Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

A/N: Hey! Thanx for understanding. And sorry for the wait; I've had a lot of exams this week. (Can't wait till summer! I'm gonna write non-stop!) Anyway, let's get back on track here.

The Perfect Flaw

Chapter VII

"How did you escape, honey?" Bunny asked curiously, coming in from the kitchen to offer a plate of cookies. She shook her head in dread. "I'm sure they weren't happy."

Bulma couldn't help but laugh as she thought back to her escape. "Yeah, you could say that."

Delicately she retrieved a cookie from off the plate, examining it carefully with one eye. So this was a cookie, huh? Mark had told her about them; he'd said that depending on who made them, they were small delicious morsels that caused a lot of Earth obesity because they were so irresistible. Slowly she sank her teeth, noting as she was met with a warm, soft, sweet taste that washed over her taste buds. She shivered with pure bliss. To add to her pleasure, in the background she could make out the dull sound of the television. Here she was, witnessing the contraption for the first time.

Bulma turned to glance to her father, hoping to find him with a heartwarming smile and a cookie in his hand. To her disappointment she instead saw as he slouched weakly in his chair, his head blocked from view as it leaned over the back. He pushed himself, willed all the strength he'd had, just to come downstairs and sit with his daughter. Though happy and touched, Bulma found herself constantly checking him with a worried glimpse, something gnawing in the back of her mind; he was obviously in pain. "Dad, are you sure you shouldn't be in bed?"

With difficulty Dr. Briefs lifted his head, a stubborn look on his face. "Of course not!" came the defensive response. "I'm perfectly fine!" His glare transformed suddenly, changing from one of defense to one of confusion. "What is that?"

Bulma blinked incredulously. "Dad, it's a cookie!" She'd think he'd know what a cookie was, or maybe the illness was making him disoriented.

"Not that," he said. "That."

Bulma let her eyes follow his directed finger, stopping upon the t.v.. A man in a brown clad suit and tie stared back at her with a look of distress, talking furiously into his microphone. "What we have here may alarm many of you watching," he roared over the raging wind, stepping abruptly to the side. Gradually the camera zoomed in, focusing clearly on a small, spherical pod which lay within a landing crater: her small, spherical pod. Bulma subconsciously winced at her careless blunder. Oops.

The reporter continued quickly, fear evident in his voice. "Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen. You may recognize this pod as the exact same used by the Saiyans. What could this mean? For those of you that know of what I speak, are they back to wreak havoc again? And just how long can we keep 'The Vow of Silence'? Should the younger generation have a right to know?"

"Oh my!" Bunny exclaimed, a dainty hand flying to her mouth to stifle the gasp.

"They followed you here!" Br. Briefs said in sudden alarm as he studied the slick, white pod. Boldly he sprung forward in his chair.

Meanwhile, Bulma wrung her hands with wroughtShe was desperate not to spoil this comfortable family time"No! No! You don't understand!" she cried innocently. "That's my ship. That's the one I came in!"

Her parents had turned to her now, their stares blank, as if trying to comprehend what Bulma had just informed them. Her thin brows knitted delicately together in sudden defense, her mouth forming a tight frown. "Well, what was I supposed to do?" she asked angrily, "Carry it?"

Bunny's sudden giggle earned another glare from the blue-haired girl. "Seems like someone's inherited their father's temper!" The tease was meant to be light hearted, but only resulted with a small "hmph!" as a response. "To think, here I am seeing you for the first time, and already you remind me so much of you father!"

Pushing the remark aside, Bulma paused to replay the reporter's words within her mind. What had he meant when he'd said "Vow of Silence"? Her eyes gleamed with a scientist's curiosity, and she was unaware that her anger was already simmering back to its initial state: a dormant volcano. She turned to Mrs. Briefs. "What's the 'Vow of Silence'?"

Her mother blinked as she absorbed the question. "Well . . ." she began, a grim smile gracing her lips. "After the attack and the Saiyans left, more than two decades ago already, many felt it was an opportunity to 'start over'. They felt it better not to let the younger generation know— I'm not sure why— I suppose because they didn't want their children and grandchildren to live in fear, awaiting the day that the Saiyans would come back.

"I'm not sure I agree with this though," she continued, stating her tenet a bit timidly. "Many feel that it was the slaves the Saiyans wanted— and I guess this is a possibility. I mean— even if they did leave some bad scars, it seemed almost as though they were avoiding doing too much damage; and they left as soon as they gathered a sufficient number of slaves." Bunny looked toward the ceiling in absent relief. "Thank goodness they agreed on informing those going into the military, though. Secretly they prepare their soldiers in case of such a threat. But overall, worries've died down by this day; it's been more than twenty years after all!"

Bulma stared blankly at her mother for another moment, before her thin brows drew together in an undescribable anger. She could fell the volcano bubbling once again.

So . . . no one knew? No one younger than her knew of the suffering she'd gone through, of the suffering so many of their own species had experienced— no— were experiencing at that very moment? Didn't they know that every human on Vegeta was secretly praying in their heart that somewhere on their Home Planet, people were giving them their best of luck and support? How heartbroken--- how many spirits would be shattered if they knew the truth: that nearly everyone at home had forgotten them?

Bulma wasn't sure exactly why she was so angry; she just hadn't expected this.

"So you're trying to tell me that no one knows about what happened!"

"Well, not everybody follows the vow of silence." Her mother blurted the reassurance quickly in an attempt to cool down Bulma's hot temper. "I mean, many believe they have a right to know."

Bulma stomped her foot. "They do! They should!"

Bulma's eyes began to burn with rage, and she stubbornly blinked away angry tears. She couldn't believe it. Her entire life while being on Vegeta, she envisioned her planet waiting for her, wishing for her to come back. But how could they do so when they didn't even know she existed? "Does the world even know who I am?"

Bunny contemplated for a moment, tapping her chin while she pondered. "Of course the older generation does!" She held the empty cookie plate to her chest in nostalgia. "It's was everywhere in the news when Capsule Corp had birthed its heiress!"

Heiress. She was the heiress, wasn't she. She hadn't really taken the time to think about it. All of it— all of her family's fortune would be hers; she'd be the Queen she'd always wanted to be.

But there were people that knew who she was? What had happened to her?

Her mother's eyes glimmered suddenly, as though she were reliving the horror and tragedy. "People were shocked after learning of the capture of Bulma Briefs!"

Bulma turned her head away, her gaze falling upon the slender, white hands that lay folded in her lap. She was elated to hear this, that many in that case did know of her identity. It gave her but a shred of hope.

"Oh!"

Jolted from her thoughts, Bulma jerked to the sudden gasp, witnessing as Bunny waved her hands in melodramatic enthusiasm. "Before I forget! I have a surprise for you!"

Bulma merely blinked. A gift? A gift! Oh she loved that word! In girlish ecstasy she clasped her hands together, and as simple as that her anger and glum diminished. "Really!"

"Yep! Come on, follow me, Dear!"

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Their home was humongous. Bulma felt as if she were being led to a dungeon chamber of something. She followed her mother almost hesitantly, winding down so many hallways, she'd lost count somewhere around 25. She'd always wanted to be rich, always wanted to collapse on to a bed of fine satin, being consumed by the numerous pillows that would surround her; but this was almost too much.

She couldn't wait to go to sleep tonight.

Engrossed in her thoughts, bulma rammed into her mother's backside, unaware that they'd finally reached their destination: the garage.

Bunny turned to flash her daughter a bright smile, as if expecting something of her. Curiously Bulma gently shoved her mother aside, her mouth agape as she eyed the gift almost hungrily. A motorbike. A beautiful motorbike. The blue haired scientist found herself at a loss for words.

"You like it?"

"For me?"

Bunny answered with a tilt of her head. "All yours. I used it a lot when I was younger. But as much as I hate to admit it," she paused, abashed. "I'm afraid I'm getting too old."

Bulma didn't know what else to say. Dazed she staggered to the bike, leaning close to examine its radiant beauty, running her fingers along the smooth surface. And it was all hers. She could see herself speeding across the vast fields at which she'd been earlier, spreading her arms wide to let the wind caress her skin. All hers.

"I'm sure you'd like to take it for a ride through the city, right?"

Bulma's smile broadened with glee. "Hell, yeah!"

Before she could prevent it, the vile word had already left her lips, and in front of her mother, too: shameful. Bulma waited patiently for Mrs. Briefs to lecture her in some way, to wag her finger and "tsk" with parental disappointment. Instead she merely giggled again. "Well you run along now, then! I'll have dinner ready when you get back!"

Bulma barraged her mother with a myriad of kisses and thank yous, not sure how else to show her gratefulness for the delightful gift.

But as she mounted the majestic vehicle, her eyes widened in dreaded realization. She didn't have a damned clue how to work this thing! She gripped the handles and stared down with a look of mortification, losing count of the clusters of buttons before her. It was a motorbike for Heaven's sake! What the hell did she need all these buttons for?

Bulma bit her lip to stifle the frustrated groan. And though her adventurous conscious voted against it, she reluctantly came to her moral conclusion. Slowly— and almost painfully— she forced herself off the bike, turning to meet a bewildered Mrs. Briefs. "I should probably wait until I learn how to use it," she pouted, mumbling the words so Bunny had to strain to catch them. "Besides, I'd probably get to see more anyway if I walked."

Bunny merely nodded in silent agreement, her smile praising her daughter's mature decision.

And like that, Bulma left the house to face a whole new world, to quench her thirst for knowledge of the new and outlandish culture of the Earthlings that she wondered about her entire life.

Sure, she loved it when Mark would tell her stories . . .

But it was always better to be in the story.

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"What do you mean they're not on sale! I came all the way over here to buy these because your stupid ad said they'd be on sale!"

The salesclerk trembled at the woman's rage, a single bead of sweat forming on his forehead and sliding down the bridge of his nose. The woman continued to thrust the white, trendy boots in his face, her cheeks hot with anger. "L-look, Ma'am," he stammered, "I'm really not in charge of that kinda thing. And b-besides, that ad that was sent out was for a sale that was weeks ago."

With this the clerk hoped to shoo the whacko away, only to find she was far from surrender. With a small "hmph!" she tossed her dark black locks in defiance, planting her feet in that position. "Well it's not my fault that the ad makers didn't print the dates large enough; I sure didn't see'em."

He couldn't take this anymore; there was no getting through to this woman. Next thing he'd know, she'd be launching him out the window. She sure seemed strong enough. "Listen, lady," he whispered through clenched teeth, leaning close so no one else could hear. "I don't want any trouble." The woman shifted a stubborn eye in his direction. "I'll . . .I'll let you pay for the blouse at sale's price, as long as you promise not to tell anyone."

The man jerked back as she suddenly reeled on him, her icy glare and frown transforming into a charming smile. My God, she's a demon. "Why thank you, Good Sir," she complimented sweetly, handing forward the attire and waiting for him to finishing ringing up the price. "How generous of you. My husband will be very happy when sees me in these new boots."

The man all but shoved the bag into her arms, wanting her out of the shop as soon possible before he found himself with a broken leg. "A-anytime."

She flashed one last grin before turning and making her way through the exit. As she stepped out into the main center of the mall she brought a balled fist to her side in rejoice. You still got it, Chichi!

When she'd seen those boots, she felt she'd die without them, their white fur luscious and soft, beckoning to her in silent plea. The intimidation had been a piece of cake; she guessed it was and an advantage sometimes, being the daughter of the powerful Ox-King.

She now strode through the crowd with overwhelming pride, swinging her bag boastfully at her side.

The rest happened so quickly, there was no time to brace herself by what came next. In the blink of an eye she could feel as her feet gave away beneath her, sending her careening backwards to the hard tile. But she found that the hard, painful contact with ground never came. Perplexed she opened her eyes, charcoal black meeting cool blue. This woman had caught her; had saved herfrom a possibly fatal injury to the head.

Frantically she leaped out of the stranger's arms and twirled around in one graceful movement, regarding her with wide, grateful eyes.

"Oh my God!" she gasped in shock, struggling to take in what had just happened. "I— I could have bashed my head if it weren't for you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

The woman smiled almost absentmindedly, evidently a bit dazed by what had happened as well. "Your welcome. You know, they should really put up signs or something to let people know the floors are slippery."

Chichi's heart still pounding, she returned the woman's considerate smile. "Actually, they do," she explained. "The crowds are just too big to see'em." She felt disrespectful in a way as she continued to converse with the stranger who had saved her from the devastating fall; she felt indebted to her somehow. How could words possibly portray how thankful she was?

It suddenly hit her.

"Hey! Why don't you come over and I'll happily serve you dinner?" Chichi suggested hopefully, confident that this would show off her hospitality.

The woman rubbed the back of her neck with uncertainty. "I-I don't know, my parents—,"

But Chichi was persistent. "Oh, come on! It's the least I can do to thank you for saving me." She held out a friendly hand. "What's your name? I'm Chichi."

Bulma happily accepted the generous gesture. "I'm Bulma."

"Bulma." Chichi repeated the name with admiration. "So whadaya say, Bulma?"

Well if she insisted. After all, what harm could it possibly do? It felt nice to make a new friend; one that didn't have to serve under the Saiyans. She'd just call her mom and tell her she was joining a friend for dinner. Surely her mother would understand.

"Okay. Sounds nice."

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Unlike her parents' home, Chichi's was much smaller. It was also secluded near a rich green forest which Bulma found surprisingly peaceful. In the Saiyan forests she'd been in, one would constantly hear the groaning and wailing of Ktaln, the immense, carnivorous animals that hid deep within the woods. Come to think of it, just about everything on Vegeta was carnivorous, and unless you were a Saiyan or being guarded by one, you'd probably be screwed if you were left out in the wilderness on your own.

As they approached the small house, Bulma let her eyes wander upon tiny, harmless looking animals, coming out from behind a tree or peering out from under a lush bush, staring in wonder at the blue-haired foreigner. It almost seemed as if they knew she'd come from Vegeta, the way they stared.

Chichi twirled as they entered through the wooden door, her skirts rising to create a flurry of shimmers. "Make yourself at home!" she insisted sweetly, her form disappearing from view as she pranced into the kitchen.

Timidly Bulma looked around the room, hearkening to the soft, rhythmic sound of the clock that hung upon the wall. It was so . . . comfortable. Even the smell was warm and welcoming. Not sure of what to do— also a bit worried of her curiosity getting the best of her--- she stepped into the kitchen as well, watching in silent fascination as Chichi began slicing a myriad of intoxicating herbs with amazing vigor. It was then that Bulma realized just how famished she was, her stomach churning as it released an almost embarrassing growl.

"Hey, Chich'! I'm back!"

The sudden, masculine voice broke through the serene silence, and Bulma whipped around in alarm. Mentally she cursed herself for being so tense.

Well living on a planet with a bunch of bloodthirsty, raving lunatics will do that to you I guess—

Her jaw dropped. There in the doorway stood an able-bodied, incredibly handsome man; his eyes and childish grin seemed to unexplainably lighten his surroundings as he sauntered into the room. But what baffled her, was what lay perched on his shoulder: a massive, gray fish, nearly the same size as he was! Were most humans that strong? Were she and Mark just exceptions, weaker due to having lived under tyranny?

Why . . . did he look so familiar?

The angle of his face; the strong posture; the unruly, black locks that swept up as if from a windy day; it all seemed so vaguely familiar.

The man blinked in confusion as he studied the woman in front of him. "Oh, hi, Chich'!" After a moment his brows arched in abrupt shock. "What did you do to your hair! It's blue!"

From back in the kitchen came an annoyed, perturbed retort. "I'm in here, Goku! You idiot."

The man's warm glance now shifted toward the direction of the insult. As if he hadn't even heard what Chichi called him, his smile only broadened as he brushed nonchalantly past Bulma's shoulder. "Then who's she?"

"That's Bulma: a friend of mine. She's gonna be joining us for dinner."

When he moved past her, a small, flicker of movement inevitably caught Bulma's eye; and isn't instinct funny? Without even thinking she turned to examine the object that had so easily caught her attention, and she immediately regretted her careless action.

It twitched again, only this time, Bulma had a plain view of it.

A tail.

It slithered with a snake's grace, taunting her, entrancing her.

Panic and dread flooded through her, and before she could prevent it, a sharp screech emitted from her throat. "Ahhhh! Y-you're a— a Saiyan!"

The rhythmic sound of Chichi's knife stopped suddenly, and both she and the man turned to stare at the now hysteric girl, silent with bewilderment. "A what?"

Gulping down the quickly rising fear, Bulma pointed fervently to the cause of her fright. She couldn't believe they were acting as if they had no clue what she talking about. It was right there! Right there in plain sight for the whole world to see. "Y-you have a-a t-tail!"

Following the woman's trembling finger, Goku's eye's halted upon his tail. It swayed innocently behind him, like a child covering up a naughty deed. What was she so scared of? It was just his tail. "What's wrong with it?"

Bulma sputtered in disbelief, then stopped suddenly, realizing that these people were really serious. They really had no damn clue what she was talking about.

Come to think of it, they did appear a tad younger than her. "Many felt it was an opportunity to 'start over'."

The Vow of Silence.

Bulma couldn't suppress the sudden twinge of dull loathing that bloomed within her; for Chichi's parents mostly. It was shameful to her how they could have hidden such a past from their daughter, letting her walk through her life an ignorant idiot.

B-but how could this be? How could that man not know of what she spoke? Had he come there to purge the planet perhaps? No— that couldn't be. If so, then for what possible purpose would he be doing this whole husband charade? If he had truly come there to purge Earth, she'd be standing in a waste land right now, standing hopeless and dead in the warm sand and earth. She took another quick glance of him, noting his confused, bewildered expression. He really had no idea, did he? What he was, or even what a Saiyan was?

It almost seemed . . . as though he had lost his memory somehow.

Kami had saved the Earth by giving the monster amnesia. She didn't know when, and she didn't know how; but it had been done.

Bulma wondered briefly if she should tell them, tell— what had Chichi called him— Goku— definitely not a Saiyan name— what he truly was and where he truly had come from. Should she enlighten him of Vegeta and his ruthless kind, the way they spread across the universe like an epidemic, leaving a trail of destruction wherever they went?

Yeah right.

It would be beneficial for all of them for her to keep her mouth shut. Besides! Bulma told herself. He's so nice!

"Oh!" Bulma giggled nervously, momentarily reminding herself of her mother. "Uh—I've—just—never seen a tail before! Heh, heh."

They remained silent.

Okay, now this was just plain embarrassing. "Um— could I use your phone? I--- need to call my mom."

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According to Earth time, Bulma calculated, it was probably around 8:00 by the time she got back. Chichi had been gracious enough to drive her back, insisting that it was "the least she could do for Bulma after saving her life". Bulma secretly wondered when she would get over it; to be perfectly honest, Bulma hadn't even meant to catch her. Chichi had just conveniently fallen backwards into her instinctive arms. Though of course, recalling the aggressive way Chichi had sliced the vegetables, Bulma had thought it wise not to tell her this.

She'd also found out that Chichi was two months pregnant. Her new friend had informed that though the name was undecided, she and Goku continued to lean toward the name "Gohan". Personally, Bulma found this relieving; the thought of another Saiyan made Bulma cringe.

Overall she guessed she had had a pretty good time, save for the discovery that Goku was a Saiyan. It had felt so strange, talking and laughing in genuine amusement with the same creature that had snatched her from her family and enslaved her for 3.1 moons. He was actually a pretty sweet guy, loving and carefree. Bulma wondered if he even knew how to fight. After all, it was in a Saiyan's blood to hunger for violence.

Wearily she came in through the garage, her mother beating her there, already standing with a tiring smile. "Did you have a good time with your friend, dear?"

"Yeah," Bulma said, doing her best to match the grin, "actually, I did."

Bunny clasped her hands together in delight. "Oh! That's good to hear!" She paused as she ran her eyes up and down Bulma's slouching form. "Oh, dear, you look positively worn out," she said sympathetically, pushing her daughter forcefully through the never ending halls and up the stairs. "You've had a long day I imagine. You should rest."

Bulma absorbed her mother's suggestion, but couldn't help but think subconsciously of her father. "W-where's dad? How is he?"

Mrs. Briefs waved a hand in dismiss. "He's sleeping," she said reassuringly. "Just like a baby."

Bulma looked disappointed at this news. She'd wanted to be with him a little longer, to savor their finally being together. Also, Bulma had forgotten to ask him about the invisibility device and its fuel source. She had to say, she'd grown attached to the thing. But Bunny once again assured her that she'd be able to see him in the morning, before practically rushing her off to bed.

And a luxurious, warm slumber it was; on a luxurious, warm bed that could fit more than two Saiyans . . .

Just like a Queen.

A/N: PLEASE REVIEW!