A bird's song whistled through the wind, reaching the ears of the young demi-Saiyan. The warmth of the sun was beating down on his face and the sky twinkled in its reflection, a bright crystal blue. A squirrel was merrily chasing its partner nearby, gleefully chattering. The world around him seemed to be rejoicing. And why shouldn't they? They had been living in fear for so long. Finally, at long last, the impending doom looming over the earth had dissipated. Humans and creatures alike had taken to the streets, rejoicing for their new found freedom and release from the evil of the androids and Cell. Everyone's hearts were lighter. Except for his.

Gohan stared at the joy around him with nothing more than apathy. He couldn't bring himself to foster any emotions over the scene displayed around him. What did it matter? Thoughts were swirling around in his mind, memories of the past horrors and heartache he'd endured, and questions of what it all meant for his future. What did it really matter? What was joy when his Father was dead, and it was all his fault? He flinched as his Father entered his mind. His selfish, kind, goofy, stupid Father.

How could he do it? How the fuck could he just not come back? Didn't he care? It was his fault, his fault that his Father was gone. He knew it and guilt wracked him every moment of every day. But he won. He fucking won, he did it, he defeated Cell! They had the dragonballs, they were going to bring everyone back to life! Everything was supposed to be okay again! But no. No, his Father refused to return, refused to come back home. And for what? Another fucking adventure? Why couldn't he just come home and be with him and his Mother? His Mother…

His poor, dear Mother was inside, fast asleep. She cried herself to sleep every night and nightmares haunted her when she'd finally drifted off. He was constantly waking her, calming her, telling her everything was going to be okay. He thought things would've gotten better, that over time she would heal. But then she'd found out she was pregnant. He shook his head. Would that have changed his Father's mind? Would it have been different, would he have decided to stay if he'd known? Gohan frowned. It was selfish, but he hoped not. He hoped another son wouldn't have changed his Father's mind. If he wasn't good enough, then his other stupid kid brother shouldn't be either.

He titled his head back up towards the sky, the sun beating down on him. For the first time, he remembered that he too was just a kid. The weight of the world, literally, had been put on him. He held no grudge for that; he took it on willingly, determined to help in whatever way he could. But now he cursed having done so. He hated that it had been up to him, that they had all had to depend on him. His Father wasn't enough, or so he said, and now he was gone. Gohan shook his head.

He'd yet to cry since that moment of complete despair on the battle field. When he had first heard the news from his Father himself, on the lookout that day, he'd put on a face. He had to. What was he supposed to do? Everyone was there and they were all looking at him. So he put on a smile, said it was okay, that he would be inspired in life by his Father's heroic memory. After that, he had just gone home, pretending everything was going to be okay.

Telling his Mother had been hard. She collapsed, but he still didn't cry. He didn't cry or scream or do any of the things he wanted to. He was there for his Mom, he was strong for her. A few days had passed in pain, constantly forcing things down. But a new emotion had taken over him since. Or rather, a lack of one. Emptiness was taking over him. A dark void was filling his soul, and he wasn't sure what to do. He had been seconds from some kind of emotional explosion, and then it was suddenly gone. Only emptiness remained. Sighing, he laid down on the lush grass and stared at the sky above him. He wondered where his Father was up there. He wondered what he was doing. He wondered if he missed him. And Gohan wondered if he would ever feel anything about it again.

Bulma stared at the Saiyan prince sitting on her couch with confusion. He was just…sitting. He wasn't meditating, or ordering her to go make him food, or repair the gravity room. He was just sitting, an apathetic look on his face. Bulma held in a string of questions that were threatening to spill out of her. What was wrong with him? Vegeta was a lot of things, but after four years of living with the man, Bulma had learned that no matter what mood he was in, there was one trait that Vegeta always exhibited: passion. Bulma had never met such a passionate being in all her life. She had never seen someone work so hard and literally kill themselves to reach their goal. Vegeta trained, worked, thought, lived, and breathed in passion. It was what made his blood boil, what made him so intense…it was what had attracted her to him in the first place, and the reason they were now living under the same roof with their child. His every moment was dictated by his passion. Until now.

Apathy. When had Bulma ever seen apathy in Vegeta? She couldn't recall a time. And seeing it now scared her. She wasn't sure what to think…their relationship, or whatever the hell it was, had been quite rocky. He could be such an ass sometimes, and so selfish, only caring about himself. Still, Bulma knew she had seen a side of Vegeta that few had…maybe only she had. If he would talk to anyone about whatever was going in that thick head of his, it would be to her. But she wasn't sure if that would even happen. She wasn't even sure if he was staying or not! She couldn't get an answer out of him. She could hardly get a fucking word out of him anymore. It was infuriating…and worrying. She wished she knew what to do. Sighing, she decided to take a stab at it. She'd been staring at him for days now, but she never went for it. Today would be different. She told herself it was for him. That she didn't care if he was passionate or not. But her heart knew otherwise. It knew she needed his constant attention, his constant arguing and bickering with her. But today, she told herself it was for him.

"Vegeta?" She tried to make her voice as gentle and soft as possible, but he still flinched. He glared at her, but offered no answer. There seemed to be dark circles beginning to form under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in days. She wouldn't put it past him. The warning in those eyes was something she'd seen for a long time and something that would've scared her into silence years ago. But things had changed since then. And so she tried again.

"Vegeta?"

Vegeta furrowed his eyebrows in irritation. That damn woman just couldn't take a hint. What the hell did she want? He didn't want to talk to her. He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare ahead in defiance.

"Vegeta."

"What?" he snapped before he could stop himself. Bulma held back a smirk. It was good to hear his voice again, though she felt like an idiot thinking so. And even more, it was good to see him showing emotion, even if that emotion was irritation towards her. Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you want?" he muttered. Bulma frowned. His typical demand had quickly dissipated back to indifference. But Bulma wasn't going to let him get away with it. This had gone on long enough. She put her hands on her hips.

"Look, I'm sick of this Vegeta. You're moping around, not doing anything! What the hell is wrong with you? Why aren't you training? Cell is gone! Aren't you gonna try to take over the world or something?" An uncomfortable silence fell upon them before Bulma continued. "Hello? Are you even listening to me?" Nothing. Bulma took a deep breath. "Vegeta…are you okay? What happened?" Vegeta slowly turned his head to face her, locking eyes for a moment before speaking.

"Why the fuck do you care?" It was Bulma's turn to stare. His words caught her off guard. Why did she care? Was it because she had a child with him? Was it because of the rare, soft moments they'd spent together over the past years? Was it because she knew he was the only person around that was mentally capable of keeping up with her, insulting her, keeping her on her toes? Why did she care?

"I…I don't know," she admitted softly. His cold, blank eyes continued to bore into hers. "But I do." Silence encased them once more, a deep, calculated silence. Whatever was said next could mean something, could determine where things were going with them. It was a tense silence, a hard silence, an uncomfortable and nerve wracking silence. Finally, Vegeta sighed. His eyes seemed to soften for a moment before he stood to his feet. He had the most genuine look on his face when he finally turned to her and spoke.

"You're an idiot."

Bulma stood there for what seemed like ages after he'd left. Three years ago, a comment like that would have sent her over the edge. Three years ago, she would've felt he'd insulted her and that she needed to defend herself. Three years ago, she would've started screaming, and he would've broken something before taking to the skies and not returning for weeks. But instead, she said nothing. Instead, she let him go upstairs. Instead, she let a small smile spread across her face. Because he was right; she was an idiot. But she couldn't help it, she cared about him. And he had just accepted that.

Vegeta stared out the window, complete darkness surrounding him. Had he just confirmed that he was staying? What was happening to him? Images filled his mind, memories of the proud, strong warrior that he once was. What the hell had happened to him? That he wouldn't be strong enough to defeat Cell, that he wouldn't be strong enough to save his own son, that he would have to be saved by a fucking child…it was disgraceful. He should've been angry, raging mad, threatening to destroy the Earth and all the people along with it, including her. Including that stupid blue haired woman. He should be the next greatest threat to the world, taking Cell's place. But instead he was here, instead he was empty, staring out the window of her room, allowing himself to live life with people he had once thought far beneath him.

And so he sat in silence, contemplating his situation, wondering when he would feel something about it. But the emptiness remained. It remained after hours had ticked by on the red clock on the wall beside him. It remained after she came in, after she laid down, and after he laid down next to her. The emptiness remained as he lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling, sleep long from gracing him with its presence. The emptiness remained. And he wondered if he'd ever feel more than nothing again.