Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Everyone's A Winner! ❯ Chapter 1

“Everyone’s a Winner!”

A/N: After a lot of thinking, I have decided this chapter stands well enough on its own to deserve its own story format. “Errant Exile” readers have seen it before, but I believe new readers interested in the saga but reluctant to tackle such a long story might enjoy this piece as a one-shot. If you’re a regular reader, I apologize for teasing you!

The backstory: Khri first met Piccolo (“One Good Deed”) when he was a child during a special mission on Earth. She returns over thirty years later (“Errant Exile”) to find “Junior” has grown into a powerful Namekian warrior who eventually becomes a friend. Piccolo reluctantly agrees to keep an eye on her but finds himself relieved of this duty when death breaks the deal. He could leave her at any time, but Piccolo struggles with the ties of friendship and his inability to understand this “damned strange female” and what she means to him.

“There you are!”

Piccolo winced as Bulma’s shout echoed down the chilly hallway. That woman wielded her voice like a weapon and it served her well; it could clear a room, get anyone’s attention instantly, and was one of the few things able to make a dent in Vegeta’s thick skull.

A visit to Capsule Corporation was always a risky one, even if the invitation came from the affable Trunks. Most of the employees were used to strange events and even stranger visitors, and Piccolo was finding it increasingly difficult to keep them away using a scowl alone. If he managed to dodge the occasional foolish scientist wanting to ask him about his coloring there was always a chance of running into Bulma or Vegeta. Standing outside the sliding doors labeled “Laboratory C - R&D,” he watched the minute hand tick off another mark. Trunks was running late. Tired from a long day of sparring and irritated at being forced to wait, Piccolo leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. If he’s not here in the next minute, I’m out of here.

That was when Bulma showed up.

“I’ve been looking all over for you!” The petite woman’s voice dropped marginally as she approached, her heels clicking loudly on the hallway’s tile floor. She carried a flat, white box under one arm. “Trunks got stuck in a meeting and asked me to meet you instead.”

Piccolo’s scowl was wasted on her. She’d seen it too many times to let it frighten her anymore. He pushed away from the wall, his sudden movement startling a group of technicians lingering nearby. “If he stills needs to talk he knows where to find me. I’m leaving.”

“Not yet, you’re not!” Bulma shifted the white box she was carrying to her other hip. Her large blue eyes widened and her brow furrowed in worry. “I want to know how Khri’s doing.”

Impatience left him with a sigh. “Still not well,” he said softly. “She won’t leave the house except to sit on the beach and stare at the ocean. She’s eating but not enough and she’s too damn quiet. She’ll watch the television every once in a while but that’s it.” His hands knotted in frustration and he looked away, uncomfortable with the open concern on Bulma’s face. It reminded him too much of his own feelings.

“I can’t imagine what she’s going through. To lose your family, your friends, everything you know and love and to know you’re the only survivor . . . ” Bulma trailed off. “The only one I know of that’s experienced anything like it is Vegeta, but we both know how he deals with his emotions.”

Piccolo snorted. “Khri doesn’t talk with her fists.”

He knew Bulma was dying to ask, ‘how would you know,’ but she had the sense not to pry. “It sounds like she’s got an awful lot of time on her hands. I’ve asked her to go shopping and out to lunch but she keeps refusing. Has she been out at all?”

He frowned at a scuff mark on the floor as he considered the past several weeks. Since their little “sparring session” on the beach, Khri seemed to recover a bit. He’d resumed training for the tournament -- answering Vegeta’s snide remarks with a well-placed punch or kick -– all with her encouragement. Videl and ChiChi, with Pan in tow, had visited several times, mostly to deliver dishes specially concocted to put weight back on Khri’s frame. Gohan had personally delivered a small bag of senzu fresh from old Master Karin’s latest harvest, just in case the food didn’t work. Is it true? Has it really been more than four weeks since Khri left the house?

A impatient heel-tapping brought him back to the present. “I’ll take it that means no,” Bulma snapped. She threw her arms up in the air and nearly dropped the box. “Aargh! You men are all alike! Oh, you’re more than happy to spend your days fighting, loafing, making dirty laundry and eating everything in sight, but when it comes to thinking of somebody else you’re all selfish, brainless jerks!”

“I do not loaf . . . !”

“You!” She poked him in the chest. “You might not have his appetite, but you’re just as bad as Vegeta when it comes to neglecting other people! If Khri is supposed to be your ‘friend,’ then why are you letting her sit and stare at the same four walls all day long?”

“What do you think I’m doing, holding her captive?” he shot back. “She can go out any time she wants! I’m not stopping her!”

Bulma blinked and took a step backward but she refused to relent. “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re not encouraging her either, and that’s going to change right now!” She shoved the box at him. “Here! See that she gets this right away!”

The box was light and rustled when he shook it. “What is it?” he growled suspiciously.

“Khri needs something else to think about besides what she’s lost. Something to take her mind off what’s happened, even if it’s only for one day. When you give it to her, tell her she’s helping me test a new product we’re developing for people who live or work in cold climates.” Bulma’s eyes twinkled with pure malice and she grinned. “She can wear it when you take her to the carnival this weekend.”

“What!?”

“You heard me, and don’t try to pretend you don’t know anything about it! There’s a big carnival this weekend in Satan City. Its part of the festivities building up to the tournament you guys have been training for. There’s going to be a parade, and rides, and all kinds of games . . . ”

“I am not going to such a thing!”

“Oh yes you are!” When she jabbed him again, Piccolo clenched his fists so he wouldn’t break her finger. “That girl needs a distraction and you’re going to give it to her! Besides, I’ve already bought everyone tickets and rented a pavilion for a big cookout,” she added with a smug smile, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “If you’re really worried about Khri, it won’t kill you to sacrifice a little pride to help her feel better!”

“Don’t you remember what happened last time?” Piccolo snapped in complete outrage. A handful of scientists who had been trying to watch without being noticed abruptly vanished behind corners and doors. “I have no intention of subjecting myself to that ever again!”

“I remember it perfectly well! I was the one who paid for everything Vegeta broke, plus the tickets and the fines, and that doesn’t include all the money we shelled out to settle the lawsuits!” Bulma yelled, no doubt still feeling the pain in her bank account. “And Vegeta is going to the carnival too, so you might as well go or you’ll never hear the end of it!”

“Feh. Like I care what Vegeta thinks . . . ”

Bulma moved in for the kill. “Everyone will be there, including Gohan’s family. Just meet us at the gate Saturday morning at ten o’clock sharp. Everyone, and I mean everyone is coming, and that includes you. You don’t have any excuses.” She folded her arms. “Well?”

“I’ll think about it,” Piccolo growled and turned away. The cardboard box tucked under his arm buckled on one side.

“You’ll do more than think about it! You’ll be there!” Bulma’s shout followed him down the hall. “Ten o’clock! And don’t be late!”

“Fine! I’ll bring her! Now just leave me the hell alone!”

The flight back to Khri’s house far to the south should have been a pleasant one. The weather was perfect, and there were still a few hours before the late afternoon thunderstorms made their appearance. Warm winds tugged at Piccolo’s cloak as he flew just above the ocean’s surface, leaving a fine spray of mist in his wake. Dammit, why can’t that female have chi just like everyone else on the planet, he fumed, tightening his grip on the hapless box.

Teleporting to Capsule Corporation was easy thanks to Vegeta or Trunks’ powerful chi but it was always a one way trip. He normally didn’t mind the flight back to her house, but this particular trip gave him too much time to think about the foolish commitment he’d made. It was a small consolation he’d be sharing the humiliation with Vegeta. The box lid crumpled a bit more as his anger and frustration fueled his flight, his speed increasing until a familiar section of coastline came into view. He paused midair and shielded the glare from his eyes. For once there was no forlorn figure sitting near the water’s edge. Piccolo landed softly, tried to smooth some of the wrinkles out of the box, and walked up to open patio doors that faced the ocean.

Khri was in the living room huddled on the sofa, a cup of tea balanced on her knee, staring at the flickering television. At some point during the last week her official mourning period had come to an end. She abandoned her sleeveless uniform tops and switched back to wearing the clothes she’d purchased on Earth. Her hands were tucked into the sleeves of an oversized sweater as she watched steam curl over the top of her teacup. This could be a good sign, Piccolo thought. She hasn’t been sitting there long enough for the tea to get cold. He stepped in front of the television and set the box down on the sofa beside her.

Khri cocked her head and looked up at him, absently tucking a long curl of blonde hair behind her ear. ‘Leonids lose their warrior plaits on a regular basis,’ she had explained after catching his look of disgust at her ragged hair. ‘We cut them in honor of fallen friends and when a close family member dies. I’ve lost it in battle at least twice before. It’s a good thing we can grow them back in a few days if we want . . . we feel naked without them.’ He had intentionally ignored her amused look at his bald head. Her hair now fell to her waist, just inches short of its previous length. She had, however, abandoned her braid. ‘I’m no longer a Leonid warrior,’ she’d said in a flat voice and refused to listen to his opinion otherwise.

“What’s this, Piccolo?” Khri asked quietly, placing the cup on the sofa table. She used the remote to turn off the TV and ran her hand across the lid of the battered box.

“Bulma sent it. It’s some type of cold weather clothing. She says she wants you test it for her.”

He watched as she peeled off the mashed lid and pushed back a layer of tissue paper. The first thing she found was a handwritten message. “Here’s a note from Trunks . . . it says that Capsule has been working on a new type of lightweight fabric designed for cold temperatures. He wants me to wear these and tell them what I think.” She set the note aside and pulled out the top item.

Royal blue fabric unfolded into a long-sleeved shirt. Khri held it at arms’ length and took a close look at one sleeve. “Very clever,” she nodded, giving the shimmering, stretchy fabric a tug. “The small dots are more than just a pattern in the fabric; they’re compact heating elements.” She draped the shirt on the back of the sofa and pulled out a belt and pair of black jeans. “It looks like the power supply is hidden in the belt buckle and transmits it wirelessly to the fabric.” She picked up Trunks’ letter and reread it. “He expects the power cells to last at least eighteen hours before needing a recharge.” Khri stood up and carefully folded the clothing back into the box. “Perhaps in a few weeks . . . ”

“You don’t have a few weeks,” Piccolo growled. “You have to wear it Saturday.”

Khri paused in her fight to straighten the lid. “Why?”

“Because . . . because I’m taking you out on Saturday!” There, he’d said it. Dammit, I must be crazy for going along with this!

Khri sat back down on the edge of the sofa with a small sigh, then moved the box to the table. “All right. What’s going on that you’re not telling me?”

Arms tightly folded, he tried to keep the disgust out of his voice as he told her about the carnival. Her expression didn’t change as he described what was intended to be an enjoyable experience and explained that everyone – including Gohan’s family – would be there. He knew he wasn’t making it sound like the appealing thing it was supposed to be.

“Piccolo.” Khri leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees and hands clasped. “I would never ask you to take me somewhere you didn’t want to go unless there was an emergency. This isn’t one of those occasions.”

He fought the urge to look directly into her eyes. The numbness and shock caused by her loss were wearing off but pain followed her like a shadow. It haunted her face and robbed her voice of it’s old warmth. “I’m not so sure about that,” he finally replied. “For once, Bulma might be right.”

One brow quirked up. “Bulma? You’re actually listening to Bulma? This I’ve got to hear.” She leaned back and crossed her arms.

Piccolo’s irritation with the woman surged back but for a new reason. “She says you’ve been stuck in this house too long and need a distraction. Now that I’ve thought about it, I think she’s right!” Khri blinked in surprise at his admission, so he pressed on. “You’re spending so much time alone in your own mind you’ve forgotten there are others who might miss you!” Why the hell did I say that? “Others like . . . Pan! Pan, Trunks, Goten, all your friends – yes, friends – keep pestering me, demanding to know how you’re coping and I have nothing to tell them.” He let his frustration spill into his voice and harden its edge. He had a handful of weapons he could use to convince her she needed a change. The trick was to poke her without cutting too deeply. Khri was so proud she’d happily bleed to death before admitting she was wounded.

He lowered his voice. “You’re right. I don’t want to go, but I have my own reasons and I’ll deal with them. They’re . . . not that important.”

Khri watched him carefully for a long moment, then a ghost of her old smile appeared. “If you’re that determined to subject yourself to an event you obviously loathe, I guess I’ll join you. Besides, you’ve made me curious. I want to know why this is making you so nervous.”

Piccolo didn’t hide his grimace. This was an argument he would have been happy to have lost. “You’re just going to have to wait.” Her chance would come, and all too soon.

          &n bsp;   

Saturday morning dawned clear and bright in the tropics south of Satan City. The only evidence of the previous nights’ storms were the matted tendrils of seaweed strewn across the sand and a couple of bewhildered crabs trying to fend off a hungry seagull. Gohan had contacted Piccolo at sunrise to happily inform him the weather was no less spectacular at the fairgrounds. His good-natured prodding only earned him a noncommittal grunt.

Piccolo stared at the unlocked patio door handle as if it had sprouted bronze teeth. I guess I can’t put this off any longer, he sighed as he opened the door.

Khri was nowhere in sight but he could make out small noises coming from down the hall. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Piccolo,” she said as she hurried past the arched doorway of living room headed for the kitchen, a full laundry basket propped on one hip.

The footsteps suddenly stopped, followed by a loud bang. He heard her scramble back towards the living room. She sailed back into view, sliding on the polished wood floor in her stocking feet, and made a grab for the door frame. Khri’s eyes were round as she stared at him in shock. “Piccolo?”

He nearly grinned at catching her off guard. “Just keep your opinions to yourself,” he said gruffly, avoiding her gaze. “I have a better chance of not being noticed if I dress like everybody else.” He readjusted his dark blue baseball cap to ease the pinching of his antennae. The form fitting jeans he’d conjured were fairly comfortable, as were the athletic shoes he modeled after a pair Gohan wore. His deep purple shirt was a variation of his gi top only with a slightly higher neckline and long sleeves. When he finally did look at her, he allowed himself a lopsided smile. “Hmph. Looks like you’ve dressed for the occasion, too.”

The clothes Trunks and Bulma had sent fit Khri well. The stretchy blue shirt fit snugly and, unlike her bulky sweaters, didn’t hide the fact that her curves were a bit too lean. He frowned when he compared her current size to the way she looked the night she’d taken a trip to the refrigerator. I know there was more padding there, he thought as his stare shifted from her thigh to her hip, then up to her waist and higher. His scowl deepened. There was definitely more there, too. When his appraising gaze reached her face, he blinked in surprise.

Khri was furious. Her eyes glowed and her cheeks burned almost as brightly, hands curled into fists at her sides. “If you’re finished, I’m going to get my shoes,” she growled and stormed off.

What was that about? Why is she so mad?

She returned a moment later with her shoes on, but her anger was no less fierce. She folded her arms and glared up at him. “I’m ready if you are,” she snapped.

“Fine!” he shot back, growing angry himself at her sudden change in attitude. “Let’s get this over with!” He gripped her shoulder harder than he intended and felt her muscles clench. After a moment of searching he found Gohan’s chi just outside Satan City. Others were there; he felt the unmistakable red haze of Vegeta and the softer forces of Trunks, Goten, Yamcha and Pan. He put two fingers to his forehead.

The quiet of the house fell away, replaced by a scene of such activity and noise that it nearly made Piccolo stagger. People standing too close cried out and jumped back at the sudden appearance of a tall, green man and a blonde woman, giving them both space to catch their breath. “Where are we?” Khri gasped, all signs of anger gone.

“The fairgrounds outside Satan City. Gohan should be around here somewhere.”

The large field had undergone a transformation since his last fly-over. Major streets leading into the city had been blocked off to make way for the carnival, all aircar traffic replaced by excited thrill-seekers and ticket lines. Beyond the gates loomed a ferris wheel and at least one roller coaster, and the level of noise hinted at other rides. One of the permanent structures of the fairgrounds was a tower with an enclosed revolving observation deck. Piccolo’s nose twitched at the mingled smells of popcorn, cigarette smoke, roasting hot dogs and perfume. He took a step closer to Khri as the excited crowd urged them towards the busy gates.

“Piccolo! Over here!”

Standing off to one side and waving his arms was Gohan. He grinned and nudged Videl, who smiled and raised a hand in welcome. Bulma had been exaggerating when she’d insisted “everyone” would be coming; the missing faces included Tenshinhan, Chaozu, Goku and Uub. Even old Roshi had come along, no doubt to oggle the young females attending the carnival. Kuririn and Eighteen hovered close by, giving every sign they were keeping the old master on a very tight leash.

Piccolo looked disgustedly at the press of people separating them, then started walking purposefully in the direction of the familiar group. He suppressed a satisfied smirk as the crowd parted with a hiss of nervous whispers.

“We’re glad you came!” Gohan said in greeting, still smiling. “We were afraid you’d change your mind at the last minute.”

Over Gohan’s shoulder Piccolo saw Vegeta leaning against the fence that surrounded the fairgrounds. “I almost did,” he snorted, noticing that Vegeta’s scowl did a poor job at hiding his nervousness. “But I knew I’d never hear the end of it.”

Bulma pushed past Videl, a thick stack of paper tickets in her hand. “You came!” she crowed and gave Khri a quick hug. “Dear, the Thermal-derm clothing looks just wonderful on you!”

Trunks pushed past Goten and nodded. “Mom’s right, Khri. You look great! Are the clothes warm enough? Heating evenly?”

You don’t know what you’re talking about, kid. She’s too thin, Piccolo thought, but didn’t say anything when he saw Khri’s face. She was blushing but didn’t seem to be the least bit angry and her voice was full of warmth. “Thank you, Trunks, and thank you both for sending them.” She brushed at one sleeve. “I can’t believe how efficiently the heating grid works! Our fabrics always had trouble with hot spots.”

“Just let us know which settings you use and how long the power lasts,” Trunks grinned. “You really are helping us field test this stuff.”

“We can talk about clothes later,” Bulma said smoothly, earning a shocked look from Eighteen, then fanned the stack of tickets in the air. “There’s one here for everybody! Now don’t forget, the parade starts in one hour. We’re all meeting for lunch at the big green pavilion near the front entrance at one o’clock sharp, so don’t be late!” She began handing out the slips of paper. “You’re on your own for dinner. Fireworks are at ten o’clock tonight, and since I rented the pavilion we’ve got the best seats!”

Standing in line behind Gohan and Videl, Piccolo studied the two paper tickets Bulma thrust at him. For some reason the woman felt he should hold Khri’s ticket as well as his own. Standing beside him, her anger with him apparently forgotten in the noise and shuffle, Khri seemed to be looking for someone or something. She tapped Videl’s shoulder. “Where is Pan? I don’t see Marron or Bra, either.”

Videl’s cheeks colored and her smile was painful. “Um . . . my father invited the girls to ride on the float with him and Buu. The tournament sponsors wanted a public figure, so . . .he was asked to be Master of Ceremonies . . . “

Piccolo snorted in disgust. “So I should be somewhere else during the parade” I am not going to put up with watching that foolish old fraud make a bigger ass out of himself than he already is. He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sympathy for Videl. The old fool was, after all, her father. It wasn’t her fault he’d taken the credit for ridding the universe of Cell and had been profiting from it ever since.

Gohan nodded gratefully at Piccolo and gave his wife a gentle squeeze. “Pan was all excited about riding along with the ‘Savior of the World,’ who just so happens to be her grandfather.” As the real savior, Gohan had said more than once he was happy living in obscurity. He felt that the money Mr. Satan raked in provided a good home for Videl. She’d grown up knowing nothing but love from her doting father. “We’ll be picking her up after the parade,” Gohan continued as the line shuffled forward. “I’m glad you came, Khri. Pan was hoping you would. She’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“The feeling is mutual, Gohan,” Khri replied with a smile. “She promised me she’d introduce me to ‘cotton candy,’ whatever that is.”

The ticket gate inched closer. “Pan is just like her grandpa Goku,” Videl laughed. “She’s got an incurable sweet tooth.” She faced forward to take her turn through the turnstiles behind Gohan. A bored teenager accepted Piccolo’s tickets without so much as a gasp or double-take. He followed Khri through the turnstiles and nearly stopped in shock and disgust.

The carnival had been decked out to celebrate more than just the tournament. Effigies of Mr. Satan were everywhere, his stupid grin plastered on banners, posters, and signs. A gilded throne had been erected on the podium beneath the band shell, the final destination of the parade. His grinning face floated by on a mylar balloon and an imposter wearing an outrageous Mr. Satan costume was posing for pictures with eager guests.

Khri’s hand tucked itself under his arm and pulled him away from the gate. “Piccolo, are you all right?”

“No.” A stolen glance at Vegeta confirmed the Saiyan was just as furious has he was. Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have let Bulma talk me into this!

“Sorry I didn’t tell you about this earlier, Piccolo,” Gohan said, his embarrassed grin the mirror image of his father’s. “The tournament promoters and sponsors decided to use the fight with Cell as the theme for the carnival.”

“Now you tell me!” A young father lugging a huge stuffed toy of Mr. Satan staggered by. “That would explain why Cell’s head is hovering over that hot dog stand!”

Gohan looked up at the huge balloon shaped like the android. “Uh...I suppose it would.” He whispered something to Khri that Piccolo didn’t catch. He was too busy glaring at a child wearing a baseball cap with Cell’s grinning head perched on the top.

“Piccolo, who is Cell?”

He stared down in surprise at Khri’s curious expression. She’s never heard of Cell? How could she not know about the Cell Games? “I’ll explain it later,” he growled. “Let’s get out of here before that damned parade starts.” He didn’t bother waving goodbye at Gohan, ignored Bulma’s loud reminder about lunch, and led Khri in the opposite direction of the flashing arcade sign. That was the last place he wanted to be.

The few hours before lunch were an exercise in stealth and diversion. Khri seemed content to follow his lead and they wandered aimlessly through the crowds and noise. Every so often he would nudge or push her in a particular direction and start walking as fast as possible. I should just tell her, he conceded as he stepped between Khri’s line of sight and another source of embarrassment. Her frowns at his erratic behavior were becoming more and more severe and he knew time was running out. She’s going to see sooner or later . . . if I tell her before she sees for herself I’ll have more control. How am I going to explain it to her?

The pathetic magic act Khri had insisted on watching finally ended and it was time to find Bulma’s pavilion. The crowds had grown thicker after the end of the parade, the heavy foot traffic slowing any progress. Once Piccolo cleared his throat, however, people were more than willing to make a path for him. Khri insisted on a quick stop at the roller coaster, but not to ride it. “I’ve been on machines like that one,” she told him, watching as a group of teens screamed their way down the first hill.

“You’ve been to carnivals on other worlds?” He glared at a nearby souvenir vendor, who cowered and took cover under the awning of his cart. Piccolo smoothly stepped between it and Khri, blocking her view.

“No.” Her smile was wry. “It was a high-speed combat simulator. And it wasn’t fun.”

He nodded, gratefully taking the hint she wasn’t interested in getting on any of the so-called “amusement rides.” They moved on, paused long enough to watch the ferris wheel revolve a few times, then stumbled on an attraction called the “Tunnel of Love.” Small trolley cars big enough for two passengers rolled out of a fake tunnel and the riders walked away arm-in-arm. He shook his head in disgust. “I can’t imagine why anybody would want to go in there!”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Khri’s voice was low and her face blank. She hadn’t resorted to her protective mask all day until now. Does that stupid ride remind her of something? Everyone she loved is dead . . . is that making her think of them? Piccolo was about to lead her away when she glanced at her wristwatch. “We need to move a bit faster. Everyone has probably reached the pavilion by now and Saiyans aren’t known for leaving leftovers.”

The remainder of their walk a quiet one in spite of the music from the band shell, the racket of the rides, the barkers and the low roar of the crowd. The urge to test her shielding was strong, but he knew nothing would be learned from it and she might take offense. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake after all, he wondered. Maybe I should just offer to take her home. He tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound stupid, but was saved by the interruption of a high-pitched squeal of delight.

“Mr. Piccolo! Khri!”

A bundle of energy wrapped in an orange gi and topped with unruly dark hair plowed into Khri, nearly knocking her off her feet. “You came!” shouted Pan as she threw her arms around Khri’s neck. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come!”

“It’s good to see you too, Pan,” Khri said softly, her voice thawing as she returned the child’s hug.

Pan grinned brightly up at Piccolo. “Did you see me in the parade? Grandpa let me sit on his lap and wave to the crowd!”

ChiChi appeared and held her arms out for her granddaughter. “Come on, Pan, you can tell Khri all about it at the table! Your papa is going to get you some food, so we need get you cleaned up and sitting down. And you know you’re not supposed to fly with so many people around!”

“Awww...” Pan pouted and slid down Khri to the ground, but grabbed her hand. “C’mon Khri, you can sit with me and Mama. You too, Mr. Piccolo!”

The large pavilion Bulma had rented was another of the permanent structures within the fairgrounds. Tucked in a corner away from the noise and crowds, it offered guests a respite from the warm afternoon sun. Its roof had been painted a bright green to match the tables and chairs it sheltered. Bright balloons fluttered from the support posts as a chef sweated over a huge grill overflowing with hamburgers and hot dogs. Caterers were putting out disposable plates and Saiyan-sized platters of food on a serving table. “Let’s see if we can find a quiet table,” Piccolo muttered, noticing Mr. Satan and Buu had taken a table for themselves and were devouring a mountain of burgers . . . with lots of onions.

A hand on his arm stopped him. “Not so fast, Mr. Piccolo,” Gohan laughed. “I’ve been informed we gents are getting the food for the ladies. It’s a good thing you only need one hand because I want to borrow your other!”

“I’ll find seats for us,” Khri promised, stepping onto the pavilion’s concrete floor, “although I’m sure Pan has beat me to it.”

The smell of roasting meat was overwhelming as Piccolo waited in line with the other men, tray in hand. He didn’t have a clue as to what Khri would eat and was grateful when Gohan offered to help him out. While waiting for the chef to replenish the hamburgers Vegeta had polished off, he stole a glance back at the tables.

Khri was alone with the women. All of them.

Over the years, Piccolo’s sporadic contact with the Son and Briefs families had taught him an important survival skill; avoid the wives if they’re in a group. Vegeta, Kuririn, Yamcha and even Gohan never voluntarily stayed in the room if more than three of the women were present, two if one of them happened to be Bulma. They discussed subjects that made Vegeta blush, which was another good reason to stay away. Khri was seated beside Pan, who was ignoring Videl’s requests to stop slurping her soda. The other women had taken seats across from her and were far too close for comfort.

The trays in his hands wobbled as Gohan piled them with servings of hot dogs and fried potato strips. He grimaced at the smell and focused on the group in the pavilion, disregarding the unimportant conversations. He wasn’t surprised when Bulma’s voice cut through the rest.

“Did you see that?” Her voice was incredulous.

“See what, Bulma?” ChiChi asked.

“Khri! Did you see what she did?”

A slight note of tension was in Khri’s voice. “What did I do?”

“You . . . you looked!”

“What?”

“I saw where, so don’t try to deny it! I can’t believe it! Videl, you saw, didn’t you?”

Gohan’s wife sounded reluctant, if not a little embarrassed. “Aah . . . ”

Bulma was triumphant. “See? Videl saw you, too! I’m not imagining things! What about you, Eighteen?”

“Hmm? Sorry, Bulma, but I was looking at the same thing Khri was.”

“What!?” ChiChi, Bulma and Videl shouted together.

Eighteen’s cool voice was amused. “Well, its not something you see every day. It’s too bad, too. I certainly can’t blame her for looking.”

“I didn’t look! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“She’s blushing!” ChiChi squealed in delight. “She knows exactly what we’re getting at!”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t want to talk about this anymore!”

“Cut her some slack, you two,” Eighteen broke in. “You have to admit it’s an interesting view. I’m sure if you hadn’t caught Khri doing it first you’d be taking a peek yourselves.”

Bulma was laughing. “All right, I’ll let it go. But just watch! I’ll bet she looks again!”

“And you can’t close your eyes,” ChiChi cackled. “That’s cheating!”

Khri’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “I . . . I don’t understand you Earth women at all!”

Piccolo couldn’t stop himself from looking back at the canopy. Even at a distance he could see Khri’s cheeks were burning, her mouth set and eyes glittering in an angry scowl. Videl gave her a pat on the shoulder as Pan stared at her in confusion. What was that all about? This was the second time today he’d seen Khri openly embarrassed and furious, and he was just as clueless now as he had been that morning.

Gohan suddenly elbowed him. “Those are for Khri. I know it’s a lot, but she should find something she likes. Give me a minute more while I load up Videl’s plate.” Ignoring the piles of fries and smelly food under his nose, Piccolo struggled to eavesdrop on the mysterious conversation behind him.

“Look, she did it again,” Bulma gasped. “I know you saw it too, ChiChi, or you wouldn’t be standing there with your jaws open, catching flies!”

There was a long pause. “I’m afraid she’s right, Khri.” Eighteen’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “You looked.”

Khri’s groan was muffled and almost inaudible. “I don’t believe this. What do I do now?”

“It’s simple, but it’s actually hard to do,” Videl said quietly. “Just act like it never happened. . .”

“And if the opportunity presents itself, look again!” Eighteen interrupted with a burst of rare laughter.

“You two are no help at all!”

He lost the rest of the conversation as Gohan, his own plates piled high, led them back to the tables. Piccolo ignored the women, still trying to figure out what was so important about ‘looking.’ Pan was demonstrating how to open a ketchup packet when he put the plates down in front of Khri. “You ok?”

“No.” She glanced back and forth at the two plates. “Six hot dogs? Three hamburgers? Piccolo, I can’t eat all of this!”

Piccolo sat down and leaned back in the chair, twisting the cap off a bottle of water. “Don’t look at me. It was Gohan’s idea.”

For the better part of an hour Khri picked at her food. When others tried to draw her into their conversations her replies were polite but short. Piccolo didn’t miss their worried looks. It was a relief when lunch finally ended and everyone began to amble towards the heart of the carnival. There were no plans for another gathering at dinner, but Bulma made it known she expected everyone to return to the pavilion to watch the fireworks.

Piccolo stood at the edge of the flowing crowd. An older woman toting two Mr. Satan dolls passed by, reminding him he still had a vigil to keep. The stress of being around so many humans was starting to make him short tempered and he longed for a quiet, secluded spot in which to meditate, if only for a few minutes. He had been so intent with watching out for potential problems when he realized Khri wasn’t standing beside him. He caught sight of her heading for a squat, brick building on the opposite side of the midway. A quick burst of chi let him avoid the crowd and catch up with her. He grabbed her arm before she rounded a curving partition shielding a swinging door. “Where are you going?”

She gave him a puzzled frown. “In here. I’ll only be a moment.”

“Its too easy to get separated with all these people. If we did, I can’t use chi to find you.”

Khri’s frown darkened. “You cannot follow me in here, Piccolo!”

Why is she being so unreasonable? “Why not?”

Color bloomed in her cheeks and she thumped the sign on the door. “Because this is the women’s bathroom!” She jerked her arm free, shoved the door open and disappeared.

Piccolo stared at the swaying door longer than he intended, fighting the blush that warmed his face and ears. He turned away and nearly ran down a handful of terrified women who had been waiting for him to step aside. They scurried out of his way as he barged through the crowded thoroughfare, seeking a quiet spot. He found one along side a supply trailer that still let him watch for Khri to reappear. A drop of sweat trickled down the back of his neck as the minutes ticked by. He took a deep, calming breath, eyes never leaving the door. This day just keeps getting longer and longer . . . he cringed as a reminder of his need to talk with Khri was paraded under his nose by a young boy. Women kept filing into the bathroom but there was no sign of Khri coming out.

That was when he realized it was just an entrance. The exit was in the back of the building.

Even though he stood head and shoulders over everyone in sight, Piccolo had to resist the urge to hover for a better view. Khri wasn’t mad enough to just leave without telling me . . . would she? Hopefully she hadn’t gone far. He skimmed the crowd, searching for her blonde head and trying to feel irritated rather than worried.

It took a moment but he spotted her a short distance from the restroom. She was standing with her back against a vending truck, surrounded by three men. Two were dark haired and the third was as blond as Khri herself, but all three were tall, muscular and extremely proud of their physiques. Fighters, Piccolo snorted. He opened his senses just enough to feel for chi. He recognized the empty spot where Khri’s negative shielding burned but felt nothing exceptional from the men. At least they think they’re fighters. They’re probably in the tournament tomorrow. But what do they want with Khri?

The blond man was all smiles as he talked, his companions nodding along whenever he stopped to take a breath. Khri, however, wore a look of patience mixed with slight confusion. He was too far away and the noise of the crowd was too loud to overhear their conversation, but there was no mistaking the intent behind the blond man’s next move.

Piccolo had seen his maneuver used by Yamcha when speaking with an attractive woman. It involved placing a hand on the wall beside the unsuspecting female and leaning close. It always had one of two possible outcomes; either the lady smiled and let Yamcha take her arm or he ended up with a bright red handprint across the side of his face. Khri’s hand would leave more than just a welt. I suppose I’d better do something before she takes his head off . . . not that I would mind.

“. . . And as the Golden Serpent team, we’ve got some of the best tickets around!” The man’s smile became a leer. “Box seats, babe!” A hand reached out and stroked one of Khri’s long curls. Oblivious to the sudden frost in her eyes he babbled on. “And it would really mean a lot to us if a gorgeous thing like you were sitting in the front row, cheering us on when we win!”

Khri rescued the hair he’d wound around one fingertip. “Your offer is generous, but I already have a reserved seat. Friends of mine are also in the tournament. And here is one of them now.”

Arms folded and his broad chest blocking the sun, Piccolo’s menacing grin would have made his demonic sire proud. “Is there something you wanted?” he asked, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun.

“You! You’re. . . no!” the blond man stammered as he took a shaky step backward, hands thrown up in defense. “I . . . I mean, we were just . . . just . . .”

“J . . . Just leaving!” one of his team mates yipped. “We’ve got practice, right guys?”

“Right!” The pale scar across the third man’s cheek whitened further when Piccolo’s smile became a deep scowl. “We’re leaving now . . . oh . . . ok?” Not waiting for permission he bolted, followed closely by the other two. They barged their way into the crowd, shoving and stepping on toes in their rush to get away.

Piccolo snorted in disgust, then looked down at Khri. “I can’t let you out of my sight for one minute, can I?”

Her brows furrowed and an angry spark kindled in her eyes. “Why did you feel it necessary to scare them off? A few moments more and I would have been able to figure out what they were planning!”

His sarcastic reply was instantly forgotten. “What do you mean, ‘planning’?”

Khri shook her head tightly as she headed for a nearby vendor selling drinks. “They call themselves the Golden Serpent team and are competing in the tournament tomorrow. I think they saw us together earlier, guessed you’re part of the competition and decided to see if they could get information from me as to your strengths and weaknesses.” She got in the line and studied the short menu. “I was waiting for them to ask me about your fighting style and your strong points as a team. Are you thirsty?”

Piccolo shook his head. “Wait . . . you think they were spying?”

Khri stepped up to the vendor’s window. “One, please. Of course they were spying, even if they were damned sloppy about it. Why else would they have approached me when you weren’t around?”

She can’t be that naive! Even I know what it looks like when males are interested in a female! He knew his eyes were wide but he refused to let his jaw drop. “Khri, you can’t be serious!”

“I’m very serious.” She accepted the cup, pocketed her change and took a long drink through the straw. “Are they cheating by asking such questions?”

 “No! Khri, those idiots were . . . “ I can’t believe I have to explain this! “They were . . . what did Gohan call it . . . ‘hitting’ on you!”

“Hitting?” Her face was the picture of confusion. “Piccolo, do you think they’d still be breathing if they had hit me? I do feel like I need to wash my hair, though . . .”

He was careful to keep his voice down. “Khri . . . I might have used the wrong description . . . those fools weren’t spying . . . they were interested in you because . . . because you’re a female they find attractive!”

The press of people blurred into the background as he watched her face for any sign of a recognizable emotion. Bulma probably would have been pleased by the attention. He would bet ChiChi would feel the same way but only after bawling them out. Guessing Videl’s reaction was trickier, but Gohan’s wife didn’t put up with nonsense. Khri’s face remained blank. “Oh.”

That’s all she’s going to say? “I understand you less than Earth women. And I don’t understand them at all!”

A subtle change in the way she walked and the set of her jaw reminded him of her attitude in the presence of her subordinates. “It’s not that complicated,” she said, her voice crisp. “Most of my youth was spent in the family compounds on whichever planet my father resided. When I was tested and found to have certain skills needed in command, I spent years so immersed in training that time was a luxury I didn’t have to waste. When I finally did have time, security was so tight it never seemed worth the effort to . . . socialize. I also had to consider the political ramifications of anything I did, and I didn’t want to add to the rumors already in play.”

I think I’m starting to get the picture. “And that’s where Sai came in?”

Khri snorted. “Oh, we heard all the stories. There were rumors about the two of us for years, both before and after his betrothed died. Sai’s job was to enable me to do what I did best; focus on deployments and everything directly involved with ship-to-ship and ground combat. If that meant keeping interested male officers away from my door, that’s what he did.”

Piccolo felt a fresh surge of anger at the man. Sure, he’d done his job well, but Khri had paid the price. Had she set aside her own wants and needs for so long she’d forgotten what they were? This brave, clever female was, for perhaps the first time in her life, without a purpose. Then an ugly thought intruded. Had Sai kept her isolated because of her duties . . . or for some personal reason of his own?

“It really doesn’t matter anymore.” Khri’s eyes were downcast and her face flushed, as if she realized she’d said more than intended. “My race is dead. We’re officially extinct. Second-guessing decisions I made long ago is pointless.”

His expression softening, Piccolo looked down at her bowed head. There were so many questions he wanted to ask but felt it was too soon. I’m glad she’s alive and didn’t die with the rest of her people, he admitted, and that makes me just as selfish as Sai. He was searching for something to say that didn’t sound stupid when he froze mid-step. Jaw tightening and teeth grinding, he looked around in a near panic.

They were in the heart of the arcade.

Bells, whistles and the loud calls of barkers overpowered the sound of the crowd. Both sides of the midway were lined with games of skill and chance, all of which used flashing lights and blaring noises to attract anyone passing by. A loud bell rang over Piccolo’s head, further abusing his aching eardrums. “Step up to the plate!” screeched one man juggling baseballs. “Hit a bottle, win a prize! Everyone’s a winner!”

“Piccolo?”

“We need to get out of here. Now,” he growled and started to take her arm.

Khri dodged his hand, eyes narrowed. “Not so fast. You’ve been pushing and prodding me all day! You’ve been deliberately trying to prevent me from seeing something that makes you uncomfortable, and you’ve been avoiding this area of the carnival! I’ve been patient, waiting for you to tell me what it was and you’ve refused every opportunity!” She pressed a hand against his chest to keep him from moving. “Don’t you think it’s time you got this over with?”

Invisible walls were closing in. Piccolo stared over her shoulder, eyes shifting back and forth. He was surrounded and there was nothing he could do. “No! Just close your eyes and I’ll get us out of here . . .”

“What? Close my eyes!? What is it I’m supposed . . . to . . . “ her voice trailed off as her gaze left him, focused on a moving target beyond his shoulder.

Dammit!!!

Khri brushed past him and headed straight for one of the games. It was one of those stupid “strong man” contests that supposedly measured your strength based on swinging a mallet and hitting a bell. Perched over the bell itself was a huge bust of Cell complete with glaring lights, blinking red eyes and an evil smile. One man in thick glasses watched in disappointment as the weight fell far short of the top. “Step right up!” the grey-haired barker called, waving a wad of bills at the next man in line. “Show Cell what you’re made of!” Ignoring the game itself, Khri walked up to the prize booth, eyes open wide in shock.

“There! Now you’ve seen it!” It was all Piccolo could to do to keep from powering up and blasting everything in sight. “Let’s get out of here!”

“Piccolo . . . is . . . is that . . . supposed to . . . be . . . you?”

He tried to keep his voice low. “Yes! Now let’s go, dammit!”

Khri’s shoulders trembled under his hand but she refused to budge. She was staring at the large stuffed toys that crowded the booth’s back wall and dangled from a clothesline draped over the window. There were a few of Mr. Satan left and at least one Cell, but there were plenty of others just waiting to be won. Among them were at least half a dozen draped in white, complete with turban, purple gi and green, pointed ears.

Piccolo felt his face start to burn. It would only take a second! I could fry this whole place into ash in an instant! I’d never have to . . .

“Puh . . . Piccolo!”

Khri was laughing. It started as a soft chuckle that grew into a snicker too big to hide behind her hands. He watched in humiliation as she threw her head back and laughed until her eyes watered and her nose ran, prompting her to snag a paper napkin from a neighboring hot dog stand. Face and ears purple with embarrassment, Piccolo glowered at her until the she clutched her ribs. “Are you finished?”

“Oh . . . oh Piccolo . . .” she panted. “I . . . I’m sorry! I can’t . . . seem to stop! Now . . . now I know why Gohan . . . told me to stay away . . . from the frozen novelty vendors!”

The last of his patience trickled away. “Khri, cut it out!”

“I’m . . . I’m trying!” She blew her nose into the napkin. “But . . . but . . .”

“What?”

“I . . . I understand that one is called Cell, and there’s Mr. Satan. I think I recognize Yamcha and Kuririn, but . . but who are the others?”

Piccolo named them for her as she pointed to them in turn. “That one is Goku, then Gohan. The one with the pinwheel stuck in his shirt is Trunks.”

Khri coughed lightly and scowled, obviously trying very hard to pull herself together. “But why do they have blond hair and blue-green eyes?”

“Because they’re supposed to be super Saiyan. It’s a long story.”

“I can imagine.” Khri smiled and nodded towards a particularly fierce-looking doll on the end. “That must be Vegeta. I’d recognize those eyebrows anywhere.”

“It is. Now let’s get out of here before I change my mind about leveling this place.”

He felt a light touch on his arm. “But . . .”

“Now what?”

Her gaze slid back to the booth. “I . . I want one!”

Piccolo heard Khri’s request very clearly. His brain, however, refused to believe what his ears just told him. The outrage boiling through him spilled out with a roar. “Wh . . . what?!”

Her shining eyes were full of challenge. “You heard me, Namek! I want one, and you know which one!”

“Why?!”

To his surprise, Khri looked away. Her face was still flushed from laughing and a small smile curled one corner of her mouth. “Because . . . it reminds me of a rotten little Namekian I abandoned here on Earth a long time ago.” She cast a longing look at the toys hanging in the booth.

Her wistful expression helped to cool Piccolo’s anger. Abandoned? Is that how she remembers it? She feels she abandoned me? He leveled one last glare at the stuffed toy. The idiot who designed it has my turban too big and my ears to small. It’s a piece of crap.

And she wants it.

The barker saw him coming. So did the four men in coral gi’s who hastily stepped back to let him take their place in line. “Step right up, sir! Everyone’s a winner here! Show the pretty lady you could take Cell down by yourself!” The man’s sunburned face instantly went pale. “Wait . . . aren’t you . . .?”

The size of the mallet was deceptive. It looked like it had the heft and weight of a small aircar on a stick. When Piccolo picked it up, he found it was foam rubber painted to look like wood and metal. He gave the high striker a quick inspection, then graced the barker with a wicked sneer.

“Piccolo, wait!” Khri shouted as he positioned his feet and raised the mallet over his head. “You don’t have to . . .!”

WHAM! The mallet hit with such force the bulky head broke off the handle and went flying. The striker shattered and the weight rocketed to the top. The bell clanged twice; once as the weight pierced through the bottom and again when it launched out the top. It hit the replica of Cell through the chin and kept going. Its glowing eyes flickered, then went dark. Several loud pops and snaps warned everyone before Cell burst into a shower of sparks and smoke. Piccolo let the broken handle fall and smiled in satisfaction. “Heh. Now that was fun.”

Khri had thrown her arms over her face when bits of glass and ash started falling. “You didn’t have to go that far,” she muttered, brushing debris from her hair.

He turned an evil grin on her. “No. But I feel better now.” His grin fell and his lip curled in disgust. “Wasn’t there a point to all this?”

“Yes!” She raced over to the booth, where the terrified worker scrambled to free her selection from the rack. When she returned she clutched his stuffed likeness tightly in both arms. “Did you still want to leave the arcade?”

“I wouldn’t mind pulverizing another one of these . . .” Piccolo looked down the midway for the next attraction. It was a shooting game that used a small pellet gun to hit a row of little plastic ducks. The games just beyond it involved cards and spinning a wheel, which held no interest for him. Having weathered the humiliation he’d been dreading for days, he was about to suggest they walk a bit further when he caught a whiff of smoke. He glanced up, but Cell’s bust had stopped burning and the lights had gone dark. He peered down the midway, looking for a possible source.

Khri’s gaze followed his. “My eyes aren’t as good as yours in daylight. What do you see?”

“Wreckage.” Several thin columns of black smoke were pouring into the sky. “Damn. Looks like Vegeta beat me to it.” He shrugged off his disappointment. “If you’re through laughing at me, let’s get out of here.”

“Let’s go back towards the ferris wheel,” she suggested. “I think I remember seeing a vendor advertising ice cream sundaes. I want one of those, too. A big one. With lots of gooey chocolate and whipped cream.”

Standing beside the terrified barker, the fighters in coral stared openly as Piccolo led Khri past the wreckage. Before they were out of earshot he heard one voice stammer, “that . . . that was the Demon King!”

“But . . . there’s a girl with him!”

“I don’t believe it! How . . . how does a guy like that . . . get a babe who looks like that?”

“I dunno . . . some girls can be really weird. I wonder what she sees in a monster like him?”

I hope she didn’t hear that! Piccolo was half-turned, ready to “straighten them out” when Khri moved closer. She slipped her arm between his rib cage and elbow, her hand resting on his bicep. He heard a collective gasp behind him and was tempted to look back just to enjoy their shock. Instead, he studied Khri, who kept a tight grip on her prize with her free arm, face neutral as she studied the crowd ahead. In the past he would have forcefully shrugged free from anyone who touched him like that – including Gohan – but this time he found the contact didn’t annoy him. It was almost . . . pleasant. Maybe she did hear, he wondered, bending his arm to make her hold more comfortable.

And maybe it wasn’t a bad thing after all.

Fountains of gold, purple, blue and green erupted in the night sky, sending a waterfall of tiny sparks cascading down and winking out. There was another soft boom, followed by a brilliant flare of silver that scattered across the first stars. A soft breeze had stirred up at sunset and was working hard to shred the faint wisps of smoke.

“Piccolo?”

“Hmmm?”

&ldq uo;You were right. This is a much better spot to watch the fireworks than the pavilion.”

The tower had been one of the first rides to shut down for the night. Red and white lights still strobed up and down the sides of the tower, but they didn’t interfere with the spectacular view from the roof of the observation deck. Comfortably tucked in his favorite meditative position, Piccolo watched as a faint curl of cloud trickled across the face of the crescent moon. “It’s a lot quieter up here, too.” He caught Khri’s answering grin. It wasn’t a direct request to keep the peace but she acknowledged the hint.

The incident with the high striker, as embarrassing as it was, had brought about a change in her. Over the rest of the afternoon and evening he’d watched the tiny lines fade from around her eyes. It was as if her face had shed years as well as much of her grief. She reminded him of the Khri he’d gotten to know before the loss of her family, friends and former life. The current silence between them was a comfortable thing, not a void full of worry that screamed to be filled with who-knew-what. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing the built-up tension of the day to finally release.

Khri was stretched out beside him, propped on her elbows as she watched the fireworks, the stupid stuffed toy resting in her lap. She suddenly shivered and sat up straight, folding her legs and hugging the toy against her chest.

“How long has it been since the heating coil batteries lost power?” he rumbled.

“About fifteen minutes.” The next shiver was more intense.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Faint moonlight and the soft glow of a bright yellow rocket lit her smile. “I wanted to see the fireworks. A little cold won’t hurt me.”

Piccolo watched as a brilliant flower of fuchsia spread across the sky, inspiring a distant chorus of “oohs” and “aahs.” He sat through at least three more bursts before he looked back at Khri. “Don’t tell me that damn thing is keeping you warm.”

He almost missed the devious glint in her eyes. “Well . . . If I hold it like this . . .”

“Khri, knock it off!”

“Sorry,” she chuckled, then let the silence return.

He covertly watched her as she tried to hide her discomfort. It was still at least ten minutes until the finale, something neither of them wanted to miss. He considered offering to take her home but that would disappoint her. There is another option . . . but should I even try?

He couldn’t be certain if his next statement startled her or if it was another shiver. “You don’t have to put up with being cold, you know.” Khri cocked her head as she looked at him. She frowned in confusion until he raised one arm and outstretched his hand.

Piccolo tensed, waiting to see what she would do. She reminded him of one of the squirrels that nested in a tree near his waterfall. Skittish at first, the little creature had grown used to him to a point where he felt, if he wanted, he could reach out and touch it before it flitted away. The intriguing creature sitting beside him was timid for very different reasons and he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. He was about to lower his arm in defeat when Khri slowly crept closer. Her shoulder pressed into his side and he carefully slid his arm around her back. He funneled enough power into his chi to heat the surrounding air and was rewarded with her sigh of gratitude.

This day is ending a lot differently than it started, he thought, puzzled as to why having Khri’s tall form against him felt so confusing. Gohan had used him as a pillow more times than he could count. The boy had squirmed in his sleep, occasionally crying out in a nightmare or laughing in an absurd dream. Khri didn’t move, but he could feel her breathing and the slow unwinding of tight muscles. She settled comfortably against him, her eyes never leaving the fireworks.

The booms of the launching rockets stepped up in pace, signaling the start of the finale. The crowds below roared in appreciation as the sky filled with multiple bursts of light and color. As he thought back over the day, Piccolo found he only had one regret.

It’s too bad the finale is only ten minutes long.

- END -