Sometimes, and as time progressed it was more often than just sometimes, he felt like the place he belonged was far, far away. The home in which he had been raised felt more like a long and boring dream he was unable to wake up from rather than a safe and comfortable place to rest his head. Life hadn't changed at all since he was a child, and that bothered him. As if clocking into work and checking themselves off the time sheet, a new entity hell-bent on taking over Chikyuu would arrive every few years. He'd do what he did best and help his fellow protectors defend the world, but even that was beginning to feel like a formula more than a fight. For the past three near-apocalypses, Gohan had correctly guessed when Krillin would get his ass kicked and when his father would die. The thought crossed his mind to bet on it and rake in the dough, but even that seemed mundane.

He likened himself to a robot, going through the daily machinations of life with little effort and only the illusion of free will. Though he wasn't trying to toot his own horn, he knew the facts. Nothing was hard for him anymore. He was smarter than his peers, faster, stronger – entirely superior to them. He wondered if it was the Saiyan in him that begged for a challenge.

As the oldest demi-Saiyan he carried a burden much larger than he ever thought it would be. He had to maintain the perfect balance between the studious and just human and the strong and violent Saiyan warrior. He didn't blame Vegeta for the screaming fits over his blatantly meek and human temperament. It wasn't that Gohan was overly-human, he just knew better than to accept a battle in the middle of the shopping district. He wished Vegeta could understand what it meant to be the first of many, rather than the last of many. He had a precedent to set for his little brother, for Trunks and all the others who came after them. He hoped there wasn't too many more in the near future.

"Do something about that brat of yours, Kakarott," Vegeta snapped at Goku.

Vegeta knew Gohan was within earshot. Only the thin wall of the Capsule Corp. building separated them, and the window Gohan had been staring out of was cracked open. Vegeta's idea of subtlety was talking behind someone's back where they could overhear.

"Gohan? He's a great kid," Goku said.

Vegeta and Goku were returning from a spar, washing off with the hose in the back yard, while Gohan worked studiously on a Capsule Corp. machine.

"If you don't do something about him, then I will, and I can promise you my way will be a hell of a lot more painful than yours."

There was a lot that Gohan didn't know about himself; why certain things happened to him that humans never experienced. Gohan had a tail to hide, and it had a mind of its own that endangered his college-student and part-time-worker disguise. Gohan put down his tools, and threw the spherical electronic item at the wall. It smashed and stuck to the wall, pieces falling to the floor while the bulk of it sizzled and zapped on the wall.

"Shit."

Holding his face in his hands and his elbows on the table, he forced himself to regain a semblance of the composure he had had before Vegeta opened that big mouth of his.

"I... I gotta get out of this skin."

This was not what he wanted to do. He was starting college the coming fall for a teaching career he had no actual interest in. It was what he had to do, though. For the demi-Saiyans to be able to survive on Chikyuu, he had to show them how. He didn't want to be the leader. He was tired of wearing a mask.

"If there was something that could be done, then by Kami, Vegeta – do it," he whispered more to himself than to Vegeta.

Gohan had never expected to hear something like that from his father. He probably didn't think Gohan could hear him, but Gohan wasn't so human that his hearing was any worse than the full-bloods.

He had had enough. His soul was tired, and his body was begging for something. Gohan mused to himself, thinking about being done with humans all together. Humans had expectations that were unreasonable, pressuring and enough to make even docile Gohan feel like destroying a continent or two. How long had it been since he fought? How long had it been since he had told someone 'no'?

He needed to create something of his own, save someone on his own, become strong for himself, find what he was missing, and take care of someone because he wanted to and not out of obligation. He desired things that his home, no, even the whole planet could not provide. He had an urge to return to his origins, and he had had similar impulses over the past two years.

Gohan had to make a life for himself somewhere far from his family, far from demi-semi-deca-Saiyans, and far, far, far from human society.

Gohan got up off the workbench and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. He left Capsule Corp. without looking at his father or Vegeta. He could feel their eyes on his back, though, but he didn't stop or hesitate for even a moment. He had a selfish scheme, or at least a plan was forming, and even if he didn't go through with it, it was a hell of a lot better to let himself dream.

Vegeta stared at Goku, annoyed. The idiot had been sulking for three weeks. He didn't want to spar, he didn't want to eat, and he had even tried to stop waking up for a period of time. Ever since Gohan had run away from home that afternoon, the Saiyan had been completely useless.

"You're a waste of life." Vegeta aimed a kick at the man's head. It was something Goku would have no problem dodging, but it connected. "You're fucking pathetic. Go find him if you're so worried."

"He hates me."

Vegeta sighed. "He heard what you said, there's nothing you can do about that. Whatever he's doing or wherever he is, it's a hell of a lot better than him being here wasting air like you're doing right now."

"Chichi kicked me out."

"She's fed up with you, too."

Chikyuu - Later that Day

With his face and hands covered in the blood of his fallen foe, he smiled. This was it. This was what he wanted. Gohan picked up the golden sphere with three stars in the center. This was the last one. It had taken three weeks, but he had found all of them. Placing them on the ground, he called out Shenron and made his selfish wish.

Vejita-sei

Sandstone buildings with balconies and wooden braces lined the busy farmer's market. The smell of smoke and savory exotic food filled the air. Even from where he looked on he could hear the crackling of the fire and clattering of metal pots and lids as their contents boiled. Voices, deep and joyfully boisterous, reached even to the hill overlooking the market. Saiyans, thousands of them, walked through the cobble-stoned streets, buying, bartering, and flirting with shop-keeps and vendors. There were a few children making off with stolen goods. Gohan sat down and watched the four kids split up, jump and dive to escape the shopkeeper. One of them looked remarkably like his younger brother, Goten. It brought a smile to his face. Goten would have been much better off being born on Vejita-sei. The Goten-lookalike was laughing and grinning ear to ear.

He had never seen so many Saiyans, so many different Saiyans, so many of his own, who felt like his own kind, all in one place. From where he stood on the hill overlooking the market, he couldn't discern between male and female Saiyans, or determine if there were any female Saiyan among the crowd at all. He had never seen a female Saiyan before, and he wasn't positive he could see one now, either. The grass on the hill was soft beneath his feet, and the air was gentle and warm on his face. This was better than he could have ever asked for.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Gohan almost jumped out of his skin. Looking up at someone who resembled himself to a frightening degree, Gohan turned to face him and braced himself for a fight. This was Vejita-sei - this was what he wanted and where he wanted to be.

"Why look on enviously when you could experience life with them for yourself?" his mirror-image asked.

The clothes on his double were the same ones he'd worn when he'd made the wish. Gohan glanced down at his own outfit to better understand the level of identity his second self was infringing upon. To his surprise, they were not the ones he'd arrived with. A long hooded crimson cloak tied by a silver broach hung around his neck. His shirt was missing, and soft, black silk pants hung low around his hips, with folds of golden silk tying it to his body at the top and bottom. There was a hole for his tail in the back, which made it very comfortable to wear. In his own eyes, he looked like a male prostitute dressing up as little red riding hood.

"I-I can't interact with them!" Gohan sputtered out. "That wasn't what I wished for, and by all that is holy give me back my clothes."

"Did you really scour the Chikyuu for the Dragonballs so that you could be a spectator? Shenron didn't think so, and with a little prodding on my part, he gave us a chance. This isn't an illusion or a picture of the past. You are on Vejita-sei."

"I want my wish back, you wish-stealing dragon charming bastard. Who are you?"

"I'm your tie back to your time and home so it wouldn't do to kill me. I made a wish to change my life, and you made a wish to see what you missed out on. This is my... home. You're free to roam as you please. If you agree, I'll go to your home, your planet."

"And who says I'll agree to this? What if I want to go home?"

"Then we'll switch again, and no one will ever know. I stuck around to explain that to you. I'm wasting valuable time here. I guess it's lucky we happen to look alike, otherwise this would have been quite an endeavor on the dragons' part."

"Who are you here? A butcher, merchant... prostitute?" Gohan asked.

His carbon copy laughed. "No, no - nothing of the sort. I'm simply the orphan of two farmers with no siblings and no one who will notice if I am really me or if I have been replaced with a dashing substitute. Have fun with that open ending."

Gohan fidgeted. "I'm not sure about this-"

The man's demeanor changed from chipper to bitter instantly. "Don't be selfish. I said we'd switch back if you don't like it, but do give it a chance. We'll meet back here in one week, that's a fair amount of time, right?"

Before Gohan could get another word in, his double burst into bright consuming light that blinded him momentarily. When his sight came back, his facsimile was gone.

"Shit."

He didn't especially want to be stuck on Vejita-sei for a week, but if he looked at it as a change of pace it didn't seem like such a horrible idea. He knew nothing about Saiyans, other than what Radditz, Nappa and Vegeta had modeled. If they were prime examples of Saiyans, Gohan was better off being human.

Reluctantly, he descended the hill and weaved his way into the farmer's market attracting little attention. Gohan wandered around the bustling market in awe, looking like the perfect tourist and mark. It wasn't such a big deal, though. Anyone who tried to mug him was in for a big surprise. The vibrantly colored cloth roofs came in nearly every color he could think of, and several had intricate patterns unlike anything on Chikyuu. Some had signs hanging on the front of the stalls, with symbols Gohan knew he shouldn't have been able to understand and yet could read.

Stalls lined both sides of the street, and hawkers pitched their goods loudly to the crowd. Delicious and appalling delicacies were being handed over heads to customers farther into the crowd. Gohan found it hard to avoid the droplets of soup passing above him. Apparently cleanliness was a human convention not followed by the lower class Saiyans. There was a place further into the market where an aisle began in the middle with a vendor facing each wall.

"I'm home," he mouthed unconsciously.

This chaos was his chaos, these people were his people. He still had to hide half of who he was, but at least it was the other half this time. Gohan moseyed through the streets, loving the labyrinthine ways of the market, how every street became two or how one looked perfectly straight but would direct you back to the place you started without ever turning around. He immersed himself in something he only wished books could teach him.

The farther he walked, the quieter it got. He was going deeper into the marketplace, but the more eye-contact he made with the locals, the less they talked and the more they stared at him. They knew he wasn't one of them. Panic set in. Gohan knew what animals did to infiltrators. He kept walking, trying to seem calm and collected so they didn't attack him all at once. Some mumbled unintelligibly, others whispered to one another, but none were silent.

A Saiyan only a few sizes smaller than Gohan stood directly in his path and didn't move. It wasn't that he was being rude, but more like he couldn't make himself move. His knees shook before giving out on him. In the instant between his knees buckling and the moment of impact, Gohan caught him.

"You okay?" Gohan asked.

The Saiyan clung to his chest and stared into his eyes deeply with a mixture of fear and desire, which combined looked a lot like confusion. Gohan righted the young man, and held his shoulders in his hands to make sure he had caught his balance.

"You should take better care of yourself. Collapsing in the middle of a crowd is dangerous." Gohan lifted his hands off the teen's shoulders. "Eat some protein and get some sleep."

"What's an Elite doing here? A-are you really an Elite?" the teen asked quietly.

Gohan's brow creased. "An elite? I have no clue what you're talking about, sorry." Gohan paused. Had he just? Was it possible? Yes, he really had just spoken and understood the native tongue. Maybe it was something his replica did on the way out.

"No, I'm the one who is sorry!"

Gohan gazed at him worriedly for a moment. He put a hand on the young man's head and ruffled his soft dark hair. "No worries."

The boy looked up at him with adoration and nodded. Crap. He hadn't intended to gain a second little brother, but he wasn't totally against the idea, either.

"Can I ask a favor?" Gohan ventured.

"Anything!"

The answer was so immediate that it threw himoff balance. He had a feeling the teen really did mean 'anything', and that made Gohan feel very uncomfortable.

"Can you tell me where I am?"

"The capital."

"Thanks," Gohan smiled. His hand found its way back into the kid's hair.

"That's it?" the Saiyan seemed disappointed. "If you're gonna rub, do it lower."

Gohan whacked the side of the young man's head gently. "Don't be crass. What's your name?"

"Shoran, third class."

"I'm Gohan, third class, nice to meet you." Gohan stuck his hand out, and Shoran stared at it. Gohan took his hand back. Hand shaking was apparently not a native custom.

"You're really third class?" Shoran asked skeptically.

Gohan, who knew nothing of Saiyans apart from Vegeta insulting his family, nodded without hesitation. "You should head home, Shoran, you still don't look so good."

"You're not from the city, are you?" Shoran laughed. "Brats like me don't got homes."

"Where are your parents?" Gohan asked.

"You're not from this continent, either, huh?" Shoran laughed. "There was a war about ten years back. Look around you. Everyone is either really old, or really young. Anyone who was capable was drafted and no one's heard from 'em since. And if you're wondering where all the women are, they're in the palace under lock and key. I think there's something like twelve left, and guess who got 'em reserved?"

Gohan looked at the ground. He had been tired of his careless father and his overpowering mother, taking their existence for granted. At least he had parents. He raised his eyes. The Saiyans around him definitely had a wide age gap between them. While Saiyans kept their youthful appearances much longer than humans did, it wasn't difficult to tell where the line between young and old was drawn. Gohan would have thought the old would take care of the young, but that wasn't the case. The aged men seemed more concerned about themselves, at least from the looks of things.

"Who takes care of you? You're still young."

"I can take care of myself. I'm no brat."

"How do you feed yourself?" Gohan was impressed by the younger Saiyan.

"Steal it."

"Where do you sleep?"

"On porches."

"When do you bathe?"

"When it rains."

"Where do you learn?"

"The streets."

Gohan's chest tightened terribly. It was mortifying. He couldn't imagine having to take care of himself as a teen. He could have done it, hypothetically, but the outcome would have been terrifying for humanity.

"Hey, hey!" Shoran waved his hands in front of Gohan's face. "You look like you're gonna cry."

Gohan smiled at him. His face was blurry, it was true. He had been tearing up. "You're pretty amazing, Shoran," Gohan smiled.

Shoran's eyes lowered and he blushed. "I-I'm nothing special."

Gohan, missing the mood poor Shoran tried to create between them, gazed up at the smoky sky to think. Maybe this was why he was brought to the real Vejita-sei. "Are there others like you? Homeless, I mean."

"In the capital? Twenty thousand or more, easy."

Gohan's eyes fell to the palms of his hands. "I think I can manage that many if I put my mind to it."

Shoran bent and placed his face in in Gohan's eye-line to get his attention. "What are you talking about?"

Gohan smiled at him. "What's the economy like?"

"What?"

"What is the currency, and how much would I need to buy a house?"

Shoran shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out a single bronze coin. "That's the smallest our money gets. It can buy one apple or two potatoes. The cheapest house is 10,000 gold. Each gold coin is a thousand silver, and a piece of silver is a thousand bronze. Why?"

Gohan sat himself down at the base of the tree, and leaned against its trunk. Inflation sucked.

"I thought I found the reason I was brought here, but I guess I was wrong."

Shoran sat beside him. "You kidding? I don't know where you've been, but when it comes to strong guys like you, class don't matter."

"Strong?" Gohan scoffed. "You should meet my father before you say something like that."

Shoran gulped at the mention of Gohan's father. "You didn't notice everyone gawking at you?"

"I did, but still-"

"Everyone can feel it. The pressure surrounding you makes it hard to breathe... makes something else pretty damn hard, too."

Gohan whacked the side of his head. "Didn't I just tell you not to be crass?"

"My bad, my bad!" Shoran laughed.

Gohan thought about it. His shoulders tensed unconsciously. There was a huge gap in power levels between Vejita-sei and home. There was always that way.

"So I can do it?"

"I'll let you do 'it' as man-"

Gohan shot Shoran a look, and the boy smiled brightly, but stopped talking.

Gohan stood and wiped the dirt off the back of his silk pants.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to give you a home to go to, of course."

"If this is some sort of joke, you're sick."

"You and everyone else who lost their homes, I'll give them a place to go back to. Meet back here in exactly six days, and I'll hand you all the money you'll need to buy a couple houses." Gohan said without a hint of hesitation.

"Why? You're not responsible for it, so why bother?"

"I'm stuck here for a week, and I've got nothing better to do."

"You're not serious."

Gohan placed his hand on Shoran's head. "You just show up here in six days and find out."

Gohan lifted off and rose above the buildings to get a better look at the surroundings. Far in the distance he could see a huge majestic palace of white stone. He took off toward the palace without looking down at Shoran even once.

Chikyuu

He arrived on a strange planet with a blue sky and cool, crisp air. It was different from Vejita-sei's humid, heavy air and dusky pink sky. Standing in the middle of a desert with steep rock faces and cliffs and very sparse shrubbery made him wonder if he had made a good decision. He had no idea what kind of world his look-alike came from, but this was it in all its sandy-beige glory.

"Gohan, I didn't think I'd find you out here!"

He yelped. He thought he had been completely alone, but the friendly voice proved that theory wrong. Someone had just called him 'Gohan', which was his double's name as far as he knew, and that would be his name for the duration of his stay, he guessed. He was just glad he could understand their language. It certainly wasn't Saiya-go, but it was familiar to him somehow. "I'm just looking around."

"Huh? I can't understand a word you're saying."

He stomped a foot and pouted. So he could understand their language but not speak it. That was unfair. He took a deep breath before he turned around.

"A third-class?" Gohan was confused.

He had wished to travel to a time when Saiyan were not blood-hungry warlords, to a place and time of peace. A time where he could move freely without drawing attention. He assumed that that time would only come when there were no more Saiyans left to fight each other. So why was there a Saiyan smiling at him so friendlily?

"Where am I?" Gohan asked.

The Saiyan reached a hand out to him and placed it on his shoulder. Gohan recoiled considerably. The man stared into his eyes determinedly before confusion won over the expression. "You aren't my son."

Gohan hung his head. This was a problem. He just met his copy's father, and he'd already been found out. He already screwed up and destroyed any chance he had of doing what needed to be done in the time frame he'd allowed himself.

"What's the hold up, Kakarott?"

The familiar face of the Royal Saiyan bloodline rose into sight. Gohan's hands became fists. This wasn't his wish, he had been trying to escape everything Saiyan, and he ended up getting cheated out of a week of his life. Gohan had to resign himself to the fact he might fail. This was his only chance, and circumstance had already ruined it.

"This isn't Gohan," the father said. He appeared angry, like Gohan had stolen his twin's body, which wasn't true. Gohan had stolen his entire life. "I don't know who it is, but it isn't my son."

"Don't I look like him? Seeing as you can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, you're not a Saiyan, are you? You damned third-classed moron," Gohan said with a kind tone and an innocent smile.

The man with the Royal face walked over to him, grabbed his chin and forced their eyes to connect. All happiness left Gohan's face. He could tell that something was wrong, and it was probably something that he had done.

"That third-class idiot may not be able to understand you, but I sure as hell can."

Gohan shirked away from the man. "You understand me?"

"You're speaking the language of my home world, something Gohan would not know," the regal man attested. "Who are you, and where is the boy?"

Gohan didn't know how to answer. Would answering honestly put him in more danger? It was a high possibility he would die by the father's hands if he came out and told the truth. He had stolen his son and marooned him on a foreign world for a week; that was enough to warrant his death. He couldn't understand what someone of royal blood would have in common with a third-class. If he had interrupted their secret tryst, that too would spell his death. He saw failure at every turn.

"Vegeta, you understand him?" the father-figure asked.

Gohan didn't feel any murderous intentions coming from the man at that moment, but with Saiyans, at least the ones Gohan knew of, there were none willing to give the benefit of any doubt.

"Shut up, moron, I'm busy."

He could play it off two ways. One would be meek, but that would require a lot more alcohol and a lot less clothing, both of which he couldn't find at the moment. The second way was confident, and he had everything he needed to accomplish that.

"There's actually a Saiyan who can't speak Saiya-go?" Gohan tried to smother a laugh. "Talk about illiterate and uneducated."

"I'll only ask you once: what did you do with the boy?" The Prince asked.

Gohan had a lot of questions, but he knew if he asked anymore of them he'd lose his ability to talk himself out of his grave. His confidence game wasn't working. He was smack-dab out of options. Well, there was always that. A hand flew to his forehead and he bent over as if in pain. He groaned in agony for effect.

"What's wrong with him?" the father-figure asked the Prince.

"Maybe he is your brat, but I'm not the one who taught him Saiya-go and it's anybody's guess how he grew a spine."

Gohan fell onto his ass and pulled his knees up. Putting both hands in his hair and placing his forehead on his knees he rocked slightly. It was no lie that he had a headache, but it the degree of ache was much exaggerated. He knew that if time ran against him it would eventually rise to that level of pain.

"Go-Gohan..."

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Gohan screamed.

His voice echoed off the walls of the cliffs and rocks. It sounded convincing even to him. A hand landed on his head, and with tear stained cheeks he looked up. This was nothing new to him. He was a born con artist, which is what started the trouble that placed him on Vejita-sei in the first place.

"Why do you smell like home?"

Gohan was completely thrown by that question. It had been asked so quietly, as if it caused the man physical pain to ask at all. Gohan screwed his eyes shut for a lack of a an answer that wouldn't get him killed. He backed away from the hand like it hurt, and he let out a scream so heartrending and loud it echoed off the cliffs all the way on the horizon.

"Kakarott, get the green giant here and don't dawdle!" The Prince ordered; looking at the hand Gohan had pulled away from.

"Piccolo?" the father asked.

"Yes, the Namek-" Vegeta snarled in frustration.

How could he protect his secret identity from a Namekian? He was pretty sure they had some telepathic or psychic ability, but he'd only read books with anything regarding them in passing and hadn't cared to remember the parts that were probably important.

Gohan started panting like his head was going to explode, and right before his eyes he saw the father-figure disappear. He tried to make it seem like he wasn't horrified by the man's sudden disappearance, but it was difficult. He hoped any residual shock appeared as agony and self-realization that he was only getting worse.

"Gohan didn't know Saiya-go. You can understand English, but why can't you speak it?" the Prince asked.

Gohan kept in his sigh of relief. It just took time to understand the language.

"You smell like Vejita-sei, boy. Explain that much to me. Tell me if there are other Saiyans out there!"

Lucky for Gohan, he was hyperventilating and making himself quite dizzy, which made it impossible for him to respond.

"When the Namek gets here, he'll know better than anyone if you're the real deal, and then there is no running from the truth."

The Prince wasn't buying his pain act, and he had a feeling he'd been playing along to get the father-figure to obey his order. Gohan figured it was reasonable. After all, having family meant that someone knew him, cared about him, and could tell him apart from a crowd of doppelganger, or so he'd been told.

"It hurts." And something in him did hurt, but it wasn't his head. His chest ached for the things he had missed out on. He wanted a family who would care for him more than anything else. "Everything hurts."

The father-figure appeared before him once again with a tall, handsome and green being next to him.

"Gohan?" the Namekian's deep voice rumbled in Gohan's chest like thunder rumbling through a stormy sky.

He wasn't attacking the Saiyans, and it confused Gohan. The two were enemies, so why did the Namekian look so concerned? It bothered and confused him. They were dangerous, that's what he'd always been told.

"Is this Gohan?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" the Namekian asked.

"Talk, boy."

Gohan's hands tightened on his head.

"I said; talk!"

It felt like his body was exploding. He was on his side, and he could still feel the foot that had connected with his ribs. That man was the Prince, no doubt, the only Saiyan whose temper matched his father's, the King. Gohan pushed himself up and ignored the pain in his ribs to hold his head. If this didn't convince them that something was wrong with his head, then nothing would.

"He isn't Gohan," the father-figure said. "Gohan would have no trouble taking a kick like that."

The Namekian approached and knelt down in front of him. He smelled like trees and grass and water and sunshine and flowers and rain. The man closed his eyes and put his palm on Gohan's forehead. Gohan stopped cringing. Gohan couldn't stop his body from relaxing. His legs slid to the ground, and his hands moved to cover the man's hand. He couldn't stop himself. His natural enemy was touching his head – a very precious body part – and he was relaxed, almost giddy about it.

"Are you alright, kid?" the man asked.

Gohan sniffled and nodded. The man opened his eyes, and Gohan stared into them, lost and looking for answers. Gohan let his fingertips touch and explore the Namekian's hand.

"I feel like I'm watching something I shouldn't be," the royal muttered to the father.

"Don't worry me like that," the Namekian said before he removed his hand and stood up.

The Namekian kept his back to Gohan, and Gohan stared at what he was shown, the wide, muscular back, and strong legs regretfully hidden by cloth. Gohan crept behind the man and reached toward him tentatively.

"What's wrong with him?"

"It's Gohan, but he's... He's sick. It's Gohan's body; he has all the physical memories of the fights he's been in. His body has the scars, but his mind is strange."

"Can we cure him?" the father-figure asked, worried only after finding out it really was his son.

"It's something he has to deal with. Maybe it's an identity-crisis. A case of the Saiyan half fighting the human half. Looks like his Saiyan half is winning."

"Get him to speak. I think the problem is bigger than that."

"I don't think he even knows who we are right now," the Namekian said.

"Who are you?" Gohan asked. He grabbed the hem of the man's shirt and tugged gently.

The Namekian looked down at him and Gohan could almost see a smirk on his lips. "I'm Piccolo."

"Why is Piccolo being so... tender?" the father questioned

"He saw a chance and took it."

With his plans thrown to the back of his mind, he could only hope the other Gohan figured the cape out in time to save himself and had no desire to return to Chikyuu. He had been confused and attacked and the planet didn't seem that pretty, but he wouldn't mind staying forever. One week was not going to be long enough. A whole lifetime might not suffice, either.