Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z is owned by the absolute genious Akira Toryama. I do not own these characters, or make any prophet what-so-ever off of this story. I write it out of respect for Akira, and his wonderful characters.

Just A Number

Chapter One

"Not too bad," Bra said, examining her form in the mirror. She wore a pink tube-top and snug hip-huggers, revealing about six inches of her toned mid-section. Her shoulder-blade-length blue hair was pulled back from her face by two simple barrettes. All-in-all, she looked pretty good.

"Hey, Babe," Goten said from the door.

"Goten, what have I told you about sneaking up on me like that?" She smiled. "What if I'd been changing?"

"Then I would've gotten an eye-full." He kissed her. "You're beautiful." Goten was a decent boyfriend. He was wilder than his father but no less caring.

Her compliment made her giggle, and she kissed him back.

Bra was nineteen years old and had been dating her thirty-three year old boyfriend for about a year now. It may have seemed strange that she dated a man who had once babysat her, but she didn't get along with boys her own age, mostly because her father disapproved of all of them. Her mother had made a failed attempt to convince him that there weren't any Saiyans left for her to date, and that his daughter would eventually be forced to marry a human. Then Goten had come along.

Her dad had still been against her being involved with "the son of Kakarot," but had eventually approved, realizing that this was as close to a "real Saiyan" as she would ever get. Although she was over fourteen years younger than him, she believed that the maturity levels more or less made up for the age gap. In fact, she often wondered if Goten might just be a little too immature for her.

Goten ended the embrace, saying in an excited and childish way, "Whoa! Check this out! There's this great costume party next week that Trunks told me about! It's supposed to be in some huge mansion—!"

"Goten."

"—with like loads of food! It's gonna' be so—!"

"Goten."

"Yeah?"

"I know. Didn't Trunks tell you that the party was going to be at this house?"

He smiled sheepishly, and moved his hand to the back of his head, looking much like his father. "Oh yeah. I forgot about that part."

Her mother's voice sounded from the door. "I swear, Goten, it's like father, like son. Goku was just downstairs telling me about the big costume party that Yamcha told him about."

"Hi, Mrs. Briefs," Goten said, with a small blush.

"How many times have I told you that that name makes me sound old? Call me Bulma."

"Alright," he replied. "Hi, Bulma."

"Hi, Goten."

"Yamcha's coming?" Bra asked, "Who else?"

"Everyone, Honey. My goal is to throw the party of the year."

"Are you celebrating anything in particular?" Bra asked.

"Not really."

"Well, we'd better get going," Bra said to Goten, referring to their date. As they left the house, Bra couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that there was something special about that day. Then, right in the middle of dinner, it hit her. They had had a party on that same day a couple of years ago.

- - -

Bra was fifteen years old. She was drinking punch by the snack table and checking out the guys when she noticed a very lonely-looking man standing in the corner. Upon closer inspection, she realized that it was Yamcha, one of the only two human members of the Z-sensei.

She approached him. "Hi!"

He looked up. "Oh, hi. Bra, right?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. You look exactly like your mother. Do you know that?"

"I've been told," she replied.

He sighed, frowning, and stared back at the ground.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Listen. I really don't know if it's something that I should discuss with you. You're a little young. I doubt your mother would approve."

"You can tell me. Please. I'm very mature for my age. If it's really that bad, I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Alright." He turned his head as the sadness on his face grew. "It's not bad or anything. It's just that...this is me and Bulma's anniversary—the day we met for the first time. She probably doesn't even remember anymore."

"Oh," she said sympathetically, noticing the pained look in his eyes. "You still love her, don't you?"

He rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I knew that I shouldn't have told you about this."

"I won't tell," she said. "I'm sorry about everything you went through. You should really get over my mom. She's not that great. Believe me. I've lived with her."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I've lived with her, too. I know it all."

After that, they stood and talked for the rest of the party. By the time the clock struck two and her mother herded the party-goers out, Bra had decided that Yamcha wasn't nearly as bad as her parents said he was.

- - -

After her date, Bra approached her mother. "Hey, mom?"

"Yeah?" her mom replied, rummaging through a kitchen cabinet. She always seemed so busy.

"You sure there's nothing special about that day--the day of the party?"

Her mother appeared lost in thought for a moment, then said, "No. Nothing that I can think of. It was just a random date that we chose a couple of years ago for a party. I was looking over old calendars, and thought 'Hay! Why not then?'."

"Oh," Bra said. She couldn't believe it! Her mom and Yamcha had had...what? A ten year relationship? And she couldn't even remember their anniversary! She respected her mother, but for a genius, that was pretty stupid.

Bra walked over to the shelf and withdrew an old photo album. There were so many pictures of her mother with Yamcha. She was surprised that her father hadn't already destroyed them. Her mom had told her that they broke up because Yamcha had cheated on her, but then why was it that she had been the one with a new family in the end, while Yamcha remained alone?

She studied the old pictures of Yamcha. He had been a pretty handsome man in his prime. Not that he's not still totally handsome now, she thought, then dropped the book in disgust. No! The guy is like forty years older than me!

Plus, she mused, poor Yamcha had gone through enough in his life. The last thing he needed now was some misguided nineteen-year-old getting a crush on him, much less the daughter of the man who had killed him, and the woman who had broken his heart.

From The Author: Listen. I know that this story is very VERY weird, but please try not to flame. I hope that someone can appreciate this. Please don't flame me. If you don't like it, I accept constructive criticism with open arms, but not flames. Thanks!

Updated Note: I've recently decided to edit some of the worse mistakes from the story. Review any way you want. The above was just the rant of a fourteen-year-old.

--Veromorphia, Mon/7/24/06