Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, you know the drill.
A/N: Ah, I'm such an evil little Mira….I wrote this chapter when I SHOULD have been taking the time to review other fics….but hey, when inspiration hits you, ya gotta use it, right? Unfortunately what triggered my inspiration for this chappie was the death of my dalmation. :..( But let's not get into that, shall we? Onto the fic!!
Meaningless - chapter 4
Bloodshed and Bitter Reunion
Their bodies were everywhere. They lay sprawled in the cracked street among the crumbled wreckage of buildings, twisted into abnormal positions. Some were barely recognizable, so badly their bodies had been marred or burned - indeed, some had been nearly destroyed completely. Anyone else would have turned at the horrific sight and wretched, but Vegeta, one who had watched entire civilizations die at his hands, simply stood in the midst of it all, unmoving.
Light was fast fading but no brilliant display of colour graced the sky. All was the same, impenetrable shade of grey, lifeless as the bodies littering the streets. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and even as Vegeta stood, chilling droplets of rain began to fall, mingling with the crimson pools which already covered the ground.
Haltingly, he came to each of his fallen comrades, his boots crunching over bits of broken glass and cement. Silently, he surveyed them all, paying each fighter their respectful dues.
First there was Yamucha. The Saiyan prince had never held much respect for the human, perhaps none at all, but no scathing comments entered his thoughts now. The man lay on his side, drawn tightly into a ball, face contorted in a visage of terror and intense pain. His skin was ashen as the sky above, all the fighter's life-blood having drained out through the gaping hole in his abdomen. Stiff fingers still clutched at the wound, forever frozen in a futile effort to stop the bleeding.
Next came Kuririn. Vegeta had mocked and insulted him many times in life, always irritated by the bald-headed human's happy nature. There was no trace of that joy now. Eyes which once danced with mirth and playful cheerfulness now were only empty sockets; whoever the attacker had been must have blasted the small man through the eyes and into his brain. An effective way of killing - Vegeta himself had used that particular technique before. Yet it was somehow different now... seasoned warrior that he was, Vegeta could not help but grimace at the former monk's singed face and turn away.
Not far away lay another, this one horrible charred and burned to the point of non-recognition. Only the tiny size of the corpse gave away its identity - Chaotzu. His blackened, childlike body was crumpled on a tilted slab of cement, and close by, nearly entirely obscured by broken chunks of brick and glass, was another battered form which could only be Tenshinhan.
Lastly, he came upon the battered remains of the strongest paladin of the fallen senshi - Piccolo. Vegeta stopped, and though his expression remained impassive, he closed his eyes in silent eulogy.
A great warrior has fallen.
Piccolo's form lay broken, sprawled across the rubble. Limbs were twisted and snapped - he must have endured a longer beating than the others. His clothing was ripped and ragged , exposing many deep wounds - too many. Thick, purple liquid had leaked from them onto the pavement, tainting the wet cement a sickly violet and soaking the tattered rags which clung to the warrior's torn muscles; all that was left of the Namekian's gi. A fatally large hole was centered in his chest, the ground visible through it covered thickly with dark blood. The steady drizzle of rain splashed and ran over is face, and though it removed some of the caked blood, it could do nothing to ease the expression of agony etched so deeply into the Namekian's features, nor the milky blankness which glazed over his once intensely burning eyes.
Vegeta started slightly, for in his silent observations he had not noticed the small form of a child nested beside the stiff body. At first he thought it was the corpse of a regular child, perhaps a victim Piccolo had been trying to defend. But another glance informed him otherwise; the unruly black hair, gi identical to that of Piccolo's, and finely chiseled muscles- far too developed for a regular human of that age revealed the boy's real identity.
Gohan was curled at Piccolo's side, not dead, but not conscious either. The boy was curled miserably into a ball, making his countenance appear even smaller and more helpless. He clutched Piccolo's ragged clothing in both fists asa if desperate to cling to his mentor as long as he could, even when he lapsed into unconsciousness. His dirty face was streaked with tears, and even in his sleep his expression turned to one of heartache, and a small, pitiful whimper escaped his throat. The painfully young demi-Saiyan had crawled beneath one of Piccolo's arms, and the now cold appendage hung limply over the boy's hunched shoulders as if the still form was returning Gohan's tear-choked embrace.
Vegeta bent down, carefully prying Gohan's fingers from Piccolo's gi. Roughly he lifted him into his arms, the boy's damp hair sticking to Vegeta's rain-soaked chest. Gohan stirred at the movement, face scrunching up as though he might cry. Vegeta tensed; he did not want to deal with an emotional seven year old under the present circumstances; but Gohan merely whimpered softly and went limp once more.
"Piccolo..." He whispered, a single tear sliding down his face to mix with the rain. He curled up in Vegeta's arms, looking suddenly vulnerable as a baby bird flung from its nest in a storm.
Vegeta took one last look at the mangled bodies scattered around him, bodies of honest men who had once fought at his side. They had been brave, despite their weaknesses, Vegeta had to credit them for that. Whatever had taken place here, they did not deserve to die like this, to have their corpses picked at by scavengers, left exposed to harsh winds and rain. Yet he had been too late. All were gone, and this was where they would forever rest; this broken, crumbled graveyard of ruined buildings and stolen lives.
Frowning, Vegeta pushed the twinges of remorse from his mind and, holding Gohan securely, blasted off into the now darkened sky towards home.
* * *
The drizzle had worsened into a downpour by the time Vegeta touched down on Capsule Corporation property. The ground churned, carefully manicured lawns reduced to mud under the heavy assault from the heavens. As soon as his aura of energy faded upon landing, Vegeta was instantly soaked to the bone. Gohan sniffled in his sleep and clung tighter to his bearer, face puckered like an infant about to cry.
Through the driving rain, Vegeta could just make out the outline of the CC building, in pristine order as usual and showing no outward signs that any attacks had taken place. In spite of himself, he breathed a sigh of relief; whoever had murdered and destroyed the other city and not been here.
His fears quenched, the Saiyan prince scowled, his only thoughts now focused on his anger. He had forsaken his resolutions to leave this place, and now, because of a stupid childish fear, he was back. Back in the mouth of all he had wanted to escape, and now he was trapped even deeper in the mire. Somehow he knew - the space pod would not be leaving Chikyuu again.
Gohan shifted in his sleep, bringing Vegeta abruptly out of his thoughts. Shaking water out of his eyes, he stormed into the house, slamming the door shut with his foot.
* * *
Bulma woke with a start at the sound of the front door. Blearily she sat up, shielding her eyes against the harsh overhead light. Her head ached, and her cheek was sore from having rested against the arm of the couch for so long.
I must have fallen asleep while watching the news.
Immediately after her phone call from ChiChi, Bulma had focused all her attention on the television once again, despite how traumatizing the images filling the screen were. She was painfully aware of the danger the z-senshi had placed themselves in when they left to find the jinzouningen, and knew that if anything were to happen, she would have to watch to find out.
Her mind cleared as she blinked the sleep out of her eyes, and she bolted upright. A million thoughts, hopes, and fears swarmed over her, and she raced through the hallways and flights of stairs towards the front door, leaping three steps at a time in her haste.
Someone's here, but who? Has something happened? Are they alright? Is it all over? O please let it be someone saying they're all alright!!
After what seemed an eternity, she burst through the door into the front living room, only to freeze a second later.
There before her, glaring as always, was Vegeta. The man she had tried so hard to forget for the past six months, whom she had convinced herself would not be coming back, now stood in her living room. Bulma's breath caught in her throat, and she had to steady herself against the doorframe while she swept her gaze over him, memorizing every detail of his appearance as though he would disappear the next instant.
He was scowling, angular features and onyx eyes radiating a fury she had never seen before at such a severe intensity. His obsidian, flame-like hair was wet from the rain which drummed on the roof and windows, and clung to his face and neck. Her eyes played over the sculptured muscles she knew so well, the scars which criss-crossed his body, some of which she was unfamiliar with. Bulma felt a nearly overpowering compulsion to run to him, but with stubborn willpower she remembered where and who she was, and a dark glare settled over her face instead. She was about to deliver a heated accusation when she noticed the small form cradled against his bare chest.
"Gohan?!"
Fear clasped her heart with sudden severity, and she rushed over to the sleeping demi-Saiyan, brushing damp, ebony locks from his forehead and noting his pain-filled face.
"Oh no..." she whispered, her greatest fears roaring upwards in a tsunami of emotion. She looked up at Vegeta, her penetrating gaze full of unspoken dread.
"Was he the only one?" Her voice cracked, a whisper barely audible even to Vegeta's highly sensitive hearing. He nodded sharply.
"They were massacred. Gohan is the only survivor."
Bulma's head shot up, her sapphire eyes blazing with fury and grief. Her body was rigid, and tears threatened to fall.
"Don't say that!" she snapped, taking Gohan's form into her arms regardless of her small size. "What makes you think I would want to hear that??"
Vegeta crossed his arms, on the defensive for the first time in half a year. He did not even have time to retort, however, as Bulma was already half-dragging Gohan out of the room towards the stairs. She cast a hateful look over her shoulder, gaze so filled with venom that anyone else would have recoiled from her.
"You stay here." she spat, the single tear running down her face betraying her seemingly pure anger. "We have some talking to do."
Outraged, Vegeta swore fervently under his breath at her slowly retreating back. Still, the rain of insults stuck in his throat; somehow, it didn't seem the proper time.
Bulma was struggling to carry Gohan, he slender frame trembling under the boy's weight.
"Geez, kid!" he heard her mutter, though her tone was thick and wavered with scarcely controlled tears. "You could do to take off a few pounds!!"
Vegeta rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms. In a few strides he was at her side, taking Gohan - who miraculously was still sleeping - from her arms into his own.
"Kami, woman, can't you do anything?"
She glared ferociously at him and moved as if to take Gohan back. Vegeta snorted and stepped out of her reach.
"Don't be absurd. You can't carry someone half his size with those skinny arms. Where to you want me to put him, weakling?"
Bulma's eyes seemed to shoot daggers, but she gestured up the stairs.
"Put him in the blue room at the end of the left hall. And be gentle!!" He shot her a withering look which she returned with equal vengeance.
"I'm going to call ChiChi to tell her she's alright." She turned to lave, but twirled around to fix him with one last piercing stare.
"Don't even think about going anywhere - I still want to talk to you."
"Do not order me!!" Vegeta growled, already halfway up the stairs. "Don't think I came back because of you!!"With that he turned his back to her, ignoring the curses she swore at him under her breath.
Oh, but you DID come back because of her, remember? the dry voice sneered. Or did you forget?
Vegeta's eye twitched, and he struggled to keep from shouting.
"Shut up!" he snarled, pausing as Gohan stirred. "I made the mistake of coming back, now leave me in peace!"
The voice laughed.
Very well. As you wish, Prince.
It vanished once again, leaving Vegeta alone with his anger. He stomped down the hall, too furious to even be quiet anymore. Kicking open the door to the room Bulma indicated, he dropped Gohan unceremoniously on the bed and tromped back out to the hall, his entire body shaking with fury and frustration.
Muttering profanities to himself, Vegeta did not even notice the tiny boy before him until her nearly tripped over him. He turned to vent his anger upon this person foolish enough to cross his path, when he was stopped short.
The lavender hair, the blue eyes identical in hue to his mother's... there was no mistaking who this child was.
His son.
Trunks tilted his head to one side, crystal blue eyes full of curiosity. He regarded the man before him with the innocence of his young age, and slowly recognition began to dawn on his features.
"Papa?"
He shuffled over to Vegeta, the socks of his soft yellow sleeper sliding on the tiled floor. He rested a chubby hand lightly on his father's leg, staring up at him with wide eyes full of adoration.
Vegeta scowled and moved away, causing Trunks to topple forward onto his hands and knees. The baby's face scrunched up and he opened his mouth to let out a wail —
"Don't even think about it, brat!" Vegeta growled, then headed down the padded stair without a second glance. Trunks stopped crying abruptly and crossed his arms, sticking out his tongue at his father's back in defiance.
Vegeta came to the base of the stairs, expression dark and stormy as the thunderclouds outside. First Bulma, now the brat... things were moving far too quickly, leaving him no time to rethink and sort things out. Even this house was more harm than help; every turn, every furnishing, every tile in the floor was familiar to him. It made him want to blast the entire place into tiny pieces.
Bulma certainly had not changed. Even he could not deny that she was beautiful; the first sight of her when she had entered the room and stood looking him over - somehow she had awakened all the emotions he had carefully buried withing himself over the past six months in a heartbeat.
He didn't like it. In all respects, he should not even be here. He should be on Velassar, training steadily as a true warrior would. Yet he could not erase the images of the look she gave him before he went up the stairs, her shockingly blue eyes filled with that fiery spirit he had first fallen for.
Vegeta snarled and his jaw tightened.
A Saiyan prince should never fall.
He came into the living room where Bulma waited. She rose upon his entry, her face an unreadable mask. She crossed the distance between them quickly, determination set upon her features. She was so close to him now...
Slap!!
Vegeta resisted the reflex to touch his stinging cheek and stared at the woman incredulously, though outwardly he showed only anger.
"What was that?" he demanded, locking gazes with matched fury. "I come back and this is how you greet me? How dare you strike a prince!"
Inwardly he cursed his stupidity.
Why did I say that?? Now I'll appear a sniveling weakling who depends on HER support, of all unworthy people!!
Bulma, however, was shaking with rage.
"How dare I?!?" she burst out, voice rising on every word. "How can you say that?? Is social status still all that matters to you?" She brought up her hand to strike him again, but Vegeta caught her wrist effortlessly.
"Where do you think you've been? You abandoned them, and now they're dead! ALL of them!! How prince-like is that to desert your own teammates?" She was nearing hysteria, though the anger in her eyes flamed brighter than Vegeta had ever seen it. Her other hand rose, but he caught that one as well.
"You bragged about your strength constantly, and how all of my friends were weaklings compared to you! Well if that's true, why weren't you there when they needed you? If you're really so powerful you should have been there to save them!"
Tears poured over her cheeks and she struggled against his hold on her wrists. Vegeta remained impassive and unmoving.
"You're a coward, Vegeta! A coward! You could have saved them but you hid while they fought until it was all over, and now every single one of them is dead! Do you hear me? " She was shouting now, consumed by her rage. Somewhere deep within him, Vegeta felt somehow betrayed by the look of absolute hatred she cast upon him.
"All my friends are DEAD!!"
Abruptly, her fury faded and she collapsed against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Vegeta's brows furrowed and he swallowed, unsure of how to act.
What she said had cut him more than he cared to admit; he had been abusing himself repeatedly for the same reasons. He took no pride in the reality that he had hidden away on his planet while the battle here took place. Had he been true to his race, he would have plunged into the fray without a second thought, simply for the exhilaration of the fight. The fact that the z-senshi died as cause of his hesitation did nothing to confuse his already confused state of mind, either. Personally their deaths did not effect him, but a true warrior would have fought alongside his comrades to the bitter end, regardless of petty complications. He was a disgrace to his kind.
Slowly, a new fire, a hatred, welled up inside him as Bulma wept. He loathed whoever had done this, whoever had attacked the senshi and slaughtered them so mercilessly. He hated whoever had caused Bulma so much pain. She was one of the most inwardly strong and stubborn people he had ever known, and to see her so distraught filled Vegeta with a compulsion to track down her tormentor so great that he nearly left right then and there. Only the sense of her form against him kept him from leaving.
Vegeta found himself wanting to protect her as he once had, to shield her from those things beyond her control. She was powerless to defend herself, but he possessed that power for her. He had come back for her, no-one else - she was his chosen mate, after all, and no-one on this pitiful planet had the right to cause the mate of a Saiyan prince such woes. He would make certain she never cried again.
He glanced down at her still shaking form, startled that he still held onto her wrists. Quickly he released them, then slowly moved to wrap his arm around her slender waist. At his first touch, however, Bulma's head snapped up, furious despite her tears. Roughly she pushed him away, fists clenched.
"Don't touch me!!" she snarled with startling ferocity, then whirled and fled up the stairs.
Vegeta registered his shock and pounded after her, face flaming with anger and humiliation that his pride had once again been stepped on so easily.
He reached the entrance to their old room just in time to receive a pillow and blanket directly in the face, the door slamming shut immediately following their delivery. He stood glaring at the door for a full minute before, finally convinced that the room's occupant had no intention of opening it again, glowering all the way down the stairs to the living room where he dropped rigidly onto the couch, seething.
He had put his pride on hold for her, abandoned his vows to stay away from this cursed planet, and even gone so far as to almost show affection towards her, and had received nothing in return but injury to his ego.
"I should never have come back."
He glared at the ceiling for another moment before rolling over, back stiff with agitation, to attempt sleep.
* * *
The next morning dawned bright and cold. The skies were still overcast with dim grey clouds, and freezing winds tore across the lands. Trees bent from the icy gusts, their creaking moans joining with the anguished cries of people from every city and town as news of the South City tragedy spread like wildfire, awakening fear in even the bravest of souls. Everything seemed faded into the same formidable shade, the landscape as bleak and empty as the millions of shattered hearts.
Inside the CC compound, the air tingle with hostility. Two people occupied the spacious kitchen - one concentrated all her attention on a slowly filling coffee pot, the other sat grimly at the table, charcoal eyes following the woman's every movement. Though their combined presences were creating obvious tension, neither figure left the room, refusing to give the other the satisfaction of watching them leave.
Vegeta watched Bulma with hawk-like sharpness while she waited for her coffee, noting every detail. The previous night's events had taken a hard toll on her as was to be expected. Her posture was hunched and almost defeated, and she rested on the counter-top weakly. Tiredly she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, never looking away from the coffee pot. She looked so frail, so vulnerable...he rubbed his cheek where she had slapped him the night before and smirked. No matter how weak she may appear, she certainly had some fire left in her.
Bulma poured a mug full of now steaming coffee and sat down heavily at the table, sighing gustily. Her eyes were red and swollen; if she didn't stop crying all the time she was going to ruin her complexion. She knew Vegeta was watching her - his focus had never wandered since she arrived in the kitchen half an hour ago. Finally losing her patience, she brought her haze up sharply to counter his, fine eyebrows drawn into a challenging glare.
"Do you mind?" she said testily, noting with minute satisfaction that the slightest traces of surprise flickered through his eyes at her sudden change in behaviour. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't look at me like that. Don't think I can't see you, you vulture."
Vegeta snorted and stood up from the table.
"Don't flatter yourself, woman." he sneered, then crossed the room and began pulling various items out of the refrigerator. The weighted silence settled over them once more.
Bulma set down her mug and massaged her temples, expression filled with pain and confusion. More than anything she wanted to fall into Vegeta's embrace and let him take away her sorrows, to feel his strong arms around her and lean back against that muscular chest. She needed comfort - the tragic events of the day before were tormenting her beyond comprehension, and she desperately needed someone to lean on. Somehow, it hurt more now, with Vegeta in the same room but so unreachable, than it did when he was millions of miles away. Her whole being cried out to accept him again...but she could not forgive him for leaving her as he did; for leaving all of them. She would never forgive him for letting them die.
A hot trickle ran down her cheek, and she wiped it away with her thumb, holding in the sobs which fought to burst out from within her. She would not let him see her cry again. Kuririn, Yamucha...people she had grown up with, shared her hopes, dreams, and adventures, laughed with her, and been there to catch her tears. People whose close friendships were irreplaceable, and whose deaths now left a gaping hole in her heart so vast she feared I would swallow her up lest she drop her guard. First Son, now the others...it was as if time was playing a cruel game against her, and all she could do was weep.
Vegeta wolfed down his platter of sausages and dropped the pan in the sink with a resounding clatter. Bulma flinched and turned her head to glare at him, though he pretended not to notice.
"Can't you be careful with anything?" she snapped, though it was more of a statement than a question. Vegeta shot her a disgusted look and headed for the door.
"I'm going out to train. You would be wise not to bother me." He was almost out the door when her voice stopped him.
"Wait..." She sounded suddenly desperate, and he turned, mildly curious, though h plastered a dark scowl on his face.
"What now?" he barked. Bulma scrambled up from the table, her entire attitude drastically changed. Where before she appeared angry and obstinate, now she was small and fearful as a young child.
"Please," she said, voice soft and pleading. "Take me to them."
Whatever harsh commentary and grating insults Vegeta had formulated abruptly died. He found his iron resolve slipping away, and he nodded grimly.
"Very well," he stated simply, and Bulma could have wept with relief. "Though I warn you - you will have to be strong."
Bulma drew herself up, regaining her normal, business-like composure. Vegeta felt oddly proud of her...by physical standards she was pathetically weak, yet she managed to endure so much...
"Let's go then."
Just as they were leaving, soft footsteps sounded from the far end of the kitchen. Both turned, knowing all too well who the newest arrival was.
Gohan stood in the doorway, hair tousled and unbrushed. His clothing was rumpled from having slept in it, and several patches sported dark, crumbling stains - undoubtedly Piccolo's blood. The young demi-Saiyan's eyes were sandy from his fitful sleep, and he bore the wild, terrified look of a cornered animal.
"Where's Piccolo?" he demanded, the question hovering in the air like the toll of a death bell. "I was with him...what did you do with him?" His voice shook, and his gaze darted back and forth between the two other figures desperately. He did not appear to be in the least surprised or taken aback at Vegeta's presence...though it was likely that the boy was too shaken by the death of his mentor to notice anything.
Bulma walked cautiously towards him, her own face full of sympathy.
"Gohan, honey..." she paused, though whether she was struggling for words or fighting back tears Vegeta was unable to determine due to her turned back. "Piccolo and the others...didn't make it through. We were just leaving to go to them."
Gohan's eyes widened in shock, and he trembled violently.
"You left him there?!?"
Bulma winced visibly, and she stretched out her arm to comfort the horrified boy.
"There was nothing I could do, I'm sorry....I'm going back for him now."
Gohan swatted her hand away, his untamed appearance adding to the air of desperation around him.
"How could you leave him there?!? What...what if he's cold? Or lonely? I promised him I'd never leave him! How could you just abandon him like that?"
Bulma stared at him, tears welling up in here eyes and spilling down over her pale skin.
"Gohan..."
Vegeta's lip curled, and he shook his head.
"The boy's gone mad." he said disgustedly. "What a waste."
Bulma whirled on him, eyes ablaze.
"Don't say that!" she snapped. "Can't you see how much he's suffering right now?"
Gohan interrupted before Vegeta could respond.
"I want to come."
Bulma turned a pain-filled gaze on the boy, holding out her hands in apology.
"Gohan, I'm sorry, but your mother should be here to pick you up soon..."
Gohan began shaking harder, and his head reared backwards as a tormented scream erupted from the centre of his sorrow-laden heart. Hair flickered back and forth between ebony and gold, and an aura of brilliant yellow curled and blaze around the boy's body.
Bulma was flung backwards at the sudden burst of power, crashing into the counter and tumbling to cower on the floor, one arm held in front of her face to shield her eyes from the blinding light.
Vegeta watched Gohan's transformation through narrowed eyes, teeth clenched.
So I was correct in my assumptions, he thought with more than a light taste of bitterness. He is a Super Saiyan.
Plaster began raining down from the ceiling as Gohan's power began to escalate, the floor and walls of the room crackling and quaking. Finally Gohan stopped his heart-wrenching cry, though he remained in his ascended state, wet emerald eyes firm with determination.
"Let...me....come!"
Bulma rose shakily to her feet, eyeing Gohan nervously.
"Alright," she relented. "But it won't help, you know that."
As abruptly as it came, Gohan's energy faded, his hair turning back to its original black. With slumped shoulders, he breathed a sigh of gratitude, brushing away his tears with the back of his hand.
"Thanks, Bulma."
"No problem, kid." Her voice was slightly constricted, but she managed a weak, sad smile. She disappeared briefly into the next room to retrieve Trunks, who thankfully had been occupied by cartoons during the entire ordeal, and soon re-emerged with the toddler strapped into a baby carrier on her back. Taking Gohan's hand in hers, she followed Vegeta out the door and onto the back patio.
"Which one of your sluggish contraptions are you taking, woman?" he asked gruffly when they joined him. He had a strange look on his face, one that Bulma couldn't quite recognize, and his gaze was fixed on Gohan.
"I thought it'd be faster if you flew me there..."
Vegeta turned sharply to face her.
"Are you really that anxious to see them?" Vegeta asked, though his voice lacked its usual venom.
"Please." She was staring at her shoes now, and he could tell she was trying to hide her tears. A single, crystalline drop fell from the corner of her eye to splash onto the wooden deck.
Kami, she cries a lot! Vegeta scowled, his blood beginning to boil once again at whoever had placed this burden over her. Gohan soon broke into the silence.
"Can we please go now?" his voice was slightly higher than usual, and he looked as if he was struggling against another breakdown.
Vegeta nodded once, then scooped Bulma up in his arms, careful not to accidentally squash the baby slumbering in the carrier on her back. The small group took to the air in a flash of pale blue light, two glimmering trails lingering in the otherwise grey sky where they passed. No-one spoke, hushed into sorrowful silence, as all braced themselves for the vista of pain they knew would soon unfold before them.
* * *
The chill wind whipped mercilessly across the broken landscape as the grim party landed in the ruins of South City. The sky above churned, and though no rain fell, the icy air threatened of another storm. Bits of debris, and other objects which Bulma closed her eyes against, blew across their feet, as though even the harsh winds were trying to erase the picture of destruction sprawling before them. The sickening stench of death and decay clung to everything despite the wind, and Bulma had to fight to keep from gagging.
As soon as his feet touched he pavement, Gohan took off at a dead run into the midst of the rubble, flinging himself, sobbing, over Piccolo's prone body. Bulma watched the one-sided reunion through tear-filled eyes, the wind blowing her turquoise hair across her face. She had never seen Gohan so deeply wounded from within, not even at his father's burial had she witnessed such a reaction from him. Now he lay on Piccolo's blood-caked chest, arms wrapped tightly around the Namekian's neck while salty tears dripped from the boy's closed eyes in an endless stream onto his mentor's shoulder, thick sobs shaking his small body. It was almost enough to make her turn back home.
Almost.
Retrieving a capsule from her jeans pocket, Bulma threw the device on he ground. In a puff of smoke and soft metallic whir, a jet-copter appeared where the capsule had been. Vegeta watched in slight confusion until Bulma took Trunks from the carrier on her back, placing the slumbering toddler in the 'copter on one of the lavishly cushioned seats.
"Keep sleeping, baby," she crooned, running her fingers lightly over his face and brushing a wisp of silken lavender hair off his smooth forehead. "This isn't for you to see."
Gently shutting te door so as not to wake him, Bulma straightened up, squaring her shoulders. She held a look of grim determination barely covering intense grief as though she was headed to her own death, not into the graveyard of others. With steadfast resolve, she walked slowly, ever so slowly, into the wreckage where the bodies lay.
Vegeta watched her from a distance, arms crossed. She seemed suddenly hesitant to enter that area that so reeked of death - the death of her life-long friends and companions. Her legs trembled slightly, but she held her head high, forever trying to be strong. He watched her stop, and her hands flew to her mouth. She crouched down over one of the bodies, so great was her sorrow that it poured over Vegeta's mind in waves.
He felt every shuddering breath drawn into her body, every choked sob, every shining tear leaking out of her grief-laden eyes. Her guard had crumbled away as easily as dry sand as soon as she saw the first body, and unknowingly she re-opened the pathway of clear understanding which had once existed between them. With slight effort and another emotion he could not name, Vegeta closed his end of the link.
It is not even my place to intrude upon her grieving.
Bulma gasped as she recognized the curled form on the cement at her feet. She felt her eyes stinging immediately, but she no longer cared about her tears. She had shed so many already, it was pointless to try and stop them now. It wouldn't make a difference anyway. She dropped to her knees, the wetness on her cheeks splashing onto the agonized, scarred face of the body before her.
"Yamucha..."
The wind stole the whisper from her lips, and she covered her face with her hands, suddenly regretting coming to this desolate plain of endless suffering. Desperately she longed to only remember him as the laughing, joking, over-protective man she had known, but the image of his corpse was now embedded firmly in her mind, with no way of erasing it. No... she had wanted to come, and she would not turn back now. She couldn't leave them here...they deserved better than this.
Tearing off a strip of fabric from the hem of her t-shirt, she wiped her own face, dampening the material with the moisture on her cheeks. With utmost care, she gently washed the blood from her friend's face with her tears, smoothing his anguished expression into one of sedate calm. She worked slowly, softly, almost lovingly massaging away all trace of his pain. She could hear Gohan still weeping somewhere behind her, bu the sound was distant somehow, separated. She continued easing the suffering from Yamucha's face until she could almost believe he was only sleeping. If she kept her gaze trained on his face, perhaps she wouldn't have to see the bloody hold below his chest...
When at last Yamucha held a peaceful expression, Bulma ran her fingers softly down his face, closing his eyes.
"Rest in peace, Yamucha," she whispered, fingers lingering on the cross-shaped scar on his left cheek she used to kiss when they were dating. Gathering the now darkened cloth in her hands, she rose to her feet to continue her gruesome task. She shuddered harder now, and though her face was still calm, Vegeta could see how heavily the blow of the first body had struck her. Still, she did not stop, intent on finishing her slow, silent way of saying goodbye.
When she came to Kuririn's body, however, Bulma's control shattered. Horror splashed openly over her features and she fled from the sight of his mangled corpse, ducking behind the crumbled wall of a nearby building where Vegeta could hear her vomiting. After a few moments she reappeared, face ashen and wet with fresh tears.
She did not stop at any more bodies. Rather, she stepped carefully into the centre of the misshapen circle their forms made, not speaking, just standing, silent. The wind had picked up, and Vegeta could see that she was shivering with cold. He moved up behind her, raising his chi slightly to envelope her small form in the soft aura of warmth. Her head jerked around at the first brush of heat, however, and she glared savagely at him through intensely blue eyes.
"Leave me." she whispered, her tone sharp and hard as a razor, yet wavering slightly as if it too was buffeted by the growing gale. Vegeta kept her gaze for a moment, then slowly backed away. Her pain seemed to pulsate through the bitter air, and he gave her space out of respect for her suffering.
So there she stood, alone, chin lifted bravely against the wind and the pain. Her arms hung loosely at her sides as though she did not even acknowledge the cold, and though her body quaked from the chill, still she stood there, unmoving. Her hair swirled and blew back from her face, a few pale wisps fluttering across her forehead and cheeks in a strangely beautiful way. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks though she did not utter a sound, not even the faintest whimper, standing tall and still in the midst of the bodies of her friends and defenders. In that moment, she looked more like a goddess than a mortal woman.
Kami, she's brave...Vegeta admitted to himself, though to his surprise his tone held no grudge or reluctance. A new respect for her was born as she stood there, silently bearing her torment - alone.
Finally, she broke. The squared shoulders drooped, and she turned to walk back towards him, arms wrapped around her body in attempt to protect herself from the cold. When she reached him, her fair face was so burdened with hurt and heartache he scarcely recognized her.
"I...I can't move them." she choked, her voice several tones deeper from the sobs which stuck in her throat. "It doesn't seem right to bury them, after they fought so hard, just to be put in a hole in the ground...but I can't just leave them here either..." she raised her eyes in a penetrating gaze. "Would you..."
Vegeta silenced her with a wave of his hand.
"I will see to it that they are given a warrior's departure." He sounded sickeningly gentle, almost kind...but even more strangely, he didn't care, and for once the dry voice stayed silent.
Bulma nodded her thanks, suddenly tired. The exhausting event had drained every ounce of her every ounce of strength, and she leaned against the side of the jet-copter as Vegeta retraced her steps into the ruined battlefield. He looked at her briefly, then turned to the nearest body, a ball of energy already shimmering in his palm.
Bulma issued a strangled cry at the last second and fled to the inside of the 'copter, not wanting to see as Vegeta reduced the charred bodies to ashes.
One by one, they all vanished in the ceremonial Saiyan way to bury the dead. Gusts of wind swirled among the piles of ash, stirring the soft, grey particles and lifting them in a twirling dance into the air. Vegeta turned to the last remaining body, preparing a final energy blast beneath his fingers. He was just about to fire when Gohan seemed to spring up from the rocks, shielding Piccolo's body with his own.
"NO!!" He screamed, eyes wide and frenzied. "Don't touch him! You'll hurt him!"
Vegeta scowled, prepared to shove the messy-haired boy out of the way if necessary. Still, Gohan held his ground, though is legs shook and he gulped continually to force down the tears.
"Boy," Vegeta growled, though not quite as vehemently as normal. "Get out of the way."
Gohan shook his head furiously, and Vegeta increased the intensity of the softly humming globe of light in his hand.
"A warrior such as your friend should not be left to have his bones picked at by mice an birds."
His words sunk in, and Gohan's head drooped. He still did not move aside, however, but looked at Vegeta pleadingly.
"Let me do it."
Vegeta conceded, the ball of energy fading into nothingness once more. He turned back to his mate and son, leaving Gohan kneeling broken-heartedly over his mentor's body.
Vegeta rapped once on the door of the 'copter, and waited while a swollen-eyed Bulma slowly opened it.
"It is finished."
Bulma nodded, strapped Trunks once into the carrier on her back, and capsulized the 'copter.
"Take me home." she croaked bleakly. "I don't think I can fly the 'copter right now."
For once Vegeta didn't argue, and he swept her up in one motion. Neither spoke as they took to the skies, pale swirls of ash dancing through the air around them.
A few moments later, Gohan flew past them, sobbing, in a scorching blaze of golden energy, the air where he passed shimmering with heat. Bulma squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face against Vegeta's chest, tears trickling slowly down her cheeks.
"No more, please..." she whispered softly between quiet sobs. "No more.
A/N: Phew, and another chapter is finished at last!! My mind has seriously shut down due to lack of sleep, so that's all for today. Oh, um, story advertising…. I'm too tired to think, I'll repost with an advertisement later. Okies? Ok.
~Mira
