Welcome to DBZ Love Garden

I couldn't say exactly when I decided I was in love with him. I mean, before dinner and a movie meant more than a night at home with niichan, there was the familiarity of it all, the comfortable sense of home and right that follows my brother around like a canine devotee.

Or maybe that's just me. His loyal little puppy.

Not that I mind in the least! I kind of like to think of myself that way--after all, Gohan raised me well, always to make sure that I had three meals a day, and that the top button of my jacket was never undone when it got particularly cold outside. He bandaged me up with yards and rolls of white gauze that made me sneeze in their sterility when the friendly spar Trunks-kun and I had intended on turned into an all out war for dominance.

But c'mon! The one left standing got to pick from the other's toys…!

And then there were the meticulous means by which he made sure that I learned my manners; he was big on that because Okaasan was never really that interested in what I did. Just so long as I stayed out of everyone's way all was well with the world. I think she just liked to pretend.

Kinda like the way we did for a long time. Pretend that the hugs goodnight didn't linger a little too long, and that the kitchen was actually half its original size. Though there is something to be said about being delightfully pressed between a Saiyan and the sink…

But I guess it just sorta…happened. There wasn't an epiphanous day when I suddenly looked out the window with wind blown hair and a pensive dip in my brow to have the revolutionary thought 'am I indeed in love with my Oniichan?'.

Like I said…it just happened.

One day we were laughing at the same jokes, sharing cookies after class and planning what to make for dinner when Okaasan got home from Ojiisan's, and the next…

He was whispering random flits and fragments of Shakespearean sonnets in my ear after sex. He does that, you know. Gets poetic after sex. I think it's cute, endearing actually…

And I think if I had the words he does, could borrow them for just a little while, I'd use them now. Big words with pretty meanings like, "night-caressed", "world weary", or "sun soaked serenity".

But I was never really that good in Literature class, and anything I learned about English poetry is hidden in the back of my closet with the report cards that said as much. But that's just another reason why niichan's so great. He says the nice things that we both mean.

I'm half tempted to wake him, but I know that he's probably been up since he brought me here, when I looked at him over the kitchen table with a panicked expression that said so much more than 'uh-oh'. Because, to be honest, it hurt like a bitch. I guess everything on that level of perfection has to be at least a little painful. Our first time together was nothing to write a Harlequin about. You know, if they evendid gay…but it was nothing short of timeless to me--Chinese takeout, a bad rented comedy, and my brother's hands over and under and in…

Dende, I'm such a hentai. I mean, I've just spent the last three days giving birth. The last thing on my mind should be sex. Though I've had nothing more than a handjob since the first dimester…

He mumbles a little in his sleep, turning his head from its place on his folded arms that rest against my thigh. That can't be comfortable; he's drawn the chair up to the bed as much as possible and his neck is bent at this really funny looking angle…

But I know my 'tou-chan. They probably had to drag him out of here bodily once the sharp objects were unrolled and the restraints put in place. See, I don't remember much after the first epidural except that Trunks is even stronger than when we were chibis; he had to grab my wrists when the straps broke for the second time. And there was this irritating nurse who completely messed up my IV and I had nothing short of murder in my eyes…

It still stings, my stomach I mean. My hand was fine once I punched that candy-striping bitch to the floor. The surgery…I'll probably have a scar that divides my entire midsection into a nifty little tic-tac-toe board. Unfortunately, senzu are out of season and I'm already walking the tight rope when it comes to little lady Luck.

Eh, like I don't have plenty as it is--from spars, and Buu, and that time I tried to make dinner for Gohan on father's day... Now it just means that I'll win every time Trunks-kun and I play 'my scar's bigger than yours'.

I smirk. Unless of course, he's holding out on me, and that snippet of phone conversation I caught before he gave me the Saiyan-in-headlights routine actually was an 'I love you, too, Kagami'.

Heh, mirror mirror on the wall, the most narcissistic of us all…

Smiling gently at my snoozing other half, I run a light hand over his hair, the only indication for as long as I can recall that my niichan has a side that isn't just books and rulers…though, that was pretty kinky and something I'd like to try again…

He's loving, soft, and when he kisses me…the warmth of his lips makes me think of candied sunshine, sweeter than tapioca pudding and just as delectable. I want to do it right now, and for a moment the desire is stronger than the appeal to let him sleep. I want him to open the dark eyes that I adore and wrap me in the security of his arms, murmur the words too smart for me to understand, but make me feel nothing short of beautiful…

But I grant him rest. I should be doing it myself, but I can't seem to stop staring at his flawless profile, and smile at the growing wet spot on his sleeve as he drools in his exhaustion. Dende-sama, Gohan-kun…aishiteru…

My head snaps up a moment later as the quiet click of the door signals someone's entry, and it's then I notice I've been taken out of the bright lights of intensive care and given a nice little white nitch in the corner of the hospital, complete with sunny windows and blue bunny curtains.

Good Dende, I'm on the maternity floor.

I had a chibi.

Shit on me. The revelation strikes me suddenly like cold rains drops on sunburnt skin. Not unpleasant, just really effing surprising, that's all.

Not that I have time to think about it. My eyes must be wide as my mother's good china as Trunks-kun sidles into the room with a style I've always envied and bumps the door closed with his hip. I'm not one for grace. I can't even go to the bathroom without knocking shampoo bottles off the rim of the tub.

His head is bent and smiling to the kicking bundle in his arms and I move to push myself upward, to straighten, make myself something more presentable to the child I've talked to, that Gohan's read to, and that I've even sang to when no one else was around…but never seen…

My moving has hands down won the award for idiot things Son Goten thought to do, and niichan jerks his head up with a start, glasses cockeyed and askew as he, still half asleep mind you, hastens to help my sorry form.

Like I said, shampoo bottles…

"Are you alright? No, don't try to move, it's ok, I've got you…" He's arranging pillows and fluffing covers…no, reverse that…But either way he makes me as comfortable as I can be, all the while fussing over me as though I were his child, and not the cotton-hidden concoction of arms and legs Trunks-kun patiently tends while he allows the father his fit.

"Otou-chan." I clasp my brother's hand as it moves to fiddle with something else, catching his wide, black eyes dull from sleep; he stops uncertainly to lick his lips. I smile at his hesitance. I don't know what he's so worried about. It's not like anything's changed really. It just means he gets to be an Otousan for real this time, not a practice run, like I was.

"I'm fine, Gohan." I squeeze his hand, a small tug sitting him firmly back in his chair and forward to meet my lips. Dende-sama…I've missed them…just like I remember, sugar sweet and daisy soft….

Slowly, I open my eyes again, rubbing my nose affectionately against his own as he does the same with a splitting grin that makes me want to laugh. Breathing deep of his scent, I loop my arms around his neck and hug him as tight as I'm able without pulling a stitch. Aishiteru, Gohan-koi.

He stiffens, drawing back with a lost look of confusion. "Na…" he shakes his head, "you haven't done that," he looks down, hand smoothing the wrinkles from the sheets at my thigh. "I mean…"

His look hurts me more than the incision on my stomach, but it's not so easily mended. I wanted to, Gohan-koi, but when the pain got to be constant…I couldn't let that through, 'tou-chan. I couldn't do that to you. Gomen nasai.

Caressing the length of his jaw with my palm, I quiet him with a smile. "Not now, Go-kun." My eyes flicker up to Trunks who good-naturedly allows the chibi his moment of stylist glory before untangling the fingers from his hair. Following my gaze, 'niichan pales in recognition, the thought of seeing his…our…

…son…overcoming the immediacy of his need. I want to tell him, but now's not the time. Later when it's just the three of us. Alone.

A family…

"Hai." To my relief, he doesn't seem disappointed, too enthralled at the cooing presence in the room, and my apparent survival. No, Go-kun, I didn't die…

Trunks glances up with a knowing smile, his pointer finger lost in the folds of a blanket too big for the baby it holds.

Our baby.

And then…before I can make excuses as to why Gohan is better suited to hold our son, he's in my arms and Trunks is showing me the proper way to support his head. I…I can't quite describe what it's like to cradle something you made with someone you love. It's like rainbows and caramel and sad Betty Davis films all rolled up into one bright-eyed and blinking bundle of laughing smiles and reaching hands.

And hair. Lots and lots of hair.

"He looks like Otousan." I can't keep the wonder out of my voice. The chibi could have been my father's most recent mistake involving old rivals and dragonballs.

"Nah…" Gohan strategically places a finger within range and the little tyke latches onto it like it's hot cocoa at Christmas. "He looks more like you did when you were this small."

"Congratulations, Son-kun! It's a boy!"

I shake my head at the foreign thought, slanting an eye to study my beaming counterpart. I keep forgetting how old he is, that he was there when I was born, and not just the major hand in my growing up. There's something touchingly sentimental about his connection to this…how he compares it to me…it makes me want to cry…

Then again, it could just be the pregnancy. You can't even believe how much my hormones were effed with over the last six months.

"Definitely a Son," Trunks remarks, leaning in to smile and run a flat palm over the chibi's brow. "Guess it doesn't really matter who he looks like." He cocks an arrogant eye. "Like any decent person can tell the difference between the two of you, anyway."

"Oh, and you're one to talk?" I wink in his direction as he habitually brushes the hair from his eyes, a gesture he's had since he started letting the lavender mess lengthen. Right about the time Trunks-san decided it was time to retire his time-traveling cap and settle in.

Narcissistic bastards.

Though…'niichan and I are beginning to look alike…kinda…

I blame it on the genes. When in doubt, point the finger at Otousan. Not like it would be the first time.

"Dende-sama, he's so…small." I can't get over it. He fits in my hands as though made to be there, tiny feet pawing at the air, virtually begging to be tickled. Hell, I can oblige that. I know I'm going to be just like 'niichan and give this cute little bastard everything he wants. Damn, day one and I'm already whipped. This can only lead to sappily sorry things in the future…

"I know," Trunks-kun tucks another Rapunzilian strand behind one ear. "Hard to believe he came from the likes of you two." Gohan bows his head and blushes a pretty impressive shade of candy apple red, the unspoken 'ano' as audible to me as if he had said it aloud.

"You just wait, pretty boy," itty bitty wrinkled toes push at my palm, the chibi giggling as he decides that three years is too long and that his training should begin at this very instant. "I'll kick your sorry purple ass once I'm out of this…thing." These hospital gowns really do suck. And the ones they have for maternity…

"What? You don't think you and the little green bears would like a cordial introduction to my foot?" His almost girlish features are painted in that shitty smirk he inherited directly from the source of all that is irritable. The thought makes me smile. I wonder what Ouji-san thinks of Trunks-kun and Trunks-san, aside from the flower factor.

"Not until you're better, Goten." My constant protector slides an arm around my waist, his other hand occupied with our delighted son who seems entirely and utterly fascinated by the small silver band on his ring finger that I got him for his birthday last spring.

I grin. Kid's got good taste. Just like his father.

I turn to him then, and embrace his lips again, nuzzling his nose and cheek as our baby chews distractedly on his forefinger. "My hero…always out to save the world and still make it home for dinner, ne?"

His hand rests against my lower back as his breath blows gently past my ear. "No…just you, 'niichan."

Trunks-kun coughs politely, though I can hear the note of embarrassed disgust that reminds me of peeping through keyholes and peering into windows only to have one of us look at the other with a mental agreement that kissing was gross and touching outside of a hug goodnight and a spar was punishable by Melvin. It's strange, even when we were going out, he never really wanted to be overly affectionate, preferred a blowjob to kissing and a hickey to a hug.

Nothing like 'niichan who makes it his very goal in existence to make sure I know exactly how much he loves me, and how he'd cease to breathe, and eat, and read the newspaper--basically give up everything vital to living if I wished it.

He's so dramatic sometimes it's ridiculous.

Good thing I'm not as demanding as our Okaasan.

"How're you feeling, Go-chan?" It's then I realize that Trunks is wearing white past labour day for more than just his need to rebel against the masses. Trunks-kun's all grown up now, traded in his suit and tie for a lab coat and a set of scrubs, much to his mother's irritation and his father's amusement.

"Well, Dr. Briefs," Gohan chuckles, helps me to settle back against the pyramid of pillows at my back. "To be perfectly honest…I'm so hungry I would voluntarily eat your mother's cooking."

"Damn, Son," he whistles his amazement, pushing up from his place on the edge of the bed. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting. I'll have the entire cafeteria staff put on alert: HUNGRY SAIYAN. GAVE BIRTH. RECOVERING. PAY JUST WENT INTO OVERTIME."

Laughing pulls at the stitches, so I try to keep it at a light chuckle. I don't want Gohan to see how it hurts to move. He's taken care of me so much in the past six months…I wanna be able to hold my own again and stop being the pest he'll never admit that I am.

"Arigato, Trunks-kun." My smile's sincere, and I know he knows it. He walks over and bends to kiss my forehead, though I know, if I were better, it would have been a punch in the arm.

Princes don't show this kind of weakness. Then again, it's not everyday that a prince's best friend gives birth, either.

"No problem, chibi…" he socks me for good measure, but it's so light the baby doesn't even feel it. I see his crystal blues flicker to Gohan once--habit, I suppose. It's common knowledge that no one fucks with my 'niichan or his family.

Which is us now…

"You just relax and get better for us, ne?" I nod sharply, one hand raising to my brow in salute.

"Hai, Doctor!" Shaking his head, he straightens, hands slipping into his front pockets.

"Hn. Chibi." Turning to my astute brother, Trunks jerks his head toward the door. "Why don't you help me, Gohan? I could use a hand, and since you've had the extreme pleasure," I stick out my tongue, "of taking care of this baka, you'd know better what he wants to eat."

I can feel my brother's hesitance before he says a word and when he looks at me, I know what he's thinking.

I want to stay, Goten…

S'ok, Gohan-koi…I'll be fine.

But…you shouldn't be alone…

I'm not alone. I give the chibi a bounce that sets him to smiling. Heh, I wish I could be that happy all the time…no worries, just the warmth of another's arms keeping you fed, and safe, and--

Hm. I guess I am that happy.

"Are you sure…?" I nod patiently as he sighs and reluctantly stands, smiling as he bops the baby's nose with a fingertip and a soft 'be back soon'. I catch his sleeve as he moves to go, pulling him back for a kiss that parents should never partake of around their children.

"You know, if you keep doing that, you're gonna scar the kid for life."

"Piss off, Trunks-kun." Aishiteru, Gohan-love…The so-called doctor glares in my direction as he guides my blushing lover out the door, showing his middle finger as a sure sign of affection before closing it.

Alone at last, I'm more nervous than when I was brought in…what, three? Four days ago? This is the first silence I've been subjected to…and I think…

"It's nice, ne?" I'm whispering, though I can't put a reason on why. I think that if I speak too loud it'll shatter this pretty little picture and I'll never get it back. I just can't quite comprehend that what I'm holding is real.

"So these are the little feet that have been kicking at me for the last six months, ne?" I give his toes a small tug. "They're a lot more impressive from the inside." As though to prove me wrong, he kicks good-naturedly at my palm before resigning himself to his flat position.

"You're the bestest present Gohan ever gave me, you know that?" His nose wrinkles and he huffs as I trace the feather-soft line of his petite jaw. "You may have your Ojiisan's hair, but you've got your Otousan's eyes…his nose…his…tail??" The appendage in question snakes out from the creases and folds in the cover, wrapping itself twice around two of my fingers.

"Oh, well that's it then, ne? You've just gone above and beyond the call of cute. I'm done for." Talking to him gets easier the more I speak, though I can't bring myself to put the butterflies in my stomach back in their display cases. He blinks his huge, shiny black eyes, turning his head to look where Gohan sat only moments ago. A furrow flaws his brow and before I know what's happening, he starts to sniff and the chibi tears abound.

"He'll be back soon, I promise!" I whisper into his hair as I rearrange him to rest against my shoulder, rocking him back and forth as I'd seen countless woman on television do, and even Bulma-san when Bra-chan was still into bottles, before boys became appealing. "Shhh…it's ok, chibi…'Tousan'll be back soon, just like he said…" I close my eyes as he cries his indignation to the world, patting his back as he hiccups and whines over the absence of his other parent. Smiling softly, I nudge my nose into the coal-black hair around his ear, kissing tenderly, breathing deep of his sweet scent and singing, my voice low, the tune Gohan used to hum when I was sick or injured, or when our parents were fighting too loudly for me to sleep.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…you make me happy," my voice cracks slightly as I strain for the pitch I never reach, "when skies are grey…you'll never know dear, how much I love you…"

Slowly, the waterworks trickle down to an occasional righteous sniff, chibi fingers finding more amusement in the spastic sable of my hair than the previous preoccupation that comes with crying. Smiling, I stroke his back, lightly drawing out his tail between two of my fingertips. He quiets immediately, my son instantly transformed into a purring bundle of hair and smiles. I grin as the furry end twitches to lazily lap at my hand when it pulls back.

Mental note: the kid is just like his father. Tail will get you everything.

"It's nice to see you're feeling better." I will never understand how my doctor, the man who's been tending to my 'little problem' for over five years is the one most certifiable for giving me a bloody heart attack.

"Creepy bastard. Don't you know that's bad for my health?" Trunks-san smiles, pushing up from his leaning position against the door, which falls shut as he steps forward.

"Really." I nod dramatically, shifting the baby to lie back in the crook of my arms so that most of the weight is distributed across my lap.

"Hai. Says it's bad for my heart," I quirk a brow as he flips up the cover page of my chart, fingers reaching for the perpetual pen tucked behind one ear. It's a wonder he can find it--I think Ouji-san should promote his standing from flower to Saiyan on the unruly hair factor alone. Dende-sama knows he probably goes through as many brushes as the rest of us. I smirk. Unless, of course, he just borrows another one from Trunks-kun…

"Well," he finishes his markings with a fervid flourish that more than likely is made to resemble a signature, "Your doctor knows best."

"I'm thinking of getting a second opinion," I tease as he hitches up his pants by the knee to sit sideways on the bed facing me, laying the clipboard by my outstretched legs.

"Hn. If you can find another expert on the inner workings of pregnant male space monkeys, you give me a ring, ne?" He smiles, brushing back lavender. "I want to meet the man."

"I have a feeling, if such a one exists, you already know him more intimately than I do." Ha! Rose floods his features as he bends his head to scratch idly at his collar. I sigh contently. There's really nothing better than getting those damn princes by the balls and just--

"How are you feeling, Goten?" My victory is short lived as our playful banter is brought to a slow halt. It's then I realize the ingenuity of the whole façade: Get protective papa number one out of the room, bombard the recovering father with the serious stuff.

I hate it when they outsmart us like that. Makes me feel like I've spent hours looking at one of those Seeing Eye thingies without the stupid little picture popping up. It's so obvious.

"I'm ok…" Chibi's got my finger again, a welcome distraction as Trunks-san goes into doctor mode. I wait for the usual rundown: how are you feeling? Does your chest hurt? Are you having trouble breathing? Did you take your meds today? What about yesterday? Have you been sexually active recently? Did you have problems afterward? Is it difficult for you to perform your daily tasks? How there been any changes in your diet? And so on, and so forth, ad nauseas or whatever.

"What'cha gonna name him?" That catches me--Trunks has been my doctor for a long time. He knows shit about me I hope to Dende even Gohan never finds out about. But in so many years, he's never been one to make chitchat before the first questions on his four-foot list are checked off with satisfactory responses.

"I'm not sure yet." I glance down as he giggles in my arms, Trunks' suntanned finger tickling under his chin. "I haven't talked to his Otousan about it yet." Just saying it brings the mother of all smiles to my face. That's just so effing cool. Otousan. Otousan…I could say it for hours and not get tired of it.

"Your daddy is a persistent little bastard, isn't he?" He kicks his teenie toes in agreement, for all the world attempting to shuck off this whole laying thing and try something new. Like rolling.

"I bet he hasn't slept, huh? I mean, other than that little bit today?" Trunks-san shakes his head, settling back and resting a hand on his ankle.

"You caught Gohan sleeping? Every time I've come in here for the last seventeen hours, he's been awake." We both look downward as the bundle coos in recognition of his father's name. "I bet money on the fact he hasn't eaten in five days."

"Well," I readjust, getting more comfortable, if that's even possible, and trying hard to ignore the heinous gown I've been forced to wear. "He's gone with Trunks-kun to fix that."

"Hai." There's a longer pause this time. I feel like I should say something.

"Arigato gozaimasu, Trunks-san." I can't look him in the eye. He's done more for me than my own parents, and I have nothing more to say than that. I don't remember much about the birth, but I do recall blacking out and coming to with a jolt to the demanding growl of Clear! as pure electricity was shot through my chest. My heart gave out. Just like we'd been fearing since the Trunkses gave us the news.

"Don't worry about it, kid." He winks at me as one hand disappears into the depths of his lab coat, resurfacing with a palm sized pink teddy bear that smells of roses and chocolate. Must've grabbed it from the gift shoppe in that one spare minute he gets daily between saving lives and delivering chibis. Greedy hands make short work of it, and my son is quick to reaffirm my hunger as one plush ear is made into a chew toy.

"We've come up with a nutrient supplement that you'll be able to take home with you." I smile as the touching moment ends and he goes back behind the clear plastic wall of 'I'm the doctor, you're the patient, I never gave your son a toy'. I swear, sometimes he reminds me so much of Ouji-san it's incredible. You know, if it weren't for the hair thing…

"It's got everything he needs, so you don't have to worry about malnourishment. I've already gone over the preparation instructions with Gohan, but if you have any questions--"

A knock on the door stops the doctor in the middle of his recital and we both turn toward the quiet creak as the knob jingles and my father pokes his head in the door with a soft, "Ano…"

I can only blink as the man I haven't seen in years puts one foot over the threshold with his trademark expression of bashful misplacement. Chibi must feel my unease. He becomes increasingly agitated as the three of us sit in relative silence save the uncertain 'sssssscht' of my father's foot toeing the floor.

"If you need anything else, you let me know, ne?" I nod blankly as Trunks-san stands, resting a warm hand on my shoulder before gathering his clipboard and making his way toward the entrance. Otousan hastens to remove himself from the exit, apologizing as Trunks dips his head once in greeting. "Goku-san."

"Trunks…" Some men are born to be fathers. Gohan is one of them. From my earliest days he was always quick to support me, pick me up from my inevitable ass-kickings by Trunks, and to take me to the doctor when my heart acted up against my will. Gohan's going to make a great Otousan.

I think that may be in part, because Goku wasn't.

The door swings shut and we're left alone, virtual carbon copies with absolutely nothing in common, and nothing to say.

Dende, I hate uncomfortable silences. And to top it off, the latest addition to the family isn't at all happy with the new atmosphere, voicing his proclamations and chucking his first toy to the floor where it bounces over the tiles to land at my father's feet. He bends to pick it up as I try to ease my baby into oblivious complacency once again, whispering soft promises of food and sleep into the dainty shell of his ear. When I raise my head again, he's right there in front of us, staring down at my crying son as though he's never seen a child before in his life.

I wish to Dende Gohan would hurry the hell up.

"Is that…I mean…" he swallows, bending at the waist and propping his palms on his knees to stare at his apparent reflection. "Sugei…he looks just like us…"

"I think he looks more like Gohan," I retort, more interested in the tell tale signs of Gohan over the superficial signature of Son Goku.

I hug him tighter as my father straightens with a look of chastised comprehension. Gohan doesn't blame Otousan as much as I do--let's just put it this way: I have a real problem with his ability to defend the world against any and all evils, but somehow can't stand up for his children when their mother goes on a rampage. I was completely content with my 'tou-chan, not the man who left me with nothing but a bitchy mother and a bad heart. I'm a firm believer in loving my parents from a distance.

Of a dimension or two…

"H-hai…he does look like your…brother…Is Gohan here?" He looks around as though expecting my koi to materialize from behind the bunny curtains. I shake my head.

"No. He went with Trunks-kun to go get food."

"Trunks?" He glances back to the door. "But he was just here."

"Not him…Trunks-kun. You know, the smaller version. Less hair."

"Oh…yeah." I want to tell him that if he'd been here, had seen me grow up, had stuck around for the high school plays, and father/son camping trips, that maybe he'd know what I was talking about. But I tried that once already, and he left anyway. So much for paternal devotion.

"Look, Goten…" He shifts from one foot to the other, fingers plucking at the wristband on the opposite arm. Abruptly, he drops his hands to rub sweaty palms against the dull orange of his pants. "I know…that we haven't really ever gotten along, but…" What an understatement. I never thought two people so alike could be so completely different. Gohan's the only one that insists I'm more than just a younger replica of my father.

But if I'm not one for words, then I know where I got it. With jerking hesitance, he reaches behind his back and pulls something free from the sash. Clearing his throat, he thrusts it out in front of him like a five-year-old boy offering flowers to his teacher.

"Here." Thankful that the chibi's quieted down, I eye the folded fabric skeptically before taking it. "I know it's not much, but…I think it was wrong--what Chichi said…" I can't speak, and I think he takes it badly, though it's not my intent at all. I just don't know what to say.

I'd only ever seen this in pictures on the mantel, before Okaasan disowned us both and burned them all.

Gohan's little four-star hat.

"I know," I whisper, fingering the course, age-worn material, once red, now faded to a deep rust colour. "It's ok, Otousan." I look up at him, and manage a smile. It doesn't change twenty years of contempt, but…

Like Gohan says, somebody's gotta hit the first nail to mend a bridge. I think Otousan may have just been missing and bruising his thumb for a couple years.

"Arigato…" The baby fusses, and I drop the cap beside me on the bed to tend him.

"Hai…Congratulations, Goten." I stop as my father walks defeatedly toward the door and I'm suddenly sad to see him go. I mean, we've had problems, and he'll never replace my Otou-chan, but…

"Otousan!" He turns expectantly and we stare at each other for a long moment, reflections of one another, but like the sea and sky, we compliment, but never connect. "Why…" I force myself to act nonchalant, though those damn bugs in my stomach have evaded my net yet again. "Why don't you come over for dinner sometime, ne?"

He smiles happily. I can almost hear his sigh of relief as he scratches at the back of his neck.

"Hai!" I return his wave when he leaves, confused at the tears that sting my eyes. Damn hormones…

"Well…that could have gone worse…" I pick the fuzzy bear up from where Otousan deposited it by my knee, nuzzling his black button nose against the chibi's and making him wiggle with laughter. "Now, what to call you…"

Time passes, but I don't really notice. When you've got something incredible like this, something yours and yours alone that you've created with your lover, nothing else exists. It's like something Trunks-san once said. He doesn't feel the passing of time anymore, because being here and happy makes it stop. I think I finally understand what he meant by that. You stop gauging your life by clock tics and more by sunrises, sunsets, and lazy autumn mornings.

Gohan comes back a little later and we share the best meal I've ever had. It hardly matters that hospital food tastes like it came from a can, it was just the being with him, and our chibi--

I've got to stop calling him that. The boy needs a name.

We wrack our brains for one as I practice my first clumsy lesson in bottle feeding, leaning back into the adoring arms of my brother. My lover. My 'tou-chan.

My Gohan.

My sunshine.

"Nikko!" I feel Gohan stir inquisitively at my back, and the chibi blinks drowsily up at me.

"Nani?" the question's accompanied by a yawn which serves to remind me of my brother's recent insomnia that goes by my name.

"Nikko…" I smile softly. It's perfect--Ouji-san used to teach Trunks the Saiyan language when we were younger--to insure that such an important part of the culture didn't die with him. And when I asked if I could stay…

"What the fuck do I care, brat. It's not my day to watch you."

"Arigato, Ouji-san."

"Hn." Ignoring me, he resumes the lesson, pointing to a glass of water on the counter, which Trunks promptly recites.

"Mizu."

"And this."

"Tebu-ru." It continues, my mental responses hand in hand with Trunks oral repetition until it gets to one my paler counterpart can never remember.

Ouji-san points to a stream of sunlight that shines through the kitchen window, though Trunks is at a complete loss for words. I put my hands over my mouth, honest, but I'm just too excited…I know this one!

"Nikko…" Gohan groans softly in his sleep, hands interlaced loosely at my navel. Nikko too is, for intents and purposes, a snoring Saiyan in my arms. Smiling contently, I close my eyes, breathing deep of my brother, our baby…

Until the soft sounds of my family coax me to join them in dreams.