[fic] ; Mirrored Images
Title: Mirrored Images (part two)
Fandom: Dragon Ball Z (AU...ish. Also within main continuity post-Buu)
Character(s): ...a lot
Pairing(s): several
Word Count: ~20000
Rating: PG-13/R-ish
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Akira Toriyama does along with assorted others.
Warnings: none.
Author's Note: I finally finished this! Aw, yeah!
Summary: After a strange happenstance on his way home from school, Gohan finds himself in an alternate reality where he finds everyone he knows the same...but different.
--
As he entered the Monkey’s Paw three nights later, Gohan was reminded of the time he was five and on Namek, wearing similar armor. Back then, he had felt powerful and safe. Now, he just felt foolish. Like a kid on Halloween. He wasn’t a Saiyan warrior. He was a bookish kid who happened to have saved the world once. He regretted agreeing to this. He should be trying to find a way home. His cover would be blown the moment someone tried to talk to him.
The bar was packed with soldiers. They were dressed in traditional armor and drinking beer or whatever else they had ordered from the bar. Gohan lingered by a few throngs of soldiers, opening to glean some sort of information. What information he was supposed to glean, he had no idea. Neither had the others. They just figured that having something was better than acting and reacting blindly.
“I’m fucking starving here!” A voice near the front of the bar caught him.
Gohan stopped and slowly turned his head.
No…no, no. No, no, no.
His feet moved forward as he pushed through people, not caring who he jostled-it would probably help his disguise anyway. Near the front of the bar was a young warrior. In one hand, he held a mug of beer. In the other, he held the remains of what was maybe a sandwich while he declared that he was still hungry and demanded more food. Gohan’s mouth went dry and he suddenly felt like crying as all the hope he had stored up for the past three days left him in one, great whoosh.
“You’re always hungry, Kakarrot,” another soldier reminded him. He seemed a bit older but had similar hair to the soldier as well as an x-shaped scar along one cheek.
Despite his shock, a little voice in his head noted that some things didn’t change. Standing at the bar, swilling beer was his father.
“Hey, I had an amazing fucking day!” he said brightly to the other soldier. “I deserve this.”
They were joined by a third soldier, who slung an arm around his dad’s shoulders. Gohan recognized him. It was Raditz, his uncle who started everything by coming to Earth all those years ago.
“Me and my baby brother lit it up!” he cried joyously, pumping one fist in the air.
Gohan felt sick to his stomach.
“Those are my boys,” the other soldier said, smirking. “Makin’ me fucking proud.”
Boys? Gohan realized that the scarred man with his father’s hair who had reminded him of his appetite was their father-his grandfather. That barely registered, though, as he looked at his father: dressed in Saiyan battle armor and with a full-of-himself expression on his face. He knew his dad to be confident but he never had that look on his face. Someone who knew they were powerful. Knew they were-to be perfectly uncouth-King Turd of Shit Mountain. It was a look Vegeta often wore and not one he ever expected to see on his father.
Raditz and his father-Gohan shook his head. Like with Chi-Chi, he had to break that connection here. In this case, he had to really break the connection because, while he may look like him, he knew that that was definitely not his father. Raditz and Kakarrot beamed at their dad and put their arms around him as well. A small pang hit Gohan in the chest. Even if they were monsters, they were a family. They seemed to care about each other.
Maybe I can get information from him…just…just talk to him.
He knew that was a bad idea. Kakarrot would probably ask why he suddenly burst into tears while talking to him. It was best, probably, to avoid him.
The door to the bar opened and everyone seemed to stop talking. Gohan looked around to see that the soldiers had their eyes on the door and were standing at attention.
“Move aside,” a gruff voice commanded.
It was another voice Gohan knew but hadn’t heard since he was very small. Even so, he would recognize the gruff, mocking tones anywhere. The way he joyously killed all of his friends. It was Nappa.
The enormous man strode forward, pushing soldiers aside as he walked. Those who dared give him a dirty look got a fist to the gut for their trouble. Gohan noticed, with some measure of shock, that one of the soldiers Nappa hit looked suspiciously like Broly.
He wasn’t surprised to see, trailing behind Nappa, Vegeta. He was dressed differently, looking much as he had when he first came to earth. A red crest adorned his armor on the chest plate and a red cape was attached to his shoulders. At his appearance, the soldiers-even those who had been punched by Nappa-got down on one knee.
“Get up,” he commanded. “I’m not here as your prince. I am here as a fellow soldier.”
The men shakily rose to their feet, as if they thought he was testing them or something. Gohan noticed a few staring at him oddly and he realized that he hadn’t bowed. His cover was probably blown.
Instead, the one he thought looked like Broly smirked at him and nodded his head, still clutching his stomach where he had been hit. Gohan quirked a brow. That was strange.
“Your majesty.” Gohan’s grandfather-he still wasn’t sure of his name-moved aside to let Vegeta get a stool.
He didn’t take it. Instead, he glanced from Nappa to the bar and narrowed his eyes in a glare.
“I’m going for a walk,” he remarked, lifting his chin up as if to defy anyone who would try to stop them. As if anybody would. “It’s too crowded in here.”
He began leaving and Nappa started after him but Vegeta raised one, gloved hand to stop him.
“Alone,” he said, leveling the much larger man with a stare.
“But, your majesty-”
“Do you think I can’t handle myself alone, General?”
Nappa furiously shook his head. “No, your majesty, but-”
“Then it’s not an issue. I’ll see you later.”
Purposefully, he strode from the bar and it gave Gohan an idea. Rather than standing around, feeling foolish and looking at the man who wasn’t his father, he could follow the prince and gain information that way. He discreetly followed him, making sure to leave a few moments after him to make it look like he wasn’t following him but to also not lose him.
He had no trouble spotting Vegeta outside. Under the glow of the streetlamps, his white armor was bright. The other soldiers were all in black but his was gleaming and almost pearlescent. Perks of royalty, he guessed.
Gohan followed Vegeta for a few blocks, wondering where in the hell he was going. His steps were determined, as if he had a destination, but was in no hurry to get there. Finally, he stopped in front of what looked like a motel. Gohan couldn’t make out the actual sign but a neon “vacancy” sign flashed onto the street, making him figure that it had to be a motel. He couldn’t help but notice that the red light of the sign flashing on Vegeta’s face made him look rather devilish.
He pressed himself against a wall opposite the motel and hoped he couldn’t see him. He wasn’t sure if this Vegeta could sense ki like the regular Vegeta but he kept his suppressed nonetheless.
Vegeta was just standing under the light of the sign, his arms folded. His eyes were scanning the darkness and Gohan wondered if he knew he was following him. Finally, a new person slithered from the shadows and Gohan saw the prince’s lips curve up in a smile. So he was meeting someone.
He didn’t recognize the slender form at first as she was bathed entirely in shadow. It wasn’t until she stepped under the red vacancy light did Gohan nearly swallow his tongue.
“Hello, my prince.” Bulma ran her finger under Vegeta’s chin and smirked. “Waiting long?”
Gohan pressed himself further against the brick wall of the building, feeling the hard rocks jab into his spine but not caring. He did not sign up for this. He came to get information, not find out that one of the members of the Resistance was apparently seeing the man who was next in line for the throne they were trying to overthrow. He wondered for a moment, though, if Bulma was simply spying on him in order to gain information her own way. He wasn’t sure about this universe’s Bulma but his wasn’t that good an actress.
The ambient temperature on the street rose as she slipped her arms around his neck and started kissing him slowly and passionately. They broke apart for a moment and stared into each other’s eyes. Gently, Bulma took his hand and led him into the motel.
--
The next day, Gohan went along with Chi-Chi to what she called her “front.” It was a restaurant where she worked and served the Saiyans, pretending to be a good citizen who wasn’t starting a revolution in a rundown bar. He helped her for a couple of hours, cleaning dishes and helping her prepare food.
He decided last night to keep his mouth shut about Bulma and Vegeta. On some level, even, he was a bit comforted by it. Them being together, however forbidden, was like a callback to his own world. After a few days here, he found himself wishing more than ever to get back home. He had tried pressing Bulma about the Dragon Balls in order to do so but she had had no idea what he was talking about. And if she didn’t even know what they were, there was no Dragon Radar, which meant he’d be blind in trying to find them to wish himself home.
“You’re pretty good at this, Gohan,” Chi-Chi observed.
He blushed a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I helped out a little at home when my dad was dead.”
She frowned and put a warm hand on the side of his face. “Your father died?”
“But he got better,” he blurted without meaning to.
“What?”
“What?” he echoed, quickly cutting her off.
Chi-Chi shook her head and went back to steaming rice. She turned to him and frowned slightly.
“You know what’s weird, Gohan?” she asked. Before he could reply, she pressed on. “Ever since you’ve come here, I’ve felt strangely protective over you. Like you’re my little brother or something.”
He felt his face heat up but he responded with a shaky smile. “Uh…thanks.”
He was grateful when one of the servers came back into the kitchen to end the awkward conversation.
“Cheech?” she asked, tucking thin brown hair behind her ears. “Some rude Saiyan wants to talk to you-you know the one who’s always in here and nearly runs out our food cost everyday? That guy. He wants to compliment you.”
Chi-Chi pulled a disgusted face but started out there anyway. Gohan trailed after her, hoping that this apparent bottomless pit of a soldier was who he thought it was. Or not hoping. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see his father at this point.
He wasn’t surprised to see that it was Kakarrot sitting at the table, devouring what seemed to be at least his fifth plate of food.
“You’re the chef?” he asked through a full mouth.
Chi-Chi nodded, giving him a half-lidded stare.
“Yes. You said you wanted to tell me something?”
He nodded and swallowed loudly before continuing. “Your cooking’s really good. Like, really good. You should have your own show.”
Gohan noticed a small blush creep onto Chi-Chi’s face and suppressed his sudden urge to play matchmaker. No. These weren’t his parents. They were Chi-Chi and Kakarrot.
“Thank you,” she said curtly but her cheeks were still tinged a pale pink. “I think you’d know since you’ve practically eaten my whole stock today.”
“That’s not all I can eat.” Kakarrot was smiling devilishly.
Her cheeks went beet red but her eyes narrowed.
“Disgusting!” she snapped.
His smile merely widened. Chi-Chi whirled on her heel and stomped back to the kitchen. Gohan smiled at him and started backing away. Kakarrot tilted his head.
“Wait, stay. You look kind of familiar.”
Because I look like you.
If not that, Gohan realized that he may have recognized him from the bar last night. He gulped.
“I have one of those faces,” he replied and bowed a little before rushing back into the kitchen after Chi-Chi.
She was banging around the kitchen, growling under her breath. She slammed pots together and dropped plates angrily into the soapy, warm water that filled the sink.
“The nerve of those soldiers!” she growled. “Disgusting, disgusting. All of them.”
If he were to be honest with himself, Gohan was a little shaken. To see his father-not his father, he repeated to himself to try and hammer that in-obviously referencing oral sex was shocking to say the least.
“Yeah…” he said distractedly. “…Disgusting…”
--
Gohan finally got a chance to talk to Bulma privately when he went back to the bar that night. She was alone at her rickety desk, tweaking Yamcha’s favorite gun. He knocked gently on the particleboard, trying not to shatter it. He had managed to keep his strength hidden from them for the most part by being careful and keeping his ki suppressed.
“Bulma? Can we talk?”
She glanced up at him, her eyes warped and huge by the magnifying goggles she wore. She pushed them up into her close-cropped hair and smiled.
“Sure thing, Gohan. What’s up?”
He stepped fully in the room and closed the wafer-thin door. He wanted to let her know that he knew and that he would keep it secret. If anything, it would let them know that they could fully trust him. With everything.
“I, uh, went to that bar last night-the Saiyan bar. You know, like you guys wanted me to.”
She nodded. “Yeah, how did that go?”
He sat on the edge of her cot and shrugged.
“Not too well. They didn’t notice me but I didn’t hear anything either. They were mostly drunk. But, uh, the prince came in.”
If that caused any reaction in her, she didn’t show it. Her face was schooled in a neutral expression.
“And he left soon after but I followed him to, you know, see if I could get information that way.”
Something on her face changed for a moment. Her mouth drooped open for a fraction of a second before she regained her neutral look again.
“And…” Gohan took a deep breath before he continued. “And I followed him to this motel. Where he met you.”
Bulma stared at him for what felt like an eternity before she spoke. Her hands lay motionless in her lap and her gaze left Gohan’s and instead settled somewhere on the floor. He realized that maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe this would turn them against him. Then again, he still wasn’t used to this life. He wasn’t sure how to act.
“We’ve been seeing each other for eight months now,” she finally said quietly.
“How did you-”
She removed the goggles fully off of her head and placed them on her desk. She rubbed at the red mark they left on her forehead and sighed.
“It was at a protest-before we went all cloak and dagger. I threw a bottle at him and he caught it in one hand. We started talking…and then meeting in secret. And then, well, sleeping together.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Gohan promised. “I mean, I just wanted to let you know that I know…does anyone know?”
She shook her head. “No. Or, if they did, I’d say I was spying on him. Trying to get close and, at the beginning when we were just talking, that was what it was going to be but…I love him. He’s not...like how he is in public. Ruthless and cold. Not with me.”
Bulma got up and joined him on the edge of her cot. She gently placed her hand on his arm and gave him a soft smile.
“It’s not just that,” she said. “If you can keep that secret, Gohan, can you keep another?”
He nodded, unsure what was going to follow. She lifted her other hand and rested it on her stomach. Her expression switched from one of serenity to that of slight fear.
“I’m pregnant,” she told him, voice shaking only slightly.
“Are you afraid of what he’ll do when he finds out?” Gohan couldn’t imagine Vegeta being very happy about finding out that the ‘commoner’ he was secretly sleeping with was carrying his child.
Bulma gave him a perplexed look as if that never occurred to her. “Of course not. I’m afraid of how the others will react. That I’m, you know, sleeping with the enemy and having his half-alien child.”
“I’m half-alien,” Gohan said without thinking and then grimaced, realizing his mistake.
Bulma frowned. “You are?”
At this point, he had no choice but to nod.
“Yeah. I’m actually half-Saiyan. On my dad’s side.”
He figured it was best to keep it vague rather than try to explain why a man only a few years older than him was his father. A man who had, as far as Gohan knew, never slept with his mother in this universe, let alone married her.
“Your dad who died?” At his confused look, Bulma smiled. “Chi-Chi told me. Was he different? Like how Vegeta’s different?”
Again, she must have read his look because she laughed.
“Well, he’s different with me anyway.”
Gohan gave her a small smile of his own before he continued.
“My dad i-was the best.”
Bulma caught something on the edge of his voice and put a hand on his shoulder.
“If you don’t want to talk about him, we don’t have to. I have to finish tweaking Yamcha’s gun anyway. And…Gohan…thank you. For keeping my secret.”
“Of course. I just want you guys to know that you can trust me. That I’m not some random guy Yamcha pulled off the street-even if I kind of am.”
At that, she laughed and got up off of the cot. Gohan gave her one last smile before he left the room.
Fandom: Dragon Ball Z (AU...ish. Also within main continuity post-Buu)
Character(s): ...a lot
Pairing(s): several
Word Count: ~20000
Rating: PG-13/R-ish
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Akira Toriyama does along with assorted others.
Warnings: none.
Author's Note: I finally finished this! Aw, yeah!
Summary: After a strange happenstance on his way home from school, Gohan finds himself in an alternate reality where he finds everyone he knows the same...but different.
--
As he entered the Monkey’s Paw three nights later, Gohan was reminded of the time he was five and on Namek, wearing similar armor. Back then, he had felt powerful and safe. Now, he just felt foolish. Like a kid on Halloween. He wasn’t a Saiyan warrior. He was a bookish kid who happened to have saved the world once. He regretted agreeing to this. He should be trying to find a way home. His cover would be blown the moment someone tried to talk to him.
The bar was packed with soldiers. They were dressed in traditional armor and drinking beer or whatever else they had ordered from the bar. Gohan lingered by a few throngs of soldiers, opening to glean some sort of information. What information he was supposed to glean, he had no idea. Neither had the others. They just figured that having something was better than acting and reacting blindly.
“I’m fucking starving here!” A voice near the front of the bar caught him.
Gohan stopped and slowly turned his head.
No…no, no. No, no, no.
His feet moved forward as he pushed through people, not caring who he jostled-it would probably help his disguise anyway. Near the front of the bar was a young warrior. In one hand, he held a mug of beer. In the other, he held the remains of what was maybe a sandwich while he declared that he was still hungry and demanded more food. Gohan’s mouth went dry and he suddenly felt like crying as all the hope he had stored up for the past three days left him in one, great whoosh.
“You’re always hungry, Kakarrot,” another soldier reminded him. He seemed a bit older but had similar hair to the soldier as well as an x-shaped scar along one cheek.
Despite his shock, a little voice in his head noted that some things didn’t change. Standing at the bar, swilling beer was his father.
“Hey, I had an amazing fucking day!” he said brightly to the other soldier. “I deserve this.”
They were joined by a third soldier, who slung an arm around his dad’s shoulders. Gohan recognized him. It was Raditz, his uncle who started everything by coming to Earth all those years ago.
“Me and my baby brother lit it up!” he cried joyously, pumping one fist in the air.
Gohan felt sick to his stomach.
“Those are my boys,” the other soldier said, smirking. “Makin’ me fucking proud.”
Boys? Gohan realized that the scarred man with his father’s hair who had reminded him of his appetite was their father-his grandfather. That barely registered, though, as he looked at his father: dressed in Saiyan battle armor and with a full-of-himself expression on his face. He knew his dad to be confident but he never had that look on his face. Someone who knew they were powerful. Knew they were-to be perfectly uncouth-King Turd of Shit Mountain. It was a look Vegeta often wore and not one he ever expected to see on his father.
Raditz and his father-Gohan shook his head. Like with Chi-Chi, he had to break that connection here. In this case, he had to really break the connection because, while he may look like him, he knew that that was definitely not his father. Raditz and Kakarrot beamed at their dad and put their arms around him as well. A small pang hit Gohan in the chest. Even if they were monsters, they were a family. They seemed to care about each other.
Maybe I can get information from him…just…just talk to him.
He knew that was a bad idea. Kakarrot would probably ask why he suddenly burst into tears while talking to him. It was best, probably, to avoid him.
The door to the bar opened and everyone seemed to stop talking. Gohan looked around to see that the soldiers had their eyes on the door and were standing at attention.
“Move aside,” a gruff voice commanded.
It was another voice Gohan knew but hadn’t heard since he was very small. Even so, he would recognize the gruff, mocking tones anywhere. The way he joyously killed all of his friends. It was Nappa.
The enormous man strode forward, pushing soldiers aside as he walked. Those who dared give him a dirty look got a fist to the gut for their trouble. Gohan noticed, with some measure of shock, that one of the soldiers Nappa hit looked suspiciously like Broly.
He wasn’t surprised to see, trailing behind Nappa, Vegeta. He was dressed differently, looking much as he had when he first came to earth. A red crest adorned his armor on the chest plate and a red cape was attached to his shoulders. At his appearance, the soldiers-even those who had been punched by Nappa-got down on one knee.
“Get up,” he commanded. “I’m not here as your prince. I am here as a fellow soldier.”
The men shakily rose to their feet, as if they thought he was testing them or something. Gohan noticed a few staring at him oddly and he realized that he hadn’t bowed. His cover was probably blown.
Instead, the one he thought looked like Broly smirked at him and nodded his head, still clutching his stomach where he had been hit. Gohan quirked a brow. That was strange.
“Your majesty.” Gohan’s grandfather-he still wasn’t sure of his name-moved aside to let Vegeta get a stool.
He didn’t take it. Instead, he glanced from Nappa to the bar and narrowed his eyes in a glare.
“I’m going for a walk,” he remarked, lifting his chin up as if to defy anyone who would try to stop them. As if anybody would. “It’s too crowded in here.”
He began leaving and Nappa started after him but Vegeta raised one, gloved hand to stop him.
“Alone,” he said, leveling the much larger man with a stare.
“But, your majesty-”
“Do you think I can’t handle myself alone, General?”
Nappa furiously shook his head. “No, your majesty, but-”
“Then it’s not an issue. I’ll see you later.”
Purposefully, he strode from the bar and it gave Gohan an idea. Rather than standing around, feeling foolish and looking at the man who wasn’t his father, he could follow the prince and gain information that way. He discreetly followed him, making sure to leave a few moments after him to make it look like he wasn’t following him but to also not lose him.
He had no trouble spotting Vegeta outside. Under the glow of the streetlamps, his white armor was bright. The other soldiers were all in black but his was gleaming and almost pearlescent. Perks of royalty, he guessed.
Gohan followed Vegeta for a few blocks, wondering where in the hell he was going. His steps were determined, as if he had a destination, but was in no hurry to get there. Finally, he stopped in front of what looked like a motel. Gohan couldn’t make out the actual sign but a neon “vacancy” sign flashed onto the street, making him figure that it had to be a motel. He couldn’t help but notice that the red light of the sign flashing on Vegeta’s face made him look rather devilish.
He pressed himself against a wall opposite the motel and hoped he couldn’t see him. He wasn’t sure if this Vegeta could sense ki like the regular Vegeta but he kept his suppressed nonetheless.
Vegeta was just standing under the light of the sign, his arms folded. His eyes were scanning the darkness and Gohan wondered if he knew he was following him. Finally, a new person slithered from the shadows and Gohan saw the prince’s lips curve up in a smile. So he was meeting someone.
He didn’t recognize the slender form at first as she was bathed entirely in shadow. It wasn’t until she stepped under the red vacancy light did Gohan nearly swallow his tongue.
“Hello, my prince.” Bulma ran her finger under Vegeta’s chin and smirked. “Waiting long?”
Gohan pressed himself further against the brick wall of the building, feeling the hard rocks jab into his spine but not caring. He did not sign up for this. He came to get information, not find out that one of the members of the Resistance was apparently seeing the man who was next in line for the throne they were trying to overthrow. He wondered for a moment, though, if Bulma was simply spying on him in order to gain information her own way. He wasn’t sure about this universe’s Bulma but his wasn’t that good an actress.
The ambient temperature on the street rose as she slipped her arms around his neck and started kissing him slowly and passionately. They broke apart for a moment and stared into each other’s eyes. Gently, Bulma took his hand and led him into the motel.
--
The next day, Gohan went along with Chi-Chi to what she called her “front.” It was a restaurant where she worked and served the Saiyans, pretending to be a good citizen who wasn’t starting a revolution in a rundown bar. He helped her for a couple of hours, cleaning dishes and helping her prepare food.
He decided last night to keep his mouth shut about Bulma and Vegeta. On some level, even, he was a bit comforted by it. Them being together, however forbidden, was like a callback to his own world. After a few days here, he found himself wishing more than ever to get back home. He had tried pressing Bulma about the Dragon Balls in order to do so but she had had no idea what he was talking about. And if she didn’t even know what they were, there was no Dragon Radar, which meant he’d be blind in trying to find them to wish himself home.
“You’re pretty good at this, Gohan,” Chi-Chi observed.
He blushed a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I helped out a little at home when my dad was dead.”
She frowned and put a warm hand on the side of his face. “Your father died?”
“But he got better,” he blurted without meaning to.
“What?”
“What?” he echoed, quickly cutting her off.
Chi-Chi shook her head and went back to steaming rice. She turned to him and frowned slightly.
“You know what’s weird, Gohan?” she asked. Before he could reply, she pressed on. “Ever since you’ve come here, I’ve felt strangely protective over you. Like you’re my little brother or something.”
He felt his face heat up but he responded with a shaky smile. “Uh…thanks.”
He was grateful when one of the servers came back into the kitchen to end the awkward conversation.
“Cheech?” she asked, tucking thin brown hair behind her ears. “Some rude Saiyan wants to talk to you-you know the one who’s always in here and nearly runs out our food cost everyday? That guy. He wants to compliment you.”
Chi-Chi pulled a disgusted face but started out there anyway. Gohan trailed after her, hoping that this apparent bottomless pit of a soldier was who he thought it was. Or not hoping. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see his father at this point.
He wasn’t surprised to see that it was Kakarrot sitting at the table, devouring what seemed to be at least his fifth plate of food.
“You’re the chef?” he asked through a full mouth.
Chi-Chi nodded, giving him a half-lidded stare.
“Yes. You said you wanted to tell me something?”
He nodded and swallowed loudly before continuing. “Your cooking’s really good. Like, really good. You should have your own show.”
Gohan noticed a small blush creep onto Chi-Chi’s face and suppressed his sudden urge to play matchmaker. No. These weren’t his parents. They were Chi-Chi and Kakarrot.
“Thank you,” she said curtly but her cheeks were still tinged a pale pink. “I think you’d know since you’ve practically eaten my whole stock today.”
“That’s not all I can eat.” Kakarrot was smiling devilishly.
Her cheeks went beet red but her eyes narrowed.
“Disgusting!” she snapped.
His smile merely widened. Chi-Chi whirled on her heel and stomped back to the kitchen. Gohan smiled at him and started backing away. Kakarrot tilted his head.
“Wait, stay. You look kind of familiar.”
Because I look like you.
If not that, Gohan realized that he may have recognized him from the bar last night. He gulped.
“I have one of those faces,” he replied and bowed a little before rushing back into the kitchen after Chi-Chi.
She was banging around the kitchen, growling under her breath. She slammed pots together and dropped plates angrily into the soapy, warm water that filled the sink.
“The nerve of those soldiers!” she growled. “Disgusting, disgusting. All of them.”
If he were to be honest with himself, Gohan was a little shaken. To see his father-not his father, he repeated to himself to try and hammer that in-obviously referencing oral sex was shocking to say the least.
“Yeah…” he said distractedly. “…Disgusting…”
--
Gohan finally got a chance to talk to Bulma privately when he went back to the bar that night. She was alone at her rickety desk, tweaking Yamcha’s favorite gun. He knocked gently on the particleboard, trying not to shatter it. He had managed to keep his strength hidden from them for the most part by being careful and keeping his ki suppressed.
“Bulma? Can we talk?”
She glanced up at him, her eyes warped and huge by the magnifying goggles she wore. She pushed them up into her close-cropped hair and smiled.
“Sure thing, Gohan. What’s up?”
He stepped fully in the room and closed the wafer-thin door. He wanted to let her know that he knew and that he would keep it secret. If anything, it would let them know that they could fully trust him. With everything.
“I, uh, went to that bar last night-the Saiyan bar. You know, like you guys wanted me to.”
She nodded. “Yeah, how did that go?”
He sat on the edge of her cot and shrugged.
“Not too well. They didn’t notice me but I didn’t hear anything either. They were mostly drunk. But, uh, the prince came in.”
If that caused any reaction in her, she didn’t show it. Her face was schooled in a neutral expression.
“And he left soon after but I followed him to, you know, see if I could get information that way.”
Something on her face changed for a moment. Her mouth drooped open for a fraction of a second before she regained her neutral look again.
“And…” Gohan took a deep breath before he continued. “And I followed him to this motel. Where he met you.”
Bulma stared at him for what felt like an eternity before she spoke. Her hands lay motionless in her lap and her gaze left Gohan’s and instead settled somewhere on the floor. He realized that maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe this would turn them against him. Then again, he still wasn’t used to this life. He wasn’t sure how to act.
“We’ve been seeing each other for eight months now,” she finally said quietly.
“How did you-”
She removed the goggles fully off of her head and placed them on her desk. She rubbed at the red mark they left on her forehead and sighed.
“It was at a protest-before we went all cloak and dagger. I threw a bottle at him and he caught it in one hand. We started talking…and then meeting in secret. And then, well, sleeping together.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Gohan promised. “I mean, I just wanted to let you know that I know…does anyone know?”
She shook her head. “No. Or, if they did, I’d say I was spying on him. Trying to get close and, at the beginning when we were just talking, that was what it was going to be but…I love him. He’s not...like how he is in public. Ruthless and cold. Not with me.”
Bulma got up and joined him on the edge of her cot. She gently placed her hand on his arm and gave him a soft smile.
“It’s not just that,” she said. “If you can keep that secret, Gohan, can you keep another?”
He nodded, unsure what was going to follow. She lifted her other hand and rested it on her stomach. Her expression switched from one of serenity to that of slight fear.
“I’m pregnant,” she told him, voice shaking only slightly.
“Are you afraid of what he’ll do when he finds out?” Gohan couldn’t imagine Vegeta being very happy about finding out that the ‘commoner’ he was secretly sleeping with was carrying his child.
Bulma gave him a perplexed look as if that never occurred to her. “Of course not. I’m afraid of how the others will react. That I’m, you know, sleeping with the enemy and having his half-alien child.”
“I’m half-alien,” Gohan said without thinking and then grimaced, realizing his mistake.
Bulma frowned. “You are?”
At this point, he had no choice but to nod.
“Yeah. I’m actually half-Saiyan. On my dad’s side.”
He figured it was best to keep it vague rather than try to explain why a man only a few years older than him was his father. A man who had, as far as Gohan knew, never slept with his mother in this universe, let alone married her.
“Your dad who died?” At his confused look, Bulma smiled. “Chi-Chi told me. Was he different? Like how Vegeta’s different?”
Again, she must have read his look because she laughed.
“Well, he’s different with me anyway.”
Gohan gave her a small smile of his own before he continued.
“My dad i-was the best.”
Bulma caught something on the edge of his voice and put a hand on his shoulder.
“If you don’t want to talk about him, we don’t have to. I have to finish tweaking Yamcha’s gun anyway. And…Gohan…thank you. For keeping my secret.”
“Of course. I just want you guys to know that you can trust me. That I’m not some random guy Yamcha pulled off the street-even if I kind of am.”
At that, she laughed and got up off of the cot. Gohan gave her one last smile before he left the room.