This is just a drabble, really. Enjoy! Reviews are appreciated!

There was a funeral for Goku. There wasn't a body, but they made a grave anyway, in a field near his house. There was no ceremony, no one praying for his eternal soul, just a small gathering of friends (Vegeta came too, although Bulma had to drag him, or so he claimed) dressed in black. Tears were shed that day, if only by a few people. The most upset were Chi chi, one hand clamped to her stomach and the other to her face; Bulma, who held Chi chi's shoulders and rubbed her back comfortingly; and Krillin, who stood at the grave marker with one hand placed on top. There were plenty of tears that day, and Goku looked on in unusual silence, wondering if he'd made the right choice by staying dead.

It was a day no one of the group liked to remember.

Yet they were all gathered again, merely two tears later, to mourn the loss of what many deemed a monster. Yes, a monster or demon, but never a prince. However awful he was in life, Vegeta's face still bore a prideful expression in death. Bulma wasn't the only one in tears, though the others that were were moved more by her tears than her loss. She knelt on her hands and knees, watching through tear-blurred eyes as dirt covered the casket. She thought back to the day it first started, when she had noticed, but thought nothing of.

"There's a really bad disease going around," she'd said, watching the small tv in the kitchen. "They say it's killed a hundred and twenty people so far."

Vegeta let out a simple 'Hmph,' followed by a quick cough. Bulma glanced at him as she chopped vegetables for supper. He was seated at the table, Trunks in his lap. He was annoyingly trying to teach the toddler how to do a ki blast - already cramming fighting techniques into the little one's mind. To her surprise, he was able to do it - although it did little more than stain the table.

That little cough should have tipped her off.

Before she knew it, he was lying in a hospital bed, struggling to breathe, Trunks infected with the very same thing. It was a miracle she was still in full health. Tired of feeling constantly worried about her two boys, she set out to fix the mess. She hired a team of researchers to find a cure - her money could buy the fastest, most accurate people to do so. But she knew that those things would take time, no matter who she found. So she set off herself, dragon radar in hand.

Traveling the world for her was a breeze - being rich and having her kind of technical knowledge helped a lot in her search. Still, her time was limited. She raced back to the hospital, all seven dragon balls in her bag, only to find that Vegeta had passed while she ran to his room. She allowed herself one moment of grief before rushing to the roof and calling on Shenron. She used one wish to cure her son and everyone else afflicted with the disease, and another - though she knew it futile - to bring Vegeta back to life.

"I can not revive him, as he has been revived before, on the planet Namek." His deep voice echoed in her head, and she threw away her last wishes. The dragon balls scattered, shooting through the air like stars.

There were few sincerely solemn faces in the crowds Bulma invited into her home after the burial. Her parents had watched from afar, but now they stood together, holding each other as if one of them were next. Chi chi followed Bulma around, the pain of the event opening old wounds for both of them. The rest had the grace to look sad, although living with Vegeta gave Bulma enough experience in detecting hidden emotions to know that they didn't really care for him, they were only there to support her.

As it should be, she thought as she remembered the Vegeta before they'd met. She sighed, rubbing her sore head and wishing everyone would just leave already. Eventually, the others picked up on her mood and drifted out to return to their own homes.

The chatter died, her headache left, and she thought. She thought of ways to bring him back, as she had a thousand times before, and like a thousand times before, she came to the same conclusions.

The Namekian dragon balls? No, they moved to a different planet. Even Goku had trouble finding them.

I've got a cure, I could build a time machine like I did in the alternate future and go back to deliver it! No, that wouldn't bring him back to this world. It would just create an alternate timeline where he didn't die.

Cloning, maybe? I could pull it off. No, that would take too long. Besides, there's no way to plant his memories into a new body.

In the end, she just slammed back another shot, unsure of its contents. A presence sat beside her. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Chi chi sipped a glass of water.

"I know it's rough," said the younger woman, " but you'll get through this." When Bulma didn't answer, she continued. "I know this sounds bad, but you need to get over it. And you will, someday. It'll just happen. You'll wake up one morning and realize that you're no longer sad, and it will catch you by surprise, I promise."

Bulma still said nothing, knowing her friend spoke from experience. She knew it would be a long way off, though. She didn't even know if she could just get over it. She kept getting ideas about bringing him back, ideas that pursued her, ideas that drove her mad with their simplicity, ideas that her own sense of logic thwarted. Chi chi left, and at long last, Bulma realized that she needed to acknowledge the truth - that Vegeta was dead and gone, and never coming back.

"He probably doesn't even want to," she told the silence that surrounded her, and burst into tears. She knew it was illogical to assume that, to assume that he never loved her or their son in the first place. But this was one area where her intelligence failed. While she could read Vegeta like a book on some subjects, others were a complete mystery to her. She couldn't help feeling like he was glad to be rid of her, even if that meant ending up in Hell or reincarnated or whatever else Piccolo had told her would happen.

All she wanted was to know if he had really loved her.

She decided to head to bed before she drank her life away. She stumbled to her room, struggled with the door and finally forced it open only to smell him - his rugged pine-and-sweat scent permeating her room. More than it should have, considering he only spent a little time in there. She laid face down on her bed, face pressed into her pillow as a new bout of tears overcame her. She could smell him, she could hear him, she could feel him. His hand touched her shoulder softly, and he spoke.

"Foolish woman," he said, a strange gentleness to his voice, "Saiyans live long lives. It would be too long after you died before I joined you." His hand rubbed up and down her back, warming her. "I wouldn't want that." It was almost like he was there.

But she was drunk, and it was just a dream.

Right?