by manga, the Awesome One in pigtails
She found him in an obscure corner of the Eternal Home. He had been so excited just that morning; his bright, confident glow had become an intense radiance that warmed and uplifted all who had seen it. Together they had waited eagerly for their turns, but when she came away with her assignment he had already gone. Now here he was, his dim glow bespeaking an anxiety that she couldn't comprehend.
Giving her thoughts to him, she tried to cheer him up but though he didn't push her thoughts away neither did he allow himself to fully absorb their warmth. The thoughts he gave back carried appreciation for her concern, uncharacteristic worry and-- doubt? What's wrong? she asked.
Her question sparked a roil of emotions in him that was too fast for her to feel clearly. She'd never experienced anything like it and felt lost and uneasy herself, not knowing how to help him. After silent moments spent fruitlessly trying to decide what she could do, she gave up. She tried to cover him with her comfort but he pushed it off. You know, HE always said that your biggest problem was your reluctance to ask for help.
I don't think I can do it. The wave of feelings washed around her like a tsunami in its strength and abruptness. He was frightened and close to despair.
Oh, was that all? Everyone says that. Our tasks are designed to bring out the best in us, you know. You'll be fine!
Her breezy answer did nothing to reassure him. His answering thought was like a bolt of lighting. Have you SEEN what they've given me?! Before she could respond, he overwhelmed her with the knowledge he had been given. When it was over, she didn't know what to say.
I'll try my best, but I can't see any way to make it, he said quietly.
You're not going to fail.
What makes you say that?
Because I'm not going to let you! In a surge of thought, she shared with him what she had been told of her assignment. Included with the knowledge that she would be with him came her determination to help him, to bring him back - with or without his cooperation.
He looked at her for a long moment. Promise?
Promise.
Again she was overwhelmed by what he gave her; this time it was gratitude and the first stirring of a kind of love that they, having not gone through the experience of life yet, were just beginning to experience.
I'll hold you to that.
Bulma was ecstatic. She was safely back from Namek, and now they had the more powerful Namekian Dragon Balls with which to wish back their friends. As she chattered happily to the Nameks, inviting them to come stay at her family's compound, her eye fell on a dark figure leaning against a tree. The sight touched her in a way she couldn't express and before she knew it, she was inviting him along as well.
Later, when pressed, she would only ask "What did you want me to do? Leave him there?" She didn't tell them that seeing Vegeta like that had made her feel as though there was something she was forgetting to do.
The nagging feeling that he owed her for taking him in annoyed Vegeta. Her continual chatter taught him new levels of irritation. Truth be told, he should have killed her a while ago. So why hadn't he? It wasn't something he liked to think about. The fact however was that sometimes she'd make a gesture, or there'd be an expression on her face, or she'd needle him in such a friendly, impossibly familiar way, that he'd get the feeling that he knew her. Obviously he knew her; he lived in the same house with her, didn't he? However, this feeling was different. It was a bone-deep conviction that he had always known her. That he even liked her. The accompanying feeling that she knew and liked him too was just patently ridiculous.
He used his drive to become a Super Saiya-jin to ignore those feelings.
Frowning thoughtfully, Bulma smoothed a lock of hair back from Trunks' face. Sometimes she had a hard time believing that her sweet baby had come from Vegeta. Other times, like now when Trunks was scowling in his sleep, the physical resemblance was so strong that she had a hard time believing that the baby had come from her as well. Carefully laying Trunks back in his crib, she wandered back out into the living room and sat in a chair that faced the Gravity Room.
With Cell and Goku gone, no practical way to get off-planet and nowhere to go if he did, Vegeta was stuck on Earth with no purpose. He had told her that he would stay anyway - to train his son - but every now and then she got the feeling that more was going on. She knew that she was beginning to feel drawn to him. They could make each other laugh and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't touched by the attention he had started to give to Trunks. But what did VEGETA feel? She knew he could feel, or he wouldn't have gone ballistic over Big Trunks' death. Thinking about Vegeta reminded her of a song she had heard once: "Sometimes I think you want me to touch you/ But you just look away in the distance..."
There were times, he was forced to admit as he watched Bulma run around with their three-year old son, when he envied the boy his close relationship with her. He couldn't put it into so many words but she made him feel warm and REAL. It had never occurred to him before that he didn't feel real. He hadn't had the frame of reference he had now. The only emotions he'd known were anger and hatred. They had been all he needed as a merciless killing machine, but now he was walking (by his own choice, even!) a different path and he didn't need them. With nothing to take their place, he felt two-dimensional and hollow. There were times though, when he found himself involved with his family in some way: at lunch time, playing with Trunks, even once in a public park. Then he'd look up and realize he'd just spent several minutes simply BEING. That he'd enjoyed it, too. Bulma would smile at him, and he'd feel this wonderful, tingly warmth that he didn't know how to deal with so he'd look away-- and then the moment would be over.
"What are you looking so grumpy about?" Bulma asked, pulling Trunks away from the palm tree he was attempting to climb.
"Nothing," he replied quickly, cursing the blush he felt burning his cheeks.
Bulma smiled wryly. "And I'm queen of the world. You know," she continued, coming over to stand in front of him, "you-- Will you look at me?!" As usual, he had turned his head to the side, avoiding eye contact. She put a hand on his face and turned him back. "You know, you're welcome to join in any time."
It was a thin attempt at his usual indifference. "Really? Join what?"
"Our games. Our lives. Whatever."
"Is that so?" His throat was so dry his voice almost cracked.
She leaned a little closer to him. "Yeah. That's so. You know something else?" she whispered.
"What?"
"I really want to kiss you."
"I'm not stopping you."
It was just a little thing. A quick pressing of lips to lips. It meant nothing really, so why was his heart beating so fast and why did he feel as though his blood had become rocket fuel? Questions for later, he decided as Bulma pulled him down to join her and Trunks in some silly Earth game. He risked a glance at her, saw her smiling down at their son. Still smiling she looked at him and blushed. Quickly he looked away, hating the goofy grin he could feel on his face but unable to do anything about the heady cocktail of emotions prompting it.
Two hundred people dead. His wife's trust probably shattered forever. He could remember hearing her call to him back at the arena; it hadn't been important then and he hadn't responded. As he prepared himself to face Majin Buu for the last time, he wished he could have that moment back. He didn't know what he'd say to her if he could, but he wished he could have the chance. He knew he'd failed his family-- failed everyone, really. Now he was going to pay for it with his own life, willingly given. They could use the Dragon Balls to wish back the people he had killed. He hoped it would be enough.
Farewell, Bulma, Trunks... you too, Kakkarot.
I'm sorry.
There's something I'm supposed to tell her, he thought, watching from the sidelines as usual as everyone else celebrated the real, final end of the battle against Majin Buu. To his astonishment, Bulma showed no sign of rejecting him. Pretending not to notice the considering glances thrown his way by the rest of her friends, he watched her talking with them and savored the warm, bubbly feelings she still gave him. The only thing really spoiling the moment was the nagging conviction that he'd been told to tell her something, only now he couldn't remember what. He'd worry about it later.
"Goodbye, Vegeta." The first clod of dirt hit the coffin but it wasn't until the last shovel-full had been thrown on and patted down that Bulma allowed herself to cry. After all the insanity they had seen together (of which raising two half-Saiya-jin teenagers wasn't the least), he had finally been taken from her by the one thing even a Saiya-jin couldn't fight: old age. She knew that she herself wouldn't be far behind and while she planned to enjoy every precious year she had left with her children and grandchildren, she also looked forward to her own journey to the other side. There was a question she desperately wanted answered.
At last, her eyes closed on the living world and opened on the spirit world. Opened, in fact, on her husband's form. His first thoughts, given directly into her mind, would probably have killed her from shock if she weren't already dead.
Expressing all the emotions he had never been able to articulate in life, his thought washed over her in a warm wave. Thank you.
What?
He shrugged, an amused smile playing in the corners of his mouth. Nothing. I just finally remembered what I was supposed to tell you after Buu.
But I didn't do anything!
You were there.
Understanding, aided by the spiritual communication once again possible, dawned. So, I did it then? I kept my promise?
Do you even have to ask?
This song is "China" by Tori Amos. Listen to it. It's beautiful.
Please tell me what you thought!