Disclaimer: I do not own DB/Z/GT, blah, blah, blah. If I did, Vegeta would have beaten Goku a loooong time ago!! Mwa ha ha ha!!!!
A/N: Ah, yes. Another depressing Mirai story. Hmmm….do I sense a pattern here? O well. Criticisms are always welcome as I aim to improve my writing skills. I'm also not sure of a title; the current one was suggested by a friend, but I'm still looking for one. Please R/R, and I hope you enjoy!
Shattered
Bulma Briefs paced the length of her room, her calloused hands, worn from years of work, balled into fists at her sides. Her feet scuffed the carpet, and a frown creased her light features. Her pace became faster with each passing moment, and at last the woman collapsed in an armchair by the window. Bulma let her breath out forcefully, surprised at the realization that she had been holding it. Staring absently out the window, her azure eyes appeared tuned to the birds flitting before the panes of glass, though her thoughts remained elsewhere.
Bulma tapped a slippered foot against the floor rapidly until her leg began to hurt, upon which she clasped her knee with both hands to quell the movement. Bulma shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind of thousands of muddled thoughts, but the action was useless.
"Why am I so restless?"
Bulma spoke aloud, though the room was empty apart from herself. Her words seemed to bounce off the walls of the nearly abandoned building, jeering at her with each resounding echo. And yet, even as she spoke, Bulma was painfully aware of the reason for her anxiousness.
It had been nearly two decades since the arrival of Dr. Gero's most horrible creation; the jinzouningen. They attacked cities and murdered the innocent, never tiring of their relentless game of life and death. Wherever the pair went, they left a desolate path of death and destruction in their wake.
Bulma had been able to survive the years of terror only by straining her mind to the utmost limit on any project she could think of, leaving no room for thoughts on the horrors all around. Her most difficult and complicated invention, a machine capable of conquering even the barrier of time, had occupied her every moment ever since the cursed Androids had taken the lives of her loved ones. It was her work that kept the now middle-aged mother from the inevitable emotional breakdown.
Now, however, the time machine was complete, and the corners of her mind which should have been filled with calculations and formulas were left vacant, inviting the swarms of memories which now bombarded her thoughts. Without even her son to keep her company, Bulma was at a complete loss at what to do. Horrific reflections of the past loomed ominously within her subconscious, the threat of their breaking loose growing ever more persistent in her mind. With nothing to occupy her, seventeen years of fear and anguish came crashing down on her with the force of a hurricane.
Bulma sat up anxiously, eyes picking apart the room, desperately searching for something to do. Finding nothing, fear and pain began to creep over her delicate features, and her eyes began to sting at the sudden tidal wave of emotion. Bulma's expression hardened with determination, and she leapt from her chair to resume pacing.
"I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I won't cry. I can't..."
Bulma spoke with obstinacy, yet with each repetition the words lessened in conviction and became ever more desperate. At last her wavering voice was nothing but a barely audible whisper. Her steps slowed, and she leaned against the window wearily, forehead pressed against the glass for support. Suddenly she felt old, defeated, and though Bulma knew she appeared younger than her years, she couldn't stop the crushing sense of age, vulnerability, and helplessness. Bulma balled her hands into fists once more, cursing her weakness, and for a moment wished above all else for the power to fight the jinzouningen herself. For a fleeting instant, Bulma envied her son. She knew he was harboring as many emotions as she, but, unlike herself, possessed the ability to vent his anger directly on those who had been the cause of it... even if , as of now, it had no effect on the seemingly indestructible Androids.
"While I'm stuck here like a caged animal, and knowing nothing until it's publicly announced." Bulma muttered bitterly, completing the thought aloud. She turned away from the window, disgusted at her own helplessness.
Automatically, the middle-aged woman's hand crept to the locket at her throat, fingers entwining themselves in the fine gold chain. She did not need to open the pendant to know what lay inside, and she feared what would happen to her crumbling emotional defense system were she to look upon her parents' smiling faces. Bulma fingered the locket tenderly and squeezed her eyes shut, attempting without success to block out the memory which began to surface within her mind.
***
"We're going shopping in South City, dear! Did you want anything?"
Bulma looked up from her magazine at the sound of her mother's high-pitched voice, inwardly wondering how the woman constantly remained so over-exuberant.
"No thanks, Mom! You go ahead!" she called over her shoulder, turning the pages of the magazine with little interest.
"Alright! I might stop at the bakery on my way home and pick up some goodies! See you in a bit, dear!"
Bulma sighed gustily as she heard the door close and the engine of her parents' air car start up. Tossing her magazine aside, she yawned loudly and, stretching out on the sofa and punching a cushion a few times, succumbed to a much needed nap.
Bulma was wakened a few hours later by the blaring of the television. Sitting up blearily, she rubbed at her eyes, blinking a few times to focus on what appeared to be an emergency broadcast. A frightened looking reporter was standing in front of an indistinguishable building. The structure was completely consumed by flames and partly obliterated by billowing clouds of black smoke.
"It's absolute havoc here, folks!" The reporter shouted over the terrified screams on people all around him. Bulma's eyes widened and she leaned forward intently. "South City has been attacked! Two teenagers arrived here only moments ago, and somehow have managed to completely destroy the city! No one knows where these two have come from or the source of their power! You see behind me the burning wreckage of South City Shopping Centre! It is estimated by local authorities that there are no survivors of this horrible explosion! We'll be bringing you l...
Bulma's cry overpowered the broadcast in volume, and she fled from the room, not bothering to turn off the television, leaving doors swinging behind her as she ran. She stopped briefly in Trunks' room and strapped the slumbering infant into a baby carrier which she hurriedly slung onto her back. The boy's lavender eyebrows knit together in a frown at the movement, but to his mother's relief the tiny demi-Saiyan did not wake. Bulma continued to run, not slackening her stride until she reached the gravitational trainer, punching the manual override button.
A few seconds later, Vegeta emerged as expected, the ever-present scowl set on his face.
"What do you want, woman?" he barked, though a hint of puzzlement tinged his aristocratic features at his mate's fearful expression.
Bulma fought to keep her calm as her throat tightened up in fear, the words of the broadcast still ringing in her ears.
"Vegeta, please, I need you to fly me to the shopping centre."
The dark haired Saiyan snorted in disgust. "Is that all you wanted me for, woman?" Whatever uncertainty had been apparent before was gone, replaced by a dark scowl. "You have a profusion of transportation devices. Don't interrupt my training again with your petty requests." He turned his back to her, intending to return to his training, but Bulma clutched at his arm like a bewildered child.
"Please, Vegeta!" She was nearing hysteria, and tears cascaded down her cheeks, no attempt being made to stop them. "There's been an..." Bulma choked on the words. "...an accident. I need to get there as fast as possible, and we both know you can fly faster than my jet can." Vegeta regarded Bulma's shifting eyes and desperate expression, and though he did not understand the cause of her sudden panic, his expression softened slightly as his arm encircled her waist almost protectively.
"Alright, woman, stop screeching," though his voice lacked the harshness it usually possessed. "You'll wake the brat up."
Bulma flung her arms around Vegeta's neck, burying her face in his shoulder as they took to the air. "Thank you!" she choked between sobs, "Thank you!"
"Woman!" Vegeta bellowed, "Stop whimpering or I'm going back and you can find your own means of getting there!" Though silently, Vegeta cursed whatever had upset her like this. He hated it when Bulma cried; it confused him, and there was nothing he hated more than not understanding a situation.
Moments later, Vegeta touched down on the cracked pavement before what once was the South City Shopping Mall.
The building had collapsed since the broadcast, and though all was now only piles of rubble and cracked concrete, firefighters still labored to douse the orange flames which consumed the blackened wreckage. An enormous gathering of people had accumulated, crowding the parking lot and spilling out onto the streets. Several police officers were having difficulty keeping the mobs under control. Trunks stirred in the carrier on Bulma's back, and his eyes opened slightly as the noise surrounding him interrupted his sleep. The tiny boy's bottom lip quivered, and his face scrunched up into a frown as he began to cry. His howls went unnoticed, however, amidst the cries of hundreds around him.
Bulma pushed her way through the swarms of people, tears streaming down her face as she fought to reach the building. A million thoughts and fears circulated through her mind, threatening to explode.
Where are they? What if I can't reach them? What if they're still alive, waiting for me, and I never find them? I HAVE to find them! Who did this? I HATE YOU!!!!
Bulma at last reached the edge of the crowd, and was about to slip under the yellow caution tape bordering the shopping centre when a figure stepped in front of her.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you can't go through here. It isn't safe," the policeman declared, starting to push Bulma back towards the other fearful spectators. Bulma swiped at her eyes, trying to regain her shattered composure.
"Look, my parents are in there, I...I have to find them!" The officer paid no heed to her plea, however, and continued pushing her gently but firmly back into the crowd. "I'm sorry, miss, but I can't allow you to..."
"Don't you understand?" Bulma cried desperately, "They could still be alive and no one will find them! Let me through!!" Her voice escalated until, by the last word, she was nearly hysterical. The policeman, however, did not budge.
"As soon as the fire is put out, ma'am, rescue teams will search for survivors. Now if you will please wait.."
Bulma closed her mind to the man's explanations, hopelessness consuming her as she was forced to watch from the sidelines, unable to run to her parents' aid.
Suddenly, a hand lashed out and caught the unsuspecting policeman by the throat. His eyes widened in alarm as he was lifted off the ground.
"Let her through," Vegeta snarled, eyes flashing dangerously. People surrounding them backed away from him in terror. "or I'll snap your neck and she'll pass anyway." Vegeta's voice was thick with malice. One corner of the Saiyan's mouth lifted in a sneer. "Take your pick."
The officer clawed at the hand grasping his throat, barely managing to croak out a faint "She...can...go..." as Vegeta's grip tightened. Vegeta smirked and dropped the man like a piece of garbage, who fell to the ground gasping for breath and clutching his neck where dark purple bruises were beginning to appear. "Good choice." Vegeta turned to where Bulma had been standing, but she was already gone, tearing across the crumbled pavement.
Bulma wasted no time when Vegeta appeared at her side. Leaping over the feeble barrier, she tore across the broken ground, stumbling over chunks of concrete, making Trunks cry harder in the carrier on her back, but she did not stop to comfort him. Her eyes scoured the wreckage for any sign of her parents as she fought for control over her screaming senses. A small patch of yellow caught her eye, and Bulma ran towards it, hardly daring to hope. She clawed at the pieces of concrete and brick, tossing aside as much as she could, hoping desperately that she had found her parents, yet fearing what she might find beneath the rubble. Slowly, a blonde head appeared, then slender shoulders. Bulma worked frantically until both her parents lay before her. Bulma resisted the natural urge to be sick to her stomach at the sight before her, grimacing as she swallowed the bile rising up in her throat.
The bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Briefs lay broken and lifeless in the rubble, twisted and snapped as easily as toys. Their expressions were contorted with fear and pain, mouths still open, their cries of agony having been cut short. Clothing was torn by rocks and asphalt which still partially covered them, the original colour of the material almost indistinguishable under the crimson stain spreading from countless wounds. Bulma stared in horror, finally turning away to be violently sick as waves of nausea swept through her. She closed her eyes, shaking her head frantically, but the image of their mangled corpses remained.
Tearing off a sleeve of her blouse, Bulma did the best she could to clean the drying blood from their faces, wishing she could erase the look of anguish as well. Reaching out a quivering hand, Bulma gently closed her parents' eyes, weeping as she did so as the finality of the situation slammed into her. She looked with horror at her fingertips, now covered in her mother's blood.
I might stop at the bakery on my way home and pick up some goodies! See you in a bit, dear!
Her mother's voice rang in her ears, and Bulma's breath caught in her throat at the realization that she would never hear that voice again. She reached over and clasped her father's cold hand in her warm one, remembering the wonders he had created with those hands, and yet how light was their touch when he patted her on the head or shoulder at her accomplishments. Bulma turned away, not wanting to see the bodies any longer, and wept.
***
Bulma snapped the locket shut and covered her face with her hands. Her own words spoken on that day echoed within her mind like a curse, sneering and taunting her. No thanks, Mom. You go ahead. No "I love you," not even a "hurry back." Nothing. The last words she ever spoke to her parents were completely meaningless. But though the wound upon remembering that day still stung, she had stopped crying for her parents long ago, as if all her tears for them had been shed already, as more and more of her friends and companions were killed. Bulma shook her head violently, refusing to allow the memories of each warrior's death to enter her mind. And she succeeded; all save one.
***
Bulma woke at the sound of her son crying. Sitting up, she glanced at the clock, surprised to find it was not even midnight. Stifling a yawn, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and threw aside the blankets. Light from countless glittering stars shone dimly through the window, lighting the room just enough to enable limited visibility. Silver light fell upon the side of the bed Vegeta occupied; it was empty.
Bulma let out a cry and leapt from her bed, throwing on a house-robe over her nightgown. It only took her a moment to reach and cross Trunks' room, his howling ending abruptly when she lifted the baby into her arms. Bulma moved as fast as she could through the darkened building, one hand trailing lightly along the wall as she ran down the length of the hallway. Dread clasped her heart as she fled through the house, still finding no sign of Vegeta.
Vegeta resisted the urge to turn at the sound of bare feet on the tiled floor. He gripped the porch railing with both hands until his knuckles were white, cursing his inability to leave undetected. Goodbyes did not come easily to the Saiyan prince; to him they were merely an unnecessary sentimentality, and therefore a weakness. And yet, something had held him back, an invisible barrier within him which delayed his departure for his last battle. He heard Bulma come up behind him and tensed when she placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder.
Vegeta gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, wishing above all else for Bulma and their son, whom he could hear breathing rhythmically in his sleep, to leave him. A turmoil of emotions fought for dominance within his mind, and a low growl escaped his throat, though it was more of frustration than anger.
Don't you understand, woman? You're only making this harder for me.
Bulma's heart leapt into her throat when she found Vegeta. He stood alone on the porch, staring up at the sky, though his face was masked in shadows. She nearly cried out when she realized he was clad in battle armour, leaving no doubt as to his intentions.
Bulma came to stand beside Vegeta, resting her free hand on his shoulder, while the other supported her sleeping son. Every cell in her body screamed at her to stop him, to plead, beg...anything to keep him from falling to the same fate as so many others. Bulma shook her head, ignoring her senses. She knew Vegeta well enough to know that showing weakness would only strengthen his will. Though this was often comforting as Vegeta would readily protect her from any peril beyond her control, now his stubbornness could cause his own death should she be careless with her words.
"What's happening?" Bulma asked quietly, surprised at the calmness in her voice as Vegeta turned towards her. Moonlight played upon his face, sharpening his already angular features, making him appear more determined than Bulma had ever seen him before. His face was set, revealing no inner emotions, though there was a strange look in his eyes which Bulma did not recognize.
"I felt the others' ki levels rise. They are battling the jinzouningen, and it would be an insult to my pride to flee during their bloodshed."
Bulma's eyes widened in horror.
"Is that the only reason you're fighting them?"She fought to keep her voice under control as Trunks stirred in her arms. "Think past your pride for a minute, Vegeta! What about all the people they've murdered? If you're going to go and get yourself killed, at least do it for a worthy cause!" Bulma nearly apologized at the sharpness that cut through her words, but her stubbornness prevented her from doing so.
Vegeta's face hardened, a fierce glare setting his mouth in a grim line, fire smouldering in his black eyes. Bulma withstood the instinctive urge to take a step backward under his icy gaze.
"My pride is all they can't take from me!" Vegeta's eyes flashed dangerously. "You are not a warrior, so it is impossible for you to understand. I am called to battle, and I'd sooner die than shy away from a fight, no matter what its outcome. Don't accuse me for things of which you know nothing!" Vegeta hissed the last word through his teeth and turned sharply away.
Bulma drew herself up in defiance. "So you'll fight and die in vain just for your pride? It's useless, Vegeta, why can't you see that?" She bounced Trunks up and down in her arms as the baby began to whimper, though her eyes remained locked on Vegeta's, flashing with anger. "When are you going to accept that you're not indestructible? The jinzoningen will kill you if you try to fight them, and it won't solve anything! You're going to die for nothing, Vegeta!"
Something inside Vegeta snapped, and he straightened, body tense and rigid with anger. He moved out from under Bulma's hand, shadows darkening the glare on his face further. Bulma looked with confusion at his eyes; though they burned with rage, something else was present in their depths. Vegeta had always remained strong and defiant no matter how grim the situation, and it frightened Bulma to see him otherwise.
"You know nothing."
Bulma winced, not only at the harshness in his words, but the regret which glazed his dark eyes. She reached out a hand to touch his arm, crying out in despair as Vegeta shot into the air. A shimmering trail of gold was left where he passed, slowly fading to inky blackness.
"No..." Bulma spoke into the night air, what she thought would be a cry barely a whisper. She stared into the starry sky where Vegeta had disappeared, fear of the inevitable consuming her body. Trunks, now awake, began to cry, his wail cutting through the stillness of the night. Ignoring his cries as if in a trance, Bulma ran inside and into her workroom. Setting Trunks in the play pen she had previously set up, she seated herself at the computer and hurriedly punched the power button. The computer began to hum as it came to life, light from its screen illuminating the room with its dim blue glow.
"C' mon, you stupid machine! Hurry up!" Bulma pounded the screen, nearly crying with relief as it finished loading. No sound came from Trunks, having exhausted himself into sleep after only a few minutes of crying. Bulma began to type frantically on a file to one of her latest projects, fingers flying over the keys in a desperate effort to keep her mind from the battle raging miles away and beyond her control.
***
Bulma whirled at the sound of heavy breathing in the doorway. What met her eyes jolted her heart so severely, she was afraid it would stop beating. Gohan stood in the entrance, bent over in the effort to support a body draped across his back.
Vegeta.
Gohan lay the still form before Bulma, pointedly not looking at her face. The boy left the room quietly, tears threatening to fall at any given moment as he closed the door soundlessly behind him.
Bulma fell to her knees beside the battered body of the once proud Saiyan, gently cradling his head in her arms. She brushed strands of coal black hair matted with blood from his broad forehead, scarcely believing the reality she was now forced to face. She was dimly aware of someone sobbing, but it wasn't until Vegeta's still face was drenched in tears that she realized they were her own. Bulma ran a slender finger lovingly over his chiseled features, hating those who had caused them to become so twisted with pain. Memories of that face in life appeared in her mind, each one bringing a fresh onslaught of salty tears.
The weight of loss came crashing down on her like never before, so great was its intensity that Bulma nearly stopped breathing. An iron hand seemed to have taken hold of her heart, and was slowly squeezing the life from her already dwindling strength. Bulma held Vegeta's broken body to her, sobbing uncontrollably when he did not return her embrace. She lifted his hand and pressed it against her cheek, weeping at how cold it had become.
Wracking sobs shook her body as Bulma held Vegeta's lifeless form, longing to hear his voice, for his touch, his embrace. Even the stubborn scowl which so often darkened his features was dear to her now, and Bulma knew she would gladly give her own life but to see it again. That was Vegeta; the living, breathing, fearless Saiyan who stopped at nothing, yet who could be so gentle when no one was watching. Not this cold, lifeless body in her arms. Still clutching him desperately, fearing he would disappear were she to let go, Bulma wept bitterly. At last, fatigue overcame her, and she fell into fitful sleep. The fading stars cast an eerie silver glow on the slumbering woman; a sleeping beauty with her dead prince in her arms.
***
Bulma touched her face gingerly as hot tears streamed freely from her eyes. No sound was uttered as she sat, eyes open, yet seeing nothing as the tears continued to flow. Memories of the dark-haired Saiyan filled her consciousness, so clear was his face in her mind she could almost convince herself the image was real. But this false hope only made reality ever more bitter. Overwhelming regret and despair claimed her heart and mind as she recalled that last fight, and she cursed her stubbornness which had dominated her thoughts that wretched night. Torrents of tears streamed down her face, her last angry words to the man she loved resounding painfully in her mind, filling her with regret.
"I knew he was going to die, and I never even told him I loved him." Bulma whispered the words into the silence of the room, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking back and forth like a child as the tears continued to come. She closed her eyes, but Vegeta's image only haunted her further still.
"Riverton is under siege by the Androids!"
Bulma's eyes snapped open, and frustration swept through her like waves crashing over rocks. Rage controlled her body as she launched herself at the television, letting out a scream full of every emotion she had kept bottled up inside for so many years. She kicked savagely at the screen, the news reporter's words only angering her more.
"You've taken my friends, my family, and my husband!" The picture on the screen was beginning to blur, though whether it was from her continual attack or her tears, Bulma did not know. She continued to lash out with every ounce of strength she possessed, screaming with each kick as she did so. "Isn't that enough?!" She screamed the words at the reporter, the jinzouningen, and life itself. Finally, Bulma's foot crashed through the screen of the television, the man's voice dying abruptly. Withdrawing her foot from the fragments of metal and plastic, Bulma sank to the ground. All traces of anger and rage were gone, having disappeared as quickly as they arose; their vacant places in her heart filled only with the emptiness of loss and regret. Bulma lay on the floor as sobs shook her slender frame, not noticing the searing pain in her ankle or the crimson blood that was beginning to soak through her pant leg. The room was silent save her hollow sobs, tears of sorrow slowly dampening the carpet on which she lay.
The last rays of the setting sun shone in through the window, bathing the room in orange radiance. The fading light fell upon the small form of a woman weeping, anguished sobs emerging from every corner of her shattered heart.