A/N: It's been weeks. Sorry. Anyway this story is still moving on ahead. The Vegeta oneshot will be completed soon enough but for now we return to the main plotline.

"It's been two hours," said Yamcha as he got out of his seat. "Don't you think we should check on them?"

"Give them time," answered Pan, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Trust me, they need it."

The retired baseball star only shrugged and proceeded to pay the bill. Pan rolled her eyes as she watched the receptionist shamelessly flirt with him, even going so far as to 'discreetly' slipping a piece of paper with her phone number on it into his jacket pocket.

"I have never been more ashamed to be part of the human race," Pan snarked when they left the restaurant. "Did you see her face? Ugly slut."

Yamcha raised an eyebrow at her. She was being unusually pissy. She was a feisty character, yes, but there was a difference between being feisty and being a downright bitch. Of course, he didn't dare say as much. He had never found Hercule Satan's obnoxious, grinning face on the "Strong teeth = strong champ! Use Power Paste!" billboard advertisement so interesting before.

"Anyway," said Pan, oblivious to Yamcha's growing discomfort, "I might go for a quick fly and return the time machine I borrowed from Bulma. I just hope she doesn't get mad."

"Borrowed?" parroted Yamcha. "Or stole?"

Pan chuckled. "Depends on how you view it." Then she flew away, becoming a small speck of darkness in the sky within the span of a few seconds.

Yamcha shook his head before walking away. He had an hour before his next meet and greet - a quick, leisurely stroll wouldn't hurt anyone. He was still thinking about Pan's behavior when he accidentally stumbled into the slightly hunched, weary figure of a graying old lady.

"I'm so sorry!" he said, shocked at his own clumsiness. "Are you okay ma'am?"

"Fine, fine," said the woman, lightly dusting off her clothes. She looked up and Yamcha saw that she looked a bit dazed. "Could you tell me where the train station again is, young man?"

"I'll take you myself," said Yamcha, figuring that it was the least he could do for her after nearly bowling her into kingdom come. "It's a bit far from here and I don't want you to get lost. You can call me Yamcha by the way."

"And you may call me Mrs Diddle, Yamcha," replied the old woman, her eyes twinkling with something Yamcha couldn't quite place. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Right back at ya," said Yamcha, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. Though he had outgrown his fear of girls a long time ago, he still found it slightly awkward to talk to women, especially those older than him. They demanded respect and it was respect that he wasn't very sure he knew how to give. Still, he took it upon himself to make small talk with Mrs Diddle as he guided her to the train station. They talked about the weather, Mr Satan, Yamcha's current employment status - basically anything that would make the trip less awkward.

"And then I got fired," Yamcha finished miserably, completely forgetting that Mrs Diddle was not one of his friends but an old lady he had accidentally knocked over in the streets. However, the fact soon returned to his mind when he caught her staring at him with that strange emotion in her irises once again. "Uhh, no disrespect meant, Mrs Diddle, but why do you keep doing that?"

Mrs Diddle did not answer. Instead, she held her gaze with Yamcha, though her eyes were glazed over as if she were seeing something else and not him. Yamcha tapped her lightly on the shoulder and she blinked.

"You spaced out, Mrs Diddle," Yamcha told her, keeping his voice calm and soothing. Perhaps the poor lady had dementia or something. He decided to treat her a bit more gently. "Are you alright?"

"I'm very sorry," said Mrs Diddle. Yamcha waved off her apology but she continued as if she hadn't heard him at all. "You remind me of my husband."

"Really?" said Yamcha with a chuckle. "So he must be pretty young, eh? And handsome?"

"Yes," Mrs Diddle sighed wistfully, "he was."

The inner workings of Yamcha froze and he started mentally berating himself for his insensitivity. Gaahh! You idiot! Why can't you do anything right? No wonder you're still single!

"He looked very much like you," continued Mrs Diddle. "What, with the scars and all. He was an army man, you know. Fought very bravely for the country."

Gee, where have I heard that from? thought Yamcha, thinking of Goku and his services to the earth. The saiyan was so good and kind despite being bred to be a literal killing machine. So good and kind... and I am so far from it. Unlike the rest of the Z Senshi, he had halted his training altogether, avoiding any kind of martial arts. Even Kuririn had kept up his training after starting a family. The diminutive man had always complained about enemies appearing at cosmic levels. "Why don't we just fight with fists and normal, non-lethal chi blasts anymore like we did in the good old days? Is that somehow not cool anymore?" he had once said.

Yamcha was reawakened back into the real world when he saw the train station up ahead. "What happened?" he asked, referring to Mrs Diddle's deceased spouse. "How did he... ya know... croak?" Once again, he mentally slapped himself for his tact - or lack of thereof.

Luckily, Mrs Diddle didn't seem to mind Yamcha's phrasing. "Lost in war, like many other men. He had just wrote to me before his death, saying that he was coming back and that I was to meet him at the train station. I waited the entire day until I received news that the train he was aboard had been bombed by enemy forces." Mrs Diddle lowered her gaze. "They said that there were no survivors. But there was no proof, no nothing. He is alive. I must believe it so, even if everyone tries to convince me otherwise."

Is this what it's like to live in a world without dragon balls? Yamcha wondered, though he said, "How long has it been?"

"42 years," replied Mrs Diddle, and Yamcha couldn't help but flinch. "I have waited 42 years for him. I don't know what's taking him so long. Doesn't he want to see me again?"

"I-I'm sure he does," stammered Yamcha, not really knowing what to say. Somewhere nearby, a train whistle sounded and caught Mrs Diddle's attention, saving Yamcha from having to say anymore. He sighed and relief and thanked Dende under his breath.

"Thank you very much for walking me here," said Mrs Diddle. "You're a good, brave man."

If only... Yamcha cleared his throat slightly. "Thank you. And you're a good, brave woman. You will find your husband again one day." In the afterlife. Lord Yenma be kind to her. She's a good woman, even if a little odd at times. And she seemed to have a strange identity crisis for lack of a better term in relation to her husband. She acknowledges his death and then says he's alive? Huh.

Gods, Kuririn had never known talking to Marron would be like walking on eggshells. He was brewing some herbal tea for the both of them. She had cried for fifteen minutes and he had sat by her, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting words to her. It had been slightly difficult because of his squeaky voice and short, chubby arms but he had pulled it off anyway. He had then found a bullet wound on her arm from the Herculopolis Mall shootings and treated the injury before infection could set in.

Now, Marron sat cross-legged on Kame Sen'nin's couch. It was a great thing that the turtle hermit had not been home that afternoon - he was on a week of vacation with Turtle and their two shapeshifter friends, Oolong and Pu'ar.

"Dad," Marron acknowledged quietly when Kuririn returned with the tea.

"Marron," said Kuririn, his voice heavy.

"I'm sorry," Marron ground out. "For being such a baby."

"Don't you dare apologize. It's okay to let your emotions out. It's what makes you human."

His words sent more tears pricking her eyes. "Yes... Sometimes I forget that. I won't forget it again."

"Good. I love you Marron."

His daughter smiled and his heart jumped in a mixture of shock and joy. "I love you too... Dad." She smiled a bit more cheekily. "Even in your 12 year old body."

"I was quite the lady's man," huffed Kuririn.

Marron eyed him before bursting into a fit of giggles. Kuririn followed suit and the pair just sat on the couch, laughing like there was no tomorrow.

When the laughter finally ceased, Marron said, "I missed you dad. I don't think I ever realized how much."

"I'm here now," said Kuririn. "And you'll never feel helpless again as long as I'm here."

"I certainly hope so, dad. A 12 year old father has a lot of expectations from his 27 year old daughter."

They shared a quick chuckle before moving on to more serious matters. "So do you think you can be reversed to your original state?" asked Marron.

"Probably," said Kuririn. "If the dragon was able to send me back in time, then why not? And if it can't we always have Namek's dragon balls and even Bulma could help." He suddenly sat up. "Bulma! Gah! I completely forgot about the gang! How are they gonna react to... this!" He gestured to his child's body. "I look ridiculous!"

"Dad, I don't think they're gonna care about it too much. I mean, Vegeta might laugh but still."

Kuririn sighed. "I guess you're right. Boy, when I get my adult body back I'm never taking it for granted ever again! Even if I never grew much."

"I'm glad you learned something, dad, even if it's something so trivial." She scrunched up her nose. "I can't imagine myself without boobs."

"I can and sometimes I still wish you were 3 years old and drinking your apple juice at the Tenkaichi Budokai. No boys, no trouble..."

"You do realize that was the same year Majin Boo attacked, right?"

"Aside from all that it was a great year!"

Marron shook her head in mock exasperation and grinned. "I guess. I'm pretty glad Boo's on our side now, even if he can be a bit... kiddy."

The two talked for a bit more before Kuririn addressed the fact that Pan was probably getting antsy. Marron retorted with her usual scathing remarks about Pan before returning to playful jibes - jibes between father and daughter who were rebuilding a bond so fragile and fragmented it might as well have been made from scratch once again. There were more things to think about but right now, they refused to think of anything else but each other. Father had daughter and daughter had father. And neither was willing to let go.

Mrs Diddle sat on the train bench, staring at the railway tracks, her graying hair glowing shades of red and orange as the sun slowly set and bid goodnight to the world. Then she got up and left, her mind churning as she walked toward her home. For her age, she was quite sharp when it came to certain things. And one thing she knew for sure was that the machine she had seen earlier that day was no drone. The woman was quite a fan of Capsule Corporation and the Briefs family and there were plenty of rumors circulating around them, including those that claimed that Bulma Briefs had discovered time travel. And then the teenager and the child had suddenly appeared along with the sky vehicle in the park.

Seeing Yamcha had sparked a fire that was now burning fiercely within her. The man had looked so much like her husband - he had been a man forged by many hard battles. Mrs Diddle could see that much. Seeing him... The hole in her heart and widened even further and the desire to see her lover once again was staggering. She would see him again. She would make sure of that.

A/N: Apologies for such a long delay. I've been consecutively doing assignments and tests plus the standard homework we get set every day and I lost interest in writing since every part of me was devoted into doing the tasks I had been set.