She pressed the glass rim of the bottle to her lips and let the malty beverage slip across her tongue and down her throat. It was tepid at most, but for some reason the beer made her insides swell with heat. The warmth of the liquid paired with the sweltering day caused beads of sweat to drip from her forehead and down her neck, some slipping uncomfortably under her shirt.

Eyes narrowed in concentration, she dropped the beer, sending it clanking onto the cracked ground, and ignored the heat. It was not without some difficulty, but she was working on her aim and needed to concentrate.

Steadying the pistol, she cocked one blue eye shut and gazed across the sight until everything was a blur except a single stone fixture jutting out of the ground several hundred yards away.

Letting out a deep breath she squeezed the trigger, releasing a powerful energy blast which sent her skidding backwards to watch as the blast zipped inches away from its intended target. A boulder to its right erupted into a tower of smoke.

Bulma cursed.

What good was it to have such powerful weaponry at hand when she lacked the accuracy to destroy intentional targets?

Her pride kept her from asking Gohan for assistance, it was too humiliating admitting to a boy his age that she needed help properly using an instrument she herself had single-handedly designed and assembled. No, all she needed was a little more target practice.

She swung her blue locks into a ponytail and set to work on her aim. It felt like she'd been at it for hours, and her arms cramped and her shoulders burned.

With a sigh, she tucked her gun into the waistband of her shorts and mounted her hover bike.

The warm breeze felt good against her face, and she let herself forget how she was, physically, the weakest person on the planet. Bulma prided herself in being capable without brawn, but it was beginning to look dreary for her partner and herself.

Landing in front of the capsule house, she reduced her speedy cycle to a palm-sized pill and stuffed it into her satchel bag as she entered the house.

Gohan was sitting on the sofa, reading a book, and he glanced up at her when she shut the door as though he were surprised to see her and hadn't been keeping note of her ki all afternoon.

"Sense anything?" She asked, entering the kitchen and filling her palms with cool water before splashing her face.

He shook his head. "No."

Spinning around, Bulma rested her backside against the kitchen counter and glanced at the boy. Yesterday afternoon he had sensed several powerful energies coming their way. He'd sat, frozen, on the edge of his bed as Bulma stood in his doorway listening intently to the play-by-play of where they were heading.

Raditz had said that some of the warriors would enjoy tracking the sitting ducks, and she knew powerless females and inexperienced children were not something such beings would pass up. Gohan had finally fallen asleep, after assuring himself and Bulma that they were headed in the opposite direction. Still, she had decided to sleep in his room that evening.

It was also why she'd spent the scolding afternoon outside, shooting rocks.

"He's not coming back," Gohan said, tipping the cover of his textbook shut. Bulma didn't need to ask who 'he' was.

"I know." Her voice was soft, not quite a whisper, but certainly lacking any of the confidence it usually held. And as an afterthought, "we don't need him."

Gohan tried to nod, to assure himself that Bulma was right. He'd seen how fervent the woman was. As he felt the group of warriors scouring the area, splitting up and then meeting back together, she'd vocalized a plan. When they came close, she'd had another strategy, and when one particular enemy closed in on them, she'd ordered him so surely. He could see the gears in her head constantly at work and he wished he could be so brave. He was literally shaking as Bulma placed a hand on his shoulder and assured him they would be fine.

"I can sense him," Gohan finally spoke. "He's far away, but his energy is familiar and I can feel him."

"So he's still alive." Bulma's hand flexed and she flattened it out again. "Good."

The silence in the living area was suffocating, and Bulma stretched and mumbled something about taking a shower just to break the quiet.

"Bulma?"

"Yes?"

"You can sleep in my room again," Gohan flushed at his words. "I mean, that way I can wake you if something comes our way."

Her lips spread into a tired smile and she ruffled his hair on the way to the bathroom.

"Thanks Gohan. But, kid, you've got to stop worrying. We'll be okay."

He nodded and opened up his book, finding it quite difficult to concentrate on the words that filled the pages. So, instead, he sat still and concentrated on his surroundings. He couldn't feel anyone coming their way just then, but that didn't mean the power levels he felt idly skirting their position wouldn't eventually find them.

The air was dense and laden with sticky humidity. When he inhaled deeply, it smelt of burnt flesh and recently spilled blood. He chuckled, released another blast from his gloved hands, breathing deeply once more as he took in the smoke and freshly disturbed ground.

Men shouted below him, a woman screeched commands, and Vegeta let out another chuckle.

This was what he wanted. This was what was familiar to him. Screams and the stench of death, the evidence of destruction lingering in the air. A smirked tugged on the corner of his mouth. Destruction he'd caused.

Yes, this was what Vegeta liked, no, craved – it was familiar. He wanted this, not playing house with a woman and child, not sleeping in warm shelters, eating prepared meals, and blasting away trees and punching nothing but air.

He was a warrior, and he was not to be contained.

A purple blast zipped by his head and he turned to the scaly creature below, growling with fury. He returned the blow with a series of small blasts, each ramming the soil and spilling ripe, blue alien blood. Rage filled his veins as he turned from the man who dared attack him to a woman standing flush against a tree, eyes closed.

He smirked, and materialized before her. She'd barely had a chance to scream before Vegeta plunged his hand through her gut and she fell slack against him, mouth agape as her hazel eyes took in their attacker.

Removing his hand, he watched as the body slid against the tree to slump awkwardly on the ground. He'd never particularly liked her; he'd once had to take Nappa to a regeneration tank and she'd stalled him by asking inane questions and pestering him about how it'd happen.

As his dark eyes surveyed her lifeless body, he remembered that she was a Gerbrailian, a decent sized planet with somewhat powerful people, powerful people that had tried Frieza's patience. He couldn't remember who exactly had done the purging or how long ago it was, but he knew with sudden clarity that it was most likely carried out the way his own world had been.

Spinelessly attacked, its only survivors those that had been off world at the time. He could not remember the Gerbrailian woman's name, not that it mattered, but she'd worked in the med bay. She was not a warrior, and certainly not as a spy.

He frowned; she'd signed herself up for this out of the slim chance that she would be able to avenge her people, to remove the smug smile from Frieza's face once and for all.

Veget kicked her body for good measure, as if to say fat chance, that honor is mine and mine alone.

So, he turned from her corpse and felt for the other energies in the area. There was a group of four nearby, and he took off in that direction.

Unknown to him, Vegeta had a sudden, flickering thought of the blue-haired woman. He saw her, pouty mouth and shining eyes, telling him her theories one why he shouldn't kill anyone. He tried to block it out, but something she'd said clogged his mind, something about how they should band together, all fight Frieza as a common enemy.

She was so obtuse at times he wondered how she'd developed coherent sentences, let alone houses that fit in the palm of your hand or guns that could injure Saiyan princes. However, he thought of the medic woman, how she'd have been a content member of his empire, she'd praise him for being the one to free her of the tyrant who'd destroyed her, and so many other's, homes.

He growled. Such thoughts were pointless; she was dead anyway, and who cared if there were others like her. He didn't need allies.

Picking up speed, he closed in on the four power levels he'd sensed earlier, eager to take out another leg in the ever-dwindling competition. First being sure that his thoughts would remain absent of possible alliances and that damn blue haired woman.

"Another splash of pepper and," she cocked her head to the side, watching as the soupy liquid boiled, "I guess we're done?"

Gohan smiled from the kitchen table as he watched her wrinkle her nose.

"I bet you'll be glad to back with your mom, hey?" She flashed him a grin before turning off the stovetop. "I mean, I'm funny and charming, not to mention easy on the eyes, but that woman can cook!"

Gohan shook his head, smile still lingering on his features, and returned his attention to the book. He was pretty sure he'd had the events in the textbook memorized, but it was a good distraction from the ki's he'd felt floating in and around what he'd coined as the 'danger zone'.

Bulma sat two plates of food on the table, and a large pot of rice and studied the boy. She knew he wasn't saying something, but she didn't pester him. He was mature for his age, and she thought he might just be trying not to scare her. With an unsure nod, she sat across from him.

"If it gets bad, you'll tell me?"

Gohan glanced up from his book, clearly surprised. "Yes ma'am."

"Now, Gohan, what did I tell you? Ma'am is for my mother."

The pair dug into the lunch in silence, Bulma glancing up each time Gohan's body stiffened or one of his small fists compressed around a utensil.

When they were almost done with lunch, Gohan's head shot up and he swallowed audibly.

"They're coming." His voice was firm, and she was helpless but to nod. "Get your gun, and capsules and things."

"Right, yes."

With speed she hadn't known she possessed, Bulma flew into her bedroom, swapping her slippers for a pair of boots, strapping Raditz's scouter over her eye, and grabbing her satchel, stuffed with as many capsules as she could find on her way outside.

Gohan was standing in front of the house, in a defense pose that almost made her smile in memory of Goku. But now was not the time to reminisce on such silly details, so she clutched her gun with a sweaty palm and glanced in the direction Gohan was glaring.

Her scouter flashed a series of numbers.

"There are four," she spoke, breath shaky.

Gohan nodded. "I'm not sure I can take them all."

Her smile was confident, though her hands shook. "That's what I'm here for."

"No, Bulma," he shot a sidelong glance at her, and she froze at the serious expression. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Well, too bad buddy." She grinned, eyes ahead as the power levels continued their path in their direction. "You don't get to protect me."

Before he had time to respond, Gohan watched in horror as four shapes descended from the shadows of what he'd once considered their wooded shelter. There was one figure, frighteningly tall, and two medium builds, a man and a woman, twins, he supposed, and a small being, resembling a koala bear.

He heard Bulma stifle a giggle and he knew she'd been glancing at the latter.

The tallest man growled, and Bulma's laughter became a choked cough.

"Well, well, well," he said, eyes darting from the blue haired woman to the small boy, "would you mind telling me how the pair of you've managed to make it so far?

"Fecome," he motioned to the woman who nodded and clicked the earpiece of her scouter.

With a melodic laugh, the woman rolled her eyes. "Powerless, the both of them."

"Well I'll take the brat," her twin grinned. "Looks Saiyan to me."

"Oh," she responded, "and we all know what years of getting beaten in the training room by Saiyans has done to you."

Bulma knew the moment they'd come into view that they were soldiers of Frieza, their battle armor and scouters was a telltale sign. What she hadn't expected was Gohan's tail to unravel from his waist and sway behind him. She'd seen Vegeta's do the same when angered and she wondered if it were unconsciously done.

"Definitely Saiyan," the man smirked, taking into the air, followed by his sister and then Gohan.

Bulma watched the three depart, Gohan looking dwarfed in the sky as he flittered back and forth, exchanging blows with the pair so quickly it seemed only a blur to her.

Lowering her gaze, Bulma frowned as the tall man watched the exchange, and the koala bear look-alike sighed lazily and turned his attention back on her.

"Not as powerless as we thought," he commented to the taller man. "Seems as though he can control his power level. Think this one can do the same?"

Bulma took a shaky step backwards as soon as the conversation became about her.

"Well," the tall man smirked. She noted that it was a cruel, sadistic smirk, one she was very familiar with, but it only brought fear to her gut. She frowned, probably because these two weren't half as sexy as her Saiyan Prince.

Not that Vegeta was hers…

"There's only one way to find out," he finished and Bulma was shaken from her previous inner thoughts.

The tall man lunged towards her, and she extended her gun, glanced carefully through the sight, and blasted him before spinning on her heel and making a mad dash through the woods.

Escaping death was becoming a staple in her life, and she didn't think much of it as she hurdled a fallen tree branch and felt the sweat gathering beneath her shirt.

"Just another day for the beautiful heiress," she mumbled to herself as the woods around her shook with a vengeful scream from the taller man.

Her aim had been improving, and she turned around to see he was chasing her, one of his beefy palms over his left eye where she'd pegged him with a blast.

She skidded to a stop, steadied her gun and sent another shot flying, this time hitting his right eye, rendering him virtually blind.

He raised his arms and returned her blows, which she scrambled away from and, from her position, laying down, rump on the ground, she sent a final, decisive blast to his chest.

The giant fell with a dull thud, and Bulma rested her head against the foliage with a pant.

She lay there for a moment, catching her breath and letting her heartbeat slow. Then she rose to her feet, and shifted the satchel bag to her other shoulder, evening the weight of her load.

With shaky legs, she hurried back to the battle scene, realizing that she'd selfishly left Gohan three-on-one.

When she emerged through the clearing, the short warrior stared in horror, his beady eyes flashing behind her, as though waiting for the giant to emerge unscathed.

"No," he whispered, glancing back once more at the trio still exchanging blows in the air. "Impossible."

Bulma noted that the warriors seemed to be using only hand-to-hand combat, and saw that neither Gohan nor the twins seemed to be tiring. Though she knew the young, inexperienced boy was a man down and severely outmatched.

Then, in the midst of her distraction, Bulma felt the short solider materialize at her side and swiftly kick her feet from under her.

She moaned, feeling as though she'd taken a sledgehammer to the back of her knees, and she glanced up to find the small man (whom she'd thought cute and would make nice addition to her stuffed animal collection only minutes earlier) glaring down at her.

"It's just you an me, girly."

His cackling laughter caused her to wince. She took it back; he was definitely not adorable.

The kick had caused her to drop her gun and it bounced a few yards to her right. With a sigh, she tried to bring herself to her feet, but the movement was difficult.

Biting her lip, she knew this would not end well.

The woman warrior fell to the ground, loose dirt blanketing the air as she crashed. Taking advantage of the smog and distraction, Bulma fished the other ki gun from her satchel and aimed squarely at the small warrior.

Crossing his arms, he deflected the blast and Bulma watched in horror as it pummeled through the air and collided with the domed roof of the capsule house.

Bulma's mouth went dry as the pillar of smoke polluted the sky. It was already humid and stifling, but as the heat of the fire and the realization sunk in, her face flushed.

"No."

It was one syllable, and as the small warrior brought his hands together at his side, forming a blast of his own, Bulma fingered her satchel, wondering what it stored. She hoped food, and not useless things like muffin pans, but she knew, no matter what treasures it stored, the burning fort before them was their last shelter.

The warrior released the flare of energy with a throaty scream, and Bulma squeezed the trigger of her gun, watching as the blinding lights collided and exploded halfway between them.

Giving one last, fleeting glance at Gohan, who was still exchanging blows in the air, and to the woman who remained, unmoving, on the ground, she spun on her heel and disappeared back into the dense forest.

She avoided the burly body of her previous opponent, and, feeling an overwhelming sense of déjà-vu, she hurdled another branch and ran as far as her aching limbs would allow.

"I am way too pretty for this…"

She tried heading in a single direction, so it would be easier to find her way back to Gohan when this was all over. Keeping her sights directly in front of her, she formulated a plan of escape. He was small and could fly, so she wasn't sure if there was a place she could climb or hide to escape him.

Her foot caught a root, and she slammed into the ground, her face ramming the dirt the green scouter cracking into five slivers of glass. She moaned, pulling one of the shards from her cheek, rubbing the wound with her hand, wincing as a salty tear entered gash.

Cursing, she glanced down at the broken device and, with a sigh, she spun around and leveled her gun. The small soldier had not seen her fall, and, as he ran straight towards her, Bulma repeatedly fired her gun, eyes closed, until there was no longer a charge in the pistol.

Laying back down, beat with pain and exhaustion, Bulma breathed and closed her eyes. Her elbows and check were bloody, and a warrior who could knock down the Eiffel Tower barefoot had kicked her legs out from under her. She was sweaty and miserable, and felt she deserved the couple minutes of fatigued self-pity she rewarded herself.

She thought about giving up. She'd made an honorable attempt at keeping her and Gohan alive. They'd strived, made it over a month, and proven themselves to be strong and capable and independent. But dragon balls or no, Bulma did not want it to end this way. Her pride wouldn't allow her to literally roll over and die.

So with a deep, shaky breath, she brought herself to stand on her aching legs and dusted off her shorts. Head held high, she trekked back to the ruined capsule house, trying not to concentrate on the fact that her scouter was broken and her gun ruined.

She passed the tall warrior, gulping and turning away from the body, knowing it would be just another face to haunt her dreams.

Entering the clearing, Bulma frowned at the odd stillness of their field. The woman lay unmoving on the ground, and, cupping her hands over her brow, Bulma glanced up into the sky to find no sign of Gohan or the woman's twin.

The quiet bothered her and she had to shake the small ache in her chest. He would be fine, she assured herself as she disappeared back into the woods, the opposite way she'd come.

After wandering the forest for what felt like hours, Bulma sighed. Gohan was able to sense ki, he'd find her. Yes, she nodded to herself, before collapsing under a tree, supporting her sore back on the wide expanse of its trunk and resting her head back against it with a defeated sigh, it was better to stay in once place so he could track her energy.

She watched in the eerie silence as the final sun dipped its way below the blood red horizon, and she closed her eyes, knowing this signaled the near forty-eight hours of ensuing darkness.

Cursing her luck, she brought her knees to chest and rested her cheek against them, willing herself to be strong.

"Don't cry," she mumbled to herself, knowing she usually only talked to herself when she was angry or frightened.

Though, right now, she knew that things could not get any worse.

Bitter laughter escaped her lips, for as soon as she'd formed the thought, the sky erupted and showered Cerius with a thick curtain of rain. She blinked at the sky, feeling the warm water drench her skin. It was strange, alien to her, the way it didn't make her shiver, but she still brought her knees closer to her chest and closed her eyes.

As hard as she tried, sleep would not claim her. Her body begged and her mind felt the pains of its fatigue, but she was too alert, too frightened.

And then, her heart stopped.

She heard the steps approaching, splashing at the water pooling the cracked terrain. They were loud, purposeful strides and she squeezed her lids tightly together as they grew closer.

She promised she wouldn't give up, but what else was there for her to do but close her eyes, hide beneath the poor shelter of the tree, and pray to the Kais?

Bulma felt the heat of a body, wondering if she looked as disgusting as she felt, bruised and bloody and soaked through, but the footsteps had stopped completely and the figure seemed to loom over her.

She kept her eyes closed, head against her knees, refusing to look death square in the face. Her breath hitched. Yes, it was better this way. That way, in her entirely defenseless state, she could pretend this was all just a bad dream. The next time she'd open her eyes she'd be back on Chikyuu, in her warm comfy bed in the security of Capsule Corporation.

She'd brag to Yamcha and Goku and anyone who'd listen how she'd managed without them. How she'd been brave and capable, there for Gohan when no one else could be. It may be a year from this moment, but death and afterlife wouldn't feel like anything.

The looming figure knelt before her and she felt a trimmer of fear rush through her form. Sure her mind may have been at peace, but her body was scared as hell.

"Funny," the figure spoke, voice dark and grave, no hint of amusement. However, at the single word, the tension left Bulma's frame.

"I know you to be a lot of things," the voice continued, "but I'd never figured you to be a coward."

Sorry, the original format I saved this in removed all of my punctuation after I uploaded it. –facepalm- So if any of you eagerly opened this chapter before I had time to fix the mistake, I apologize. I can only imagine your horror…

Also, yay! I'm so glad I have so many people who want to enroll in my fictional university course. I love you guys, and I promise homework will be minimal and will consist only of reading fan fiction and watching DBZ.

It's been a busy couple of weeks and I know the next couple will be busier, but I won't forget about you - so pretty please don't forget about me. =)

-LL