Prologue
"There's Life Underground"

I feel it all around, I feel it in my bones
My life is on the line when I'm away from home
When I step out the door the jungle is alive
I do not trust my ears I don't believe my eyes
I will not fall in love I cannot risk the bet
Cause hearts are fragile toys so easy to forget

The elder brought out the cash and handed it over to the waiting hands. He and the others watched anxiously as the recipient counted it, hoping that it was enough. It'd been hard, so very hard, to scrape the money together. Things were hard, had been hard for years. Ever since their home was destroyed, nothing had quite gone right. Most of the ones who'd escaped were here, but not all, and each face that wasn't among their number any more only made the pain renew itself.

At last the counting was done. Slowly an armored head nodded. "It's enough," a voice said, made hollow by the helmet. "Well, to tell you the truth, it's a little light, but I can make it stretch. I can see there's no use asking you for more, and you're this close. I can cut you some slack."

The elder nodded, his grim expression lightening, and a murmur of relief swept the group. "Do you need a description?"

"Not necessary." Behind the mirrored faceplate, a thin grin appeared and disappeared. "Trust me, we've heard of this particular problem before. It's just that no one yet has managed to come up with the price of a solution. Our solution, that is. But for the record, I do need you to state exactly the terms you're hiring me under, for transmittal to my headquarters, so the contract can be finalized."

The elder nodded again. "My name is Tena, and I'm one of the Elders of the Council that rules what's left of our people. I and the other Council members here were selected by our people to employ your services to serve justice on the person responsible for the destruction of our world, Shimo, and the near-extermination of our people, the Shimo-jin. We want retribution...We want revenge!"

"And this person's name is-?"

"Vegeta. Prince Vegeta of the Saiyajin."

****

Part One
"Murder in the Air"

It's just another day, there's murder in the air
It drags me when I walk I smell it everywhere
It's just another day where people cling to light
To drive away the fear that comes with every night

"YAAAAAAA!"

Piccolo didn't even open his eyes. He simply straightened up and sidestepped at the last second, letting the screaming form shoot past him, then whirled and fired a ki blast in his assailant's direction. He missed, of course, but by that time he'd swept off his turban and cloak and taken a defensive posture, smirking. "Gotta do better than that to catch me off guard."

"How's this?" Gohan banked in a neat hairpin turn and rocketed back up at the Namekseijin, arms spreading wide. As Piccolo ducked, Gohan executed a mid-air handstand and snagged his mentor's shoulders, dragging him up into the air for a huge and exuberant hug. "Taaaaaag you're it, Piccolo-san!" he caroled, laughing.

"Gyaahhh get off of me!" Grabbing Gohan's arms in turn, Piccolo judo-flipped him to the ground, then flew down and grabbed the young man in a headlock. "Now who's got who. Huh, kid?"

"Temae na yuzuru," Gohan panted, still laughing. "I give up!"

"You better, before I get rough with you." Piccolo let go, but not before he scuffed a hand through Gohan's hair. Not that it made much difference; as soon as the fingers passed the short locks settled back into their accustomed pattern. "Not too bad. You got within 500 yards of me before I knew you were there. Been practicing masking your ki again?"

"Hai." Gohan leaned back. "Otou-san says it's useful."

"Yeah, well...he's got a point. There are times you don't want to advertise where you are to anyone with half the wits Kami gave 'em." Piccolo looked at Gohan thoughtfully. "You feeling okay? No more bad nights over Bardock?"

"Hm? --Oh...hai." Gohan looked down, plucking at a blade of grass. "I...I think I'm mostly over it, Piccolo-san. It was pretty bad at first, but six months makes a big difference."

"Getting your body taken away from you isn't real easy to deal with. You did good, fighting him off."

"I just wish..." Gohan's voice trailed off to almost a whisper. "I wish I'd been able to stop him before he hurt you."

"I survived, didn't I? Quit knocking yourself in the head for it, Gohan. It might've been your hands, but it wasn't your decision. Don't you think I'm smart enough to understand that?" Without hesitation, the Namekseijin put a hand to the other's shoulder. "You and me, kid, we've been through too much for that. So forget it."

"Hai. I wanted to tell you I was sorry before, but you've been pretty hard to find."

"Yeah, I've been spending a lot of time up in Heaven with Dende. Teaching him a few things. Matter of fact, I'm gonna be headed up that way again tomorrow morning."

"Sou ka? How come?"

"Well, you know that when I died Kami did too. The old Kami, I mean. So Dende was chosen as his replacement, and Kami and I fused into one being again. But Dende didn't get much of a chance to learn the God business, so I've been showing him what he can do. One of the things he's been working on is re-creating the Dragon Balls."

"Yoshi!" Gohan jumped to his feet, eyes lighting. "That's great, Piccolo-san! Can I tell everyone else?"

"Sure. Might be a good idea for you to let Bulma know to drag out her Dragon Radar and be ready to gather them when we're finished. They'll be active when they're first made, and last thing we need is for some tin-plate would-be dictator to get his hands on them. I think Pilaf's still around somewhere, and we all know how bad he wants to rule the world." Piccolo smirked. "Not that he's much of a threat, but he's persistent."

"Hai." Gohan lay back again, looking up at the clouds. "It's nice to be under them again," he said softly. "I missed the way the grass smells...Piccolo-san? Do you think I'd make a good teacher?"

"What, a sensei? You thinking about opening a dojo?"

"Iie. Just, you know, regular things. Reading and writing, math, science...sort of a part time thing. To help with the children, you know."

Piccolo studied his protégé. "Is that you talking or your mom?"

"Anou...maybe a little bit of both." Gohan sighed. "It's not that I want to disappoint Otou-san, but, you know? I'm just not the fighter he is. He keeps telling me I'm so powerful, and somehow I almost never feel it. I can't see it in myself. But at the same time there's something in my heart that believes every word, and when I'm fighting, it burns like a star. Sometimes I feel like I'm being tugged two ways, but that's not how it is! Otou-san would let me be anything I wanted to be, so why am I so confused?"

Sitting up, the Namekseijin looked at Gohan a long while before answering. "Your dad's not a common man, Gohan. Fighting is one of his big loves, it's how he's always seen himself: Son Gokou, the warrior. But tied up tight with that is the idea that fighting's got to mean something. Being a fighter for no other reason than to fight and kill, that's not Gokou's way. It's a gift, his gift, and he wants more than anything else to give. Give a little more of himself to his world, to his family, and to his art, right up to and including his life if that's what it takes.

"You, though...you've been stuck between two worlds right from the start. On one hand, a human life, the human world, like your mom wants; on the other hand, a Saiyajin's life, where sometimes everything hangs on whether or not you can take one more punch, win one more fight. Gokou never had to make the choice of where and how to live. You do. We had to wake you up and shake you out of being a kid way too early, but there wasn't any choice. Chikyu needed your Saiyajin strength. You just want it to need the rest of you too. Because you have a lot more to offer than just your fighting power."

"Hai..." The barest whisper. "Piccolo-san...that's the way...I feel inside."

"But it would make it easier if he'd try to pull you, wouldn't it? It's almost as if he doesn't care. But we both know that's a big load of crap." The Namekseijin sighed himself, folding his arms and resting them on his knees while he stared off across the meadow. "You're a mystery to your dad, sometimes, Gohan, but it doesn't matter to him to understand everything you do or say or choose. All that really matters is that you're happy. So, to get back to the real question you were asking, I think Gokou wouldn't have any problems if you decided to step out of the ring once in a while, so to speak, and live a normal life. Because that's what you wanted my opinion on. Not whether you'd be a good teacher, but how much it'd hurt your dad if you told him you hope you never have to fight again. Not like you did versus the jinzouningen."

"How did you get so wise about me, Piccolo-san?"

"I raised you, Gohan. I'm your sensei. And, it could just be that..." Piccolo trailed off, head lowering. In a quiet voice he finished, "It could be you've got two dads, a real one and an adopted one." Then he stood up, deliberately not looking at Gohan. "I've wasted enough time here. I gotta get going."

"Hai, Piccolo-san." The young man's voice was a little huskier than it should be, but it didn't shake, and Piccolo was proud of him for it. "You'll be back soon, ne?"

"Yeah, when I'm finished with what I'm doing. Don't be so eager to get your butt kicked in another training session. And you'd better be able to get closer to me next time, or I'll really make you hurt." Piccolo looked down at Gohan as he rose into the air. "Because don't think I'm gonna let you get soft. You're going to stay in fighting trim, you got it?"

Gohan nodded, a grin spreading on his features. "Haiiiiii!"

Piccolo favored him with a spare but definite smile before turning with a flourish of his heavy white cape and speeding up into the high blue sky. Gohan waved, but Piccolo never looked back. Still, Gohan watched until his beloved sensei was gone.

****

"You've been awfully quiet this morning."

Bulma stretched, leaning back in her chair, and looked over at the slim blonde perching on the edge of the table. "Have I?"

Juuhachi-gou cocked her head, her hair spilling to one side. She'd grown her hair out over the past few months; instead of its former razor-straight crop just above her shoulders, it fell in a long silken spill straight down her back almost to her waist. "More so than usual, and I know for a fact it's not because you're engrossed in your work so don't even try to give me that." She pointed at the monitor in front of Bulma. "I don't think even you can find a blinking cursor on a blank screen that fascinating."

Bulma chuckled wearily. "The real secret of invention is to stare at a blank screen until drops of blood begin to stand out on your forehead."

"I thought that was the secret to writing good fiction."

"That too."

"You're avoiding the question. What's got you so pensive? I thought things were going pretty smoothly for a change." Shifting to sit securely on the table, Juuhachi-gou picked up an electronic notepad and punched a few of the buttons from long practice. "Not only is Hope City's economy firming up, but the agricultural co-op is predicting a bumper crop this season. Nobody's going to go hungry this winter, which will be a nice change. In other news, the father of your son hasn't threatened to kill me for almost twenty-four hours."

Bulma laughed. "Oh, Juu-chan, you know Vegeta's not going to hurt you."

"Not unless I give him a damned good reason, which I have no intention of doing." Juuhachi-gou set the notepad aside and pulled her legs up effortlessly, wrapping her arms around them. Bulma watched her with mild envy--it had been years since she'd been that limber. "You know he only tolerates my existence for your sake."

"And Trunks'," Bulma pointed out.

Juuhachi-gou shook her head. "Vegeta could argue him down with no trouble. He might even be able to convince Trunks that killing me was for the best in the long run, if it weren't for you. I'm not saying Trunks is weak-willed; he simply idolizes his father."

"Mmn. He always has."

"You don't sound thrilled."

"Oh, it isn't that, Juu-chan..." Bulma switched off her computer and turned in her chair to face her assistant--her friend. "It's just that before...before everything fell apart, Vegeta didn't want much to do with Trunks. I'm glad he accepts him as his son now, but it wasn't always that way."

"So I gathered. It hasn't been easy for you, has it?"

Bulma's eyes lowered. "No," she agreed softly. "No, it hasn't." She looked up at Juuhachi-gou again and brightened visibly. "But that's not the case anymore. Trunks and Vegeta are getting along as a father and son should--at least they seem to be; I really don't know much about Saiyajin customs or habits. Then again, Vegeta's done quite a bit of acclimating since he, um, came back." She giggled softly.

"It's strange to think of them as father and son." Juuhachi-gou tilted her head and rested it on her folded arms. "Physically, they're almost of an age."

"That's true," Bulma sighed, looking away. "But Saiyajin don't show their age much anyway. Gokou didn't change significantly from the time he reached his full growth at eighteen until he died, and he was almost thirty then."

"Not like humans, ne?"

"Exactly! It--" Bulma stopped and looked at Juuhachi-gou guiltily. "Does it show that much?"

"Only to someone who knows you. You haven't said anything about it for months, but I know it still bothers you."

"That I'm so much older than Vegeta is now? Well, yes it does, but there's nothing to be done about it, is there? I can't turn back the clock. Instead of whining and moping about my age, I should be glad that Vegeta doesn't seem to mind that I'm more than twice as old as he is now."

"Only physically. And if Saiyajin don't age the way humans do, you would have come to this point eventually anyway."

"I know, I know." Bulma waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm being silly. How are things going with you and Trunks?"

Juuhachi-gou blinked. "Things?"

"Yes, you know...things."

" I'm hoping he'll kiss me any day now. We haven't slept together yet, but I'm still holding out hope, if that's what you were asking."

"It wasn't, and that was more information than I really needed, but thank you," Bulma laughed. "I was wondering why you'd grown out your hair."

"For a change, I suppose. It's not like much else about me is going to get different with time. Besides, he's cut his short again." Juuhachi-gou smiled ruefully and tugged on a pale strand of her hair. "I thought if I looked a little different, he might loosen up a bit. I think he still feels...strange...about our relationship. I can't really blame him, either."

"He's very resilient. Give him time."

"I am." Juuhachi-gou slid off the table and stood. "I was going into town with Videl this morning to pick up the latest deliveries. Can I get you anything?"

"I haven't checked the supplies, but I'm almost sure we need some more miso."

"I'll peek into the pantry before I go." Juuhachi-gou patted Bulma's shoulder lightly in passing. "Please don't concern yourself about Vegeta. If he didn't want to be here, I really think he wouldn't."

"Thank you, Juu-chan." Bulma sighed as the jinzouningen disappeared down the corridor. "Oh, Juu-chan...you completely miss the point." She closed her eyes to hold back a sudden prickling of tears. "How many years do I have left to give him? Ten? Twenty? No more than thirty, surely...it's so unfair. If only I could have the time we lost back..."

A sound from outside made her jump to her feet and run to the window. She got there just in time to see a dark speck rising into the air, disappearing into the wide blueness of the sky almost before she could identify who it was. "Vegeta? Where the hell is he off to now?"

****

Mr. Popo calmly swept the immaculate marble floor of the Main Hall. It wasn't as if the dwelling of Earth's God needed a great deal of maintenance, but he found the simplest chores oddly satisfying. Popo liked an established routine; it gave order and direction to the day. He had served the old God, the first Kami, for countless ages. The current resident deity was a good deal younger than his predecessor--not only younger, but more innovative and sometimes (it had to be admitted) downright sneaky in his way of getting things to work out to his liking. In the old days, such things would never have occurred.

Popo paused in his steady sweeping and leaned on his broom, looking out onto the white-tiled courtyard. How many times had Dende stood on the edge of his palace grounds, looking down at his tortured Earth, unheeding of the tears streaming from eyes too weary for his tender years? How many times had Popo reminded him (gently, always gently) that direct interference could well destroy the planet he so desperately wanted to save? "Let things take their natural course," he would repeat over and over. "Everything has its own time."

Even the skill of making the legendary Dragon Balls had been beyond the young God for so long. Piccolo, now once more united with the first Kami, had been the first of Earth's protectors to fall before the jinzouningen. Able to escape imprisonment in Hell by virtue of the fact that he was half God, Piccolo nevertheless had no material existence, therefore the Dragon Balls made at the beginning of the world had ceased to exist at the moment of his death. Existing, yet not alive, Piccolo had been unable to give Dende the necessary training to make his own Dragon Balls, and the Elders of Namek had flatly refused to offer any assistance. "Why create Dragon Balls for a world that is doomed?" was their reply. Dende, and Popo, knew otherwise, but could not express the basis of their knowledge to the Elders.

Ah, but so much had changed...in all the years without number Popo had been the right hand of God, this past twelvemonth had been the most joyous, the most fulfilling. To see his beloved Kami, young Dende, full of excitement and bursting with the confidence so long denied him in his two decades of godhood--in fact, to see Dende being almost playful in his subtle influencing of events, able to finally lend, however indirectly, aid where it was most needed....It made Popo's boundless heart fill with joy.

A smile graced Popo's full mouth as he saw Dende and Piccolo--restored to life and existence--hovering in identical lotus postures, each about a meter above the courtyard tiling. Their antennae twitched in silent communication as information and energy was received and transferred from one to the other. Between them, resting on the white tiles below, were seven round, plain stones, grey and featureless.

As Popo watched, the once and future gods bowed their heads, moving as one, their hands extending out to each other, fingers not quite touching. Energy visible only to the trained eye flowed from Piccolo to Dende, then from Dende to the stones, which began to feebly glow.

A new presence tickled at the edge of Popo's perceptions; he looked to the west and saw a black-clad shape hovering just beyond the edge of the courtyard, over open air, watching. Popo knew him at once, of course: Vegeta. What could he possibly want? He'd never been a frequent visitor in his years as a Celestial; he didn't seem to care much for the quiet and peace of Dende's palace. Whatever business he had with Dende, Popo thought it an odd show of consideration and manners for the former Prince of the Saiyajin to wait there, unannounced, to be noticed. Perhaps Vegeta was finally learning proper decorum. That would be a welcome change.

If Popo could have read Vegeta's mind, however, he would have known differently. The Saiyajin wasn't the least bit concerned with manners or propriety; the only thing that had stopped him simply barging in, catching up Dende, and demanding he do something to set Bulma's mind at ease was sensing the power rising between them. And, if truth be told, curiosity was playing its part; what in the universe's reaches were they doing, Piccolo and Dende, with those stones? What game were they at? With a scowl, he folded his arms and stood quiet in mid-air, waiting to see exactly what the pair was up to before he persuaded Kami--one way or another--to do as he asked.

A flare of power brought everyone's attention to the Namekseijin and their work. A small smile graced Dende's face--mirrored strangely on Piccolo's, making him look heartachingly like the first Kami. The cold stones rose up into the air, and one by one they turned from dull gray rocks to shining, clear golden spheres. Stars--white, glowing and shimmering as though plucked from a night sky--glimmered to life inside each sphere, each holding a different number, from one to seven.

Dende and Piccolo opened their eyes. "Doumo arigatou gozaimasu, Piccolo-san," Dende said in his soft musical tenor.

Piccolo smirked, but it was almost a real smile. "Don't mention it, kid."

Dende set his feet on the ground and turned. "Mr. Popo," he said, and although he didn't raise his voice it sounded clearly in the Main Hall, "would you please...?"

He didn't have to finish. Popo set the broom in its place near the hearth and picked up a beautifully carved ebony box from the mantle. He walked outside, his gait deceptively clumsy-looking, carrying the box in front of him, already open.

Dende waved his hand and the Dragon Balls floated neatly into the red-velvet interior of the box. "They're beautiful, Piccolo-san."

"Hey, you're the one who made 'em, Dende. I just showed you the ropes."

"Mr. Popo, until it's time to distribute them, would you place the box in--"

**FWOOSH**

Suddenly Popo's hands were empty. He blinked, not quite sure what had happened at first. He'd forgotten how fast Saiyajin could actually move.

"Oh." Dende looked off to the black speck shrinking rapidly from view into the distance. "Never mind, Mr. Popo."

"WHAT THE HELL--?!" bellowed Piccolo. "Vegeta, you son of a bitch, come back here with those!!" He jumped into the air and flew off after Vegeta at top speed.

Dende trotted to the edge of the courtyard. "Vegeta-san," he said, very very softly. "Come back. Vegeta-san..." He turned his wide eyes to Mr. Popo, a sparkle of mischief hidden in their soulful depths. "Oh, dear. I don't think Vegeta-san can hear me."

One corner of Popo's wide mouth twitched. He huffed a sigh. "Some people never learn."

****

"Ahhhhh..." Son Gokou looked up at the dazzling sky and drank in the fresh air and sunshine. "I think I go fishing today! I still need to get back into practice catching fish with my tail!"

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Gokou-san." ChiChi set down her empty washing basket and stretched a kink out of her back. "It's been too long since we've had fresh fish for dinner...what's that?"

Gokou watched, wide-eyed, as a small black shape shot over the house. "Oi! Vegeta! Why didn't you show up to spar this morning?!" Moments later, a second form, this one much larger with a billowing white cape, nearly broke the sound barrier in passing overhead, hotly pursuing the first. "That's a good reason," Gokou said. "Oi, Piccolo!"

"What in the world?!" ChiChi wondered. "Gokou! Where do you think you're going?" she continued as her husband rose a few feet into the air.

Gokou paused. "I'm going to see what's happening! It looks exciting!"

"Not without me you're not!"

"But ChiChi--!"

"The last time I let you chase after those two you nearly got killed by our son!" ChiChi stripped off her apron and folded her arms. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until we know exactly what's going on."

"Oh, okay--wait! I got an idea!" Gokou put two fingers in his mouth and blew a piercing whistle. Moments later, a cloud of shimmering gold rose above the treetops and swooped down beside Gokou. "Ah, Kintoen! I knew you'd still be around somewhere!" Gokou scooped ChiChi up and set her on the flying cloud, then settled behind her himself. "Kintoen--follow that Namekseijin!" he ordered.

ChiChi squealed and clung to Gokou as the Kintoen sped off at a heartstopping pace after Piccolo.

****

"BULMA!"

She squealed, dropping the beaker she held. By the time it hit the floor and shattered, she was at the window. She had never heard such urgency in Vegeta's voice. "What is it?"

Without a word, Vegeta reached through the open window and grabbed Bulma around the waist, yanking her out of her lab. She shrieked as they dropped to the ground, the landing jarring her to the teeth. "Dammit, Vegeta--!"

"Shut up." He let her go, took a box out from under his arm, and opened it, smirking as he did so. What perfect timing you have, Kami, to recreate these just in time for me to put them to good use, he thought. Bulma had enough time to wonder what was casting the golden radiance on his face and just managed to come up with the answer when he shouted, at the top of his lungs, "Appear, SHENLON!"

"DAMMIT NO!" Piccolo was within arm's reach of the box when a beam of intense white light shot up from the cluster of balls within. A string of alien language that could only be Namek profanity erupted from Piccolo's lips, drowned out by the sudden crash of thunder above.

The sky turned black as thick clouds roiled into existence, lightning searing across the roiling depths. Bulma gasped, her heart racing as a familiar shape began to form--well, almost familiar...if Shenlon had been huge before, this time he was massive.

The Legendary Dragon's body seemed to fill the sky from horizon to horizon, coils twisting lazily upon each other. A massive head lowered itself; the mouth opened to show wickedly curved teeth, each one the size of a redwood. The clear golden eyes were the size of moons, gazing down on them dispassionately, as old as the stars and as young as the next moment.

A deep voice rose above the constant roll of thunder, making the windows of Capsule Corporation shiver in their frames. "Who summons Shenlon?"

"Sugee!" Gokou leapt off the Kintoen as it descended. "Hi, Shenlon! Long time no see!" He waved as the immense head tipped ever so slightly in his direction, acknowledging his presence.

ChiChi just stared upwards, mouth open. "Oh...my..."

"What the hell is going on?" Juuhachi-gou jumped out of the skycar; Videl followed her, looking up, scarcely noticing where she was going.

"Who summons Shenlon?" the dragon boomed again, so loud this time Bulma winced.

"I do, you overgrown earthworm!" Vegeta shouted over the thunder.

"Vegeta!" Bulma hissed warningly. He ignored her.

The ponderous gaze shifted marginally to focus on the Saiyajin Prince. "What is your wish?"

Vegeta smirked self-importantly. "I want you," he said, " to make this woman," pointing at Bulma, "the age..." He considered for a moment. "Make this woman the age she was when she first met Kakarott." His eyes cut to Gokou and ChiChi, who still sat on the cloud staring upwards, then he looked back at the dragon and added, "And the same for Kakarott's female as well. And hurry up about it!"

"NANI?!" Gokou shouted. "Vegeta, don't--"

He was cut off by a sound that made everyone present stare upwards, a sound that precluded any attempt at debate or discussion.

Shenlon, the Legendary Dragon, was laughing.

Bulma swallowed hard. She had seen Shenlon appear more times than anyone living, perhaps, and she'd seen definite signs of emotion in the usually remote being before, but she had never heard him laugh before. While she was still marveling over the occurrence, she felt her skin begin to tingle, and the world around her disappeared in a shimmering nimbus of golden-white light.

"Your wish," Shenlon said, still chuckling, "is granted!!"

With a burst of radiance as bright as the midday sun, Shenlon vanished. The box shattered to splinters in Vegeta's hands, and the Dragon Balls rose up into the clearing sky, shot off in seven separate directions, and vanished over the wide horizon. The clouds evaporated as the last clap of thunder faded on the air, leaving only peaceful midday calm behind.

"Bulma..." Videl's whisper broke the silence.

"Aa-aaa...?" Bulma looked down at herself. Her clothes hung on her oddly, several sizes too large for her now--except across the upper chest, where her shirt almost fit too tightly. She reached up and felt at her hair--it was long again, long as it had been when she was sixteen and kept it bundled up in a topknot. She touched her face--it was smooth, unlined, the skin soft and dewy-fresh.

Wide-eyed, she looked at Vegeta. "I'm...I...Vegeta...?" she murmured, lost, then fell silent at the look in his eyes. For just that moment there was something almost wondering and worshipful in his gaze, as if he'd never seen anything or anyone that could match her, and never dreamt anyone could suit him so perfectly. Then his usual half amused, half disdainful expression slid into place like a shield.

"That was Shenlon!" Gohan said excitedly as he and Trunks dropped to the ground. "We were off sparring and saw the Dragon appear!"

"It was incredible! He was bigger than the other world's Dragon--guh--geh--keh--Okaa-san?!?!?!" Trunks gaped at his mother, who was now four years younger, physically, than he was himself.

"None other." Vegeta took a step towards Bulma, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned, annoyed. "What--"

WHAM!!

Vegeta dug a trench in the lawn with his back. Bulma shrieked, Trunks started forward, and Gohan gasped, "To-Otou-san? Nani--?!"

"VEGETA!!! KONO BAAAAAKA!" Gokou was angry. He was angrier than Bulma ever remembered having seen him. "You have the nerve to call me idiot?! What the hell you do that for?! Why don't you think before you wish for something?!!!"

"Son-kun!" Bulma stepped in front of Gokou, who was about to go after Vegeta again. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Otou-san?" Gohan paused and looked around. Something wasn't right, but he wasn't quite able to place it. Suddenly everyone around him seemed upset. Piccolo was angry, but that wasn't anything particularly new and he was sure his sensei would tell him what was wrong eventually. His father was furious, which was something new and different. Vegeta, climbing back to his feet out of the trench Gokou had knocked him into, looked angry--again, nothing new--but also vaguely puzzled. Trunks was trying to decide how best to protect his father, or perhaps wondering if he should interfere at all. Juuhachi-gou and Videl were watching from the sidelines, trying to stay clear of any potential battle area. And sitting on the golden cloud, the Kintoen--

He should know that girl...the one sitting there, wide-eyed, her clothes hanging off her small slim body, much too big for her. He should know her. He knew he should, but he didn't know why until she looked at him with her wide brown eyes and wavered uncertainly, "Go...Gohan-chan...?"

Her voice was unmistakable. Gohan's jaw dropped. "Ka...Okaa-san?!?!?!"

"Bakayarou!!" Gokou fairly screamed at Vegeta over Bulma's shoulder. "When I met ChiChi she was twelve years old!!"

"Gokou...Gokou-saaaaaan!" ChiChi wailed, understanding finally settling in.

With a final savage glare at Vegeta, Gokou spun on his heel. His expression softened and he went to the girl sitting on the hovering cloud. "It's all right, ChiChi," he said. "We'll fix it. I promise you, somehow we'll get it fixed."

ChiChi collapsed against Gokou's broad chest and dissolved into tears. He gathered her up and jumped on the cloud. "Gohan," he said, the undercurrent of rage still in his voice. "Let's go home. Your mother, she needs us right now."

"Ha-Hai, Otou-san." Gohan glanced at Videl, who nodded in understanding. Go, she mouthed to him. He flashed her a grateful, loving smile and took off after his parents.

"I knew nothing good would come of this," Piccolo grumbled, and took off in the opposite direction.

"Speak for yourself," Bulma said, tugging experimentally at her clothes. "I mean...poor ChiChi, but...wow...!"

"If you need the car to get back to town, Videl, feel free. I can pick it up later." Juuhachi-gou looked around as Trunks appeared at her side.

"What...what...?" he asked her.

"Don't ask me, I just got here myself." Juuhachi-gou leaned back against Trunks and smiled as he obligingly put one arm around her. "One thing's for sure, things are going to get a lot more interesting around here from now on."

Trunks groaned.

****