Obviously, I own nothing.

I decided it was my turn to take those three missing years Akira promptly managed to forget and put them into perspective. Hopefully, you'll enjoy my spins and twists and if not, I appreciate your time reading it either way.


:Prologue:


Beginnings.

The foundation of everything and everyone.

Every person has a dawn. A chance to take off across the starting line and run however many laps they can before the end of the inevitable, long and hard albeit, but inevitable race.

Each person has their own pace as well. Some take it slow and easy, enjoying the cracks and crevasses of the road they walked upon, determined to make the best of it.

While others do no such thing. Their speed is fast pasted and resilient. There is no time to appreciate anything. There is only fear and lounging and the chance to end it all.

And, in rare circumstances, there are people who have begun fighting in the beginning knowing full well that it is the end.

End.

Everything comes to an end. Everything, everyone, every piece of matter. Nothing is forever. Nothing is constant.

But before the end, there came the beginning. And although it may not seem like it, everyone got both of them.

Some just didn't get long enough ones.

And no one, no one anywhere at any time, got two of them.

Wasn't that the rule?

Although, I've heard that rules were meant to be broken. Or, at least, bent.


Twelve forty four P.M.

That was the time staring back at Bulma as she tiredly rolled into her bed. It was comfy and big and refreshing. It seemed to take all her frustrations and stress away. There was nothing bad about sleeping. No boyfriends, or ex-boyfriends, who could hurt you emotionally, no reporters bugging you, no big, bad, evil aliens tearing you limb from limb. There was just calm and darkness. Nothing more.

Unless of course you count nightmares. But those were just figments of ones imagination gone awry. Usually, everyone awoke from them feeling both frightened yet amused. Because nightmares were just that and they would never take form in the real world.

Suddenly, the door to her bedroom was thrown open and in it, a silhouette appeared. The figure was a male, considerably short, resistant flames of his hair sticking up, the darkened hollows of his face masked in shadows, leaving the rest of his frame quite intimidating.

"Earthling," Came a taut voice from his mouth, most likely hoarse due to his incredibly malicious training. "Get up."

Then again, Bulma thought dryly, one nightmare had taken form. As an evil, snotty, arrogant little troll who apparently thought he was the boss of her even though it was she who had taken him in. "Excuse me? I'm sleeping. Go away." She was in no mood to deal with his unorthodox behavior. Not today.

He, however, had a different agenda. He was equally worn and in no mood for fighting but that didn't stop his cruel persistence. The parts of his face that she could see twitched angrily. "Ask me if I care. I said get up. That blasted machine has malfunctioned again."

Malfunctioned or been destroyed?

"I will tell you one last time to rise and come repair it. Do not let my tone fool you, I am not kidding nor will I be in the mood for your frivolous complaints tonight." That said, he promptly turned on his heel and strolled out.

Anger, surprise and resentment all bubbled up at once inside of her. It was not his words that irritated her however but the fact that he expected her to follow his whims hastily without protest. As if she was a trained dog! The nerve of that man who could waltz in at midnight and demand she do as he commanded. His arrogance knew no bounds and seemed to be becoming greater every passing day.

But she did not fret. Instead, she did quite the opposite. Rising up from her bed, she snatched a robe and proceeded downstairs and outside to the Gravity Room Chamber where the widow peaked male was leaning against, obviously waiting.

He looked impatient and on edge. As always. The way he carried himself always reminded her of a predator stalking a much smaller prey. As though he were ready to attack at any moment. Never at ease, always on guard, distrust in every inch of him yet in control at every turn. His reckless profile was only heightened by the lurking shadows of the night as the stars scattered across the night sky.

Bulma walked right past him, looking cool and confident as she strode right in. She took one look around, spotted a hole in the upper right side and a few wires poking out of the main council. Very slowly and deliberately, she glided over to the tool box she had installed days ago, in light of the constant repairs, and retrieved a screwdriver.

And, while he stood watching her in the doorway, arms crossed, she began to pound the tool into the council with so much strength and intensity, she was amazed herself. When she finished, the screwdriver was wedged in deep, sparks were flying out of it and it was not fixed at all. Quite the opposite; it was worst then before.

His eyes widened and flashed in fury, his chest puffed out, his fingers balled into tight fists and his jaw clenched so hard Bulma saw his muscles bunch in the sides. He looked as pissed as one man could be. Probably beyond it. Bulma half expected him to pounce on her and crack her neck.

Ironically, he was considering it.

Although his seemingly lack of control caught her off guard, she smiled in spite of herself, pleased (overjoyed), by his reaction and then walked out pass him. Pass the electrifying aura of anger that pulsated from his corded body. She never thought she could feel that good about making a person angry before. And the best thing was that she didn't need to utter a word. Her sheer act of disobedience was enough to show the man she was a force to be reckoned with.

She didn't fail to hear him as she skirted pass however when he hissed threateningly, "You'll pay for that, woman. I'm the wrong man to play with. I can be your worst nightmare."

And Bulma didn't doubt it. Not that she was exceptionally afraid of him. Sure, he was probably evil and insane but he hadn't harmed her in any physical way. And although the last threat had seemed to say otherwise, she still felt he wouldn't. If he had wanted to, it'd be done. Simple as that.

Yet the look he had in his eyes, the look of pure animal instinct, had indeed set her back. It was so...raw, so intense. It had her thinking that his control, or even his sanity, could come crumbling down any second and he'd explode in emotions. An event better left unseen, in her opinion.

So, as Bulma rolled into her bed and closed her eyes, she sighed. Sleep wasn't as appealing to her as before. Probably because the indistinct screams of an angry male blowing up what could only be left of the GR machine echoed in her ears.

Yes, her worst nightmare had now taken form. Into the likes of Prince Vegeta.