A solemn silence hung over the Z Fighters as they contemplated their fate.

Cell was right there—right within their reach—and yet they were still powerless to stop him. It was more than just his power, it was his cunning. Anyone looking at the lizard-like monster could feel his energy pulsating off him in a wave of intimidation, but it was the mind games they couldn't quite decipher.

Why have a tournament? Why televise it? It was a Catch-22. If Cell won the tournament, the human race was doomed. But if he lost, then the world would know exactly how powerful the Z Fighters were, and their unique set of skills would be paraded around for everyone to see. Goku and his friends would never find peace unless they could find a way to silence the cameras.

The group split up into different groups, each resolving to spend the next five days completely focused on their goal. Solemnly, Goku and Gohan made their way to the time chamber, a nervous ache throbbing through them. Wrapping his arm around his son's shoulders, Goku offered him a sincere smile of encouragement as they crossed the threshold into the unknown.

Vegeta had left almost immediately without saying anything, but Bulla figured he was heading toward Capsule Corp.—at least, that was the direction he appeared to be going. After saying goodbye to her mother and Chi-Chi, she was in hot pursuit. When she finally managed to catch up to him, all he could muster was a grunt and look in her general direction that acknowledged her presence. It wasn't like she expected him to be overly friendly with her now that they had bridged some sort of connection, but the impersonal nature of the gesture frustrated her.

To be fair, though, she had left the Lookout cross with her father. He had flown away without so much as saying goodbye, leaving her mother and Chi-Chi to fly back on their own. You would think a man who had been locked away in a magical time chamber for an entire year might want to at least talk to the woman he loved—especially since Cell has just made an appearance.

"Didn't you want to go with Mom?" Bulla asked. Vegeta hissed and shook his head.

"What is with your obsession over your mother?" His eyes fixated forward as he sped up slightly, clearly trying to edge out Bulla to annoy her.

"What do you mean?" Bulla tried to muster a laugh to mask her confusion. "I thought that after all this time away you might like to…"

"Might like to what?" Vegeta hissed. "Did you think we were going to have some big, happy reunion?"

"I mean," Bulla furrowed her brow, trying to decide what to say. "Sort of?"

"Your mother is of no consequence to me," Vegeta replied.

For the past year, he had spent every waking hour in the presence of his daughter. He tried to keep things very cut and dry, as to avoid emotional conversations like this one. While he did admit he enjoyed hearing her stories about the future, he made sure the days following those casual moments were exasperatingly brutal on the battlefield. Bulla seemed to take the hint and only engaged him with frivolity when he allowed it.

It wasn't just this Bulla he kept at an arm's length. At least this Bulla could fight and proved herself somewhat useful. Since baby Bulla was born—that Bulla—he had continued his campaign of dissociation. What warrior allowed himself to indulge in the softness and warmth of family? All he knew was the pain of war, the smell of destruction and the taste of vengeance. No amount of time spent with her would change that.

Now, this version of his daughter had the audacity to believe they were equals, that she could speak to him as if she knew him. Their time together had given her a false sense of belonging and comfort despite his attempts at quelling those hopes, and he hated himself for making her believe that.

"She's a distraction," his voice was low, cold. "Her only use in life is to fuck."

Bulla stopped suddenly. His words cut across her, and she was filled with a blinding rage that seared all over her skin. Gripping her fingers, her nails pressed down on her palms with enough force to leave an indentation. Feeling his daughter come to an abrupt halt, Vegeta followed suit. What he said was meant to hurt—he knew as soon as the words came out that Bulla would have a visceral reaction to them. As he turned to look, he realized how deep of a cut he had inflicted.

"What did you say?" She parted her lips, her body became tense.

"Hard of hearing, are you?" Vegeta said. "I said your mother is nothing but a good f-"

"I heard what you said," Bulla replied coldly. "I was just hoping that I had misunderstood."

"What's there to misunderstand?" Vegeta laughed.

Her face fell and she blinked at him incredulously.

"You can't be serious," she said. "You...you really can't be serious right now are you? You're going to look me in the eyes and tell me that Mom means nothing to you-nothing at all—when we both know that she does? And that you can go say things like that about her—to me, your daughter—and just think that's fine?"

"I don't have time for this childish, emotional bullshit!" Vegeta yelled.

"Well I don't have time for a man who is constantly lying to himself for no good reason!"

Vegeta said nothing. Hanging several hundred feet above the Earth, the two let the wind swirl between them. His words felt like a betrayal. What a disgusting thing to say about someone she loved so deeply, someone she thought he loved so deeply.

Heavy tears lined Bulla's eyes, and despite her best efforts, she couldn't help it when they streamed down her cheeks. Using her sleeve, she wiped them away, unashamed that her father was seeing her like this. Something burned within her chest and she felt hot and heavy, as if the years she had spent agonizing about her father were now becoming a vice around her heart, squeezing out every last drop of blood.

While it was only a few seconds, Bulla felt a lifetime had passed between them. After they had begun training together in the chamber, she made a point to tell herself that the feelings of love and acceptance she felt from him were temporary. But even as she drilled that into her head over and over, she wondered if maybe she had done something—anything—to dethaw the glacial divide between them.

It was now she realized that no matter how hard she tried, she could never fix a man unwilling to accept his flaws.

"Is that what you really think of her?" She said, never breaking his gaze. "Is that how you really feel about her?"

He stared at her in silence, taking a deep breath in and slowly exhaling. "Why does it matter what I think about her?"

"Because you love her," her voice was strong. "And after all that time we had spent together, I thought that-"

"You thought what?" Vegeta hissed. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his face still stern and serious. "What was it, exactly, that you thought you knew? Hmm? Were you so delusional that you thought maybe we would be this big, happy family? You are a fool, Bulla, if you really believe that. I am nothing more than a warrior. I had no intention of my dalliances having this...this result."

Rage seethed through her. But there was something else, too: Doubt filled her mind. She had seen him in the chamber, the way he longed to know about the future and her mother and her feelings. This was the story he was trying to tell himself, but it wasn't the one that lived in his heart.

"I don't believe you," she stammered.

"Believe me when I say this," he replied coldly. "I do not love her, and I most certainly do not love you."

Without giving her a chance to reply, he turned his back and zipped off into the sky. For a moment, Bulla thought about following him. But her head was spinning. The whiplash of his emotions from the year they had spent together was making her dizzy and confused. So instead she let the salty tears fall from her eyes and allowed herself to weep.

Bulla had made her way back to Capsule Corp., and prayed that Vegeta would either not be there or be confined to the gravity room. Her heart had not stopped pumping since their argument, and the pit of shame and sadness in her stomach had not eased. She went to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, and then scoured the fridge for something to eat. She hadn't realized how much time had passed until Bulma appeared in the doorway.

"Where's Vegeta?" Bulma asked. Bulla's eyes went wide.

"I-"

"Oh my god, that is so rude of me!" Bulma chuckled. "I forgot that you've been away for a year, even though it's only been a day for me. That's not how you greet someone you haven't seen in a long time!"

Seeing her face made Bulla's heart twist. Without saying a word, she launched herself into her mother's arms, burying her face into the crook of her neck, and let out a painful cry. She fell to her knees and Bulma followed, softly stroking her daughter's hair and wrapping an arm around her back.

"What are...are you okay?" Bulma asked softly. "What happened?"

Bulla couldn't bring herself to look up and pressed her face into her mother's shoulder even harder. As tears coated her face, she could smell her mother's perfume—it was sweet and rich, a deep lilac that reminded her of the spring—and it made her heave another sob. How desperately she wished that this was her actual mom, not her mom of the past, but the one that knew her inside and out so she wouldn't have to explain.

Grabbing Bulla by the shoulders, Bulma examined her daughter's face.

"What happened?" She pleaded. "Just tell me."

"I'm sorry," Bulla stammered. "I shouldn't cry."

"Oh, sweetheart." Bulma placed her hand on the crown of Bulla's head, smoothing down a piece of hair. "It's okay to cry."

Wiping away a tear, Bulla centered herself. "It's not very...strong...to do."

"Don't say that," Bulma smiled at her daughter. "Being vulnerable takes a lot of courage. Showing someone how you feel—that's the strongest thing in the world."

Bulla rubbed her face, took a deep breath and sat upright. Her throat was sore from the crying, and she was desperate for a glass of water. Using her hand, she steadied herself and purposefully avoided the gaze of her mother. She moved a piece of her long hair behind her ear. Her blue hair now extended to past the middle of her back. Examining a piece between her fingers, she realized how ratty she must look and felt embarrassed.

"Do you think you can give me a haircut?" Bulla asked, finally looking her mother in the eye. Bulma smiled.

"Well, I can't," she said. "But I know a wonderful woman in West City who can. But let me warn you, she isn't cheap." She winked at her daughter and it brightened up Bulla's spirits enough that she too smiled.

Helping Bulla to her feet, Bulma patted her daughter on the shoulder. She considered prying to get her to open up, but the desperation on Bulla's face made her reconsider. If she wanted to talk, she would. And if she wanted Bulma to listen, she would hear her. Right now, though, she felt as if her daughter just needed a moment to get her mind off things.

"Hey," Bulma rubbed her daughter's arm. "I have something to show you."

They headed over to the laboratory. As they crossed the lawn from the main house, Bulla was taken back by the large crater in the backyard, as well as the crew that was filling it up with dirt.

"Do your employees ever ask you what, exactly, you're always getting yourself into?" Bulla said, letting out a little laugh. The thought of normal people being subjected to the strange whims of the Briefs' family was funny. And despite the circumstances in which the crater was made, she wondered how Bulma had explained the job.

"Honestly, after all these years, I think people are just used to it." Bulma shrugged and continued walking.

Inside the lab, workers were teeming with energy. On a large screen was a diagram that she had seen once before-it was the drawing of Cell in Gero's journal. Dr. Brief's stood examining it, while another man in a lab coat held a pen and a pad of paper, furiously scribbling notes. As they entered the room, Dr. Briefs smiled.

"Well hello there," he said as he turned toward them. "Just in time."

"Figure anything else out yet?" Bulma asked. Dr. Briefs shook his head.

"Not quite." He turned back to the screen. On it was a huge schematic with lines tangling in and out of one another. Each was a line plunging into the sketch of Cell—his most recent form, Bulla noted—and the board was littered with different equations and a mess of arrows. Just like in the journal, this Cell remained faceless.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Bulla asked.

"Well," Dr. Briefs smiled. "That is the question, isn't it?"

The man in the lab coat came forward toward the group, pushing his glasses back as he met their eyes.

"There has to be a nucleus somewhere," he said. "And if we can find it, we can destroy Cell."

"That's easier said than done," Bulla replied. "No one can get a good shot on him. It's hard to even punch him."

"Well if Kygo's theory is to be believed," Dr. Briefs said pointing to the man, "it won't take much force to bring him down if you know where to hit him."

It was an interesting theory. Bulla knew she should've felt hopeful that there was a way to destroy Cell, but she felt nothing but emptiness. Her father's words still rung in her ear, and for the first time in a long time she felt the ache of homesickness. Even though she was standing in the same physical space as her life back home, this Capsule Corp., did not resemble the rundown hovel she lived in. And even though sometimes she felt self conscious about where she lived, she would've paid any price to just see it one more time.

Sensing her daughter's apprehension, Bulma thanked Kygo and her father and ushered her back to the lawn. She wrapped her arm around her shoulder once more.

"Hey," she said sweetly. "You should get some rest before the tournament."

"I feel like I should train," Bulla said, her voice dejected. "That's what Dad is probably doing."

"Who cares what he is doing," Bulma laughed. "You look tired."

Tears again formed in Bulla's eyes, prompting her mother to put a hand on her back.

"I don't know what happened," Bulma said. "I figure it has something to do with your dad. And I won't pry, because whatever happened between you two is your business. But I want you to know that regardless of what he thinks—or what happened—that I am proud of you. I bet your mom in the future is, too. Here."

Bulma pulled out a cellphone from her pocket and placed it in Bulla's hand. She took it and ran her thumb over the device's glass screen. Cellphones were pretty rare in her time—he androids kept destroying all the towers and they only really worked in dense cities—and it felt strange that Bulma just gave her one with little reservation.

"Take this phone—it's a spare," Bulma said. "Take the next few days off and go do whatever you'd like. I'll have my assistant get you some money. If you need anything, anything at all, just ask, okay?"

Bulla formed a small smile and nodded her head, placing the phone in her jacket pocket.

"But first thing's first," Bulma smiled. "We need to do something about this hair."