Disclaimer: You know, I'm so happy that I've finished this story that I don't mind telling you all that I don't own DBZ!

The Burden of Hope

EPILOGUE: Discovery of the Project; A Matter of Time

"Kaasan, I'm fine. Really," Gohan insisted, as his mother forced him back onto his bed. It was a measure of his weakness---which he refused to admit to her---that she was able to do so.

"That's nonsense, Gohan-chan. You're hurt," his mother scolded, glaring sternly at him. "Now lie down. You're not getting out of this bed until I say so."

"But Kaasan…"

She cut him off. "Okaasan knows what's best, Gohan-chan." Sighing in a mixture of exasperation and wistfulness, she shook her head. "I swear, you're as bad about this as your father used to be. I remember when you, Bulma, and Kurilin were off on Nameksei, he tried over and over again to sneak out of the hospital; he even succeeded once, and ended up hurting himself even worse. I won't have you doing any such thing."

Defeated, Gohan relaxed his muscles as his mother pulled the heavy covers over his body. There was no point in trying to argue any further; while the androids might have been the most powerful in the conventional combat sense, no one could match his mother in verbal sparring. She was practically unbeatable.

He closed his eyes as she gently smoothed back his hair, and evened out his breathing. He wasn't tired, by any means---since, thanks to his mother and Bulma, all he was really allowed to do throughout the day was eat and sleep---but it always reassured his mother when he rested, and he'd worried her too much already. A little nap wouldn't hurt, he supposed…

The room was dark, now---somewhere between absolute and comforting. Annoyed, Gohan rubbed his eyes; he hadn't meant to sleep for this long. He strained his neck to see the outline of his mother sitting in the chair that sat nearly behind the bed, and his ears caught the sounds of her quiet breathing.

He shifted a little, and let out a tiny groan at the soreness in his muscles; they had been inactive for too long. Just how much time had he spent lying in this thing, anyway? At least two weeks, he was sure. Yes, that was far too long, and it couldn't be healthy; while he was certainly not fully healed, he wasn't in so bad a condition anymore that getting up and stretching his legs a bit would hurt him. If anything, such an action would probably be beneficial.

Carefully, so as to avoid waking his mother---though he had to viciously untangle the covers from his legs---Gohan slid off the bed, the floor icy under his bare feet. He took a few unsteady steps, nearly falling over; it reminded him of the time early in his survival training, when he'd woken up one morning and, after involuntarily introducing himself to the ground a few times, found his tail to be missing.

He lightly padded across the floor, tensing as he passed his mother's recumbent form; she hadn't left his side since she'd arrived, summoned by Bulma's phone call as soon as communications had been restored, and he knew that he'd get in big trouble if he got caught sneaking away from her. Just a short walk was all Gohan needed, and he hoped that he would be back before she awakened.

He let out a relieved sigh once he managed to leave the room without incident, and continued on less cautiously, knowing that he was out of earshot. The hallways were nearly black, save for faint starlight trickling through the windows---starlight only, as the planet hadn't had a moon since Gohan was very young. Gears whirred softly from all directions, the only signs of whatever Capsule Corporation machines had nocturnal duties to perform.

Wandering aimlessly, he nonetheless took careful note of his route; no sense in getting himself lost. Eventually, he became so accustomed to the darkness that he was nearly blinded by a stream of light pouring onto the floor from a doorway several feet in front of him. He frowned curiously. Why would there be any lights on at this late an hour?

He stepped into that doorway, blinking his eyes against the harsh brilliance that emanated from it. The room was sparsely furnished, only boasting a few chairs along the near wall, and a desk set against the far one. In one of those chairs, Trunks was curled up, snoring quietly as his head lay pillowed on his hands. At the desk, Bulma sat, computer keys clicking under her fingers as she stared at a glowing screen.

"Bulma-san?" Gohan asked, keeping his voice low, though he had learned that Trunks was quite a sound sleeper; he doubted that an android attack could wake the kid.

Bulma jumped, and spun around in her chair. "Gohan!" she gasped. "Don't sneak up on people like that!"

"Gomen nasai. I…"

"And what are you doing out of bed, kiddo?" she interrupted, lifting one eyebrow accusingly. "You barely survived that scrap; you need to heal."

"Bulma-san, I'm f…" He waved one arm dismissively, wincing as he waved the wrong one; he hissed in pain, and put his opposite hand to his injured shoulder. Looking up sheepishly at Bulma's smug expression, he amended, "Well, it's nothing I can't handle."

Bulma shook her head. "Stubbornness must run in Saiyajin genes. Have any of you ever not been fine after a battle?" She turned back to her computer. "Get back to bed, Gohan."

Deciding to ignore the order, Gohan entered the room, stopping just behind Bulma's chair. Curiously, he eyed the computer screen; displayed upon it were statistics of various metals and alloys---everything from chemical composition, to melting points, to compression strengths. "What are you working on?"

For some reason he couldn't understand, Bulma froze for a moment, her fingers hovering almost nervously over the keyboard, but she quickly regained her composure. "It's nothing, Gohan. Just some project I came up with not too long ago."

Gohan frowned at this, knowing that she was lying; her answer was too vague and her voice was too strained for the words to be true. Besides that, the Bulma that he remembered was always proud of her projects, often telling all of the others about them before she was even asked, perhaps so that they could marvel at her genius. She had never been secretive about them.

Perhaps the old Gohan would've let this go, let Bulma have her secret project, but he wasn't the old Gohan anymore. Some part of him sensed a great importance from what she may have been concocting, stemming from the fact that she wished it to be unknown. If it were that important, he wanted to be aware of it; didn't he deserve to, if he had to carry all the world's hope on his shoulders?

"Bulma-san, tell me," he said, not quite a command, but more than a request. "I don't see any reason why you should be hiding it." He stepped over to the end of the desk, where rested a small stack of books. Idly, yet carefully enough to avoid an unpleasant reaction in his shoulder, Gohan lifted the top one off the pile, the one entitled The Properties of Space, and flipped through a few pages, feeling oddly nostalgic; maybe he hadn't really minded all that studying that his mother used to make him do, after all.

Several minutes passed with only the sound of turning pages, and Gohan was beginning to think that he would have to prompt Bulma again, when she finally spoke. "A time machine."

He dropped the book. "A what?"

"A time machine," she repeated calmly.

Suddenly dizzy, Gohan gripped the desk for support, so hard that his fingers dented the wood; he looked up briefly to see if the noise had awakened Trunks, but the child continued to sleep. The words echoed in his mind, bouncing of the walls of his brain until he could hear nothing more. A time machine… "Are… are you saying you can make it so that none of this ever happened? No androids… everyone alive…"

Bulma sighed heavily. "Well, that's the plan, obviously: to go back and warn everyone well in advance, so they might have a chance against the androids. I wouldn't get my hopes too high, though, if I were you; I don't know if it's going to work."

Gohan barely heard the last two sentences, latching onto the plan. What would it be like, to go back to the past? To see the world as a beautiful place again: pristine, untouched, knowing no such horrors as the ones that existed here? More importantly, what would it be like to see all of his friends again? He could almost envision the scene. Piccolo-san standing tall, arms crossed, and apparently aloof, but with that barely visible, yet telltale look in his eyes showing otherwise… Kurilin cracking a few jokes, until receiving a baleful glare from Vegeta… Himself, younger and happier, giggling childishly as his father ruffled his hair… His father.

A sudden bitterness overtaking him, he dug his fingers deeper into the wood, nearly tearing a chunk off the desk. "Tousan… I'd still lose him."

"Not necessarily," Bulma responded softly; surprised, Gohan turned, and found a sombre smile spreading across the woman's face. "They've found a cure, Gohan. Just a few weeks ago. The heart virus isn't an insurmountable obstacle anymore."

"A cure…" Gohan whispered, hope rising tentatively in his heart. If his father were there, they would defeat the androids for sure…

Bulma's smile faded. "Look at me," she chided. "I'm talking about this like I know it'll work. Even if I get the time machine built, and someone goes back, there's no guarantee that it's going to change anything."

Pulled away from his near daydream, Gohan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Nobody really knows what would happen if someone were to travel back in time," Bulma explained slowly. She gestured at the stack of books on the desk. "As you can see, there are a whole bunch of theories on the subject. Things might change, or there might be any number of paradoxes. Like maybe, you go back and fix something, but your actions don't exist without you, and you don't exist without your past, so you've only managed to undo any help you may have given. Or maybe a new timeline would branch off from where you visited and create a parallel world, meaning that you can alter that reality, but not this one."

Gohan tightened his lips as his mind soaked in the possibilities. So much for fixing things before they happened; and at the thought of a new timeline developing where the world was peaceful and beautiful, he felt a hot surge of irrational jealousy. Why should some other version of himself get all the happiness? Didn't he deserve some, after all he'd endured?

But he pushed those feelings aside, realizing how petty they were. He'd suffered, and that was that; if that were the way it had to be, then he would live with it, not pout and sulk like a spoiled child. Slowly, his gaze drifted back to Trunks, who still lay slumbering in the chair, eyes quietly closed. Eyes that, when open, held brilliant light, but also deep shadows. Innocent, yet not. What about him? Shouldn't he have a world where he could have a real childhood, where the nightmare ended before he was old enough to remember it?

"You know, I'm starting to wonder why I'm bothering with it," Bulma sighed. "That it might help things here is only one tiny possibility out of about two million. Not good odds."

"Bother with it," Gohan said, not taking his eyes off Trunks.

"Nani?"

"Bother with it," he repeated, at last turning back to her. Steadily, he met her eyes. "Even if it makes some other world. I'll handle this one; you worry about the other, at least until the time machine is finished. Then I'll take care of that one, too."

Bulma blinked a few times, then chuckled. "Well, here we go: trying to save the world again. Just like old times, huh Gohan?"

"Hai," Gohan agreed after a moment, feeling a smirk come to his lips. "Just like old times."

With that, he strode out of the room, deciding that he'd better get back into bed before his mother awakened.