“Say, ‘Papa,’ paahhh pahh. You do it.”
“Say, ‘Goten,’” the mischievous little half-saiyan clambered up Piccolo’s shoulders, leaning on his adoptive parent’s head. Suri, held in Piccolo’s lap, smiled silently up at his brother. Piccolo’s ears twitched, and he looked up at the boy, forehead wrinkling.
“Goten, you have homework to do.” He saw Chichi poke her head around the doorframe out of the corner of his eye, “and if you’re in here playing with Papa and Suri, you’re not doin’ it!”
Goten groaned and fell backwards off of Piccolo, flopping on his parents’ bed.
“Not if you’re goin’ to play with Trunks later,” his mother chimed; and the child gasped, bolting off the bed and charging for his room. Chichi laughed and came in, carrying a basket of clean laundry on her hip. “How’s the speakin’ lesson goin’?”
Piccolo’s ears flicked, and he frowned.
“It’s not exactly ‘going’ anywhere.”
“He’s just a baby, Piccaboo. It’s not so bad if he’s not a chatterbox quite yet.” She sat down, the bed barely shifting under her. Chichi took Suri from his lap, and Piccolo had to stop himself from snatching him back as a wave of protectiveness swept over him.
“He is nearly a year old, and is barely babbling. He rarely cries, and his fussing is quiet, and,” Piccolo stopped, pursing his lips and looking away, staring at a forgotten sock tucked away in a corner.
“Hey,” Chichi placed her hand on his thigh, and Piccolo’s fingers twitched. “Suri is a namekian. Not a human or a saiyan.”
“My point,” Chichi drawled, and he turned his head, seeing her cradle the tiny namekian to her chest, kissing the baby’s forehead. “Is that all your baby experience has been with saiyan–human hybrids. Maybe namekian egg-babies are quieter. Think about your ears.” He had considered it, but something, something in his gut had him feeling incredibly uneasy.
“My instincts tell me he should not be this quiet.” He brushed a knuckle gently over his son’s cheek. Suri grabbed his hand in both of his and began furiously gumming Piccolo’s thumb. His face softened, and he smiled, feeling warmth and contentment wash over and push aside the worry, free fingers caressing the little sprout’s chubby cheeks. “He is perfect.” The words slipped out, before he could catch them.
“Yes, he is. So are Goten and Gohan. And any more children that come along.” He looked up, surprised by the sharp note in Chichi’s voice. She must have seen the question in his eyes, “it doesn’t matter, no matter what they do wrong, what others might think, they’re perfect.”
She sighed, curled over Suri once more, kissing him again. When she straightened, her eyes were closed, face strained. She shook her head. “Are you worried?”
“No,” and he believed her. “I am not worried about Suri. He’s a perfect little angel, aren’t you, Suri?” The baby smiled and allowed Piccolo’s slobbered-soaked thumb to slide out of his mouth. His two little top fangs were the only teeth he had as of yet.
“I wonder if he’s not talking because he hasn’t any teeth,” Piccolo mused as he wiped his son’s drool on his pants. “Open your mouth, say ‘Ahhh,’ Suri.” Suri stuck out his tonge and closed his eyes.
Chichi snorted, trying to hold back a laugh, and Piccolo rolled his eyes at her, nose scrunching.
“Baby, look, he’s mimickin’ you.” Sure enough, Suri had screwed up his face similar to his father’s. Piccolo’s lips twitched, and he took the baby back from Chichi. “You gonna take him to Dende, just to make yourself feel a bit better?”
“Probably,” Piccolo touched his nose to his son’s and Suri promptly clapped his hands on either one of his father’s cheeks. It actually hurt, and Piccolo’s eyes watered. “Ow,” he raised his eyebrows, and immediately felt an odd, ghost of emotion, it felt like regret. Suri’s uncoordinated fingers curled against his cheeks. Piccolo kissed his forehad and tucked the baby to his chest. “Are you going to come?”
“No,” Chichi sighed, “honestly, I’m prob’ly gonna take a nap. Bulma is coming to pick up Goten in 45 minutes - well, Vegeta probably is, which means he’s gonna stand outside and yell since he thinks Goten’s old enough to take himself to the big city. If you wait till after then - an’ y’should, just to be a good dad to all your kids and not spoil the youngest. I don’t want Goten gettin’ that middle child thing where they grow into delinquents.”
Piccolo actually had to swallow a laugh; Goten, a delinquent.
“That won’t happen. Goten is too good a kid to get into any sort of trouble. Unless Trunks leads him into it.”
Chichi dropped her chin, looking up at him with wrinkles on her forehead and her hair a mess.
“Well, Trunks is a good kid. For a saiyan.” Piccolo’s smirk was a tad reminiscent of his younger, wilder days, and Chichi gave him a look that clearly said ‘if the baby wasn’t in your hands I would punch you.’ She slid off the bed, heading for the door.
“I’m going to check on Goten’s homework.”
Piccolo sighed, and looked down at his son.
“You know, something tells me you’re going make me worry about you every day for the rest of my life, Child of Mine.”
After Goten had left with Vegeta and Trunks, Piccolo bundled Suri into the obnoxious but convenient baby carrier that held the child to his chest. It made flying with a squirmy child far less of a hassle. Chichi kissed them both and told him that first children were always the hardest, and he had tried to argue that Suri was his third child, but Chichi had shook her head and sent them on their way.
“You made this one. You love our first two more than you can possibly understand, but you made this one, and that means you’re going to do all the first-time-parent things. Besides, Gohan was four and half when you met him, and you weren’t officially Goten’s Papa until he was older than Suri is now - don’t give me that look, I know you’ve considered both of them yours for longer than I probably know.”
She was right though, Suri was different. Part of his concern, he knew, was simply that Suri was a namekian, and, as Chichi had said, no one, not even him, knew much about namekian children. Shenron knew what a terrible example he had been. His own childhood memories were useless in raising his own son.
Something tugged all of the memories down, pushing them aside and instead filling his inner eye with Suri’s first steps, his first time biting Gohan, that time Goten had stuffed him in a pumpkin…and all felt off. Odd. Piccolo looked down at his son, safe and secure and strapped into the carrier. The baby beamed at him, gap-toothed grin absolutely precious in all its goofiness. Piccolo touched down on the Lookout.
“And what, pray tell, brings you here, Piccolo?” Dende, all arms and legs and stuck in teenage awkwardness, stood in front of them. “I hope nothing is the matter with the Little One?” Piccolo struggled to get Suri out of the carrier, the baby was far too exhuberant to see the Guardian.
“I…” Piccolo hesitated, “I honestly don’t know if anything is wrong. How old are namekain children when they begin to talk?” Dende took Suri from him, placing a gentle finger on the child’s forehead. Suri stilled, going cross eyed to follow Dende’s hand. Piccolo watched as the Guardian and Healer closed his eyes, his chest swelling as he inhaled. The very tip of his finger glowed, and Suri cooed.
“Children speak when they are ready, Piccolo. Sometimes they do not speak in the traditional sense,” Dende opened his eyes, and allowed Suri to grab his finger. “But they all communicate. Tell me, before you grow any more anxious, do you ever think thoughts that are not yours? Feel things that do not match your mood?” Piccolo blinked, his lips parting in surprise. “Ah, I see by the look on your face my answer is a yes.” Dende cuddled the tiny child closer, “you, Piccolo, are a very loud thinker, and yet a creature of few words. Why should your child be any different?” He had not thought of that.
“What do you mean, I am a loud thinker?” He pursed his lips; he always thought he had done a good job keeping his thoughts to himself. Well, aside from the two free-loaders in his brain. He thought about the odd feeling he had felt remembering Suri’s steps, the incident with the pumpkin, and then earlier, the tinge of regret when Suri had slapped him. That had been happening quite frequently; he would feel foreign emotions, think unfamiliar thoughts - more like concepts. “But Gohan and I can communicate telepathically. And I can hear Chichi calling for me in her mind. And Goten -”
“But all of them are also communicating verbally as well.” Dende smiled and tried to disentangle Suri from his robe as the child attempted to put it in his mouth. “I don’t suppose you could feel Goten’s thoughts until he was a talker?” Piccolo furrowed his brow. He could not remember. “Your namekian child is going to be different. Aren’t you, Bansuri?” Suri tittered, and Piccolo felt the child’s heart swell, felt the happiness radiate from him. He frowned. He recalled feeling Suri reaching for him, early on, when Piccolo had been walling himself off from the world. But… Dende approached, allowing Suri to slide into Piccolo’s arms once more. “I have never met a happier little child, Piccolo.” Piccolo met Dende’s deep blue eyes. “Listen to him, and keep your mind open. Remember the council I gave you when he was but a hatchling. It still applies.” How was it that this teenager of just barely eighteen Earth years was so wise? “I am the Guardian, it is part of my job.” Piccolo stared at him. Dende winked and waved his hand. The carrier secured itself around Suri, and Piccolo found his feet levitating off the marble floor.
Two months later, Suri started talking. And then he never stopped.
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