Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z is owned by the absolute genious Akira Toryama. I do not own these characters, or make any prophet what-so-ever off of this story. I write it out of respect for Akira, and his wonderful characters.

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From The Author: I'm sad to say that this story is nearing it's end. This is not the last chapter, but it is close. However, after this, I might write one more short sequel story. Please fans, don't abandon me after this is all over. I have so many ideas. I know that I'm making this plea a little ahead of time, but I just wanted to make sure. Well, anyway, here's the chapter. Your going to love this!

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Chapter Ten; Sad news, and Baba's Gift

Fifteen Years Later...

Vegeta was sitting at the dining room table trying to do his taxes, and failing. Oh, why did he ever bet Bulma that he could do it himself?! "Bra!", he yelled, "Bra?!". He waited a little longer. "Trunks!"

"Yeah, Dad?", Trunks said, walking out with a laptop in his hand.

"Where's Bra? I need her help with this."

"She's babysitting Pan for Gohan. She won't be back for a while. I'm really busy right now. Can I get back to you later?", Trunks asked.

"Whatever.", was Vegeta's reply.

Trunks left, and Vegeta got a jult of sorrow. He knew that Bulma was fine. It must have just been an emotion shared through thier bond. He decided to ignor it, as Bulma often overreacted to things anyway.

Thirty minutes later, Bulma walked in the room with tears pouring down her face. He got up, and she ran to him, and hugged him. "What's wrong?! Bulma talk to me!"

"She's dead, Vegeta.", she replied.

"Bra?! Please tell me my daughter's not dead!", Vegeta replied, worried, and wandering why he hadn't realized it.

"No, Vegeta. My mom is dead." She bawled into his shirt.

He mentally sighed in releif, but still felt some sorrow, mostly just for Bulma though. "That's horrible.", he said, "It's sad when good people die young.", he said, trying to show his concern.

"Young? What do you mean young? My mother was seventy-eight years old, Vegeta. She lived a full life." Bulma seemed to calm a bit when she said those words to him. "Thanks for comforting me as much as you could. I realize now that my mom lived a long, happy life." bulma walked into the bedroom, probably to cry some more. He didn't want to argue with her about the fact that seventy-eight years old was barely half a lifetime. A slight fear shot through him, but he dismissed it. Bulma was dilusional, right? A human's lifespan had to be longer than that.

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Two weeks later...

Bulma came into the house with the mail. "Hay, Vegeta, look at this.", she said.

"What is it?", he asked.

"Well, you know Baba, right?"

"The psycic?"

"Yeah. She sent us a letter. It says that she's decided to share her gift, and give each of her friends a free reading. Your scheduled for today. You don't want to do, right?", Bulma said.

Vegeta had a few questions that only a psycic could answer. "I'm going. I want to see how this fortune telling stuff works."

She looked surprized. "Wow. Well, she wants you there in an hour."

He nodded.

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One hour later...

Vegeta sat across from the short old woman. She gazed into a sphere. "You are distressed.", she said.

"I'm fine. Now how does this work, because I have e few questions I would like you to answer.", he said.

"Ask away."

"Well this is kind of complicated. You see, I don't want you to tell me the day that I'm going to die. I want to know-given everything remains as it is right now-what will my natural life-span be?"

"Well, you are a strong, healthy Saiya-jin warrior, and with no real stresses in your life." She staired into the crystal ball. "You would live to be two-hundred and twelve years old.", she said.

"And Bulma?", he asked.

"Seventy-two years old.", she said. He felt his heart sink. "I'm sorry.", she said.

"No. I'm fine. I was just curious, that's all." He began walking out, then stopped. "Thankyou.", he said.

"Your welcome, child."

Then he left. 'Bulma, your going to leave me alone again, aren't you?', he thought as he looked into the water that surrounded the fortune-teller's fortress, 'I simply don't know if I can take it again.'

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From The Author: This is very short, I know. Can you tell I'm done with the mushy stuff now? I'm sorry, but I'm an angst writer, plain and simple. I hoe you like it. There will be a new chapter out very soon, but you probably already knew that. Thanks again to all of my reviewers. Don't stop now! Bye!