Disclaimer: Haven't we been through this before? Several times? DBZ is not mine.

The Burden of Hope

CHAPTER NINE: A Calming Interlude; The Son Family Reunion

Gohan knelt beside his mother. "Kaasan? Kaasan," he said gently, shaking her shoulder a bit; she didn't respond. Sighing, he lifted her from under her arms and dragged her toward the couch.

"Is Chichi-obasan all right?" Trunks asked, trotting alongside him and looking a little concerned.

"Hai, Trunks, she's fine," Gohan answered absently, adjusting the throw pillows under his mother's head. It seemed that she hadn't changed at all---fainting in shock. "She's just real surprised to see me. That's all."

Quick footsteps shook the house, and Gohan looked up from his mother's recumbent form to see his grandfather's massive frame rush in from the kitchen. The man appeared little different than Gohan remembered him, save for a few strands of grey in his beard; resting atop his head was the familiar yellow-horned hat, and framing his worried eyes were thick-rimmed glasses. "Chichi-chan, are you all right? I heard a thud and…"

Self-consciously, Gohan shrank back a little as his grandfather's gaze finally fell upon him. "Ojiisan," he greeted quietly.

His grandfather blinked in surprise, and took off his glasses; wiping the lenses clean, he then put them back on. "G… Gohan? But how did you… But you're supposed to be…"

"Well, I'm not," Gohan said as his grandfather trailed off; he smiled slightly. "It's really me, Ojiisan. I'm home."

Silence now filled the air. Gohan could think of nothing else to say. He'd gone so long without seeing his family that it was difficult to find any words that sounded right. In truth, speaking in itself was sort of uncommon for him at this point; before he'd rescued Trunks, he'd carefully avoided any contact with people, and so had little opportunity to exercise his voice. He talked to himself occasionally---a habit picked up from his six months of survival training when he'd been four---but it was much easier to speak to oneself than to others.

"And I'm here, too," Trunks piped up, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He was apparently mildly irritated that he was being ignored. Both Gohan and his grandfather turned toward him.

"Trunks? What are you doing here? Where's your mo…" Ox King stopped, seemingly incapable of forming many complete sentences. Trunks lowered his eyes sadly, and his fingers fidgeted uncomfortably.

Gohan frowned sympathetically at the toddler before returning his gaze to his grandfather. "Uh… Bulma's not here, Ojiisan. It's… well… sort of a long story." He turned as his mother moaned and stirred a bit. "We ought to wait for Kaasan to wake up first, before I tell it. Maybe I should get a wet cloth for her…"

"No, you stay here," Ox King interrupted. "I'll go get one."

As his grandfather left, Gohan sat on the table, close---but not too close--- to his mother. He felt sort of strange being right by her side. He didn't think that he was ready for that just yet; he needed some distance, some room to collect himself and his feelings. Part of him could not believe that he had actually come back home. Standing at the front door, surrounded by everything he had left behind three years ago, he'd been so overcome with a sense of fear and discomfort that he'd almost turned away. Actually bringing himself to knock was one of the greatest tests of will that he'd experienced in his entire life.

He studied his mother's face, his mind registering minute differences in its appearance since he'd last seen it. It seemed a little paler and thinner than before, and a few lines of age had appeared around her eyes and mouth. Age? No; Gohan knew that wasn't the case. The lines were from sorrow, from grief. He could recognize that easily; many times, he'd seen his own reflection in the water, and the face that stared back at him was that of a wrinkled old man, rather than a smooth-skinned young boy. Loss drained away youth in the body as well as the soul.

Ox King re-entered the room, and gently placed a soaked washcloth on Chichi's forehead; instantly, she stirred, mumbling, "Gohan-chan…" Gohan bit his lip, suddenly feeling quite uncomfortable. What was he going to say to her, after all this time?

Slowly, Chichi blinked her eyes open and shifted her head a bit to look at her father. "Papa?" she asked in a dazed voice. "Oh, Papa, the strangest thing just happened; I imagined that I saw Gohan-chan standing at the front door."

"You didn't imagine it, Kaasan," Gohan interjected softly. His mother's gaze shifted onto him and went from confused to astonished. "I'm really here."

"Gohan-chan?" she whispered disbelievingly, trembling with some powerful emotion. Abruptly, she cried out in joy and leapt off the couch, flinging her arms around him. "Gohan-chan!" Gohan was slightly taken aback at how tight the hug was; he'd forgotten his mother's strength. "Oh, my baby! My precious little baby! You've come home! You've come home! Where have you been? I've missed you so much! I thought you were dead…" His mother continued to string together barely-coherent words, as he looked around nervously at the other two people in the room. His grandfather was positively beaming, and Trunks, who had managed to boost himself into a chair, was staring with worried eyes, as though hoping with all his heart that he wouldn't get mauled like this when Chichi finally noticed him.

Awkwardly, Gohan wrapped his arms around his mother and hugged her back. "It's okay, Kaasan. It's okay," he soothed. "I missed you, too."

After a few moments, Chichi pulled away, though with obvious reluctance. She stared at him, her face so bright it would make the sun look like a dying ember; joyful tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. His own discomfort all but forgotten, Gohan smiled; it felt good to see his mother so happy. It felt good to see her at all.

"My sweet little Gohan-chan," she said. Gohan shifted a little as his mother looked him over, suddenly feeling quite self-conscious under her scrutiny. He was covered from the tips of his hair to the tips of his toes in dirt, and his clothes were a ragged, half-torn mess; his mother would have never allowed him look like this. "Look at you. You've grown up so much. I can hardly believe it."

Gohan bowed his head. "Yeah… well…"

"Is it suppertime? I smell food, and I'm real hungry," Trunks interrupted, evidently having lost all interest in the mother-son reunion. Gohan braced himself for his mother's reaction as she finally took notice of the toddler.

"Why, Trunks-kun, gomen nasai. I didn't see you there." She blinked and looked around. "But where's Bulma? I know she must be here."

"Um… Kaasan," Gohan began as the little boy lowered his eyes and sniffled a bit; he knew that Trunks didn't like being pointedly reminded of his mother right now. "There's a few things that we need to tell you, one of them being that we don't actually know where Bulma is." He stopped, noting his mother's surprise… as well as the delicious blend of aromas wafting in from the kitchen; surely it wouldn't hurt to explain things over dinner… "Uh… do you suppose we could talk about this while we eat? Like I said to Ojiisan, it's a pretty long story, and… well… besides, I haven't had a good meal in a few years."

His mother stared at him for a few seconds before nodding. "Sure, honey," she said gently. "Now you just go get washed up so we can have dinner."

"Nani?" He'd been gone for this long, and one of the first things she did was tell him to wash up for dinner? Despite the fact that his mother had always been quite the stickler for rules, Gohan had assumed that she'd have been so overwhelmed at seeing him again that she would forget about a few of them for a while.

"Being gone for three years is no excuse not to get cleaned up for a meal, Gohan-chan," she explained sternly, though there was a smile on her face. "Now, get to it. Your grandpa and I will handle Trunks."

Inexplicably, Gohan felt himself smile, and, nodding briefly, hurried out of the room to do his mother's bidding. Just like the old days, he supposed. Always bending to his mother's will. He recalled that he used to mind that a bit, being allowed to do nothing but what she told him, but right now he loved it. Already, it made him feel so much more at home than he'd been mere minutes before; it was one of those things that one didn't think that he missed, but was exceedingly happy to have back.

He was surprised to discover that he was able to unerringly find his way to the bathroom; the map of his house must have been more firmly imprinted in his brain than almost anything else. His hands clumsily turned on the faucet, quite unused to such a refined action. Testing the stream of water with his fingertips, Gohan found the temperature uncomfortably cold, but stuck his hands in anyway; he was used to extremes and they didn't really bother him much. Layers of dirt and grime stained the water a dull, solid brown, as though he were shedding darkened skin. He splashed some of the liquid onto his face, and was surprised to find how much lighter it felt after that action---he hadn't thought that his face had been that filthy.

Tuning off the faucet, Gohan looked up and regarded himself in the mirror; he still had grief-etched lines around his eyes and mouth, though they seemed slightly shallower than the last time he'd ever bothered to look. Instead of a withered old man, he saw someone younger, though still not nearly as young as he should have been---perhaps some middle-aged war veteran. Yes, that analogy fit. Gohan was, after all, a soldier of sorts---or he used to be. And the strange thing was, some part of him was saying that he should become one again; he frowned at that.

This is all Trunks' fault, blast it, he thought. Ever since the toddler's accusations during the attack a few days ago, he'd begun to question all of the things that he had done---and hadn't done---for the past three years. He felt a little ashamed, but there was nothing that he could have done against the androids. Nothing. And there never would be.

At least, that was what he preferred to tell himself.

Gohan shook his head; he would have plenty of time to worry about this later. Right now, he had other matters that demanded his attention. Like how to tell his mother why he hadn't come home until today. How could he possibly explain things to her? True enough, she had lost loved ones herself, but… He bit his lip at the stab of pain in his heart. But she had never been responsible for losing her loved ones, like he was. How could he make her understand?

These thoughts whirled through his mind in a dizzying loop as he made his way to the kitchen, where he saw his mother struggling to fit as many platters, mass quantities of food piled upon each one, as possible onto the relatively small table. Gohan was a little surprised that his mother had made this much; it was almost as if she had known in advance that he and Trunks would show up, and had prepared a meal fully large enough to satiate Saiyajin appetites.

Sitting at the table were his grandfather and Trunks. Ox King towered several feet over the table despite the fact that he was in a chair, while Trunks sat near him, his nose squarely level with the tabletop. The size difference was so ludicrous that Gohan had to struggle to keep from laughing; nevertheless, he couldn't stop a grin from forming on his face.

"Gohan-san!" Trunks called out as he noticed him, motioning for him to come closer. "Hurry and sit down. Chichi-obasan keeps hitting my hands away when I try to take some food; she says she won't let me eat until everyone's at the table." The child pouted. "Hurry up! I'm hungry!"

Gohan couldn't suppress a soft chuckle at the toddler's orders, and didn't hesitate to obey them. After all, he was hungry, too. With the scents of rice, steamed vegetables, assorted meats, and various other edibles thickly wafting into his nose, he was hard-pressed not to instantly devour the table-full of food and wait impatiently for seconds. But, oddly, he remembered his manners and sat quietly; as he waited, his mother took her place at the table.

Now that he was allowed to do so, Trunks immediately began piling food upon his plate, stuffing several morsels into his mouth before they got there; the toddler's cheeks puffed out as though he were a squirrel looking for a place to store its supply of nuts for the winter. Gohan didn't know if the child had ever known any etiquette, but if he had, it had clearly been forgotten in favour of something far more important: dinner.

Gohan himself, on the other hand, still hesitated; his mother just kept staring at him lovingly, and it made him uncomfortable. He almost felt that it would be rude to start eating while she looked at him that way. Eventually, though, his stomach overrode his sense of self-consciousness, and he laid into the food, making sure, despite the fact that he was acting at a speed which bordered on blurring, to savour every last bite; he hadn't forgotten what an amazing cook his mother was. The food platters emptied rapidly, falling victim to the naturally voracious appetites of two demi-saiyans, and in a mere few moments, offered not so much as a leftover crumb.

Looking up, Gohan wiped a hand over his mouth to clean away any bits of food that may have missed their mark. He wondered if his mother and grandfather had managed to snatch anything for themselves; it was difficult to grab even the tiniest morsel when eating with those of Saiyajin blood.

His mother only chuckled a little. "I'm glad, now, that I ended up making so much," she said, rising from her seat to retrieve what looked to be another table's-worth of food. "All the other times, I had to throw a lot of the extra away; making a banquet out of every meal is too much of a habit for me, but without you around, Gohan-chan, I haven't needed to." Gohan blinked as his mother looked him over once again after she set the new dishes on the table. "You look like you could have stood to have some of my cooking during the last few years, Gohan-chan; you've gotten a little too thin. Why did you wait so long to come home?"

"W… well… I…" Gohan bowed his head. This was the question he'd been dreading. Running an index finger along the edge of his plate, he tried to summon up the courage to answer. He should just tell her the truth, and get it over with. He should just let it out… but he couldn't. He couldn't tell her. She wouldn't understand. "…I don't know, Kaasan. I… I can't explain it. Gomen nasai."

"It's okay, honey," she soothed. "The important thing is that you've come home safe."

Ox King nodded. "Yeah, we're just glad you came back, Gohan. But how did Trunks end up with you, and what's this business about not knowing where Bulma is?"

Though relieved that he no longer had to explain the reasons for his long absence, Gohan still wasn't sure what to say; the meal was forgotten as he tried to find the proper words.

Surprisingly, Trunks spoke up. "Gohan-san saved me from the bad robots." All eyes turned to the toddler as he continued, "I couldn't see Mama anywhere, and the bad lady-robot tried to get me, but Gohan-san came and stopped her. Then we got away. Gohan-san's been taking care of me after that."

Gohan half-smiled solemnly; trust a four-year-old to give the most concise account of a long and complicated story.

"You've been going up against the androids?" Ox King spluttered.

"It's only happened twice since… well… you know when," Gohan explained softly, still not looking up. "Both times, it was only to help Trunks; it's not like I've made a habit of doing it, or anything, Ojiisan."

"And it had certainly better not become one, young man," his mother ordered firmly. "I'm not going to lose my baby boy again to those monsters! Is that clear?"

"Hai, Kaasan. Very clear."

"That's my little boy. Now," she continued, her voice softening, "what happened to Bulma?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Gohan saw Trunks curl in upon himself in silence, apparently finding something fascinating to look at on his empty plate. He couldn't say that he blamed the kid; Gohan knew what it was like to not want to talk about the people one had lost, having kept his lips tight on the subject of his own pain. And since the toddler had spoken up for him when he could find no words, he decided that it would only be fair if he returned the favour.

Raising his head, he cleared his throat. "We don't know, Kaasan. From what Trunks has told me, though, I think she's okay."

"How long ago was this?" Chichi asked, a note of worry in her voice.

"Uh…" Gohan hesitated, mentally counting off the days. Time hadn't been one of his main concerns for quite a while; he'd been too wrapped up in guilt to pay much attention to its passage. As such, it took him a moment to do the rudimentary calculation. "Maybe a week and a half ago, I think."

"A week and a half ago!" his mother shrieked, shooting out of her chair. "Bulma must be worried sick about Trunks! The poor thing, thinking she's lost her little boy forever; I know how she must feel." Hurriedly, she began making her way into the living room. "I'm going to call her and let her know that he's all right."

Gohan's gaze shifted to Trunks, who was now drumming his tiny fingers on the tabletop. So this was it; soon, the toddler would be reunited with his family, too. He knew that he should be happy about that, but some part of him didn't want it to happen yet. Over the past few days, Gohan had grown used to the child's presence, and found a certain comfort in it---perhaps just the knowledge that he wasn't alone in the world. He'd been alone for so long, he hadn't realized how much he needed to be around someone. Without Trunks around, there would be no one.

Gohan tightened his lips; that last thought wasn't true. He wouldn't be alone when Trunks was reunited with Bulma; he had his own family back again, was back with his own mother, who he had missed terribly without even knowing it. Why, then, was he so concerned about this? And anyway, it wasn't as though he couldn't go and see the kid whenever he wanted, so long as Gohan's mother would allow him out of the house. Trunks would also be a great deal happier; it was clear how much he missed his family. Wearily, Gohan sighed; he realized that he was just being selfish. The child deserved to go home.

His mother returned, frowning worriedly. "The phone's dead; I can't get through to the city at all. The androids must have demolished the city severely if nothing's working after a week and a half. Gomen nasai, Trunks-kun, but it looks like you're going to have to stay here for a while, until I can get in touch with your mother."

Trunks' face fell, and Gohan felt a pang of sympathy for the toddler. The poor kid. He'd probably been so looking forward to seeing his mother again, and that high hope had just been dashed. Of course, there was something that Gohan could do about that…

"I could take you home, Trunks," he offered quietly.

Trunks looked up at him, hope shining in his blue eyes. "Really?"

"No, you can't," Chichi interrupted. Confused, Gohan opened his mouth to protest, but the angry scowl on her face hushed him. "You just got back here, young man, and you are not leaving me again. It won't hurt Trunks if he has to stay with us for a few days."

"But Kaasan, I…"

"No buts, Gohan-chan. The matter is closed," Chichi said, and her tone, as it often did, brooked no debate; it was clear that she would not be moved.

"Hai, Kaasan," Gohan agreed meekly. He supposed that she was right; Trunks would be fine. A few days of knowing that he was going to see his mother again had to be infinitely better than more than a week believing that he never would. Or, as in Gohan's case, years thinking that he shouldn't.

In the meantime, Gohan decided that he should try to enjoy himself here as much as he could; after all, he was home now. Turning back to the table, he resumed mortally wounding the food supply.