Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.
A/N: I'll talk a little more later. For now, enjoy.
What a Horrible Thing to Say
Vegeta stared vacantly at the screen as Bulma wept softly beside him, her legs tucked up beneath the afghan that Chichi had crocheted for her when she was pregnant with Bulla. Their glasses were drained of wine and sat abandoned on the coffee table. The lights were off and the curtains were drawn. The house was silent save for the rain outside and the movie they were watching. He groaned as the funeral began and Bulma sobbed particularly hard.
"Oh, come on," Bulma moaned, unable to tear her eyes away from the TV. "This is sad. Even you have to feel some sort of sympathy."
The Prince shook his head. "He is young. People will die and he will move on. Dragging this on is simply…salting the wound."
"Gwen was his first love, Vegeta, she meant the world to him. Losing her was like losing everything. Maybe Peter doesn't know who he is or what to be without her."
"He is a warrior, a hero if you want, and he is Spiderman. Mortals die, and it should drive him." He scoffed as cries for Spiderman filled the screen. "What a coward."
Bulma swatted his arm. The movie played on and when the credits finally rolled Vegeta rose to his feet immediately to turn on the lights. His wife followed him with a displeased look.
"Vegeta, please try not to be grumpy," she pleaded half-heartedly. It's our first night without the kids in a long time and-"
"Exactly," he said. "It has been a long time. I do not wish to melt my brain with this drivel when I could…be…"
"Spending it with me?" she finished for him. His silence affirmed her suspicions so she went to him.
Her fingers delved into the thick upsweep of Vegeta's hair; he tilted his head with her and his shoulders eased. The other hand grabbed his shoulder as she pulled herself into him, into a kiss, breathing slowly and deeply. His hands found her waist expertly, long accustomed to the contours of her body. He held her in place as he tasted her lips and audibly groaned when she pulled away.
"Is that more what you had it mind?" Her eyes sparkled in the near dark. He grinned, tightened his grip, nodded twice. Bulma's smile lit up the room, and Vegeta had to close his eyes it was so bright.
When she was laying on her stomach, Bulma always kicked her feet in the air, which was exactly what she was doing when Vegeta came back with a glass of water from the kitchen. She was still bare and sprawled on the living room carpet, a brilliant, sparkling pearl. She wasn't smiling as she watched his feet approaching.
"What would you do?" she asked.
"I believe I've come in the middle of a conversation. Explain."
"What happened with Gwen and Spiderman. What would you do if, you know, I died?"
He sipped from his glass absently. "Not really an 'if.' Your pathetic human genes render you far weaker to the ravages of time. If both of us die by natural causes, your death will surely come first."
"Way to avoid the question."
Vegeta met her eyes and did not speak for several minutes. Finally, softly, "I would gather the Dragon Balls and wish you back myself."
Bulma shook her head. "No." He gaped. "I don't want you to waste a wish like that on me."
"Aside from all of the things you have been involved with extraterrestrially, you and your father have made such leaps of scientific advancements that your passing would be a tragedy. A wish on you would not be a waste."
"Fine. I don't want to be wished back."
Vegeta could think of no other response than, "Why?"
She sighed and pushed herself up onto her hip. She grabbed his discarded shirt and pulled it easily over her head. "I was the one that started the race for the Dragon Balls. I was the one to discover their history, start hunting them down. Hell, all of my questions and flashing around of these mysterious artifacts is probably what started everything. For hundreds of years, no one had even heard of these things, and within the first few years I'd discovered the first one, strange folk and malicious threats have unearthed themselves. I mean," she grinned at him. "They're why you came to Earth and almost destroyed it."
"So you…what? What will you accomplish by not utilizing them?"
"Maybe," she started. "Maybe it'll be the end of this age of using them. Maybe it's time they fall back into obscurity. It started with me – it should end with me, too."
Vegeta shook his head. "I still don't understand."
"Please," she pleaded. "Promise me. Promise you won't wish me back if something happens."
He choked out, "I promise."
Everyone stood in the living room of their home in Capsule Corp, in the same living room Bulma had invited them, fed them, loved them, berated them, given them Christmas presents. The children had been sent off with Hercule and Buu, something that usually would have raised a helluva ruckus over, but today everyone seemed grateful for Hercule's enthusiasm and Buss impermeable, child-like glee. The women stuck together on the couch, resting their heads on each other's shoulders, white-knuckle gripping each other's hands, comforting each other with soft and placating words. The men occasionally floated toward them, flotsam caught in a drift and brought briefly to shore before taken back out again. Trunks stared quietly past the faces of those that spoke to him. Bulla waited for an excuse to jump down anybody's throat. Aina tried desperately to console or comfort her husband, but at the warning of her sister-in-law that 'he's too much like Dad,' she gave up and took to bringing in water and snacks for everyone else. Trunks would have laughed at the similarities between his wife and his grandmother if he had the energy too.
"So," Gohan eventually started, taking his hand from his wife's shoulder. "What's the plan? What are we going to do?"
Trunks sighed. "Mom said she wanted a traditional funeral, no embalming. Headlines in every paper from here to Orange Star City, a memorial fundraiser in her name for getting C.C. tech to the poorer regions of the world, and a quiet, family and close-friends only ceremony where we bury her in the old family plot next to Grandpa and Grandma. Other than tha-"
"Why are we discussing this?" Bulla snapped, spinning on her brother, blue hair flying. Everyone stepped back. "Mom's death wasn't natural. I'm not going to a funeral any time soon, and the news outlets don't even know yet." Out of her back pocket, she produced a circular device that looked like an oversized watch. "I'm going to get Shenron. You guys can stay here if you want."
Before anyone could stop her, Bulla's aura exploded blue and she flew towards the open back door, over the balcony into the sky-
The steel grip on her ankle jerked her backwards, threw her unceremoniously to the concrete ground of the balcony. Bulla fell into a heap; her power disintegrated around her as the others raced towards the glass to see what had happened.
Vegeta was walking away, hands tucked inside his pockets, back to the crowd. "Stay," he order, muttered, explained as he took his usual place, sitting on the rail to the far left, outside leg dangling nerve-rackingly over the edge. Bulla got to her feet and stomped towards him.
"What is your malfunction?" she snapped. "Mom is dead. I'm going to go get her back the only way we can. Unless you like that she's dead."
"Bulla!" Goku squeaked.
"Shut it," she turned her fire at him. "This is a family matter, and last I checked Trunks and Goten hadn't married yet, so you get to stay out of this."
"Good lord, Bulla," Trunks chided softly, but she ignored him and rounded once more on her father.
"Are you happy with Mom dead, Dad? Are you fine with the woman who gave you everything rotting in the Earth, waiting for you in Otherworld? Are you getting some sick satisfaction, that you outlived her? Or are you so proud that you won't even ask the Eternal Dragon for help, just this once, for something important rather than some silly, stupid, redundant wish for immortality? Is that it? You'll let your own stupid pride keep you from letting me get my mom back? Huh? What is it?"
By the end of her rampage, she was crying, flourishing her hands almost violently as she gestured at her father, the world, the city, anything at all. She had not gotten within reaching distance of her father, and he had never looked up. Only now was he shaking his head.
"What is it then?" Bulla wept. "Why won't you let me have my mother back?"
The prince didn't look at his daughter. He only stared out at the night sky and spoke so softly only his two children heard him.
"She made me promise." He turned his gaze briefly to them. "I promised I'd let her die."
Bulla stared but had no rebuttal to make. Trunks grabbed her upper arm gently and guided her back inside. Vegeta did not follow and stayed the rest of the night outside, even letting the dew settle on him in the early morning hours. He kept his promise and did not wish her back. Everything in his body begged for him to do so.
The Bulma Briefs Memorial Foundation raised more money than any in Capsule Corp. history. Her body was not embalmed, only close friends and family (including her sister Tights) arrived, no paparazzi were let inside, and her tombstone was made of pink granite, a color and gloss that made it stand out in the West City cemetery. Vegeta used his fingernail to carve on old Saiyan word, loyalty with intimate or familial undertones, a word English had no equivalent to, on the bottom corner. It was the closest word he had. His son was approaching; Vegeta could think of nothing to say, so he stared quietly at the only remaining piece of his wife in this world.
He had promised and broken his word many times. He wished this hadn't been one of the things he chose to keep.
A/N: So, now we know why Bulma wasn't wished back and also why Bulla blames her father for her mother's death. Next update will return to Sokka and her training under Vegeta. Please review, enjoy, and look out for the next chapter of Play Dead. It's on its way, I promise!