She was alone.

Her knees shook but she took another step. Her hands flexed outward before returning to a tight fist, nails cutting half-moon shapes in her palms. The pain ensured she was still alive. It was difficult to believe that she was. Throat too dry to swallow, she was helpless but to blink as the wind rustled her hair, blowing shoulder-length strands of blue in front of her face, skewing her vision, momentarily blocking the sight she so desperately did not want to see. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, clinging to her soiled cheek. Another step and her trembling knees gave out.

Falling was a strange thing. Even as the empty, hollow feeling of solitude engulfed her entire being and a very large part of her wanted death, she reached out and caught herself. The sound of her hands hitting the solid ground cut into the insufferable silence, and the force shook the tear loose and it dropped onto the leaves of blue grass.

There were few times in life where Bulma felt helpless; rarely were things so out of her power she couldn't set them right again. Not when she was so well versed in Shenron's abilities and in sole possession of the means to attain the dragon balls.

Her eyes lifted once more to see the bodies strewn across the serene landscape. Moments before it had been a battlefield. And shortly thereafter the site of a massacre. She'd already witnessed more than the average woman her age, but never before had she seen such carnage, such malevolence. Back flush against a distant boulder, she'd bit her lips together, willing herself not to scream or cry or make any sound to give her meager energy signal away.

If he'd felt her flickering ki, Frieza had thought she was gnat. Or whatever the Namek equivalent of a gnat was.

But Frieza was gone. After the battle he'd scoffed at the dead warriors and took off in his ship, alone. She wasn't sure if all of his men were dead or if he'd left them behind with such little care. She hadn't seen many of their enemies since landing on Namek, just a few dead soldiers and a spectacularly frightening runnin with Vegeta.

However, in the span of a few minutes, Vegeta had switched allegiances to fight for her side. Or their side. She wasn't really sure what was what anymore. But by some twist of fate, the same man who'd sought out to personally destroy her world and who'd raced to scramble the Namekian dragon balls together before the earthlings had become their strongest ally. Her strongest ally.

And then he'd been killed.

Just as Frieza had ripped her friends apart, some limb by limb, Bulma had cowered as he'd reduced the once mighty prince to a tangle of useless limbs. She'd stood there, frozen, listening as the prince begged - begged - Goku to avenge their people.

And one by one Frieza picked off her friends. Krillin. Sweet, innocent little Gohan. And then Goku, their one savior. He'd failed too.

With shaking elbows, she pushed herself to her feet. Closing the distance between her and the bodies, she paused by the first.

She pressed her fingers against his cheek. Gohan was far too young to meet this fate. His father lay a few yards to his left. She knelt by her oldest friend and took hold of his cold, lifeless hand. That was twice now. First the Saiyan on Earth and now the evil Lord Frieza. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, Goku wasn't the strongest there was.

Bulma could hardly recognize Krillin. And she quickly looked away, her eyes resting on the final body.

Vegeta.

Her teeth caught her lower lip and she bit down, hard.

Another steady step, and she crouched beside the fallen warrior. She knew next to nothing about him. He'd probably had only selfish reasons for joining their side, but in his last actions he'd fought for good. And in his last breaths he'd begged for vengeance.

And then she craned her neck in all directions. Someone was missing. The young Namekian lay near the jutting rocks on the far side, his tiny green hands splayed outward. She sucked in a breath. Not of sadness that he'd too died far too young, but with hope.

Piccolo wasn't here. He could still be alive.

And if Piccolo were alive, then Kami might be too.

She was there. She could get back to Earth and wish all of her friends back. What they'd do about Frieza or planet Namek, she wasn't sure. But she couldn't just wait here for her own death. She had to find Piccolo, and then she had to get home.

"Frieza..."

At the sound of the low growl, Bulma shrieked and jumped back. She landed on her butt, the hard ground stinging her tailbone. She blinked. Vegeta let out another grunt, and then coughed up a bit of blood.

"Frieza... Get..."

His words died, and Bulma swallowed back the dryness in her throat.

Her plan was shot. Probably. She stood and took three timid steps towards the prince. With a booted foot, she nudged his shoulder. His dark eyes snapped open, met hers and then he groaned as his world faded back to blackness.

"Well, damn," she muttered to the empty world. He was still alive. She could see the slight rising and falling of his chest, but the hole in his breastplate was far too close to his heart. He wouldn't last long.

She had to get him some help. And she definitely had to work on this plan of hers.

As it stood it was herself and two of her greatest past foes.

She felt like cursing again, but instead she took a steadying breath and unclipped her capsule belt. Medicine might not have been her forte, but she was versed in all the sciences. Certainly not in freakishly strong alien anatomy, but she was genius.

And she was getting the hell out of here.

Whaaaaat? Who's this old lady posting here?

Not the most original of ideas - I know - but I think I'm about ready to get back into the fandom. SO. Please feel free to send any recommendations of any stories I've missed this past year, and for the love of all that is good, please don't point out how rusty my writing has become. I'm working on it. :)

-Lady Lan