when she looked at him, or talked about him. And Gohan loved her, deeply. Upon realizing this, Piccolo felt more at ease with the prospect of a wedding. If she was the one Gohan loved, then the Namekian would try his best to get along with the female. For Gohan’s sake.

As Gohan neared completion of his house, he stated on more than one occasion (more out of sheer frustration than expectancy) that he’d give anything to buy Videl the hand-crafted stair railing she’d been wanting. She didn’t outright say it, but he knew she’d been considered borrowing the money from her father to pay for it.

“It’s not my money, or your money, or even dad’s money anymore. Gohan, it’s ours.” She’d say.

It was little comfort.

Call it Saiyan pride, or human obstinacy, but Gohan wanted to prove (more to himself than anyone) that he was an adult. He could provide for his wife and, eventually, his family. Piccolo heard the fears, the worries, the hopes, the problems for weeks on end. Never did he suggest anything, or give advise. What advise could a hermit Namek, that lives in the wilderness without a house or family, give to a young boy about to venture full force into family life? None, that’s what.

Even as the time for the wedding drew nearer, Gohan became completely engrossed in finishing his home. Really, all that remained was touch up work and a few more nails hammered into place. And, of course, the dreaded stair rail. Gohan wanted to have it so badly he could taste it, and Piccolo rolled his ebony eyes at his pupil every time the subject was brought up.

One day, a week before the wedding, Goku showed up at Kami’s lookout to speak with Dende. What for Piccolo didn’t know, nor did he care. But he did overhear something that sparked his interest, and his curiosity. Apparently, friends and family are supposed to supply gifts for the happy couple.

Oh h-ll. Piccolo thought. How am I suppose to buy them a present? I don’t have money.

Piccolo huffed. And just what do I get them? Feh, this wedding business is nonsense.

And from that moment on Piccolo decided to forget the idea of getting a gift, it was a crazy notion to tease with. And pointless. But then he heard from other Z-senshi, as the wedding day grew nearer, of the presents they planned to give. Seemed everyone was getting in on the action. So why shouldn’t Piccolo?

This thought drove Piccolo mad, until he finally set his mind on what he would do. He’d get Gohan that stupid stair railing he’d wanted so bad, and fussed over for so long. If Gohan didn’t like it, he could tear it down and use the wood for a bonfire. Either way, at least it would be something.

It took Piccolo two days of blasting the right trees, carving with sharp tools he’d made out of rocks, smoothing, measuring, fitting and binding, to finally finish. But when he was done, it seemed to be that he was, well, proud of himself. Gohan would surely like it. If he didn’t, well…he would.

The day before the rehearsal dinner, which Piccolo was unfortunately being forced to attend, he met Gohan at the completed, soon-to-be Son home. Gohan had not went inside yet, he’d felt no need to. He and Videl and decided to save up for that last item, the stair rail, and would get it when they had enough money. Besides, the stairs were not tall enough or narrow enough to be a danger until then.

Gohan noticed Piccolo seemed fidgety. Or, fidgety for Piccolo anyway. Gohan knew almost instantly something was up, or Piccolo had something planned. It was a rare occasion indeed that Piccolo cooked something up. So Gohan’s interest of peaked the moment he set foot on his lawn.

“What’s up Pic?” Gohan asked, suppressing a smirk as Piccolo grunted in irritation. He really hated nick names.

“Come with me.” He said, then turned toward the house.

Odd. Very odd. Gohan couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was amiss.

Gohan followed Piccolo through the door and walked into the living room. Instantly his eyes fell upon the stair way, with a finished and new, wooden, engraved railing. Gohan’s mouth dropped, he was sure, to the floor. He eyes bugged and his hands found themselves running over the smooth surface of the wood.

Beautiful. Just wonderful, and hand crafted, and a perfect fit.

But how?

“Piccolo!” Gohan jerked his head around, eyeing his mentor carefully. “Did you…I mean, you don’t have money! But this is…you…did you build it? How…you?”

Piccolo rolled his eyes and smirked. “Yes me. No I don’t have money, you know better than that.”

Gohan’s mouth shut.

“I built it. So if you don’t like it, you can burn it for all I care.” Piccolo crossed his arms.

“Piccolo…” Gohan said in wonderment. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

Gohan ran a hand over the wood again. “I love it. I mean, it’s really great.” Gohan looked up at his sensei. “You did this for me?”

“No stupid, I did it for Vegeta.” Piccolo snorted. “Of course it’s for you. You and that mate of yours. Now you can stop bugging me with your nonstop mopping over not having one.”

Gohan smiled. “Thank you Piccolo.”

Piccolo stood still, then nodded. “Yeah, don’t mention it.”

“I won’t forget this. It’ll stay here until the house falls apart, or we die. Whichever comes first.”

“This house won’t be coming down anytime soon.” Piccolo said, spirits lifted for a reason he couldn’t explain.

“Nope, and do you know why?” Gohan asked, his arm fondly (though slightly irritating to Piccolo) nudging his mentor’s elbow.

“Why?” Piccolo mused.

“Because we built it.”

XxXx--

Piccolo snapped himself out of that little trip down memory lane, and finished climbing the stairs. Kami, how did life get so complex? Didn’t he used to just have himself to worry about? What ever possessed him to become part of a family, or attempt to anyway? His life was better off simple and easy, not complicated by emotions and memories. Wasn’t it?

“Oof!” Pan choked out, as she ran full smack into Piccolo. “For goodness sakes! What are you doing up here?”

She waved her arm back and forth until her path was clear. On any other day she might have laughed about it, or simply overlooked it. But today was different. She could tell the moment she woke up today would be bad. And usually Thursdays weren’t too unpleasant, but today certainly was.

Piccolo didn’t even bother to grunt, for it would bring more attention to himself. Pan was…well, Pan. She had her good days and bad ones (as Piccolo had become well aware of), and today was definitely a bad one. So, he’d venture into Gohan’s old room in a few minutes, when Pan was out of sight.

He had himself a little secret going on. And he had never been one for secrets, or at least any he kept from Gohan. But, the man was sleeping most of the time anymore, so Piccolo didn’t feel the need to tell his friend everything he’d been up to. Plus, he’d found that looking through Gohan’s family albums to be…educational. Some pictures made him nearly laugh, some sobered him, and one (that was old, worn and faded) that made him both enraged and solaced, though he wasn’t exactly sure why.

Pan reached the laundry room with little more trouble. Why did Piccolo venture upstairs so much lately? Though she couldn’t be sure (for she worked most week days), she believed Piccolo made a journey to her parents’ old room nearly every day. Though the room was neatly arranged and kept up, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy walking inside the room her parents had shared for so many years. Them and them alone would sleep in that bed, talk to all hours of the night, and have pillow fights early on many a Saturday morning (ones that Pan would frequently participate in). It almost seemed a violation of her parent’s privacy for Piccolo to be slinking around in there.

“Not anymore.” She said, putting her basket down and squaring her shoulders.

As she marched up the stairs she paused as she heard something from inside her parents’ room shut and one wooden cabinet drawer clank loudly. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sneak up on Piccolo, or catch him unawares. But she had hoped to at least see what he was doing.

“What do you want?” Piccolo asked as she walked in, in his normal “Piccolo” tone.

“I want to know what is so fascinating about my parents’ room. You’re up hear constantly.” She crossed her arms and scowled.

“Ask me tomorrow. I’m not going to deal with you today…not in the mood your in.”

Pan’s eyes widened. “And what’s that suppose to mean? I’m just fine!”

Piccolo grunted and walked past her. “I answer to no one girl.”

Pan grabbed his arm. “You’ll answer to me, or I’ll kick you out.”

Piccolo snatched her intrusive hand away and practically glided down the steps. When he was on the first floor, and staring up at her, his lips twitched up into a half smirk. “I’d very much enjoy seeing you try.”

With that said, he turned and marched into Gohan’s room, careful not to wake him.

“Such a bad day.” She mumbled, walking into her parents room. “Just what were you up to?”

She looked around the room for any sign of a disturbance, but found nothing. One thing was certain, Piccolo had a keen knack for being unnoticeable.

But wait.

She’d heard a drawer shut, hadn’t she? Yes, a wooden cabinet drawer was quickly and loudly shut as she neared the top of the stairs. Good, there were only two to pick from. The first had knick-knacks of her mother’s. Wooden animals, class flowers, an ivory elephant, and some jewelry. But definitely nothing Piccolo would have been interested in.

The second was full of photos. Old ones, new ones, hundreds of pictures and cut outs from years past and decades ago were present. At least three huge albums were inside, and Pan took them out and laid them on the made-up bed. She vaguely remembered her parents working on these throughout the years, but never paid it much thought.

The first, dated the earliest, was deep green with leaves and vines imprinted on the front. The second was gold with offwhite outlines. The last was a crimson velvet, with leather straps. Pan opened up the first page and saw copies of very old pictures from her grandfather’s childhood. The Supreme Martial Arts Tournaments, Krillin, Yamcha, Master Roshi, Bulma, Lunch, Tien, Chautsu, Oolong, Puar. All of them were outlined or highlighted, cut out and labeled. Someone had put a lot of thought and care into this. Mostly, it had been her father.

XxXx--

“Daddy?” Came the voice of a five year old Pan, clad in a light blue sleeping dress (how her mother had forced her to wear it, Gohan didn’t know), rubbing her eyes as she entered the kitchen.

Gohan looked over to the clock, it read 1:17 am.

“Panny, what are you doing up this late?” He asked, and she walked into the light.

“I’m thirsty, and I had a bad dream.” She said, sounding utterly putout.

“I’m sorry honey.” Gohan said, picking her up and placing her on his knee. “Want me to make you a glass of water?”

“Hm-hum.” She agreed, and Gohan sat her in his chair to fix the water.

She looked over the table and saw all the strips of paper, glue brushes, faded pictures and newspaper cutouts.

“Daddy, what’s all this?” She asked, touching the leather bound book, full of blank pages. “What kind of book don’t have any words?”

Gohan laughed quietly, praying Videl didn’t hear them and wonder downstairs. If she did, there’d be HFIL to pay.

“It’s a photo album. You put pictures in it, so they’ll stay protected and looking nice.”

“Oh.” She said, plopping into her father’s lap as he handed her the water and sat back down.

“Are any of the pictures of me?” She asked, taking a sip.

“Well of course, I’m going to devote a whole book to you.” Gohan said, touching her cheek. “You’re my princess.”

She giggled. “I don’t want to be a princess, I want to be a fighter!”

“Oh.” Gohan said, sounding contemplative.

“Then you’re my little warrior. Like that better?”

She shook her head enthusiastically and grinned. “Yep.”

“But, you know, I didn’t think warriors were allowed to be so cute.” He chuckled at her soured face and ruffled her hair.

“You’re done with your water, so it’s time for bed.” Gohan said, taking the empty glass and putting it in the sink.

“Tuck me in. Tuck me in.” She repeated.

“I already did…” He paused. “Four hours ago.”

“Again! Again!” She said, more loudly.

“Shhh!” Gohan said, sneaking a peak upstairs for any sign of a light. When there wasn’t one, he let out a breath. “Okay, but make it quick.”

She jumped up and darted for the stairs, but was careful to climb them slowly and quietly. She too, realized it would be very bad to wake up her mother.

As they reached her door and entered, Gohan turned on a night lamp.

“This should keep those nightmare away.” He said, sitting on the edge of her bed while she crawled between the covers.

“G’night daddy.” She cooed, sounding like a true five year old child.

“Good night Pan.” He said, touching her hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too daddy.” She said, leaning up and hugging his neck.

“Don’t try to grow up too fast, okay?” He said.

“Who wants to grow up?” She asked. “I want to stay little forever.”

“Yeah, well, just remember to enjoy it. All of it. It’ll go by too quick.”

“Okay.” She yawned.

Gohan kissed her forehead and stood up. He turned to walk out, but paused to take another look at her before he left the room. She was beautiful. His Pan.

“My princess…and warrior.” He said, after he closed the door softly.

XxXx--

Pan wiped away a tear. She couldn’t get nostalgic right now, she had two other albums to discover. So this was what interested Piccolo so.

Piccolo.

Pan felt a stab of quilt hit her, so she made her way down the stairs to apologize. She was mean at times, and pushy. But she knew when to admit she was wrong.

She’d not much more than made it two the last step when she felt it, a tremor of…something hit her. Something that sent her backing up against the wall, hugging herself for security.

“W-what…was that?” She asked no one in particular.

“Pan!” Came Piccolo’s voice from the doorway to the spare bedroom. He didn’t sound normal, but he also didn’t sound panicked. But, then, what does Piccolo sound like when he’s panicked anyway?

Something was showing on Piccolo’s face. Some emotion. Fear? Worry? Pan couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t good whatever it was.

“Come here quick.” He said, and it was all he could do to keep himself from grabbing her and throwing her into the room.

“Why? What it is?” She asked, though she barely recognized her own voice as the words exited her mouth.

“I think…” Piccolo swallowed. “I think it’s time.”

“B-but-” She was cut off by a painfully loud intake of breath from her father.

Instantly she was beside him, practically laying on the bed with him.

“Daddy?”

He didn’t answer.

“Oh, please don’t go yet. I haven’t…” She swallowed a sob. “I haven’t said goodbye.”

Piccolo was nearby, she could tell somehow. But her focus was on her father at the moment. He was still breathing, raspy and unsteady, but breathing nonetheless.

“P…Pan?” Gohan managed, then opened his eyes. “Pan?”

“I’m here dad.” She said.

Gohan’s eyes swam in his head, and his chest felt as though it would burst open any moment. He looked around, but didn’t see. He knew Piccolo was close by, but couldn’t see or hear him. Pan was beside him, holding him.

“I’m here.” Piccolo said calmly, answering Gohan’s silent question.

For several minutes nothing was said or done, but then Pan spoke.

“Daddy, I just want you to know how much I love you.” She didn’t even bother wiping away any tears that streaked down her reddened face. “You’ve been so good to me and mom. You did everything right. I don’t have any regrets, not a single one.”

She felt him squeeze her hand, and she continued.

“I know you wanted to make things better for me than they were for you, you know what I mean. And, you did that. I couldn’t of asked for a better father. I should have told you this sooner, or been a better daughter somehow…you deserve the best.”

Gohan had his own tears by then, and held his empty hand up to touch her face. “Wouldn’t …of wanted…anyone…but you.” He said, lowly and breathily, but clearly. “No regrets.”

She smiled. “No regrets.”

He smiled to, a shaky one, but genuine.

Piccolo didn’t move or breathe for a while, afraid he’d interrupt such a…delicate moment. Ignorance on family issues was one thing, but knowing when to shut up and let sentiments be sentiments was something completely different.

Without warning Pan used her free hand to clasp Piccolo’s, without even bothering to turn away from the bed. Piccolo tensed instantly, but eventually relaxed into the new contact. At this point, he would just have to go with the flow of things. For one of the very few times in his life his feelings, and not his intellect, were taking control of his actions.

Pan pulled Piccolo over to her and Gohan, until all three were side by side, touching in some way. Piccolo had never been in such a predicament before, but it wasn’t until days later that he let himself worry about how weak he must have looked. He was hurting too, as much as Pan…if not more. Gohan was truly the son he’d never had, and he was dying.

It didn’t take long, for that both Pan and Piccolo were grateful, Gohan didn’t have to keep suffering. It was only when his grip was completely gone, and no trace of his ki could be sensed, that Pan allowed herself to completely break down and weep. Her father was gone, she knew, to a better place.

Piccolo didn’t let go of Pan’s hand or Gohan’s, for he’d had a hold on them both, until Pan was finished crying and ready to do what was necessary of her. She held up better than Piccolo had imagined she would have. But then, she was Son Pan.

She was her father’s daughter.
“Death is a dialogue between

The spirit and the dust.

“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,

I have another trust.”

Death doubts it, argues from the ground.

The Spirit turns away,

Just laying off, for evidence,

An overcoat of clay…

Death sets a thing significant

The eye had hurried by,

Except a perished creature

Entreat us tenderly…

Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves

And immortality.” - Emily Dickinson

What can be said of the funeral? The wake was elaborate, no expense spared; the burial was even more grand. His tomb stone was marked, next to his wife, and read:

Son Gohan

Loving Husband and Father,

Brother and Son.

A Cherished Friend.

Forever Loved,

Forever Remembered.

-Rest In Peace-

Well written, and very true. All who knew him, knew it to be so. And all who knew him, mourned. And all who loved him, would never forget.

“Death sets a thing significant?” Piccolo repeated, as he rewound the memory of Gohan’s funeral in his head, for what seemed the millionth time.

Three months had passed, and Piccolo repeated that line the preacher had stated daily. The phrase didn’t make sense, at least to Piccolo.

“He was significant before he died.” Piccolo had argued with himself at first. “He was important and significant to me and a dozen others. That preacher didn’t know what he was talking about.”

But, now, Piccolo understood a little better what that phrase had meant. But he was drawn full force into the present when he heard a child’s wail from the water below.

The kid had fallen in again.

Piccolo floated down quickly and scooped up the tiny life, and put it back on the embankment.

“I told you to stay away from the water. You’re too young to swim.” Piccolo crossed his arms and the little one tried to do the same, but fell over from lack of balance.

“Still not mastered standing up yet, eh?” Piccolo said, but less sarcastic than he’d intended.

“Abbsagooo.” The little child said, trying in an earnest effort to stand up again. He succeeded.

“Practice makes perfect kid.” Piccolo said. “And you’d better be grateful that I met Gohan before you, or you‘d be in for a rude awakening.”

The child smiled, his antennae bouncing along with his head and his pointed elfin ears twitching at the odd sound that he could make. Then he looked up at Piccolo, his father.

“Goggaan.” He said, and Piccolo smirked. He’d certainly said the name enough around the kid.

“Yeah, he’s the one to blame.” Piccolo said. “You’re all his fault.”

The child yawned and tried to grab a hold of his father’s gi, but fell. So Piccolo picked the child up and let him sleep in his lap while he meditated. Déjà vu kicked in forcefully and Piccolo had to suppress and memory of Gohan doing the exact same thing, many years earlier.

“Death sets a thing significant.” He repeated again, by now he fully understood it’s meaning.

Gohan’s death had born in Piccolo the insatiable urge to…procreate. Why? Who knew, Piccolo didn’t. For weeks after Gohan’s death Piccolo couldn’t think of anything or anyone else but his former student. How would Piccolo be able to live for the next…however many decades or centuries without him?

Then the answer came to him. Gohan’s death allowed for Piccolo to consider something else, someone else. It had made life significant, Piccolo’s life. And Kossu, his son’s, life. And all of it was Gohan’s fault, it was all his doing.

Thank you Gohan. Piccolo thought, looking down at Kossu.

Thanks for everything.

I've been working on this for so long, ever since you made the so called longest post Goku. Hehe.

Damn o.o

Could you grade it?

The word count is there.

You just need to do 26,577 divided by 20, divided by 4, times by 500, times by 2, times by 3.

xD I know how, dont worry. I was just finishing Transformers 2

Lets see.... divide by this multiply by this much then that and this..... O_O WTFFFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

996637.5 which goes to 996,370 = 996,400.......

Tell me I'm wrong

Dont add the gains until after the tourny btw.

Okay, no problem Frieza.
And thanks Cell.

I beat Goku! :]