Disclaimer/Author’s notes: This piece of fiction, written in Mirai Bulma’s point of view, was inspired by William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 43 and was written as an entry into Adimra’s 4th contest at the Forever website http://www.adimra.100megs6.com/ Please heed rating, this fiction deals with severe depression, alcoholism, death and contains adult situations. Also, last but not least, I do not own DragonBall or the previously mentioned sonnet.


In Dreams
By: Ember Maxximus


It was on days like this, that my resolve dwindled to oblivion. Warm, clear days, when the yellow sun hung high above, kissing everything it touched and the feathery clouds danced across the horizon in a timeless waltz to the melody of life’s joys. On this day, anguish hung heavy on my soul, like bricks weighted to my limbs, drowning me slowly in the river of my despair.

Two years. Two years time had passed since my only son had returned from his crusade to save our reality, though for me it felt considerably longer than that. For two long years I’ve become acquainted with this festering loneliness, knowing that somewhere out there in another place and time I was enjoying the life that I was meant to live. Perhaps, if I had only been one percent of an iota cleverer, then just maybe my time machine would have worked the way I had intended it to, instead of merely creating an alternate timeline where all transgressions had been prevented. An alternate timeline where my doppelganger existed, content with the life that in all rights belonged to me, and I hated her for it.

I really should have known better than to put all my eggs in one basket. I had known, with more certainty than ever that my dreams and aspirations would rekindle once the necessary steps were taken to ensure that Chikyuu did not fall against Gero and his abominations. I had never been more incorrect in my entire life. My reality remained unchanged. All my hopes died with the knowledge that I wasn’t smart enough to fix it this time. The harshness in the truth of the fact that I would never see my friends, my family, or him again slowly ate away at my core, leaving me emotionally drained, to say the least.

I wanted to see him again more than anything, Vegeta, my dark prince. In my heart of hearts, I know without a shadow of a doubt that he would’ve made me happy.

I stalked indoors, no longer interested in the beautiful day outside, mocking me with all that could have been. My desolate mood required something more fitting for companionship. I wandered through the catacomb like hallways of my empty home to my lab. This place had once given me great joy, but as of late, it served merely a storage facility for that forsaken contraption. I had stayed away from this place, the inadequateness of my last invention looming over me like a permanent midnight.

Two years. It had been two long years since I dared to use my brilliant imagination to create anything mechanical. I simply lost my lust to invent. Why bother? My greatest creation had failed miserably and my world’s gone to hell in a hand basket. I flipped the switch on the wall; flickering fluorescent lights illuminated my untouched laboratory. My once animate workplace was now covered with a thick coat of dust. Every breath of stale air I inhaled seemed to magnify the state of my emotional turmoil, my fall from grace.

All I wanted was for the pain to fade, to subside, to disappear to that resting place where all forgotten woes eventually cease to exist. Although my mind often returned to what hurt me the most…the infinite scenarios of a life with him, with Vegeta. That one man had somehow managed to burn my heart, my soul, and my mind. What he did to me cannot be expressed in words. The only thing I understand is that no man has ever been able to fill the void he left in me. Not that I’ve allowed any man to enter my life since him, the notion of another man’s body pressed against mine is enough to make nauseous. So here I’ve pined my youth away for the lost love of a dead man. I am truly pathetic.

I went to my desk at the far end of the lab. Sitting in the worn chair that had once belonged to my father, I contemplated the inertia of my sullen life. Perhaps…perhaps, there is still one man in my life, one man’s whose touch doesn’t make shudder with repugnance. I pulled open the top drawer to the metal desk. "Jack," I spoke the name, barely above a whisper as I removed the fifth of whiskey from the drawer. Jack Daniels. I twisted the top from the bottle, savoring his potent scent. Bringing his lips to my mouth I drowned my despair in the familiar mind-numbing kiss, his presence washing over my tired limbs. Mmm…Jack always did have that effect on me, I thought taking another swallow from the half empty bottle; reminiscing, recollecting, remembering.

I remembered. I remember the first time I laid eyes on him. He stood tall and proud, exuding all the narcissistic haughtiness bestowed to a man of his station. Although I denied it at first, my dark prince had had me utterly enthralled from the first moment his fathomless onyx eyes bore into me with an intensity more fierce than a raging hurricane and before I knew it I was drowning in that gaze. From that moment on I knew I had to have him, even if it were for only one night I wanted to be lost in the eye of that storm.

I can still recall the sensation of his touch as if it were yesterday. The memory of his calloused hands gliding over my body is enough to make me shudder with want.

From where I sat, I could perfectly see that damnable time machine. I loathed that worthless pile of shit. I stood, staggering over to the cabinet where I kept all of my larger tools and opened it doors. I leaned against the wall and inventoried everything so meticulously stored there; hacksaw, sledgehammer, level, drill, and sander among other things, but what grabbed my attention was the sledgehammer with its blunt iron head and long wooden handle.

I picked it up, testing its weight in my grasp. Unsteadily, I walked over to the time machine. "Hope," I snickered at the letters carefully written across its hull. More like hopeless, I thought to myself as I raised the mallet like an awkward baseball bat and swung it with all my might. The fiberglass body cracked from my blow and I felt the smallest inkling of pleasure. Again and again I swung, the cracks splintering into little fragments soaring across the room after each impact. Little by little it was as if a weight was being lifted from my shoulders. The machine began to lean, teetering on now uneven feet and with one more hit I somehow managed to knock the valueless machine on its side. The polycarbonate lid opened on impact exposing the cockpit to the wrath of my sledgehammer and I beat the motherfucker until I could no longer lift my arms. I fell to my knees, landing uncomfortably on tiny bits of crushed microchips and circuitry and wept.

I don’t think I’ve cried at all since the day I conceived the idea of the time machine. I had just thought I could simply fix it all, but things did not end the way I had planned. I cried hard. Tears streaming down my face, sobs uncontrollably wracking my body. But it felt better; I wouldn’t define it as joy, just better than before. My melancholy slowly dissolving along with the walls that had kept me incarcerated for so long. It melted away into acceptance. Acceptance of my harsh reality. Accepting that that which does not kill me can only make me stronger. And with those last thoughts I drifted away into a deep slumber filled not with dreams of could’ve beens, but with memories of those I loved most. Dreams of him and the precious moments we shared almost an eternity ago…


"Onna," came the raspy voice of my houseguest, accompanying two strong hands, roughly shaking my bare thighs. "Onna," his voice came again, more impatient this time, rousing me from my brief catnap.

"Huh?" my sleep-laden voice answered as I quickly sat up, banging my forehead on the underside of the gravity’s rooms control panel. "Ouch!" I cursed aloud, that’s going to leave a mark. His grip increased on my legs and a moment later I was being tugged from underneath my temporary resting place. I brought my hand to my head, touching the tender area, absentmindedly smearing black grease with my filthy fingers.

"You were sleeping," he accused, his brows knitting together in a fierce scowl.

"As I should be at," I countered, quickly looking at my wristwatch before matching his glare with one of my own, "at one thirteen in the morning. You should be grateful that you have such an accommodating hostess and—"

"Watch that sharp tongue of yours, lest I should keep it as a souvenir after I blast you to oblivion," he threatened.

"You giant ass!" I fumed, rising to my feet to stand in front of him, my fists clenching at my side, "Next time you break your toys and want them fixed, contact me during normal business hours!"

"I will contact you whenever I choose to," he smoothly answered, only agitating me further and before I knew it I had raised my hand to slap the unappreciative prick.

"You want to strike me?" Vegeta asked, catching my hand at the wrist, smirking at my frustration.

"I want to hit you so bad that I can taste it," I seethed, feeling the rose shade of anger touch my cheeks and ears. He twisted my wrist behind my back, pulling me into his bare muscular torso. My heart pounded frantically in my chest. What was he playing at? He was supposed to spew a few choice curses and belittling remarks, not this.

"Is that so, frail Chikyuu-jin?" he asked, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic seductive tone causing my knees to suddenly feel weak.

"Yes," I answered, my voice barely a decibel above a whisper. I looked up, meeting his onyx gaze, searching his stoic face for answers to his odd behavior. Vegeta brought his face closer to mine and as I closed my eyes I could feel his breath brush along my flushed cheek. Hesitantly, his soft lips met mine, his warm tongue slowly delving into my mouth to caress it with his own. His grip on my wrist released and I raised my arms to encircle his broad neck. He rested his hands on the swell of my hips, deepening the passion filled kiss. My heart raced as I felt his strong hands slide under the thin cotton of my tank top. His thumbs dancing in slow circles over the bare skin of my belly, sending jolts of electricity up my spine.

He pulled away from me, ending our first kiss. "It is after one in the morning," his lust tainted voice purred in my ear, using my words against me. I began to protest, but was thwarted by his simple words, "Good night, Bulma" He ushered me to the gravity room’s exit, his hand on the small of my back the entire time, sending me away dazed and dumbfounded into the cool night air, hungering for more, thus beginning our unique relationship…


I slept unmoved on the hard tile with the mallet still in grasp, taking no heed to the tiny shards of fiberglass and other components of the broken time machine biting into my face causing small droplets of crimson blood to mar my pale skin. The alcohol induced slumber had made me oblivious to the world around me and unaware to the fact that I was no longer the only occupant in the room…


"I would like to come with you," I solemnly asked into the telephone.

"You don’t have to, Bulma-san, it is my loss to bear," came the sad voice of my best friend’s widow.

"He was family, the brother I never had. You’re family, Chi-, you and Gohan both and I would like to come with you." I replied, unwilling to accept no for an answer.

"Alright," ChiChi answered, even six months after Goku’s unexpected death, her voice still lacked any of its previous charisma. His death had drastically mellowed her. On the outside she was still the raven-haired beauty I had met so long ago, but when she looked at me with those big charcoal hued eyes I could see unimaginable pain and loss. "Chi-, I’m here for you, if you need anything I’m here for you. Anything. Don’t hesitate to ask, okay, imouto*."

"Thank you, oneesan*. I’ll see you in a little bit," she replied then hung up the phone.

I returned home feeling exhausted. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone, even after spending today with Gohan and ChiChi at his gravesite. Ignoring the fading aroma of dinner, I climbed the stairs to my room, wanting nothing more than to lose myself in the tranquility of a hot shower.

Bathed and relax, I stood on the private balcony of my bedroom watching the countless specks of twinkling stars blanketing the heavens with their mesmerizing presence. My thoughts drifted from Son-kun, his family, my failed relationship turned friendship with Yamcha, my future in father’s company, and last night’s kiss with Vegeta. Whatever had possessed him to behave so oddly, I wish it would possess him again.

I ran my fingers through my curly damp aqua tresses; perhaps I’ll go to the salon in the morning. I’m seriously overdue for a haircut, or better yet a totally new style completely. In all honesty, I’m tired of looking like the blue haired version of a blaxploitation heroine. Mental note: call Enrique’ and make appointment for a new do.

From the vantage point of my third level balcony, I could see the lights go out in the gravity enhanced training room. Moments later, Vegeta emerged from the domed building, his bare chest glistening with a thin sheen perspiration. He removed the white towel from around his neck, running the absorbent material over his sweat-slicked body. Suddenly the outside air no longer felt cool any more, but warm and as I watched him walked from the gravity room to the front door I couldn’t help but allow my mind to wander to the memory of his lips pressed against mine, wondering what it would feel like to experience that fine body pressed against mine, to taste the salt of his skin.

I shook my head, contemplating what I had been reduced to, Bulma Briefs – Peeping Tom, Ecchi Extraordinaire. Muten Roshi would have a field day if he discovered my new tendency to perv on my houseguest. I wonder what kind of camera he uses, though lewd and tasteless, he’s one hell of a photographer. I shook my head in attempts to clear my mind of foolish thoughts; "Kami, I could lose myself in those arms."

The beginning of a smile touched the corners of my lips, followed by a shy giggle. Shrugging, I pondered when was the last time I had even been with a man. I mentally counted the months on my fingers. Hmph, had it really been that long. My thoughts again trailed to Vegeta, I bet he has one huge hoosker-doosker, too. Kami, where did that thought come from I laughed to myself. Feeling more cheerful than I had felt when I first returned home, I decided I had had enough fresh air and was ready to return indoors. I turned around to find a shirtless Saiyan Prince standing behind me. Startled, I brought my hand to my chest, my breath catching in my throat, "Did you hurt your hand training today?" I questioned my uninvited visitor with the first thought that came to my head, trying my damnedest to avert my eyes from his delectably glistening upper torso, as a faint blush blossomed across the apples of my cheeks.

His expression flashed to that of puzzlement before returning to its usual scowl, "Of course not."

"Good! Then use it to knock next time! I could’ve been changing," I closed and tied the sash on my open silk robe, suddenly feeling very subconscious about my bedtime attire consisting of a thin cotton tank and boxer shorts. "Or I could’ve been—"

"Standing on your balcony, waiting for me to leave the gravity room so you could molest me with your eyes," he smirked, taking a step forward into my personal space.

"You are so full of yourself! I was just out here thinking! And don’t think I haven’t noticed that the only time you leave the gravity room to train outside is when I just so happen to be swimming," I informed him the half truth, shifting my weight from one foot to the next, while miserably attempting to change the subject from me to him.

"We were talking about you, not what you think you thought you might of saw. Your rapid breathing and escalated heart rate inform me otherwise," he said in a condescending tone laced with a hint of something else.

"You!" I growled. "I don’t have to listen to this. Get out!"

"Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

"Oh and you’re a mind reader, too. So tell me Miss Cleo, what is it that I want?" What is it about this man that makes me want to jump on him one minute and pummel him the next? Another of the world’s great mysteries, I suppose, right up there with how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop. How dare he barge into my bedroom and accuse me of ogling his goodies. So what if he’s right, I’m a grown woman, a damn fine grown woman, doing as I please in my home. Urgh! I pushed past the past my houseguest, to reenter the privacy of my boudoir.

I sidestepped Vegeta, trying to walk past him but grabbed my arm, pulling me into his strong embrace and covering my mouth with his in deep fervent kiss. My anger immediately dissipated as if it never existed in the first place and I responded to lips and velvety tongue with caresses of my own. I had never imagined the power of one kiss could be so intense. This one kiss left me shaking like a leaf, hardly capable to stand on my own accord, while turning my blood to liquid fire.

He guided me through the sliding glass door into the privacy of my bedroom, his strong hands resting on the swell of my hips. Like a moth to the flame I followed, answering only to the aching wildfire unfurling in pit of my belly as he pulled me down on the bed.

"Speechless, Bulma?" His warm breath tickling my ear as he undid the sash to my silken robe, sliding his strong hands up my ribs to caress breasts.

"Shut up and kiss me!" I ordered, closing the miniscule gap between us, pressing myself to the naked hardness of his bare chest. The immense magnetism I felt for this man at this moment was astronomically intense. I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in the in the onyx depths of his powerful gaze, to melt in his strong embrace, and I did. Heedless to all logic telling screaming at me to stop this before it went too far, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t turn away. I wanted him too much. I think I always have. So, I gave into the enthralling desire of his heavenly flesh, into the inferno of my voracious lust, into him.

I was awoken from my heavy sleep late that morning, the center of femininity sore. Groggily I sat up, feeling somewhat disappointed, but not surprised to find myself alone in my bed. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I stretched my tired limbs, reminiscing the unplanned erotic escapade from the night before. Vegeta was amazing. Though I talked the talk and walked the walk, I had only ever been touched by one other man. For me to throw all caution to the wind and allow Vegeta into my bed so willing was surprising to say the least, though not regretted. I never knew it could feel so intense, it was as if he knew what I wanted before I did. Kami, what have I gotten myself into.


Gentle hands effortlessly lifted my sprawled form from debris-covered linoleum. My limbs felt so heavy, I was utterly lost in my reverie that I made no attempts to do nothing but lie in his arms like a broken rag doll. Stairs? Was I being carried up stairs? I don’t know and I don’t care. I just want to sleep…sleep and dream.

"Mother," came the soft-spoken voice of my son, Trunks, as I was set down in my bed. Calloused hands came up to my face brushing away the tiny fragments of fiberglass from my face. My worn boots were removed and my old comforter was carefully draped over me. "I’m sorry for your pain Mother," I cracked my tired eyes to see concerned sky blue eyes watching over me, I closed them again as sleeps’ soothing voice beckoned my return.


"Where is he!?! Sorry good for nothing mother fucking bastard!" the elaborate string of curses tore from my lips in a guttural scream as bore down pushing the new life into the world.

"Breath, breath," came the voice of my birthing coach, mimicking the heavy pants he wanted me use.

"Shut-up, Yamcha! Quit it, you look like a damn orangutan. You, try squeezing something the size of a melon out your pecker and see how you breath. I hate you to—ARGHH!" Around me the monitors blipping increased and small team of doctors entered shooing my friend out the room to stand in the hallway with my parents and closest friends.

"Ms. Briefs," my physician urgently addressed me, holding up a syringe of clear fluid. "Unforeseen complications have arisen. You’re losing a large amount of blood and the baby’s heartbeat is irregular, we’re going to have to perform an emergency cesarean section." He injected the syringe into my I.V. and the world around me slowly faded away.

I awoke in my private recovery the next day. My tender abdomen was a blazing fire of intense pain as I tried to adjust myself in the uncomfortable bed.

"Your awake," came a familiar voice to my left as I turned to the handsome face of my dear friend Yamcha. "Here," he said, lifting a cup of ice water to my parched lips. "Better?"

I nodded, looking around the room to see the plethora of flowers and my mother asleep in the chair on the other side of the room. "My baby?" I asked, looking up at him with tired eyes.

"A healthy baby boy, 13 pounds 8 ounces. Lilac hair, big blue eyes," he smiled, reaching across the bed to push a senzu bean between my lips. I felt it’s magical healing effect immediately wash over my sore body, like the warm sun finally emerging on a cold morning.

"Vegeta?" I hopefully implored. Yamcha looked down and shook his head.

"Bulma, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Promise to hear me out before you say anything?" I nodded, wondering what he was getting at, intently waiting for him to speak, "Being here with you yesterday and seeing the baby, just tugged at something inside of me. I remembered how close we use to be and I miss that. I miss you. Bulma," he spoke my name, bending down on one knee, producing a large diamond ring from his pant pocket, "Will you marry me?" He had so much hope and emotion, gazing up at me with those big dark eyes. Two years ago I would have been elated at his proposal, but now deep inside my soul he didn’t feel right.

"I’m sorry, my heart belongs to another." I spoke as gently as I could.

"Vegeta…" he spoke my heart’s desire aloud, disappointment etched clearly across his handsome face.

"You’ll always be my first love and my friend, but nothing more."

"You can’t help a guy for asking." He smiled.

"I suppose not," I sat up, pulling at the uncomfortable needles and other things from my healed body.

"Aww, that reminded me so much of my soap opera," came my mother’s voice, she was dabbing her eyes with a tissue, "When Bo told Billie he wanted Hope since he learned Stefano faked her death and brainwashed her to be Princess Gina, the art thief and that she wasn’t really dead and he wanted nothing more than to live the rest of the days of his life with Hope and their son Shawn Douglas on that big boat," she hiccupped as the tears intensified to small sobs.

"You’re so silly Mom," I grinned at her from across the room. My mother the epitome of housewives, she loved aerobics, shopping, cooking, cleaning, and soaps, specifically Days of Our Lives. I think that there’s some sort of written law for housewives that they must have a love for soap operas or novellas.

"What are you doing!" screamed my nurse as she busted into the room, seeing that I was no longer hooked up to all those tubes and machinery.

"I’m going home," I told her matter of factly, pulling the loose pants over my hips. "Can you point me in the direction of nursery, I’d like to meet my son."


"Thank you for coming over so quickly ChiChi-san, she’s never done this to herself before. I don’t understand, she was fine this morning and I found her in the lab like this a few hours ago," Trunks told his sensei’s mother.

Cool feminine hands softly touched my forehead, "She’s a little clammy, but she doesn’t feel feverish," my friend answered him. "I’ve never really known her to be much of a drinker," a concerned note in voice, "she’ll most likely have a one massive hangover but she should be alright as long as she doesn’t make a habit of it."

"But the lab—" he apprehensively began.

"Trunks, how do you deal with your frustration?" ChiChi interrupted.

"I fly or shoot a couple of Ki blasts, if I were still back in…oh…" his words ending as he realized the point she was getting at.

"Exactly…would you fix the spare room up for me, I’d like to talk with her in the morning?" She asked brushing long salt and pepper bangs from her eyes.

"Sure." Trunks halfheartedly smiled, leaving the two women alone.


I was overjoyed when my baby boy finally drifted away to sleep. My poor son had been so restless these past few days; his sleeping habits had gone from predictable to erratic, which in turn threw my beauty sleep out the window. I had just laid him down for the night and the thought of a hot relaxing bath sounded absolutely heavenly. Then maybe, just maybe I might be able to call it a night as well.

I placed the baby monitor on the counter alongside my fluffy white terrycloth bathrobe and filled the large oval bathtub almost to the rim, adding scented bath oils and bubbles as an afterthought. I slowly eased into the hot water, allowing my skin to adjust to the steaming bathwater. Mmm, I’m going to enjoy this, I’ve definitely earned it. I sunk down lower, until my chin was halfway submerged in the water and closed my tired eyes, to rest them, but falling asleep instead.

"You look waterlogged," commented a familiar raspy voice, one that I had heard less and less over the past year, especially when he learned I was pregnant with his child. I opened my eyes to see my proud dark prince unfastening the straps to his armor and discarding it alongside my dirty clothes.

"Get out!" I snapped, pulling my knees to my chin to hide my nakedness.

"Your modesty is unnecessary, woman. You have nothing that I haven’t seen before," he replied, removing his blue tunic.

"You don’t get it. I can’t do this with you anymore! One minute we’re on speaking terms then the next I hardly see you for months. I need something more tangible from you than this touch and go bullshit. I can’t do this with you anymore," I felt my voice crack on that last word as all the pain I had pushed into the deepest recesses of my mind made itself known and a single tear glided down my face, though I refused to allow him see this. I turned away from him, staring at the wall.

He slid his compact muscular body into the oversized tub, sitting on his heels facing me. He brought his palm to my cheek, caressing away the lone tear and brought his lips to mine in a sweet kiss. I fell against him, his strong arms encircling me, my head resting on his chest. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but I felt at peace, lulled by the rhythm of his beating heart.

"This is nice, you should drop your pretentious asshole façade more often," I softly spoke into the crook of his neck, finally relaxing again.

"Humph. You wouldn’t know what to do with me if I did," He countered, his voice containing none of the usual coldness I’d become acquainted to.

"Yes I would." I smiled, looking up into his onyx eyes, windows to the soul of a man I yearned to become closer to, if only he’d allow for it.

"Liar," Vegeta half smirked as he pulled me into his lap, his hard body slippery against my own in the sudsy bath water. He loosely wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, weaving his fingers through the wet tendrils of short aqua locks that clung there.

"I’m not," I countered, though my rebuttal sounded as if it came from a grade school child instead of a grown woman.

"Then prove me wrong," he spoke, his voice, like velvet, sent shivers done my spine even though the water was far from cool.

And I did. Slowly at first, familiarizing myself once again with his lips and becoming more audacious with each passing second. Kami, I’ve missed him so much. The rare moments we’d spent together without malicious comments or flat out ignoring the others presence were moments I cherished. Ever so slowly I could feel the foundation of our relationship stabilizing at times like this. Giving me hope that I was more than a convenient roll in the hay. The need to feel him so intimately became overwhelmingly intense. Kami, this man had put me on an emotional roller coaster to hell and back, and yet I still desired him more than ever. Maybe, I’m just a glutton for punishment but I care for him so deeply.

He locked his obsidian eyes with mine as he pushed into the center of my femininity. The instant he filled me it was as if I had found something I didn’t even know I missing. Slowly I rocked my hips against his, Kami it had been so long. His ragged breath whispered against my lips, in unspoken words of understanding. An understanding that maybe he needed me as much I needed him though hell would sooner freeze over before those words left either of our mouths.

Sometime during our lovers escapade we found ourselves on my bed, finishing what had begun in the bathtub.


The wet rag touched my brow leaving my skin cool as the night breeze from the open window circulated fresh air into the room. "We will talk when you wake, oneesan. Good night," came ChiChi’s tired voice, followed by the sounds of light footsteps leaving the room.


I awoke in his arms; a smile touched my lips recalling how we had ended up here. This was the first time I’d ever woken with him by my side, still in my bed. It was refreshing and renewed the sense of home building inside my soul that maybe, just maybe, we might be able to be a family.

"Bulma! Bulma! Have you seen Vegeta!?!" came the urgent voice of Gohan along with his insistent pounding on my bedroom door. In an instant Vegeta had wrapped a sheet around his midsection and was at the door.

"What is it brat?" He scowled down at the boy, fresh tears staining his young face.

"There’s two people blowing up the entire Northern islands and—"

"What concern is that to me boy! Let your military deal with it, I could care less," he growled.

"They’ve tried. They have Ki, Vegeta, and they’re strong." A wicked gleam sparkled in Vegeta’s eyes as the reality of Gohan’s words hit home.

"Little weakling, and here you are asking me to destroy them for you."

"They’ve killed Mr. Piccolo," Gohan sobbed, wiping the tears from his dark eyes.

"I’ll be dressed in a minute." He closed the door and went into the bathroom, retrieving his clothing. Quickly he dressed as I sat on the bed absorbing Gohan’s words. "Bulma…When I return, there are things I wish to discuss with you." He gently said as he opened the door to leave.

"Alright, good luck Vegeta." I added, fear quickening my heart.

"I don’t need any luck," he smirked. That was the last time I ever saw him alive again.

My parents, ChiChi, and I sat around the big screen; our eyes were glued to CNN watching live second by second coverage of the unfolding events. I held my baby tightly in my arms, my fear building more with each tick of the clock. The news crew refused to enter ground zero with the androids still at large, especially with Chikyuu’s special forces failing miserably to destroy the abominations. Then without notice the journalists were struck with an enormous Ki blast, instantly killing them, along with the live feed they had been broadcasting worldwide.

Oh Kami, oh Kami, oh Kami. Vegeta, Yamcha, Piccolo, Tien, Chaoutzu, Roshi, and Gohan – they have to be all right they have to. This is just a nightmare and any second I’m going to wake and all this will be a distant dream. This can’t be happening!

Bruised and Bloody, Gohan staggered in through the front door, collapsing as soon as his feet touched the entryway. "Oh Kami, my baby!" gasped ChiChi as she ran to the aid of her only son. Pushing Trunks into my mother’s arm, I darted up the stairs to my room. I had spare senzu there and Gohan definitely was in need of one.

I returned, pushing the healing bean into his mouth, past his split lip and blood coated teeth. Sluggishly the bean’s power healed him and he sat up looking around the room as we all stared at him expectantly. I was the first to speak, "Gohan, the others. How are they? What about Vegeta?"

"They’re all dead, Bulma-san. I tried to help them, but I wasn’t strong enough," he sobbed as his mother pulled him against her breast like a babe rocking him back and forth, cooing reassuring words into his ear.

Dead? That’s impossible. Impossible. I refuse to believe that he’s dead, that they’re dead. Tears filled my azure eyes as I grabbed my purse from the nearby end table and ran out the door. I had to see for myself, I had to. I unecapsulated my fasted vehicle, jumping into the driver’s seat. My only thoughts were of disbelief. I had to see for myself. I don’t…I can’t accept this hearsay. I need to see with my own eyes that he’s gone.

The epicenter was easy to find. I simply followed the trail of destruction. I saw things that I never thought I’d ever have misfortune of seeing. Buildings had been leveled, burnt and mangled corpses littered the streets like garbage. Kami, have mercy on their souls. The scorched marks and human sized craters became more frequent and then I saw Tien. His immense size and green gi was all that I was able to identify him by, the bastards had completely blown his face off. Then there I saw the others. They were more or less ripped apart in the same fashion my friends were all gone.

Tears streamed down my face and sobs uncontrollably wracked my body as I began to panic. I turned in circlers searching for my prince. He had had to survive this, if anything the little prick was resilient, right? If only I was that lucky. There… I had found him, his body was imbedded in six inches of earth. I grabbed his arms, dislodging him from the temporary resting pace. As I pulled his limp form forward I realized there was a gaping hole 14 inches in diameter through his chest. I fell to the ground beside him, pulling him into my lap. Crying my anguish aloud to the fallen city. Why! Why did this have to happen? Oh, Kami. Why!?!

"Waku up please wake up" I pleaded pushing a senzu bean between his cold lips, nothing. "Chew! Damn you, chew."

I screamed at him grabbing the straps of his armor and shaking him as hard as I could… nothing. There was nothing I could do nothing for him, he was gone…dead. Lost. There were no dragonballs to revive him or my friends or any of these poor souls who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. "Gone," I whispered aloud.

"You’ve always been too damn sentimental," I heard his voice rasp. My eyes snapped open as the overwhelming sense of peace and serenity cascaded over me like the heat from the rising sun on a cold morning. I glanced around to see that I was no longer on that bloody battlefield, but was in a place of endless powdery white clouds.

"Where am I?" I asked him, Vegeta, looking around to see him alive, tall and proud like the regal prince I always knew him to be.

"Dreaming, Bulma, just dreaming," he began. "I don’t have much time and there is much I need to say. I’ve had over twenty years to reflect on my life." His image began to flicker, like a candle in the wind. "I do not have much time, but know this. The end is only the beginning. Live your life and I’ll be here to greet you at the end of your journey, My Queen." He brought his lips to mine in a chaste kiss then he slowly faded away, "Only the begging, eternity awaits."


The light from the rising sun roused me from my dream filled slumber. I felt alive, refreshed, and renewed. I hadn’t felt this way in two years. I quickly rose from my bed, taking a short shower and dressing before making my way down stairs. I brewed a large pot of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, waiting for the others in the house to wake. It didn’t take long; something about the aroma of freshly made coffee always does the trick. Within a matter of minutes I could hear the slow trudge of two sets of feet making their way down the stairs.

"Good morning you two," I greeted my son and my sister.

"Uh, ‘morning Mom. How are you feeling?" Trunks asked, assessing my appearance.

"Never better, but you look like a ragamuffin. When are you going to let me cut that all that lilac hair, mister? I bet you could sell it and make two wigs and twenty phony ponytails. Sit," I gestured to the empty places at the table and poured two steaming cups of joe; three creams and two sugars for Trunks, black for ChiChi.

"We wanted to talk to you about yesterday, Bulma," Chichi began, "You had Trunks scared to death and—"

"I’m fine," I interrupted, "And that will never happen, I had epiphany last night, so to speak. And I promise I’m feeling a hundred percent better. In fact, I had this idea for a new portable water filtration system that I’d like to get started on it after breakfast."

"Uh…Mom, care to share about the 180 on the attitude?" Trunks asked, still very skeptical about my new outlook on life.

"Care to share when I’ll finally have a grandbaby running through this big house?" The comment caught my son off guard and flamed his cheeks bright pink with embarrassment.

"No," he replied into the cup of coffee, refusing to meet my stare.

"Well, then I have a pretty big agenda today so-" I began…


"That was a really good idea to visit Bulma in her dreams, Gita." Goku said, nudging his favorite sparring partner in the ribs.

"If you call me Gita one more time, I’m going to kill you slowly Kakkarot." He threatened, grounded out each word slowly.

"I’m already dead and so are you, geez…some people’s kids," Goku shrugged, scratching the back of his head. "Vegeta…I miss Chi- too, it won’t be long you know. We’ll be reunited with them soon enough."

"Yes…Soon, Bulma." Vegeta reflected aloud.

"The end is only the beginning," Bulma pondered to herself as she thought of him. She was no longer plagued with feelings of loneliness and sorrow, but alive again to live the rest of her life to it’s fullest until that time came when heaven would open its gilded gates for her. Until then she always had her dreams.



When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And, darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessèd made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.




Imouto – younger sister

Oneesan - older sister

A/N: Yes I know, quite a bit OOCness and a very rushed ending (due to total ignorance on my part on that deadline). In my defense, let me state that I’m a much better reader of B/V fics than writer of them, however I’ve been known to throw down some comical Trunks and Goten fics…^_^….On another note, direct all questions, rotten fruit, comments, & constructive criticism to EmberMaxximus@yahoo.com Thanks for reading! Oh and hey, Beatrice and Margie-Rita too! I put H.D. in there for you; Jose Don Juan DelaRosa makes me smile every time. Viva La Sandy’s! LOL!!!


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