The stars are blazing like
Rebel diamonds cut out
Of the sun
When you read my mind
x
He drops to his knees to hug Goten. He feels so small and he wraps him in his arms, feels his small fingers clutch at his neck.
"I'm Goten," he repeats, a tiny squeak into his ear.
Goku chuckles and buries his face in Goten's hair. "I know."
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Time re-starts. The slight breeze from the sea stirs the air, flecks of wispy clouds move slowly about the blue sky.
Bulma watches Goku being rushed, observes the infinitesimal moment of hesitation before he swoops his son in his arms and throws him in the air. He hasn't changed a bit and, at the same time, he is so much more than she remembers as if the energy inside – a gentle but ever-present flux caressing the elements around him – has altered the outside.
"You're strong, huh?" he's saying, making Goten giggle. There's a little ring of gold-tinted light touching his hair – an honest-to-god halo and Bulma sighs deeply. She can't roll her eyes hard enough, it's physically impossible – then she's reminded about Goten and Trunks' silly exchange by the water the other day.
She smiles, earnest, for the first time in weeks. She thinks maybe it doesn't have to hurt – maybe she can do it.
"Whoa, Krillin, what happened to you?! I thought you were bald!"
Everything is amusing to Goku. This day has come, this day will go and it will be whatever it is, very much like him, very much like life itself.
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Trunks wins the junior division of the tournament; he cheated here and there, sure, but a win is a win –after that, things start to go downhill.
There's something else going on, something rotten boiling under the surface; it becomes clear when Videl – this clever and energetic slip of a girl she's only just got to know – is beaten half-to-death by a guy who, by all accounts, should be dead now, all the vertebrae of his neck twisted and broken beyond repair.
The stadium watches on in petrified horror – a palpable fear stretches throughout the crowd, women, men, children, they all hold their breath waiting for the worst, or maybe for a miracle.
Then it's Gohan turn to go down. It's inexplicable what happens, and terrifying – next to her, in the stands, Chi-Chi is screaming, her voice stronger than Bulma's ever heard it before in her life.
Goku and Vegeta fly away, quickly followed by all the others. She thinks she sees dark clouds roll in, but she raises her head and the sky is still blue.
She doesn't understand and, obviously, she hates it. All she knows is that there's dread pulsating in the pit of her stomach.
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They come back.
And then, she knows this:
she knows that, for as long as she lives, she will remember the sight of Vegeta cackling for joy and destruction, face transfigured, corrupt energy gathering to outline his shape, crackling along his body, ready to strike.
Hatred – she realizes. She's drenched in it. She could taste it in the air, noxious yellow at the back of her throat, a thick acrid thing swirling violently without direction, contaminating everything, something that hated her and hated everyone in its path.
She yells, "Vegeta!"
But it's already late.
He attacks once, then twice – the heat from the blast licks at her face and then there's death everywhere, ruins, corpses, dying bodies, lives erased everywhere. The crowd erupts – she knows she should be running as well, but she only knows that with a tiny bit of her mind, because everything else feels like it has been incinerated, caught up in the devastation.
"No, no," she's moaning and there's Yamcha pulling her by the arms, steering her away from the massacre.
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Find the dragon balls, is the thought that keeps her from losing any sense she might have left.
And she does just that, keeping her mouth shut, her hands busy and her head down, allowing herself to look up only half a day later, when they can finally summon Shenron, in all its terrible magnificence, in the backyard of Capsule Corporation.
"State your wish."
Bulma wets her lips with her tongue. She has so many wishes she doesn't know what to do with them.
She opens her mouth.
"I don't know how to say it," she admits and leaves it to the others to find the words.
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"Goku, where are my sons?"
Chi-Chi's query is a whip, brisk and unyielding. Goku and Krillin exchange a glance – Bulma sees something in Goku's face hardening to what seems the point of no return; Piccolo looks on with his very peculiar mix of pity and impatience.
"What about Trunks?" she asks. "And Vegeta?"
She didn't need to hear it from Goku – but then again, maybe she did. Vegeta is dead, silenced and gone forever and she can finally scream. It tears at her vocal cords and she cries hard, anger and guilt spilling out of her eyes and nose – her legs are liquid and she's sure that if Yamcha lets go of her she'll fall down on her ass and sit there on the white tiles, sobbing. She wishes she could pass out like Chi-Chi just did, have this great weight lifted from her shoulders and be done with it, but something is stubbornly keeping her tethered to consciousness, something that tells her she hasn't done anything to earn that.
Eventually, the tears slow down. The body just won't cry forever.
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She sits alone on the steps outside Kami's Lookout like a child in timeout, waiting for Goten and Trunks to wake up. From the chambers close to the heart of the temple comes the strong scent of incense and mint leaves and a gentle but ceaseless gurgling of water. On any other day, she would have killed to wander about this place, with its halls full of secrets and its passageways to other dimensions – now her heart is a tiny fist and she can't move.
She closes her eyes, trying to make her mind go blank – she thinks this is the purpose of the Lookout, of the water murmuring in her ears. The warmth from the rooms at her back reaches her skin and she takes deep breaths– then she hears the distinct sound of footsteps approaching, deliberate steps against the marble, and she turns her head.
For a moment, neither of them speaks. He looks considerably more human than he did at the beginning of his twenty-four hours on Earth, with his harsh and beautiful face, and some part of her feels relieved and terrified at the same time. He appears to be tired, as exhausted as she feels. He steps around to go stand in front of her.
"Are you okay?" he asks. He talks to her like they only saw each other yesterday and she feels transparent before him, compelled to say the truth and nothing but the truth. She shakes her head.
"I should have known," she croaks. "What was in his head."
I should have seen it coming. Oh, God, why didn't I see it coming?
He takes a step closer and looks at her for a long time, slowly raising his eyebrows.
"It's not your fault," he says softly.
"No?" Bulma snorts. "All those people…"
"You've already brought them back," he says. "They're fine."
"They're fine?"
She laughs, darkly. He narrows her eyes at her, but his mouth stays in a thin, somber line and she returns the stare by scrutinizing him in silence, with a slow shake of her head; she stands up to walk away.
"You don't understand anything."
Goku shoots her a sharp glance. "I understand that it doesn't change what he did," he retorts quickly, more heated than perhaps he meant to be – the air around them has shifted and she rounds on him, fury mounting already when he shrugs his shoulders. "Of course it doesn't! But –
"But what?"
"But you had nothing to do with that."
Bulma blinks. Her hands clench and unclench, useless at her sides; she can't believe what she's hearing but, most of all, she can't believe that she will have to spell it out, that he really wants to hear this.
"I trusted Vegeta!" she explodes, gesturing wildly. "I thought he cared about me and about Trunks, we had a life together! And that's ruined now, that's gone!" She has to pause to catch her breath – she was practically spitting. She squints her eyes and tilts her head. "He killed hundreds of innocent people in front of my eyes to get you to fight him. Do you get that? Do you – do you even know what that means?"
Goku is silent for a beat – before he makes a face. "He did care. He died trying to make things right."
"Yeah, he made it worse," she says, hard and flat. "Now we're betting on two children to save the day, kids who have never fought anything remotely resembling a real battle!"
She doesn't say does that sound familiar? (she feels merciful like that) but she's sure he hears it anyway because there's a spark of hot hurt there – it burns through his façade in no time at all before it disappears. He squares his shoulders.
"I'll help them for as long as I can," he says firmly. "Trust me on this – I know they can pull it off."
"That doesn't mean I have to like it," she bites back and he throws his hands up in surrender.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he all but snaps. "I know you wanna blame me, but –
"I do blame you!" she interrupts. "It's all one big game for you, isn't it? You got what you wanted and now you're free to go."
Goku's face goes blank in disbelief. "What I wanted?"
"Yes, a nice big fight, a whole lot of fun and to hell with the consequences." She studies him. "Or are you trying to tell me that's not why you came back today?"
"You know that's not it."
Bulma turns on her heels. "Right."
"Bulma!"
"What?"
"This is not a game for me! Gohan died today! Gohan!" Goku's eyes are sparking fires. "And you think I'm having fun?"
Bulma inhales sharply. She tries to hold his stare but she feels the ground, the universe even, wobble beneath her feet – weakly, she shakes her head –
He lunges for her as she leaps forward, her hands reaching out, grappling for something to hold on to – and she plunges into his arms, clinging to his neck with a sound ripped from her throat, strangled and animal-like, half growl and half sob, eyes screwed shut and head bent back. It's a graceless maneuver, but he takes all of her weight effortlessly – and it's such a relief to rest in this gravitational pull, in the knowledge that she's matched and sustained and balanced out – she's shivering with it, this complete and utter abandon, something she thought she had buried beyond recover.
He lets out a long breath, closing himself tighter around her, fingers digging into her spine – it almost hurts and she buries her face in his chest, parting her lips, breathing him in. They stay there for a long time.
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"I'm sorry," she says when she feels like she can talk again. Her voice is muffled against his shirt. "I'm so sorry."
Goku is resting his chin on the top of her head. "Me too," he says. He shifts, gently disentangling himself from the embrace – he keeps his hands around her wrists, thumbs lightly brushing on the veins there. Bulma looks down. Her legs feel much more solid, but the worst part of this worst day has yet to come.
"I don't know how I'm going to tell the kids."
"We'll tell them together," he says, so easily, as if it should have been obvious. Her eyes dart up to meet his. She swallows.
"Can I ask you something?"
He lets go of her arms and shrugs. "Sure."
"Did you know?" she says before she can change her mind, but the question sounds so dirty once it's actually in her mouth. "About Goten?"
"No." Goku shakes his head. He gives her a smile, but it's small and distracted. "King Kai told me, but only after he was born. He offered to make me take a look, you know?" He's frowning now, looking at the ground. "But I couldn't do it. I said no."
He sounds like he's choking on something. Bulma says nothing. There are no words.
He looks up. "He's a good kid, huh?"
She waits for a moment, then answers. "He's a great kid."
"Yeah, now I just – " he pauses, shakes his head, rubs the back of his neck, that nervous tick she only now notices doesn't drive her nuts like it used to. "Well, I really wish I didn't have to leave him."
"Then stay," she says, very quietly. "Don't leave."
The corners' of his mouth twitch. "That's not how being dead works."
"Mh." Bulma arches an eyebrow. "Could have fooled me," she says, only half-joking, but she's rewarded with Goku's real, most devastating grin and a burst of clear laughter, like a string of light across the air.
They look at each other for a moment.
"Do you –
"I –
They start and stop themselves simultaneously – Bulma exhales through her nose, she bites on her lower lip.
"Guys!" Krillin comes running from the temple. "You might wanna come inside, Goten and Trunks are up and I don't think Mr. Popo is going to like what they're doing with the place –
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Whatever words were trembling in their mouths, there's no time to say them. They don't get another moment. For instance, he doesn't get to say 'I remember everything' –
but she hears it anyway.
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The more carefully constructed Goku's plans are, the more they have a tendency to spiral horribly out of control and Majin Buu claws his way out of the room of spirit and time, unleashing his power in a lethal burst of energy, ripping through the four dimensions of space with a scream and his bare hands – Krillin tries to buy them some time, but they all know it's no use: Bulma is one of the first to die.
It's not exactly painful – it's more something like a changing perception, like realizing that everything is too late but it doesn't matter because time is vanishing anyway; the only tangible thing that remains is a deep-seated hope, this one, final knowledge that it will be alright – one way or the other –
She closes her eyes and sees her life all at once in a flood of images, the first kiss she ever laid on Trunks' little bald head, her mother and father, Krillin hugging her after a great landing on Namek; Yamcha blushing, his little laugh – the dragon balls glowing in the dark and the coldness of space – Vegeta's impenetrable black eyes, happiness, and despair, fireworks exploding in the sky and rain hitting an umbrella – everything she's ever treasured flashes in her brain, the wind blowing in her hair when she rides her motorbike, the Earth seen from afar, Goku's eyes green and so close, they flutter shut when he kisses her.
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When she reopens her eyes, she sees that she is nowhere in particular and everywhere at the same time, wrapped up in golden clouds, floating across a pink sky. No, scratch that; she is part of the golden clouds and of the pink sky and she enjoys this feeling, the lightest she's ever felt until a voice roars in her non-existent ears:
"Who's next?"
She looks up instinctively and gulps – a man, colossal in size, sitting at an equally colossal mahogany desk, is looking down at her from atop a pair of horn-rimmed reading glasses.
"King Yemma," Baba the fortuneteller answers, and Bulma jumps again – she had not noticed the old witch hovering by her side. "This is Bulma, from planet Earth."
Bulma's eyes widen, or at least that's what she thinks they would do if she still had eyes. Or a body for that matter.
"Baba, what the hell is going on –
"Ssst!"
"Let's see," King Yemma says, going through the papers on his desk. "Bulma, Bulma, Bulma… oh, here we go!" He picks up a file and flips through the pages, hardly reading it (or so it seems), mostly using it as a fan. "Bulma, from Earth, born in West City, yadda yadda yadda… oh, that's interesting alright… mh-mh, mh-mh, and so forth." He removes his glasses and looks at her properly. "So!" he booms. "No regrets, then?"
Bulma blinks up at him. "I, huh… I've never said that."
"Fair enough," King Yemma says, matter-of-factly. He grabs a stamp and forcefully smacks it on the bottom of the last page. "You're not going to Hell, Bulma."
"I … thank you, I guess?"
"Next!"
Completely dumbfounded, Bulma turns to Baba. "That's it?"
"Yes, that's it," Baba says. "What did you expect, confetti?"
Bulma stares at her. "I –
"Get a move, or we'll miss our plane!"
"What, a plane?" Bulma says, but Baba is already ushering her toward what is, for all intents and purposes, a tarmac. Lots and lots of other souls are waiting to get on board, but Baba is ruthless and jumps the queue without batting an eye.
"I'm sorry, you know, but I'm not dead like the rest of you idiots!" she tells Bulma as they settle into their seats, 2A and 2B. "Also, I'm five hundred years old so I really don't have any time to waste."
"I understand," Bulma says, but it's absent-minded – she's actually pondering why on earth she's supposed to fasten her seatbelt, but the overhead sign is unequivocal. "This is all really weird, though".
"You haven't seen anything yet," Baba grunts and Bulma sends her a sideways glance.
"Alright," she mutters, a little peevish, and it's only after they reach maximum altitude and the seat belt sign is off that she relaxes enough to take a good look outside the window.
"Oh!" she gasps, because it's prodigious what she sees – an infinite stretch of moons and planets never seen before, of more vibrant colors than she has ever imagined possible and stars, stars for miles and miles and lightyears, so close she's sure she can feel their heat – patterns of constellations she doesn't remember ever reading about in her books and galaxies twirling slowly, expanding and unfolding in real-time, boundless.
"Baba," Bulma sighs, wonderstruck. "What – what is this?"
Baba looks up from her newspaper. "Oh, that's some of the universes we know so far."
"Some of them?" Bulma shakes her head with a chuckle. Three lifetimes wouldn't be enough to study all these new parallaxes. "Wow, this is – wow."
She's lost for words. She turns her head again – stardust is glittering just beyond the glass.
"Do you think," she says after a moment, "that there is someplace? Where I love him and it's the right thing?"
"Hmpf," Baba says in her gruff tone. She's looking at Bulma intently. "Goku asked the same thing last time he died."
It takes a while for Bulma to find her voice – or maybe no time at all.
"And?" she manages.
"And – look around! It would be really dumb to think that there isn't!"
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Author's note: well, we're almost done! I hope you guys enjoyed my personal version of the Buu saga, I did my best but I'm open to discussing :D Thank you so much for all the love you've all sent my way so far!
A.