Happy Valentine's Day! It really does pay off to do two chapters at the same time! :D I am so F'ing tired though and will be going to bed now. I hope you guys enjoy the this chapter!

Chapter 13

When she arrived home, Goten was already lounging in front of the television, watching the evening news. She walked into the room to say hello.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I had some last-minute shopping to do." His gaze swept over her. "Have you eaten anything? I was just going to make something for myself."

"No," he replied, getting up from the overstuffed sofa and walked towards her. She turned away and started towards the kitchen when his words made her steps falter. "How much longer are you sleeping that spare room?"

Her steps slowed, and she paused before she answered him. "Until you start acting like a human being."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know perfectly well what I mean," she retorted over her shoulder, and went the rest of the distance into the kitchen.

Bulla stood showering later that evening. Her head was tipped back. She had been standing with her eyes closed, enjoying the wonderful sensation of warm water pelting down on her skin. Finally she opened her eyes and turned off the water. She happened to look through the steamy glass door and saw Goten coming into the bathroom. She slid back the door to the shower cubicle and stepped out hastily, reaching for a towel, but his well-built, rangy frame blocked her way, and with one of his devastating sensual smiles, he snatched up the towel and held it up, out of her way.

"Give me that." Water streamed down her face and soft curves. She reached for the towel again, and again he held it silently and tantalizingly out of her reach, using his height against her.

"Give me that towel," she cried.

His ebony eyes traveled over her silently, with lingering, insolent inspection.

"Come and get it," he murmured huskily. "It's been over a week since I touched you." She started to rush past him, but he sized her and stopped her. Water was streaming down her smooth, soft skin, but he was heedless of it as he brought her close to him to so that she was pressed against the material of his shirt. She moaned helplessly.

"This won't solve anything."

"It will solve one thing," he said roughly, and pulled her close as his mouth captured hers with a hungry insistence and his arms tightened around her, drawing her close against his powerful body, his hipbones and muscular thighs pressing into her.

A sigh escaped from her mouth; she couldn't contain it. It felt so good to be in his arms again. They clung to each other, kissing hungrily, voraciously.

Goten broke off the kiss and murmured in her ear. "I'm not going to bed alone tonight." Then he effortlessly scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom, and they fell onto the bed. She clung to him, twining her legs with his, kissing him back deeply as his hands slid over the still-damp surface of her skin. When they had finished making love, he wrapped one arm possessively around her body, and she slept curved into his warmth.

On Saturday when Goten was at Lilac's talking over flight rescheduling and last-minute cargo changes with Mr. Phoenix, Bulla delved into the cupboards and got busy on the chocolate cake. She had already wrapped the book and hidden it in the closet underneath the stairs. She baked the cake and then opened all the doors to get the aroma of baking out of the house so that Goten wouldn't guess what she had been up to when he returned. After the cake cooled, she whipped up the icing and spread the filling between the layers. Then, glancing rapidly at the clock to check how much time she had left, she covered the top of the cake with swirls of chocolate icing and piped on Happy Birthday, Goten! in mocha. She stood back to admire her handiwork for a few moments before she stored the cake in the fridge.

"Happy Birthday, sweetheart," Bulla murmured when they had finished dinner, a small smile made the delicate features of her face more beautiful.

He tensed at her words, and, in stony silence, gazed at the cake she had put on the table, then at the present she held, as if they were both lethal in some way. Bulla's heart began to falter from its mad dance of excitement and the smile faded. It became instantly clear that this wasn't going to go as she had hoped.

"How did you know?" he asked chillingly.

"I happened to be looking in the filing cabinet. And I came across your application, I pulled it out and noticed that your birthday was coming up. Would you like to cut the cake or open your present first? I'm sure you'll love it." She held out the present to him.

Abruptly he rose from the table, as if he wanted to dismiss the whole thing from his mind. "I don't feel like cake. Thanks." He had the closed expression on his face that made her feel instantly shut out. She could see emotions warring inside him, a tiny muscle flicking in his jaw. Clearly, her actions had struck some raw nerve.

"I don't want any more surprises from you," he added. There was a double-edged meaning in his voice. She knew that he was referring to his discovery of who she really was. "If you think you're going to worm your way into my heart again, you're dead wrong, Bulla."

His words stabbed at her heart and it felt like it was shattering into a million pieces and she didn't even try to hide the tears that now streamed down her face. Through blurry sight, she watched him turn and leave the kitchen. She stared at the cake and the present for several long moments, before she collapsed into a chair as loud sobs raked her body. There was just no hope. He didn't love her and never would. She had given him everything, and he threw it aside like it was piece of garbage.

She rose slowly, tears still trickling down her face but the sobs had quieted as she wrapped the cake and put it in the refrigerator. Then she walked away, leaving the gift on the table.

She heard the front door slam, and something inside her snapped. He had gone out again, to wherever it was he disappeared to. It was the last straw. He had successfully killed whatever feeling she had when she heard him walk out that door, she thought. She walked quickly up the stairs, thinking how nice it was to feel nothing, absolutely nothing. It was really a wonderful relief, this numbness, after all the emotional pain of his rejection. She pulled out a suitcase and began packing her clothes. When she had packed all she needed, she carried the bags to her car.

She got into the car and sat looking at the house that had been her home for such a brief time, and then with the same dispassionate efficiency she had used to pack her belongings, she drove away down the busy street. She was not really certain of where she was going, only that she was going. She was definitely going away, and she was definitely not coming back.

While she drove, her mind began to work furiously. She would get herself somewhere to live, and she would find another job. She would never let Goten come near her again. She could see that she was fighting a useless battle. He was determined to keep the emotional gap between them, a yawning gulf. She could never accept that, nor would she ever bring a baby into that kind of home.

With all her hopes dashed, she stopped at a nearby newsstand and picked up one of the out-of-town newspapers. Then she drove to a motel and paid the clerk behind the desk for one night.

As she lay in bed in the darkened motel room with only the air conditioner humming in the background, images of Goten flashed through her mind. The first time she had blundered into him in Mr. Phoenix's office. The wry grin on his face when he had asked her if she did that sort of thing often. The picnic at Lilac Park, when he had virtually dared her to go out with him. Their first date and the first time he had kissed her. The evening at the club when he had retaliated with swift aggression in the alleyway. The scenes filled her with an overwhelming sense of loss. But the images that stood out the most were the sun-soaked days aboard the yacht when Goten had stood silhouetted against the blazing sun like some graven image. And that first time he had made love to her, and the nights that followed. Those memories, illuminated in her mind, were far more brilliant than the others, and as she recalled them in the darkness of the motel room, it was like the sun going in and out of the clouds, elusive and forever out of reach now.

An errant tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She brushed it away, sighing raggedly at the overwhelming love she felt for him, a love that was never meant to be. A cruel fate had twisted their lives inexorably and made sure that it was impossible for their love to exist once the terrible truth was revealed about what she and her brother had done. How could any love, no matter how strong, survive that? She had gotten angry at Goten, but she had really no right. She had told herself that there was a time to forgive and forget. Perhaps there was. But human beings couldn't seem to help how they felt, no matter how hard they tried, and it was pretty obvious that Goten couldn't help how he felt about her. She had become convinced of that, convinced that he wasn't capable of loving her completely after what he had discovered, after trying to live with what she had done. He'd be glad she'd left. After all, he'd gotten his revenge. He wouldn't want her or the baby.

"We'll be okay," Bulla whispered softly as she placed her hand on her still flat stomach. "We'll be okay." Another silent tear rolled down her face, and she wished for the hundredth time that there was some way she could make it up to Goten. Finally she turned her face into the oblivion of the pillow, glad not to have to think anymore.

In the morning, she'd decided to go to Trunks. Perhaps she could stay with him for a few days until she decided where she wanted to go. She left the motel, stowed her suitcase into the trunk of the car and was soon on the highway.

When she reached South City, she stopped at a diner for breakfast and decided to call Trunks to let him know that she was coming.

The phone buzzed several times before a sleepy voice answered.

"Dammit all, who the hell is this?" Trunks mumbled. Bulla could hear him fumbling with the clock.

"It's me, Bulla." Her voice floated tremulously over the wire, and sleepy as Trunks was, his sixth sense, some fine intuitive thread that held the brother and sister together through thick and thin, picked up the anxiety immediately.

"What's the matter? You'd never call me at this godforsaken hour if there wasn't something wrong. Where are you calling from?"

"I'm at a little diner, in route to your condominium." Bulla wondered how she would dare to ask Trunks if she could stay with him for a few days—she had practically turned him away when Trunks was looking for a place to stay. She heard a distant click and knew Trunks was busy lighting up a cigarette, trying to get his thoughts focused.

"What's happened? As if I don't already know," Trunks said. Bulla had written to tell him about the wedding, which, given the circumstances, she hadn't been able to invite him to. "You and Goten. He's never forgiven you, has he?" Trunks immediately zeroed in on the problem. "I told you this would happen."

He had indeed, Bulla remembered, but she had no more able to turn away from Goten than she could stop breathing.

"That's about it," Bulla confessed wearily, not wanting to get involved in any details on the phone. "I'd like to come and stay with you, Trunks. May I? I know I have no right after turning you away, but it will only be for a few days until I decide what I'm going to do next. Will it be okay?"

There was a moment's silence in which Bulla thought Trunks was going to refuse.

"Have you got a paper and pencil to jot down directions? At least he can't find you here," Trunks added.

"No," Bulla said. "He doesn't know where you are, so it's safe for both of us." She reflected sadly that adversity had thrown her and her brother together once again and upon each other's resources where Goten was concerned. "I'll see you around lunchtime," Bulla said after she'd finished writing down the directions.

The drive to Trunks' was a long and lonely one. When she arrived, Trunks was dressed and waiting for her, holding open the front door to allow her to pass through into the spacious lounge. Trunks asked if she wanted anything, fruit juice or tea or coffee. Bulla shook her head and gazed around the nicely furnished town house.

Trunks shrugged in a carefree gesture. "The devoice settlement went very well. Maddison only took what was rightfully hers. She was pretty fair. Kami only knows why. I was a crummy husband, and I deserved to get squeezed dry."

Bulla smiled wistfully. She wondered if she had been a crummy wife. She certainly had tried to be a good one. She'd given it all she had, and it still hadn't worked out, she reflected, sinking wearily onto the leather sofa.

Trunks stared at her speculatively. "So, what happened? Pour your heart out. Get it off your chest, Sis. You'll feel better." He sank into matching leather chair and reached for a cigarette, lighting it, watching and waiting as he exhaled. His lavender hair took on a nice shade in the bright sunshine that streamed into the well decorated lounge.

Bulla began hesitantly. "I couldn't get through his anger. He cared for me at first, but anger and resentment were stronger." She rose from the sofa and walked towards the patio doors that looked out over the broad expanse of beach and shining ocean waters. "I thought in time love would win out, that if I tried hard enough, if I was patient enough, if I loved him enough, that surely the anger and resentment would disappear, that the love would be stronger. I was so certain of it. So positive at first. But I was wrong." She turned around with a bleak look in her eyes. "I always thought love was the strongest emotion—didn't you?—stronger than hatred, and that it could win out against all the odds. That it was, indeed, a ruling passion, but I guess I was wrong," she added with a futile, little gesture.

"I was wrong, Trunks. If he does feel anything for me, he's locked it away so deeply inside him, he's guarded it and hidden it away so well, that it's invisible. I see no signs of it. Sometimes I don't think he even has access to it himself. Oh, Trunks, I love him so much, and I can't get through that thick wall he surrounds himself with."

Trunks brushed ash from his cigarette and gazed steadily back at Bulla, not saying anything for a long moment. "You're a lucky girl, Bra."

"Lucky! How can you say that?" Bulla demanded incredulously. "How can you say that when I've lost what's mattered the most to me in the whole world?"

"You're lucky to even to be able to love like you do," Trunks said in a murmured tone that expressed a hint that perhaps he, himself, had been deprived of that ability.

"If you've lost him. Why are you so sure you have?" Trunks challenged. "Maybe when he finds out you're gone, he'll realize what he's lost and want you back."

"I doubt it. I've tried everything." Bulla sank back again into the sofa. "He's capable of desire. Oh, he wants me. I've never doubted that for one moment. But he doesn't love me." Bulla described some of the incidents that had led up to her departure. "I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to leave. It's hard living where there's only love on one side," she added finally as emptiness crept in her voice.

Trunks smiled with brittle charm. "I know, I've experienced that myself, but in my case, Maddison was giving all the love and I wasn't giving any back." He stabbed out his cigarette. "We were affected differently by our home life. You were luckier, Bulla, than I was. It left you with the ability to love. It killed something inside me. In my marriage, Maddison loved, cared, and gave everything she had and I did all the taking and gave nothing in return. And it wasn't all selfishness on my part. It was an inability to return her love." He got up and walked across the room. "But not everyone is destined to remain that way. I knew Goten before the accident. I remember what he was like. Not to sound gay or anything, but he struck me as a guy capable of great tenderness, as well as great strength."

Bulla paced across the room, her jeans outlining her model-like curves, her loose, halter-neck top displaying perfect shoulders as she swung around.

"My love for Goten was destined for tragedy," Bulla murmured hoarsely as a sense of loss surged through her. "I felt so guilty about what we did to him but I couldn't help the love I felt for him. I guess you could call it guilty love." She smiled bitterly at her own joke but continued on. "There were great risks involved, but also great rewards. But it looks as though I gambled and lost," she said quietly. "But I've been thinking, Trunks. There is something I can gamble in that might be more successful."

Trunks frowned in puzzlement.

"The other day I read in the newspaper about a man who went to prison on a charge of rape. Several years later, the victim came forward and said that she had lied. The man was released, and as far as I know, the woman was never prosecuted for what she had done. I don't know all the whys and wherefores of the case, but I do know the man was exonerated, and I think some financial restitution was made to him for court expenses, and so forth." She looked at Trunks for a long moment to give added emphasis to her next words. "I want to do that for Goten. I want us to clear his name." She watched as Trunks' expression went from a relaxed bemusement to a taut white mask.

"Do you even realize what you're saying?" Trunks gasped. "There are no guarantees that we'll be as lucky as that woman you read about. I could go to prison. I don't know, Bra. I don't know if I have that kind of courage."

"I want us to try, Trunks, to do our best to clear Goten's name. To give him back that which is his—the respect of those around him, the opportunity to get the job he wants."

Trunks went rigid and said nothing.

"Oh, Trunks, we have to do this. We have to do it for Goten. But we have to do it for ourselves, too," she whispered in a voice that had grown choked with emotion.

Trunks moved across the room and stood gazing at the ocean. Bulla waited, saying nothing, and the heavy moments of silence ticked by. Her hopes fell as she sensed that Trunks was going to refuse to help.

"One time, Trunks, I did something for you. Now I'm asking that you do this for me. You owe it to me." Bulla waited for what seemed like an eternity before Trunks slowly turned around to look at her.

"I can't," he said. "I just can't, Bra."

Bulla drew in a deep breath. "Then I'll go to the authorities alone."

"You've made up your mind?" Trunks said. "He means that much to you?"

"Yes, he does. And he's the father of my baby."

"You're pregnant!" Trunks seemed to be in shock as Bulla nodded. "Alright. You don't leave me with much choice. I'll do it," Trunks said.

Bulla moved across the room and wrapped her arms around Trunks, resting her head against his shoulder as he slowly wrapped his arms around her and patted her head. "Thank you, Trunks," she murmured heartfelt as she looked up at her brother. "We can explain the extenuating circumstances. I'm sure that would carry some weight with the judge."

The door slammed behind Goten that night as he entered the house. He unzipped his leather jacket and threw it onto the nearest chair and picked up the evening paper. He hadn't come home the night before or all day. There was an emptiness to the house, something strangely missing. Bulla must not be home yet, he thought. That was it. One quick glance at his wristwatch told him that she should be in by now. Where was she?

He tossed down the paper and went into the kitchen. Something on the table caught his eye. It was his birthday present, still wrapped, untouched. It looked forlorn lying there, and he felt a stab of remorse for not even looking at it and Bulla's tear filled eyes at what he had said to her flashed through his mind. Why had he done that? he asked himself. He knew the answer. It was that he didn't want to let her get close to him again. He was afraid to, after what she had done. Could he ever again really trust her with his feelings? he wondered for the hundredth time.

Slowly alarm began to shoot inside him. He walked quickly to the kitchen door, opened it and peered into the garage to see if her car was there. One quick glance told him it wasn't. Maybe she wasn't coming home. Maybe she'd had enough. His pulse began to race, and with swift strides he left the kitchen. Taking the stairs two at a time, he charged into the master bedroom. The first thing he saw was the empty dresser. None of Bulla's body mists or hairbrushes or cosmetics remained. He strode to the closet and yanked open the double doors, instantly confirming his worst fears. Only a row of his suits and jackets greeted his eyes, and empty hangers, disturbed by the draft of air, swung back and forth, seeming to taunt him. His gaze scanned the equally empty shelves above where her suitcases had been stored. They were gone. She was gone.

Stunned, he stepped back. Then with a quick, sharp movement, he flung the closet doors closed again. He muttered a string of expletives and whispered her name to himself, just once, then stood silently and pensively staring into space. His mind threw silent accusations at him.

What did you expect would happen? You damned fool. You drove her away. The swift sharp reprimands echoed in his head as he stood in the center of the room absorbing the intense emptiness of the house, coming to the undeniable conclusion that she was gone forever. He had lost her. He slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorjamb and slid to the floor. Was it any wonder? a silent voice inside his head accused relentlessly. It was what he deserved, he thought, still with the grim expression hardening the contours of his face, deepening the creases around his mouth, making his ebony eyes go a stormy leaden black. What did he expect? He wondered how he had been so blind to what was inevitably going to happen. It was a miracle she hadn't walked out sooner. He had ignored her, kept what feelings he had for her locked deep within him, buried so deeply that even he wasn't sure he could get at them anymore.

He pulled out a cigarette and cupped it with his hand as he lit it. Relentlessly he reminded himself of exactly how he had treated her. He had treated her and made love to her as if she were a whore, just like she had told him before. Yes, that was a fair description. He went to her only when the physical needs of his body drove him. When he had satisfied himself, he put her away from him again. He needed no one to spell it out for him. He had done it deliberately and methodically so that she could never get too close to him again. It had been his ultimate weapon, his strongest protection, so that she could never muddle his mind with all those confused, conflicting emotions he felt for her. He had never once told her how much he loved her or needed her, or how, in spite of his silent ways, he always looked for her. How it made him feel good just to know she was there. How much he liked simply waking up with her alongside him. He had thrown it all away, not letting her know it mattered. Why?

Because he couldn't help how he felt about what she had done. He let bitterness and his dark anger hide his love from her. He had even hid it from himself. He had been really clever, really smart, he thought scornfully. But he had fooled no one but himself. Because it was only now, now that she was gone, that he was beginning to realize what she meant to him and how much he loved her. Now, when it was too late.

I want you to remember something, Goten. Whatever happens between us, I love you. I love you more than anything. I want you to remember that. Will you always remember that?

But it wasn't too late, he decided as let the memory of what she had told him flood his mind. He would get her back and tell her how he really felt. He had to find her and put things right.

Bulla left Trunks' the following week, knowing that the legal red tape and machinations took time. She and Trunks had gone to the South City's attorney's office and reported all that had happened, the true details of the accident, their lies, even their home situation. Now it was up to the police and the courts.

With a lighter heart, Bulla went on to Bridge-Town to find an apartment and a new job. Bridge-Town was a growing city, and she knew there would be plenty of opportunities there.

Trunks promised to keep her informed of any legal maneuverings in the clearing of Goten's name and how it affected them. Bulla left with a feeling of intense gratitude inside her. What Trunks had done took courage. Bulla knew that on her part it was only a deep love for Goten that had guided her actions.

By the end of the week, Bulla had found a small apartment with a rent that she thought she could manage. She'd also lined up several interviews for a new job, one of them with a major airline. They had advertised for a secretary, and, with her experience at Lilac's, she thought it looked very promising.

She immediately contacted Alex Phoenix for a reference and found that she had some explaining to do. Apart from a hurried phone call the morning she'd left, she hadn't spoken to him. He was very understanding and promised her a glowing reference. Bulla begged him not to tell Goten that she had called, but getting him to agree to that was a little more difficult.

"I don't mind telling you, Goten has been walking around here with a face that would make a dead man jump up from his grave," Mr. Phoenix said. "Everyone clears a path five feet wide when they see him coming. Let me at least tell him where you are and that you're all right and put him out of his misery. No matter what happened between you two, he has a right to know that you're safe and unharmed. He deserves that much, at least."

Bulla considered this and realized that Mr. Phoenix was right. "You can tell him that I'm safe, but you can't, under any circumstances, tell him where I am. Promise me you won't."

"Okay, Bulla. I just hope you know what you're doing," Alex Phoenix said. He also promised that he would let no one else know where she was. True to his word, Alex fired off a reference that helped Bulla land the job with the airline.

The intense activity of getting resettled was a boon at first to Bulla's flagging spirits, because it kept her occupied physically and mentally. It was only at night when she was alone that thoughts of Goten came flooding back into her mind. Trying not to think of him was a losing battle. The numbness had worn off, and now the full realization of what she had lost struck her with reoccurring force. It came in waves. She cried herself to sleep on more than one night and picked up her cellphone to call him on many more, but something always stopped her—a sense of self-preservation and a conviction that the same cruel twist of fate that had thrown them together and somehow decreed that they should part.

With a quiet tenacity, she made her way through the first weeks in Bridge-Town, going through the motions of living, coming to grips with her new job, furnishing her apartment, fining an obstetrician and preparing for the baby. Yet, questions always hovered in the back of her mind. What was Goten doing? Did he think of her as much as she thought of him? Was he looking for her?

She had written a long, newsy letter to Valese explaining that she and Goten had parted and that she was making a new life for herself. She sighed, wondering if she had done the right thing. She wished her mind would switch off. She was weary of the endless chain of unanswered thoughts.