RECONSTRUCTION

A Future Spin-Off to Twice Upon a Time

By NinjaWhisper

Summary- It all fell apart and Bulma had to manage the pieces. Alone, she raised her son in a desolate apocalyptic world. Strong-willed and brave, she accepted this fate, moving on despite hope only coming to another timeline and not her own. Then he came back. . . and they had a new task- fixing something that was never whole to begin with.

Disclaimer- Dragon Ball Z is owned by Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation

Chapter 14

Like a zap from a defibrillator, Vegeta's heart sprang to life. His hand actually roamed to the chest, his eyes enlarged, mouth parted. Bulma . . . One moment he was empty and the next, the presence of her filled him to the brim. It was enough to cause his legs to buckle and he leaned against a nearby tree. Initially, all he felt was relief but that was quickly replaced with enraged irritation. That inconsiderate scientist must have done something to make her ki invisible for a short while. He gritted his teeth. Damn her. If she hadn't engrossed herself into some fancy and actually used her senses for once, she might have understood that there were repercussions to her actions, such as others thinking she'd been eradicated from existence.

The sides of his lips curled and he caught it, turning it back into the grimace he was accustomed to. She filled him with contradictions, making things complicated. What a nuisance. This little disappearing act made him realize the depth of her presence. For whatever reason he couldn't rest without her . . . not that he could with her around either, yet . . . He'd rather rage the tsunami with her. Dammit all to hell. His father warned him about the power of women. Bulma topped them all.

Recovering from the situation, he focused his attention, finding the spark of her. So bright, so unharmed and lively. Effortlessly, his ki matched her own and he found himself transported to her underground laboratory. She turned on the wooden stool at her workbench, donning ridiculous plastic goggles, squeaking and moving her hands away from the microscope.

"Vegeta, Kami!" she exclaimed.

His body moved on impulse, coming at her with a whirlwind of emotions that he wasn't ready to acknowledge. He grabbed her, shoving her off her seat and pinning her to the wall, grasping tightly to her shoulders. Her breath was heavy and hot.

"Hey, that hurts-"

Her nature was unforgivable, enough to justify a good shake, but he held back, and loosened his grip. Suddenly she seemed fragile, breakable. He wanted to preserve her, keep her safe. Was he trembling? Probably from the fear. These thoughts were new and uninvited, a virus, sending him into disease, and he kept getting sicker and sicker.

"Foolish, woman! Don't you think about anyone but yourself?" he spat.

She blinked, totally clueless. "Huh?"

He sighed. "I couldn't sense you for hours!"

A light flashed on her face. "Oh, you mean my spin in the time machine? I didn't even think- Were you worried?"

The impact of his mouth on hers was wild and manic, reducing her breath entirely for a split second. She melted against the unpainted wall. Hot, heavy, and delirious, she acted against him, her delicate hands sliding up his clothed abs. He would have taken her right then and there, but a lucid side of his mind remained active.

This attraction between them contradicted everything he knew. It brought up new sides to his personality, traits that didn't match what a Saiyan's should be, especially a prince. She made him vulnerable, only strong when he knew she was by his side. That disturbed him. Strength, power, authority, these things should not be conditional. Here, now, as they kissed, as she was solid and animated before him, he shook with renewed vigor and reaching a breaking point at the same time.

She giggled when the goggles got in the way. She retracted and removed them. Her blue eyes sparkled with childish glee. "Wow, Vegeta, did you miss me?"

He grunted elusively. The lightness in his head felt good and he might have actually classified it as mild contentment, but it scrubbed away into the familiar dark heaviness. His shoulders stiffened and he stepped back.

"Where did you come from? You didn't use instant transmission, did you?"

"Yes actually," he said. That statement would have brought accomplishment followed by bragging but there were bigger things standing in the way.

"My crafty Saiyan Prince. There is no end to your advancement," Bulma said, her words flirtatious. "Want to show me your skills, maybe somewhere private?"

"We are private," he said.

Bulma's forehead furrowed. "Isn't Trunks upstairs?"

"Forget this nonsense," Vegeta said harshly. He stepped back, placing walls around him. He turned, not able to look her in the eye. "We have to get back to our son."

That caught her attention and the daze of arousal left her features. She raised a brow, curious at his use of words and meaning behind them.

"Trunks is not well," Vegeta said.

She pushed off the wall. "What?"

"You heard me. Now, come on because we have to go to Namek."

She bit her trembling lips and nodded. "Okay." She made a move to grab his hand, attempting to weave their fingers, but he acted quickly and roughly took her lower arm.

Vegeta took a breath and tried to concentrate. It was hard to do so with a flushed and emotional woman in his grasp. Bulma covered his fingers with those of her other side, stealing imaginary comfort. He didn't remove them, but blocked the contact out- or struggled to. He conjured visions of the Namekians; green, gentle, and mostly weak. Their energy was different from Saiyans and Earthlings. They trusted too easily and did not strive for physical power or possessions.

Nothing happened. Bulma's touch tightened. "Do you know how to do this?"

He glared. "Shut up."

"Is it too hard to bring me along? I can stay here."

"I need you, woman." He realized how that sounded and frowned even deeper. "The Namekians aren't going to hand the dragon balls over to me. I thrashed their village, remember?"

She considered that. "Yeah, that's partly why Trunks went with you." She sighed. "Try again."

He shut his eyes this time. The more he tried to focus, the harder it seemed to get. Vegeta trained his body about 90% of his life, but he rarely paid attention to his mind. Piccolo meditated, and Krillin must, having been raised by monks. Even Goku received instruction on how to sharpen his attention (of course clearing his head would be easy, with little there in the first place). If Vegeta had known this day was coming, he would have added in time to become mindful. The Saiyan elite placed such things as secondary, and therefore his tutor and father had never included much meditation in their lessons.

Bulma's hot breath hit his face and he realized that she'd leaned in. She was worried. He didn't want to disappoint her, and furthermore, he didn't want to prove that he was incapable of performing a little mind exercise. All he had to do was channel all his determination from his body to his thought processes.

Freedom from the tangle of brain webbing. Concentrate on one thing. Namek. For Trunks.

There was a woosh. Bulma squealed. She teetered and he automatically took her by both arms to steady her.

"Shit on Nappa," Vegeta swore.

Normally Bulma probably would have given him a humorous reply about his choice of words, but she was wrapped up in their location. "Are we on Namek?" she asked, glancing around.

"No, we are not on Namek! Does this look like Namek to you?" It seemed obvious, what with the purple ground and yellow sky.

She jerked away and proceeded to fix her disheveled hair. "Well, our destination is New Namek, so maybe it looks different."

He shook his head. "This is Yardrat."

"Really?" she said.

Vegeta gritted his teeth. Yes, it was Planet Yardrat. Which meant that he failed. They stood outside the hut that the Yardrats had given Trunks and him on loan. Yet again he'd let his mind work against his will. That one thought, that worry, and attachment to Trunks, had led to transmitting Bulma and himself to his position instead of Namek. His very feelings for the boy were acting as what kept him from getting better.

His father instructed him that nothing should ever be more important than winning on the battlefield. Attachments led to distraction from goals. That was where he went wrong. Now his goal involved attachment. If only he could have remained thick and impermeable. No, he had to let them in. Complications.

When they entered the tiny dim dwelling and Bulma ran to her son, embracing him as if she could hug healing into him, Vegeta stopped. He stopped questioning and ruminating. He simply watched. His family.

No. . . Yes. They were his family.

Vegeta turned, slamming the door behind him. The atmosphere misted with subtle rain. He took in a breath and prepared himself for his next step. He made his way to the temple, incense filling his lungs upon arrival. Skuld knelt at the altar, mumbling something under her breath, eyes fixed on the winged statue.

"Woman . . . Skuld. . ."

She turned, her eyes sympathetic. "I was just praying for you. The Goddess Um says that you are having troubles."

He scoffed. "I don't need divine intervention. I can do this on my own."

She rose on stubby legs, eying him up and down, her mouth a line. "This is new to you, Saiyan. You are used to advancing your muscles and managing your ki to circulate the body. This is different. Instead of physical progression, this requires no strain at all. It is a technique that does not require work but the opposite of work. Letting go."

"What the hell are you going on about? Of course this takes work!" He stared at her. If this was simple he would have done it already. It wouldn't be normal to take a whole year to master.

A slight smile curved her lips. "I'll keep praying." Skuld yet again lowered on her knees on the platform.

Vegeta's patience was growing thin. He wanted her to tell him what he was doing wrong. What did he need to do to control instant transmission? Instead she spoke vaguely. Let go? Of what? If anything, Vegeta wasn't one to ever let go, but to ad-on.

He walked out to the abandoned spot where he'd practiced before. It was lightly drizzling now instead of misting, and the droplets rolled off his bare arms. He shut his eyes and paid attention to his breathing the way Skuld taught him. He spent hours in training. He managed to use instant transmission to nearby places that he either had memorized or could actually see. When it came to far away locations, he couldn't visualize it distinctly enough. He stressed so much that he actually sweated. Repeatedly, he told himself that he had to get this. It was a must. If he didn't. . .

In the middle of a transit he thought of Trunks. For the second time that day he found himself before the small hut. He let out a howl of anguish. Staggering, he made his way inside. The house smelled like musk and sickness. He found Bulma bent over Trunks, mumbling nonsense, such as everything would be all right. She called him her little boy, smoothing the washcloth over his forehead. Trunks looked shriveled and far away, and Vegeta was sure that he could not hear her voice. When she sensed him, she turned, lines heavy on her aged face where usually they lay hidden, her lips trembling.

"I can find a cure. All I need is a workspace and some equipment. You could- If we go home, I-" She stood on unsteady legs and would have fallen if he hadn't caught her. He held her and she collapsed in his arms. For the first time, probably in his entire life, he was gentle as he led their tired bodies to the free cot. When they lay entwined together on the mattress there was no lust, but only deep intimacy. Vegeta did not think that she was weak- it didn't even cross his mind. His strong arms brought her close and his silent tears joined her loud weeping.

Sometime in the middle of the night Vegeta got out of bed, Bulma's spot empty. He walked barefoot, his gloves discarded, into the next room to find his mate yet again with Trunks. A strange hollowed calmness had fallen over the room.

"Come back to bed, woman," he said.

She didn't move, just continued to gaze at their son. Vegeta moved to look at her and halted, struck, taking in her eyes. Haunted, her eyes were no longer blue, but sunken and gray- the glimmer stripped from them. His head flew to the bed. Trunks' no longer made any sound as he breathed. No. No!

The only ki left involved his own and Bulma's. But hers was . . . wrong. As if it was hiding. No.

Vegeta sunk to his knees before Bulma. He shook her. Nothing. It was like she'd turned into an empty shell. No.

He'd lost them both. No. The presence of warring thoughts had vanished. He no longer felt torn between conquering planets, becoming King of the Galaxy, and surrendering to this pathetic life as a father and husband. In that moment all that existed was loss and pain. For a family he'd never really had.

Nothing would be all right. Ever.

AN- Don't hurt me! Hang in there, dear readers. And, sorry for the long span between updates. We are getting toward the ending so I'll try to wrap it up as quickly as possible.