Bulma paced around the kitchen table again and again and again. It had been several minutes since Goku had disappeared, and with no one telling her otherwise, she had to assume the worst. Vegeta had to be either dead or dying, and it was at least partially her own fault. There had been a thousand warning signs that something was extremely wrong with him, ones that even with her fractured memories she had understood well. But there had been too many other things that she had placed higher up on her importance list, brushing off his needs with no real concern of the consequences. Ten minutes of actually talking to him, without making a request or forcing another change in his life, probably could have prevented it from going so far.

But she had been afraid to talk to him. Afraid of what he might tell her. As selfish as it was, Bulma did not want to know anything more about her life with him before the accident. Certainly she would want to know further down the road, but between her issues with Trunks and her company being taken away, her affair with the prince seemed almost unimportant. If he finally, for what in her mind would be the first time, wanted to talk about them, she was not ready to deal with it. And it was her desire to avoid such a situation that had led her to allow a much needed talk go unspoken.

The intercom buzzed, and the heiress ran to it as quickly as she could. "Yes?"

"Hey Bulma!" Goku's cheery voice sounded through the system. "Listen, could you do me a big favor?"

"Absolutely," she agreed in a heartbeat. "You name it. Anything!" Bulma could barely hear the words, "Dad, hurry up!" as she waited for Goku's reply.

The Saiyan's voice dimmed slightly as he turned to tell Gohan everything was okay before returning the conversation to his oldest friend. "Could you list off every ice cream flavor you know?"

"Huh?" That was a far cry from what Bulma had been expecting. "Um, sure, but why…"

A slight scuffling sound met her ears before Gohan replaced his father. "Here's the deal," he bluntly said. "I need to get Vegeta a little more stabilized and then we can take him to Dende. Now, in order for me to do that, I need to get some more blood in his system. He and Dad are a match, but you know how my dad is with…"

"Don't say it!" Goku called out.

Groaning, Gohan went on. "I can get what I need if you can distract him," he finished up.

"Oh, that makes sense," Bulma responded. "Okay. Goku? Can you hear me?"

"Yup!"

"Good. Here we go. Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, cookies n' cream, pralines n' cream, cookie dough, chocolate chip cookie dough, chocolate chip, mint chocolate chip, rocky road, double fudge brownie, mocha almond fudge, coffee, bubble gum, double vanilla, French vanilla, Neapolitan, vanilla bean, vanilla chocolate, butter pecan, black cherry vanilla swirl, peanut butter cup, caramel praline crunch, strawberry banana, black raspberry, coconut pineapple, pineapple, mud pie, pistachio, cappuccino chip, chocolate vanilla swirl, key lime pie, peach, dulce de leche, spumoni, triple chocolate fudge sundae…"

A small yelp was heard, followed quickly by a thump and Gohan yelling, "Got it!"

Bulma frowned. "What was that sound?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Gohan insisted. "Dad looked down as I took the needle out of his arm and passed out. He'll be up in a minute and then we'll be good to go." And with that the line went dead.

Bulma backed away slightly from the intercom, thankful that Gohan had worked so quickly. She had been running out of ideas quickly, and had been on the verge of starting the list all over again and adding some combination of the words 'triple', 'fudge' and 'sundae' to all of them. As she relaxed a little, her mind gave her a gentle nudge, reminding her of just why she had been listing off those flavors in the first place.

With a resigned sigh, she sat down at the table and lay her head on it. Surviving the car crash had been a cakewalk next to dealing with the aftermath. At the rate things were going, the stress alone would be enough to kill her.

/

"Make him go away."

Piccolo had to suppress a smirk at Dende's request. "I will do my best to encourage him to keep his distance," he told the young Namekian. "You know as well as I do, though, that Son Goku cannot be forced to do anything."

Dende groaned. He thought of Goku as a friend, and certainly respected him as a warrior, but the past few weeks had shown the green young man that the Saiyan had a side to him that was more annoying than anything else. "Very well," he sighed. "Bring them in."

The warrior nodded, knowing perfectly well that Goku and Gohan were already on their way in to the palace. It was no time at all before Dende once again found himself kneeling over the unconscious form of the Saiyan prince, recreating the broken tissues.

"He seems to have declined," the young guardian pointed out.

The three around him all silently nodded. There was nothing new that any of them needed to say as they watched the young man work. As all of them had expected, the wounds from three days of nonstop fighting closed up, but the prince did not wake up.

"How long do you think he'll be out this time?" Goku asked, watching Dende get to his feet.

The little guardian shook his head. "It is too soon for me to give detail," he told the others. "My best guess at this point is that it will be a couple of days before he regains enough strength, and that is only if we find a way to get some nutrients into his system as he rests. I can heal wounds. I cannot compensate for severe malnourishment."

Beside him, Gohan nodded. "I know where Bulma keeps that stuff in the medical wing of the compound," he softly said. "I'll go get a few bags for an intravenous drip." He turned slightly to leave, but paused mid step. "Should I check in with Bulma while I'm down there?"

Piccolo shook his head. "We shall wait through the night in case of any change to his status. If he holds steady, as he likely will, we shall send your father to let her know of what transpired up here."

"Me?" Goku squawked. "Why me?"

"You are her friend, are you not?" Piccolo countered. "You will simply offer an account of the evening and offer her comfort. That is all you need do."

In front of them, Gohan sighed. "If you want, I can tell her."

Goku frowned as he looked at his firstborn child. He still hated the idea of being caught in the emotional fray, but he knew well enough that Gohan had been shouldering far more stress than any teenager should. "Nah, that's okay," he assured, plastering a smile on his face. "Don't worry about it. I'm just cranky 'cause I didn't eat dinner. Tell you what, how about you go get that stuff from Capsule Corp, I'll pretend I don't know what you're using as you set it up, and when that's done, you and I go have a nice, big dinner with your mother and the kids. Sound good to you?"

The smile on Gohan's face clearly showed both his appreciation and his exhaustion. "That sounds nice, Dad," he answered. "I'll be back in about ten minutes."

As the boy disappeared, Piccolo approached Goku. "You were wise to take on the responsibility."

"What?" Goku had been in a bit of a self-imposed trance when the conversation began. "Oh, yeah. Well, you're right, Bulma is my friend. And Gohan…he hasn't been doing really well the last few weeks. He's been a lot quieter, and he's not sleeping really well. He want to make everything better himself."

"Gee, I wonder where he got that from," Dende muttered, checking Vegeta's pulse.

On the side of the room, Goku laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But he wants to save everyone from everything all the time. I want to help people and all, but I guess I'm a little more oblivious to problems than Gohan is."

"Hn."

Not another word was spoken as they waited for the teenager to return.

/

The hours rolled by, and soon enough, night had turned to day. The sun had risen. The birds were singing. The sky was bright, heralding the promise of a glorious new day.

And the nine year old boy just did not give a damn about any of it.

"Shut up," he muttered to the birds, pulling the sheets up over his head. But the birds continued to whistle and sing, unwilling to let the surliness of the boy bring down their chipper mood.

"I said shut the hell up," he growled, slamming his pillow on top of his head, trying vainly to block out the chirping.

Again, the birds chirped, continuing on with their merry little lives.

With a violent hiss, the boy threw his blanket and pillow away, marched over to his window, and flung it open. With four well placed blasts, the family of fowl was completely evaporated, with little more than the barest trace of blackened ashes sprinkled down onto the otherwise pristine ground.

"I told you to shut up," he snarled. With one hand, he sunk his fingers into the wooden frame of the window, cracking it under the power of his grip. Violently, the shoved the broken frame down, splintering the rest of the frame as the glass shattered into thousands of tiny shards. Angrily, he stomped back toward his bed, cracking his floorboards with each intense stomp until he dropped his tired body onto the small bed.

"My life sucks enough without trying to deal with your crap," he grumbled, flopping an arm over his closed eyes. He peeked out for a moment to look over at his still slumbering best friend. "Are you kidding me?" he growled. "You can even sleep through that? What the hell are you made of?"

Of course, no answer was given, save the abrasive snoring of the still sleeping eight year old. Angrily, Trunks turned his back on his friend and crossed his arms over his chest. Over and over again his mind kept playing through the same thoughts.

Four days, he thought. Four damn days ago, everything was perfect. Everything we could have wanted seemed to have just fallen right into place. So why the hell can't those two see it and get on with their damn lives? What are they, children?

Trunks Briefs was mad. Very mad.

They had been so happy, so unbelievably happy for those seven great years. Everything had been wonderful and joyous and perfect for all three of them. It had been just so perfect, like that one last piece of a puzzle had been found and placed in their lives. It was not a traditional life, but it was one that had made all three of them happy.

And the end had been quiet and peaceful, but at the same time it was horrid and ugly. There had been no screaming, no swearing, no wild accusations flying between them. There had been no blows exchanged, no furniture flung, and no spiteful words spoken. It was quiet, almost completely wordless when it had ended.

And all three of them had been suffering for far too long.

Why could they not get back together? What could possibly have been stopping them any longer? It did not make any sense to him.

So he had continued to push and ask and beg for an explanation, but no one could ever give him one. At least, not one that he could accept. Just hearing about how complicated their lives would be did not count as a valid excuse in his mind. For the last four days, he had wanted to fix what was wrong in their lives, but it seemed like no one else was willing to fight for it.

And it made him mad.

Very mad.

And he was not sure just how long he could keep his anger to himself.

/

Bulma screamed and fell out of her chair as Goku materialized in front of her. "Damn it, Goku!" she hollered at him. "I do not need that right now!"

"Sorry," Goku apologized, scratching the back of his head. "I just wanted to let you know how stuff was going."

Pulling herself back up, Bulma shouted, "Then why not call me on the phone? Or do you not know how to do that?"

Completely unfazed by her comment, Goku just smiled at his friend. "No, I know how," he honestly told her. "But it takes about the same amount of time to dial a phone as it does to just pop on over, and this way we can talk face to face."

"Why does talking face to face make any difference?" she huffed.

Goku shrugged. "I get less distracted this way. When I'm talking to someone I'm looking at, all I think about is them. When I'm talking on the phone, I have a bad habit of following my eyes to something that needs work on it and wandering off when the other person stops to breathe."

Significantly calmer than she had been a moment ago, Bulma cracked a smile. "Yeah, that sounds right for you."

"Apparently Goten does it too," the Saiyan pointed out with a laugh. "I tell ya', Gohan must have gotten the ability to focus from Chi-Chi, because it definitely did not come from me!"

Bulma gave him a mock pout. "I've seen you focused," she accused.

"Yeah, on something I'm looking at," the tall man laughed. "I see a problem, I fix a problem. Unfortunately, I don't really think about anything else when I'm working on something. If I'm training, I think about training. When I'm playing with Goten, I think about playing with Goten. When I'm protecting eggs, I think about protecting eggs. When I'm eating, I think about food."

"You always think about food," the heiress teased.

Again, Goku laughed. "Only if there's nothing for me to focus on!" he insisted.

"Like telling me what the hell is going on?"

The Saiyan gulped. "Oh, yeah. That." He approached the woman and placed his large hands on her narrow shoulders. "I want you to know that he's going to be okay, but we're going to keep him at the Lookout for a couple of days. Last time we took him back right after he was healed and kind of assumed he would be alright. Gohan and Piccolo told me everything's going to be okay. They just want to make sure he gets plenty of rest right now. You know, get him closer to full strength before we put him on his feet."

Bulma looked away slightly. "I can take care of him," she softly insisted.

"I know," he friend agreed. "But you have other stuff to take care of here, and he kinda needs eyes on him closely for a little bit. If everything else was fine here, we'd bring him back in a heartbeat. But you've got Trunks to look after, not to mention yourself. This is how to get your family back together. Trust me."

A pit of guilt formed in Bulma's stomach, but it was not from the insinuation that she would not be able to look after her estranged lover. Something else was gnawing at her, something she could not firmly place her finger on. Her head dropped, and she could not stop the tears that began to roll down her cheek.

Goku frowned, noticing immediately. "Hey, hey, it's okay!" he insisted. Tenderly, he wrapped his arms around the heiress and pulled her gently against his broad chest. "It'll all be okay. And I'll always be here for you. I promise."

But his words were not a comfort to her. The guilty feeling grew and grew, and the kinder his words were, the worse she felt.