Okay, okay, here's another idea I've been meaning to type out... xD I'm an idiot. Sue me.

These series of one-shots are going to be dedicated to the parents of the Keroro Platoon. Some of them will be romantic, some will be funny, some will be... random, just, yeah XD Twelve one-shots, mostly to the pairings that I put the parents in.

Beware: I ship Giroro's dadxDororo's mom and now Giroro's momxKururu's dad. XD Keroro's parents and Tamama's parents are pushed off to the corner momentarily but they will also have a few chapters dedicated to them.

The actual canon and my personal interpretation of the parents:

Yokaka- Keroro's dad (dull green, small mustache, lazy, half closed eyes, helmet)

Terere- Keroro's mom (bright green, looks just like Keroro, black eyes, black afro-esque hairdo, apron)

Guzozo- Giroro's and Garuru's dad (dull crimson red, thick mustache, thick eyebrows, boxed Garuru-like red eyes, pink bandana)

Ponono- Dororo's mom (light blue, looks just like Dororo, wide pale blue eyes, white hat with a bun out in the back, light blue dress)

Gabubu- Giroro's and Garuru's mom (purple, looks like Giroro, slanted black eyes, brown, slightly crazy curled hair, two thin belts crossed at the chest)

Jiroro- Kururu's dad (blue, bright green eyes, small mustache parted in two sides, goatee, small glasses, lab coat)

Kirara- Tamama's mom (white, big black eyes, red hair tied in a ponytail, green dress)

Zanana- Tamama's dad (black, round eyes with dilated irises, karate-esque hat with a thick black ribbon, a black belt around his waist)

"So. Tell me about these 'Dreams'."

The purple Keronian quietly leaned back against her chair, her fingers intertwined. She loathed feeling judged, but she knew it was crucial if she wanted to change- to be a different person, to not be so violent and cruel and to keep check of her intense anger.

She gazed up at the blue Keronian in front of her, the one that was scribbling something on his clipboard as he waited for her response. His piercing green eyes shot up at her from behind his glasses when she didn't say anything, his mouth twisting into a small frown.

"Gabubu?"

She twitched slightly. "It's... hard enough to sleep with them... much less talk about it..." she managed, drifting off.

Jiroro, the therapist, simply clicked his pen. Ugh. She hated that noise.

"Is this simply an excuse not to unbury old memories?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"W-what makes you think my dreams are memories?"

"Well, the discomfort you displayed was one thing," Jiroro said, his eyes sliding back down to his notes. "It isn't just simply an embarrassing memory either; you seem rather ashamed of it, like you just want to dismiss it as something that didn't happen. It also seems that your mind wants to torture you with those thoughts because you personally feel, subconsciously or not, that you deserve it. Tell me, Gabubu; do you think you deserve it?"

She bit her lower lip and looked down.

"Yes," she said softly, almost too much to comprehend.

Jiroro nodded, as if saying to himself, I thought so. "Seeing as you don't want to relive these constant nightmares, you more than likely haven't shared them with anybody else. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. When you're ready, I'm more than willing to listen."

Jiroro was more than a little disappointed when she took the opportunity to remain silent. He sighed and removed his glasses, pressing his index finger and thumb against the bridge of his nonexistent nose.

"Gabubu?"

"...Yes?"

"When was the last time you had a good cry?"

Gabubu rose her head and stared at him in bewilderment. "Huh?"

"Have you cried at all recently? I apologize if it sounds like a very unnecessary question, but I'm rather curious."

"I... don't cry," she said, rather irritated. "Soldiers don't cry. At all."

"Interesting."

"What?"

"Nothing. I just find that fascinating."

Gabubu scowled in annoyance. "And by that, what do you mean?"

"Do you often associate yourself more as a man than a woman?"

Dark red flashed against her cheeks as she irritably jumped out of her seat. "What?!"

"It's merely a question," Jiroro said coolly.

"It's... it's a stupid question!" Gabubu snapped. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Jiroro?"

"Absolutely nothing, I assure you," Jiroro responded, writing something else on his notepad. "It's just your behavior, your personality, your gestures, your constant military quips, your need to remain dominant in the situation and your aggravation when you aren't through anger and violence. Have you ever thought of that, Gabubu?"

"W-well..."

"Have you ever maybe taken into consideration into finding a man that is willing to treat you and make you feel like a woman? Is it that you just haven't had many opportunities to have that experience?"

Gabubu's blush deepened, and she slumped in her seat, turning her head away from him embarrassedly.

"...The last, and the, um... the only one who...made me feel like that was my husband." Her eyes dulled. "My ex-husband, I mean."

"...I see." Jiroro put the clipboard down. "It sounds like you still harbor some feelings for him then, correct?"

"It's not on purpose!" Gabubu snarled, lashing out this unexplainable, empty, tight emotion towards the doctor. "I-it... he's a flirt. He... does stupid stuff that... makes me feel good..." Her fingers perked up and grasped loosely at the coils of thick brown hair that fell near her face. "...He was the only one who thought I was... beautiful." She let go and folded her arms against her chest- a defensive maneuver, Jiroro noted to himself.

The words that popped out of his mouth were automatic, and caught them- both- completely off guard.

"I think you're beautiful."

Gabubu shot her head toward him, and he ducked his head slightly, his typical cool, confident air wavering for the first time she had ever seen him.

"...Am I not allowed to be honest?" Jiroro asked dryly, inwardly horrified that he wasn't able to keep the romantic overtones of his sentences underway while he was working. Flirting and teasing with a client was one thing when it was out of the workplace, but even he had a specific limit when it came to her, and that was during the therapy session.

What was he doing?

The color on her face had graduated into a pale pink color, one that he took notice of when she was feeling particularly touched or appreciative.

"...Thank you."

...He could feel something warm spread across his own face, and he was sure she could see it too, so he did what he usually did best: ignore it and pretend it wasn't happening.

Jiroro coughed tightly. "...Do you want to end this early for today?"

"Uh... sure. I don't mind as long as you don't."

"Good." Because he wasn't too sure he liked the intense rush of emotions that he was feeling at the moment.