Blood

Chapter 90: Paths to Tread


The sparse mountain valley his lab was hidden from swayed with the noon breeze. From end to end, tied together and pierced by a solitary one-lane highway, it shone and shimmered from a rain early in the morning. As Gero's gaze swept the pass and the dip where a stream weaved between cloaked firs and pines, he stopped himself from panicking. This stranger was alone near the water and if they moved against him, 19 was recharging this very moment, ready to rush out if help was needed. All he had to do was entertain some questions and stall for time… and perhaps ask some of his own, as well.

He didn't rise from his crouch near the stream when Gero approached. One hand of his palmed pebbles rounded by the water's current. He did, however, turn and look at him across his shoulder. 'I'm surprised you came out.'

Gero stopped at the water's edge and folded his hands behind his back. Best to keep a calm and unintimidated appearance. Best to play it smart. 'I couldn't have you barging in, now could I?'

'No.' Rush dunked his hands into the water. Bits of rock floated and bounced downstream. 'That wouldn't be ideal for either of us.'

Unseen by Rush Gero's face pinched upward. 'Allow me to ask a question. You know who I am, and yet you wish to talk to me.'

'So I take it you don't know me?' Rush said.

Gero turned his glare to the stream. 'I never said anything of the sort.'

'It's alright.' Rush placed his mostly-dried hands on his knees and stood. 'No one in this time really knows me. You're not alone.'

That was certainly an insinuation. But Gero was skeptical, still, of this person. Implying the existence of time-travel was only done by the insane or the far too knowledgeable. For either case, it wouldn't help Gero to be surprised or revealing. Let them divulge instead.

'So I take it you're here for something, then, to get back to my original confusion,' Gero said. 'Perhaps you want something from me.'

'You could say that.' He faced him. Clear-eyed, he stared at Gero. 'I'm here to tell you: I know what you have stored here. I know about your trump card.' His eyes swung down-and-up. 'And judging by your appearance, it's clear you won't be able to use it as you want.'

Gero blinked. 'What are you talking about?'

A smirk spread across Rush's face. 'Play dumb. I'll return with others. And then, when the glass holding your brain is crushed between my hands, I'll claim what's mine. That… Saiyan of yours.' Rush's hands flexed and curled inward. 'He'll be mine.'

For the first time in their conversation Gero really looked at the stranger; inch-by-inch he noted the black, rigid hair, tanned and muscled appearance, defined face… and faintly blue eyes…

Blue eyes… If it weren't for those, he would almost remind me of a Saiyan.

Suspicion flared in the back of Gero's skull. Not a theory, not even a guess… but a gut feeling. He knew this person, somehow.

Rush laughed, clipped and brash. 'You won't figure it out before then end.' With a lift of his shoulders his ki pushed him into the air. 'Enjoy your last days on this planet.'

` Gero mulled his words as the stranger flew off without further comment. A parting threat for sure, but he let it and its utterer pass out of the valley. The stream strung along, the trees swayed, and he stood there for a time, staring off into the cloudless sky above the mountains.

He had made a few miscalculations, then. He wasn't sure what mistakes he had made, but obviously, he had misstepped. He would have to prepare the lab. The subject's enhancements would have to be finalized and finished. All of his power would now be turned to war. Once everything was ready they would march — or that stranger would return with friends.

Gero's fists balled at the thought of malcontents obliterating this peaceful valley with their lust for his blood. Let them try what they wish. Raditz will kill them all.

0o0o0

Color filled his eyes. He blinked, coughed, until he felt a steadying presence on his chest.

'Yamcha.' His eyes inched down and saw a mat of blue hair strewn across him. After a moment it parted, revealing Bulma's relieved face. 'You're awake.'

That was news to him. He shifted, feeling his sensation for his hands—

'Woah!' Bulma quickly pressed down on him, nudging him further into the sand. 'Don't move!'

Yamcha licked his lips. He was thirsty. 'Why?'

To his question Bulma made a face; her hands slid off of him and she sat back on her thighs. 'Don't you remember?'

'What do you mean?' Yamcha vaguely felt some pain nibbling at the edges of his body. 'Where's… where's Raditz?'

Bulma's expression sank. 'Raditz?'

'West City… we were in West City.' His breathing grew rapid. 'There was fire… death… he attacked them all, and Kakarot—'

Again, Bulma's head fell onto him. She turned her face away from him. 'Don't think about that. We're safe for now.' She struggled to think of what to say. 'You have a fever… you're…' What was she doing? Telling him this wouldn't calm him. He wasn't thinking clearly. She wouldn't be either if she had suffered the type of pain he had…

Yamcha's head shifted against the sand. '...Where… where are we, then?'

Bulma pushed the alarm from her face and faced him again. 'On an island.' She bit the inside of her bottom lip. 'You're… correct. There was a battle at West City. It was close, but… you saved me.' Her hand found his and she gave him a squeeze. 'So thank you, Yamcha. Truly.'

The haze lingering in Yamcha's eyes never once faded, but she did see something much more concerning— she saw the emotion behind it warm. 'I'm… glad you're here, Bulma…'

Oh, Kami. She knew that look.

'Okay!' Bulma rapidly pulled away and sat back. After scrambling her brain for an idea, she rushed to stand. 'Stay here. Now that you're awake, you'll be able to eat and drink. I've found a few odd things to cook… but I'll need to put something together to strain the salt out of the seawater.' She held out her hands towards him. 'Just… stay here and don't move.'

He smiled weakly. 'Will do...'

Oh, Kami. Bulma wrenched her gaze away. 'I'll be within earshot!' she said without looking at him. 'Just, uh…' She started running. 'Just holler!'

0o0o0

The island wasn't big enough for her to run for more than half a minute. At the other side she dropped to her knees and thrust her arms into the sands, throwing her despairing look into the ocean.

He was confused, she told herself. The pain made it that he couldn't think clearly. But where did that leave her? Why… why was he thinking that way towards her? Why was he smiling that way at her? He seemed to think that he had just rescued her from West City… years ago, when Raditz attacked. They had been living together then. They had… yeah. So it would make sense if he was misremembering things, or feeling an out-of-place emotion, or…

Bulma's face frowned into the shallow surf rolling across the beach. A half-inch of seawater rolled over her hands and swaddled them with strewn sand. So where did that leave her? She just had to ignore the way his smile bent and his eyes shone? Treat him like nothing had changed. Would that upset him? Hurt his recovery? Maybe aid it?

Okay… breathe, Bulma. Breathe. Another wave gently crested over her upset or confused herself wouldn't help matters. She would have to pick a path and stick to it. Consistency was key if he was going to be comfortable while convalescing. She would just have to pick the most reasonable and accommodating persona.

She thought. She wouldn't take advantage of him, she decided. Not that she was thinking of doing that at all, but it was important to remind herself of that. Who knew how long they were going to be on this island? So she would have to put aside her question as to where in life the two of them were… or her guess as to that question's answer.

Damn it… she was supposed to talk with him about this. Months and months and months went by and she didn't reach out to him. She felt something was weird before, during, and after that battle with the Saiyans, and yet she did nothing.

That wasn't very brave of her. She was Bulma Briefs: nothing should scare or frighten her! That was… how it should be, but wasn't always reality.

She sighed, and dipping her head, tucked her knees to her chest and wrapped her hands around her legs. And yet she was alone. Her parents weren't here — her parents weren't anywhere. They were probably gone. She had grief, too. She was sad and scared and wanted so desperately to burrow her head into someone else and cry.

Bulma stifled a low sound in her throat and dabbed her wrist at her eyes. Slowly, methodically, she stood herself, limb-by-limb, inch-by-inch. But that would have to come later. For now… well, first she had to find something to strain salt from seawater.

0o0o0

Launch's pen scratched against the paper neatly placed on the table. Her handwriting was atrocious and she wasn't actually putting down anything of note, but Bez had suggested that she do it whenever talking with Kakarot and Bardock made her mad enough to flip the table.

This was one of those times.

'So then.' She placed the pen down and tightly folded her hands on the table. 'Please continue telling me about your… bar fight on Cegra.'

Bardock was grinning ear-to-ear. He had even placed his bound hands behind his head — or as close as he could get them without breaking his arms. He looked ridiculous with his puffed-out chest. 'You mean the heroic liberation of a downtrodden and down-on-their-luck people?'

'No. I mean the bar fight.'

'Heroic liberation.'

'You fought in a bar.'

'To heroically liberate.'

'I think you did that second — accidentally — and the bar fight first.'

Bardock barked with laughter. 'Bold of you to assume we can multitask! Haha!'

She nearly reached for the pen again — to stab him with. Instead she forced her attention right. 'Anything to add, Kakarot?'

He wasn't even looking at her. What am I doing?

'Launch.' Bez leaned in from her left and kept her from standing with a hand to her shoulder. 'Do you want me to switch in?'

This had become an insufferably routine: Launch and Bez questioning Bardock and Kakarot from across the mess table for hours, only to hear the dumbest stories ever recounted to her. This Saiyan seemed to be full of stupid stories of shit he'd done in the past — and intended to tell them all before he said anything useful to them.

'Fine.' Launch waved him on and slid right across the bench. 'Be my guest.'

Into her seat Bez slid, hands pulled along and neatly folded. 'Now,' he said, adjusting, 'I want to go back to a story you told us earlier.'

'Huh?' Bardock leaned onto the table. 'Which one?'

'The hunting story one.' Bez placidly regarded him. 'The one you didn't finish.'

'That one?' The Saiyan sucked in his cheeks. 'You're misremembering it. It ended once I got the beast.' His gaze darkened. 'Ugly, scaly, stick thing, but the meat—'

'But you mentioned that you and your family were starving,' Bez pointed out. 'Spoke about that very loudly at the beginning, actually.' His eyes studied him. 'I'm just wondering how they turned out.'

'They turned out fine,' Bardock said, scowling. 'They were starving, and once I got them some meat, they weren't.'

Bez looked as easygoing as Launch had ever seen him. What was going through his head?

'What?' Bardock growled, disliking the serene expression on Bez's face. 'What is it?'

'I'm just surprised. I thought you would want to talk more about your family.'

Bardock snorted. 'Yeah, I'm sure you'd like that. Kakarot or Raditz or Gine—'

'Gine?' Bez interrupted.

'My mother,' Kakarot unexpectedly spoke up. Breaking his minutes-long silence drew Bez and Launch's, and Bardock's, attention. He made eye contact with his father. 'His wife.'

'...My wife,' Bardock echoed, parsing what he saw in his son's eyes. He refocused his snappish gaze on Bez and Launch. 'Why do you care?'

At last it clicked. Launch knew what Bez was trying to do— and how he was going about doing that.

'Well, this is part of your life story, right?' She jumped in, making sure his tone was less confrontational than it had been earlier. 'That's the promise you gave to me back at the station. You'd tell me your whole life story if I saved you.' She paused. 'I mean… if you don't want to talk about what you're doing alive or in this part of the galaxy, you could tell us this, right?'

'It'd be informative,' Kakarot spoke again, this time looking at them directly. 'And it would help you to understand who we are.'

'Kakarot,' Bardock said in a low but calm voice. 'Leave the talking—'

'It'd be informative to me, Dad,' Kakarot went on. He held his father's commanding look. 'I'm sure there's a lot of stories about Mom and Raditz you haven't told me over the years. It'd help me to know them better.'

Bardock scanned Kakarot's eyes. He was furious, but he also understood what Kakarot was doing by allying with their captors. Some part of him thought this would portray them as Saiyans in a better light if they knew the things he'd done for his family.

But Bardock also knew this was a challenge. Kakarot wanted him to prove what kind of parent he was. What kind of father. He cared about his family, his sons and his wife. Perhaps Kakarot didn't believe this right now. Perhaps he just wanted proof. But the fact Bardock had to guess meant he had failed to convey his love to his son. He didn't need to sweat in Hell for more than twenty years. He did that because he owed his son—

Bardock veered from that thought. Loved, or owed. Maybe he couldn't tell them apart. But since rallying him in Hell it had been the two of them against the galaxy, after Kakarot had spent so much of his life on his own. Bardock had a responsibility to make him feel… accepted. Wanted. That was all there was to it.

'...Okay.' Bardock pulled his gaze from Kakarot, and like a pile of gravel shifting, made himself comfortable lying across the table. 'What do you want to hear?'

Underneath the table Bez tapped his knuckles to Launch's. 'Please— whatever you're comfortable with.'

0o0o0

'Well.' In the cockpit Launch's face shifted as she recalled the past hour. 'That turned out to be way more productive than I'd thought it'd be.'

'Move.'

'Oh? Sorry.'

Launch lifted her feet from the top of the console, allowing Bez to scurry underneath and open a panel near the floor. Like a worm or a well-acquainted mechanic he slid into the floor and began parsing through some wires. 'I agree,' he said, head poking up and down. 'Surprisingly informative. Maybe they're warming up to us.'

'Maybe we're warming up to them.'

Launch snorted air out of his nose. 'Maybe. So.' She laced her fingers behind her head. 'How are the repairs going?'

'Okay.'

'Wanna offer up any more description than "okay"?'

There was more clanking and bumping until Bez emerged, elbows and jaw stained with grease. 'I've fixed the comms relay, for one, though I still haven't gotten in touch with Earth. Which reminds me.' He crossed to the other end of the cockpit and with a press of a button brought up a local map of the galaxy. His finger pointed to a red mark to their left. 'See this?'

'The red dot? It's the only red thing on here.'

'Yeah.' Bez's hand dropped as he pursed his lips. 'That's the battleship following us.'

The chair underneath Launch creaked to a stop, legs fully taut atop the console. 'Following— us?' Launch confirmed, eyes lasering in on him.

'Yes.'

'...'

'...'

'You seem calm.'

'For the most part, I am.'

Launch dragged her interlocked hands against her head and started squeezing her skull. 'Usually I'm the one who's chill in these situations. Why—' She blinked rapidly, gaze jumping back-and-forth from the display. Eventually her confusion made her stand. 'Why are you so calm?'

'Honestly, Launch? We've faced worse odds before.'

She made a wry face as she looked again at the red mark. 'Have we, though?'

'If the ship's onboard computer is right, once we get to Earth, we'll have a week to prepare until they arrive.' Bez leaned on the cockpit's wall and crossed his arms. 'That's more time we've had to prepare than in the past— as long as I've been on Earth, that is.'

'You might be right about that,' Launch acknowledged, thinking. 'With King Piccolo, Raditz, Garlic Jr… Huh.' Eyes wide she turned back to him. 'You're right. A week is the longest we've ever had to prepare for a major threat that would drop on top of us.'

'See?'

'But what can we do in a week?'

'Train?' Bez suggested.

'Would a week of training make a difference, though?'

Bez frowned. 'As long as Cooler himself isn't chasing us, I think it would.'

'We'd better hope.' Launch slit her eyes and as she stared at the display. 'But you said that was a battleship, right? If an evil space emperor was going to fly through space on a given ship…'

'So this time I'll be the one supplying the crazy optimism, then?'

'Guess I'm rubbing off on you.'

'...'

'What?'

'Please never say that again.'

0o0o0

'Hey.' Suno awoke wrapped in familiar blankets and under a warming face. 'You feeling alright?'

Her eyes adjusted to the light. '...Retu?'

'Hey.' He relaxed and sat at the foot of her bed — her bed. This was her bedroom in Jingle Village; the curtains were drawn and there was a small fire in the chimney in the corner of the room. Which meant…

'We won?' She asked, voice weak.

Retu nodded.

'And… everyone?...'

'Most came back.' Retu paused. 'More than most. Only a few… didn't.'

'Oh. Well… that's still good to hear.' She sat up slightly, laying more than resting on her pillow.

'Don't strain yourself,' Retu urged, adding another pillow behind her back. 'You're still pretty injured.' He frowned. 'Broken bones, and all…'

'Yeah?...' She tried to remember what she had last been doing in the fight. There was a collapse in the concrete, a spark, then…

'Don't stress yourself, either,' Retu said, watching her face tighten. 'All that matters is that you're safe.'

Yeah, but…' Suno groggily looked at him. 'What happened? To me, I mean? I… I'm not sure I remember...'

Retu drew his head back. 'You, uh… you sorta… got mind controlled.'

'What?'

'Yeah.' He scratched his head. 'Not sure how else to explain it.'

'...Huh.'

'You should sleep,' Retu advised her. 'Though, uh… there's one other thing I should tell you.'

'Yes?'

'Chiaotzu died.'

Suno closed her eyes, breathed. 'That's sad.'

'It is.' Retu pulled the sheets up her. 'Just rest up, okay?' He squeezed her hand before standing. 'I'll wake you if anything changes.''

'Thank… you…' Suno said, drifting back into sleep. Retu waited until he heard her breathing slow, threw some more wood into the fire, and then exited the room.

0o0o0

With every passing day Piccolo flew the more concern innervated him. In every direction his senses searched fruitlessly for living people he could detect. Krillin and Rayne to the west weren't there. Nor could he find Yamcha… at least not with Chi-Chi, who felt weak towards the northeast. Far into the tundra Piccolo could faintly feel some others, but they were much too weak for him to firmly identify them.

And that was it. From afar he could only sense Chi-Chi. To check for the worse he would have to fly slowly around the planet, city to city, place to place, looking for an explanation of what was going on or probing for any hidden kis. He was sure now that a fight had taken place near Chi-Chi — the fight that presumably took Chiaotzu's life, from what context Korin had given him. But who had they been fighting? When? During his and Tien's bout with Slug? After?

So all those questions fed his unease and made his throat clench. His flight swept over a woody forest, high above green tops and leafed branches fluttering in the wind. He needed answers. Soon he would go northeast, to Chi-Chi. From there —

His cape flattened against his back as Piccolo came to an immediate stop. The momentum behind his aura released in a weakening gust of wind, flung through the air. But even then Traveler's black hair and multicolored, patchwork clothes never swayed.

'Piccolo.'

It was beyond jarring to see him again. The air was clearer than it was months ago in the desert, and now Piccolo could fully appreciate the ruin carved by the burn scar on his forehead. The darkened, reddened, mottled skin ran like a rash from his right eyebrow well into his hairline. 'You're back?' he said finally.

'Yes.' Traveler crossed his arms. 'I came at the crossing. Things are in motion, now.'

'The calamities.' Piccolo recalled. 'Is that what you're implying?'

'The first is upon us.'

'So it is. So you're here to help, then?'

'I am.'

Piccolo thought hard on what he said next. It was more difficult than he expected. But months of being kept in the dark had hardened his spite.

'No.' The Namekian's voice carried with the wind. 'You're going to explain what's going on in this timeline, or I'll kill you.'

Traveler's surviving eyebrow twitched. 'There's no need for that. Once you've led me to the others, I'll explain everything.'

'Here and now,' Fabric flapped behind Piccolo. 'Before I expose anyone else to you. Explain.'

'You think you can kill me?'

It was a fair question. Piccolo knew the answer. Traveler likely knew as well. But that was beside the point. 'I'm not going to be your pawn any longer.' The Namekian held his gaze. 'I detested receiving scorn meant for you the last time you came to this time. Being your… messenger,' he said, disgusted. 'And I do not appreciate being made to fight blindly. I do not trust you, so I will not give you another chance.'

His words hung heavy in the air, filling the space between him and Traveler. Piccolo saw a progression — from evenness to disillusionment to reluctant acceptance. 'I think I judged you too harshly the last time we met, Piccolo,' Traveler said slowly. 'For things you had never done and I'd never seen. But the fact that I'm talking to you know means I can trust you… and that you should trust me.'

'Meaning?' Piccolo asked warily.

'You didn't go,' Traveler uttered. 'You stayed on Earth. And from what I sensed… you fought for it.'

That knowledge! 'Did you know?' Piccolo hissed. 'Did you know that Slug was—'

Traveler shook his head. 'No,' he said quickly. 'I knew only as much as your time on Earth. I don't know who this… Slug is. Perhaps you met him in space. Perhaps you never met him at all. But I know for sure you never met him on Earth, and never fought. So I couldn't prepare you for that, except…'

'Except as a test.' Piccolo sighed, closing his eyes. 'Whether I would be here was what you were looking for, wasn't it? You worried that I would leave the Earth with Kami.' He opened his eyes, set them on Traveler. 'But I didn't.'

'No, and by not doing that, you've given this time more hope that's ever existed in mine.' Traveler pinched his mouth. 'To be honest, I don't know much about the dragonballs… but Kami being here is something to cherish. Every life still with us should be. So I'm glad you stayed.' Traveler relaxed his face. 'Truly.'

Piccolo's mind whirred. There was a clear line of reasoning, which led to... 'Was that what you were trying to do in the desert that day?' Piccolo asked. 'Warn or scare me so that I wouldn't take Kami from the Earth?'

'...No. Nothing I said that day could have done that,' Traveler said. 'I think, by then, the choice was made.'

'Maybe.' A pause entered their conversation. Traveler offering himself to be judged.

As always, there was more to what this man showed, and Piccolo held onto his distaste due to the position he had forced him into… but others should have the chance to come to that dislike, too — not to mention that, if he sensed his and Slug's fight, he knew where the Lookout was already. Obstructing him at this stage would be stupid. If he was a threat… he would kill him with Tien at the Lookout. It made sense. Traveler must have known this, too.

He surprised him, still. 'I'll explain everything to everyone, Piccolo, on top of everything truthful I said before,' Traveler said, sounding earnest. 'And I'll start by saying that, while my goals and yours may be different in the coming days, the world we're dreaming of is the same. I have a motive to come back to this time. But that motive means I'll help you and everyone else defend this world to the end.' Traveler laid his fist diagonally across his chest. 'I promise you. I'll die before I let this world become like mine.'

'Enough,' Piccolo growled. 'I've already decided to guide you back: there's no need to grovel. But when we arrive you will tell us everything. Of what you know, what's here now, and what's to come. If not—'

'You don't need to finish that,' Traveler assured him. 'I will do what you said.' He began to shift through the air so that he could fly alongside Piccolo. Up-close the Namekian recognized a subtle change to his uniform: there was a patch, almost like something military, sewn neatly onto his left sleeve, unlike all the other badly stitched shapes scattered around his apparel.

'I doubt these names mean anything to you,' Traveler spoke as they soared into flight, 'but we'll be facing an enemy from the past: the Red Ribbon Army and a scientist named Gero.'

Piccolo kept his gaze focused on the air above. 'You're right. Your names mean nothing.'

0o0o0

It was, thankfully, an unseasonably temperate spring day in Jingle Village. After a few hours spent inside conferring with rescued locals, then with those rescued from Retu's village, Retu and Chi-Chi decided to take a walk around the village to clear their heads and discuss. To process, too.

They stopped at a small snow-clad hill overlooking the village. Both were laced up in parkas and linen, snuggling into themselves for warmth, watching their breath mist out into the air. 'Hard to believe.' Chi-Chi said after a few minutes of silence. She wedged her foot in some snow. 'Chiaotzu's dead.'

'Hard to believe,' Retu echoed, not knowing what else to say other than reality. He was gone. What else could he say?

The trek back to Jingle Village had been hard on all of them — the tail-end of a blizzard hit just as they left Wheelo's compound and set out on foot. Some collapsed from exhaustion or stumbled face-first into snow. But they were lucky that, by that time, Chi-Chi and Retu had recovered some of their strength. They started flying the sick or drained one-by-one back to the village before anyone died. It was a small grace after a grand, sour victory. Still, it took a few days for everyone to get back to the village, and all-in-all nearly a week until things had stabilized enough that they were sure no-one would freeze to death or starve in their homes.

Throughout that Chi-Chi and Retu made sure that no one else would die. Today was the first day they felt sure they had done that. Which meant it was time to look beyond this village and at the world again.

Small steps. Chi-Chi centered herself on her breathing. One thing at a time…

'The dragonballs…' she began, '...I'm not sure if they'd be of any use even if they were working properly. Chiaotzu has already been revived once. From what I know, the dragonballs can't bring someone back a second time.'

'I remember that, too,' Retu said softly. 'So he's gone for good, then.'

'Hard to believe.'

'Maybe — maybe we could find Namek again?' Retu said. 'Use their dragonballs.'

'We… could.' Chi-Chi thought aloud. 'Though, to do that, we'd need to find Namek again.'

'And that would be difficult. I understand.'

'Unfortunately.'

Wind rounded the hill, snow swirling and spinning in its wake. 'That's not just an issue with Chiaotzu.' Chi-Chi said. 'We'll have to be careful going forward with anyone who's already been revived by the Earth's dragonballs. Krillin's been revived once. Yamcha…'

Retu turned to her. He couldn't see her face. 'Chi-Chi?'

'Oh, Kami,' she breathed. She faced him when she was sure she wouldn't start crying. 'I'm worried about him. A week has passed and he still hasn't contacted me.'

'...Was he doing something?' Retu asked.

Oh. Chi-Chi's eyes focused on him. 'I didn't tell you, did I? I… didn't tell anyone. I got lost with all that happened... ' She pressed her hand to her forehead. 'Oh, dumb… okay,' she breathed again. 'The Red Ribbon Army is back, led by someone named Gero.'

'Gero?' Retu repeated the name, unfamiliar. 'Red Ribbon Army? I'm not sure who they are.'

'...Right.' Chi-Chi frowned. 'You wouldn't know, would you? They were a major group when we were younger. Fought us a few times… and we thought we beat them, permanently, but turns out we didn't. Someone named Rush came to us and told us he'd escaped from them.' She found his gaze. 'We were searching for their base when I felt Suno here… so Yamcha and I separated.'

'He stayed with this Rush person?'

'Yes. It's been one week.'

Retu frowned towards the village. 'Does Yamcha know you're here?'

'...He should have sensed me, right?'

'Maybe he was preoccupied.'

'In any case,' Chi-Chi abruptly turned and started trudging down the hill, 'we should leave soon. People will be able to rest up here until those from your village are ready to start trekking back south. Suno… also may need to stay for a little while longer. But us two should start figuring out what's going on.'

'On that,' Retu said, catching up to her, 'I haven't sensed anyone in a few days.'

'Neither have I. And without your Capsule Corp, pager working… Hm...'

They stopped at the outskirts of the village. Dry smoke wafted peacefully out of a nearby house's chimney. 'We should get in contact with everyone else as soon as possible,' Chi-Chi said, facing away from Retu, towards the house, thinking, 'and we should investigate Wheelo's compound one more time to make sure everything is… tied up, there. At some point, we'll have to move Chiaotzu's body from the grave there, too.'

'I know,' Retu said gloomily.

Chi-Chi sighed. 'We'll get through this,' she said, turning to him. 'Once we get some ground under our —'

'Chi-Chi?' Retu realized her expression, now stunned, had traveled past him over his shoulder. He slowly turned. A tan man was standing in their tracks in the snow, away from the village, staring at them — and then approached.

0o0o0

'I'm starting to regret this.'

Recoome's head lifted from his drawing. He had found a pencil to sketch with as he passed the time with Mark, waiting in their two-bunk room for their Saiyan captive to wake up in Mark's bed. They had fed him some nutrient goop when they first left the station, which with the help of the gauze dressings they had wrapped him in had plugged his wounds, but since then days had passed and he still hadn't woken up. The only reminder they had to know he was still alive was the hollow, intermittent sound of his breathing passing through his worn trachea.

So far, sitting cross-legged with his back against Mark's cot and the Saiyan sleeping in it, he had drawn a rectangle — a bed. Now he was adding a square for a pillow.

'Regret what?' Recoome said, not looking up from his work.

'Regret having to give up my bed,' Mark groaned from Recoome's bunk. 'This one is too big.'

'What's wrong with a big bed?'

'It's not the right size!' Mark growled, half-rising to turn and glare at Recoome. 'Too many sheets.'

Recoome's pencil continuing tracing. 'Uh...huh…'

'What are you drawing, anyway?'

Recoome flipped around the piece of paper. 'A bed.'

Mark squinted. '...I can see it.'

'It's not done. I'm adding a pillow.'

'You should add the sheets, too.'

'...' Recoome's gaze stared off for a moment. 'Good idea!'

'And make them the right size. Big.'

Recoome nodded, tapping the pencil to his chin. 'Okay. I'll draw you, too.'

'What?'

'You'll be small in my bed.'

'...Are you mocking me?'

'Huh?'

0o0o0

The sun dipped on another day: with branches swooped up into her arms she dumped the wood into a stone-rimmed fire pit in the sand. Fire, thankfully, was one of the few things she didn't need to worry about on the island, as she had a flint-metal starter in one of her capsules — though learning how to use that for the first time a few days back took a while.

But by the time the world's light was receding across the sky a small flame was wisping into the air, crackling on some shedded bark and leaves. Now, finally, she was able to throw real wood onto the fire, and the flame and heat from it rose accordingly. Satisfied, she glanced over to Yamcha, checked that he was nestled comfortably, between the rock and the fire and under a leafy canopy, and admired her handiwork adorning the fire like trophies resting on a shelf.

On the fire were two crude square pots. Two of the capsules on her person had contained her bike and her toolbox. When her mouth started to feel like sandpaper on the second day here, she realized that her experimentation to find a clever way to desalinate the seawater was taking too long. So she resorted to a tried and true method. Regretfully, she pried the metal plating from her bike and bent two pots from it. Then, with the plastic lining of a raincoat, she constructed a propped cone above the fire, which caught its exhaust and dropped down through a tube towards a faded plastic bottle.

Water would pool on the plastic and drain into the container as the fire licked the metal and the seawater within it. This method tended to make the boiled water… smoke flavored, and perhaps could cause some health problems for both of them decades down the line, but it was better than dying of dehydration.

In the second pot was a stew of bark, leaves, and pinecones, the same stuff used to light the fire. Bulma had gotten lucky the past few days with either finding tree nuts or slow crabs, but she wasn't a hunter and she definitely wasn't a fisher. So today they'd be eating nutritional cardboard. Again, better than dying.

The wood caught and blackened the stone edge of the pit. Perhaps the only thing she could see becoming an issue in the near future was the lack of firewood. The island really was small. There were only so many dead limbs lying around. She could maybe fashion an ax out of her bike, but even then she'd only have so many trees to live off of...

Sighing, Bulma dug her hands into the sand and cleared her mind. She hadn't relaxed since getting here. Too many things to do, think. At ease her eyes traveled upward, past the small forest's canopy. It wouldn't do if she became over-worried and got sick. Who could care for Yamcha then?

She spotted a faded white shape in the red sky. A full moon, she realized. Tonight would be bright enough for her to wander around the island. Good thing, too, if she wanted to get a head start on that raft—

'...Bulma?'

Her fingers freed themselves of the sand as she twisted, then stood. 'Woah, woah!' She rushed over to Yamcha and forced him back onto his back. 'Lay back. You're in no shape to be standing.'

Yamcha tended to drift in and out of the present. He was weak, but at the very least, he seemed to be sleeping comfortably. With her guidance he relaxed back onto the sand.

Notably, she saw he didn't try to move his right arm. That, at least, was an improvement. The intermittent times he woke and fell back into sleep had been filled with restless fidgeting. But ever since she had wrapped his limb in cotton he had stopped that.

Her sizable first aid kid, her last capsule, was proving to be handy. Every day she had changed the cotton bandage wrappings around the limb, disinfecting it between dressings. The bone in his hand didn't seem to poke through the… skin... as many places as it once did… which, if she was being honest, wasn't any less disturbing to watch. His body was healing over a maiming.

'Bulma…' his voice pulled her attention to his face. He was frowning, either from pain or haziness. 'I'm… sorry.'

She kept an even face as she settled onto her knees next to him. 'What for?'

'West… West City…' he blinked, freeing some tears from his eyes. 'I couldn't… stop it…' His face tightened. 'Couldn't… stop…'

Bulma recognized the strain; she rested her hands on his chest. 'It's alright. It's not your fault, Yamcha.'

After a few days of uncertainty she decided to never speak specifics or confirm the time or place — she would just give him the attention he needed.

'Just…' All of a sudden his left arm roped around her and gently pulled her to him. Her face warmed as one cheek pressed to his chest. 'Let me hold you.'

She didn't reject this. He had done it once a few days back and she had gone along with it all the ensuing times. The day's strain rushed to the surface: the aches in her legs, backs, and shoulders, her headache, sunburned skin and cut hands. While her mood shifted her fingers wormed into his skin and braced themselves against his solid presence.

'Are you… crying?'

She inhaled through her nose and wicked the water from her cheeks. 'No,' she said, smiling faintly as she rose from him. 'I'm alright. But, uh… there a few more things I need to do before sleeping tonight. Can I leave you here?'

He nodded. 'I'll… be here.'

'Do you need any more food? Water? Help standing to… get some privacy in the forest?'

'I'm alright.' His eyes fluttered close. 'Thank you… Bulma, for that…'

0o0o0

She nearly did cry there and then, but afterward, she basked in the glow of that embrace for an hour as she combed the island again and again under the moon's glow, picking up loose reeds and palm for a growing hoard of materials. Of course she knew better to let her emotions be drawn into something… not as it really was. But she had suffered too. She was alone here, without him, and alone without her parents. Yamcha's touch had comforted her. So, even in his impaired state, she allowed him to hold her as long as she did nothing in return.

In any case — on this island she figured there was enough wood, ballast, and plant string here to build a raft. She knew that Yamcha wasn't going to be flying anytime soon. So if she wanted to prevent them from running out of easy food in the next week, she'd have to get them away from here in less than a week.

And somehow that risk — of starving, drowning, dyingdidn't frighten her. For the first time in a long while Bulma felt her life was again being run on her terms. She knew how to take care of Yamcha. She knew the rudiments of building a raft and getting them to sea. And she knew the ocean around West City well enough that, coupled with the stars shining above at night, she'd be able to safely pilot them to land.

Wood split as she cracked a last branch and piled it on top of the heap balanced in her arms. She could do this, she knew. She was Bulma Briefs. Some of her trademark confidence was coming back to her.

She was smiling as she stepped out of the forest into the soft orange and reds of the fire. There were shadows dancing on the sands, her various things silhouetted —

Someone was crouching over Yamcha in the darkness. Bulma dropped her firewood.

'Who's there?'

Her voice carried alongside the clunk clunk clunk of the sand being struck with tree limbs. Over Yamcha, she turned, eyes easing as they landed on her.

'Bulma,' Chi-Chi breathed her relief. 'You're here, too. Thank Kami.' And yet Chi-Chi tore her gaze from her as soon as possible, back towards him.

She was shocked. Alarmed, even. Without a word Bulma padded over and hovered near them.

'Yamcha…' Chi-Chi held and pressed him until his eyes slowly opened. Confused haziness reigned over his face. 'There's someone here to meet you... ' She cradled his head, making sure his cloudy eyes met hers. 'Well…'

Bulma realized that Chi-Chi was either crying or had been not too long ago. But she didn't seem sad: no, more like overwhelmed, overjoyed.

'More... more like introducing himself to you,' Chi-Chi managed, sitting back and guiding his head further towards her so she could angle it towards the sea.

And a man Bulma had never seen before descended calmly, conservatively, like he wasn't sure if the sand would drag him to the planet's core. His hands were knotted.

'...Rush,' Yamcha uttered, voice straining. His eyes were streaming, now.

'Yes,' Chi-Chi assured him. 'Rush, and…'

'...I'm your son,' Rush said. He glanced between them, tan skin and blue eyes lit by a dull red glow, shadows dancing across him. 'From the future. I'm your and Chi-Chi's son.'


A/N: Oh boy. If you have thoughts, leave a review! I certainly have some :s

Also some minor news for long-time readers: you'll notice that I'm no longer doing - , but — . I finally stopped being lazy, after three years, and imputed the substitution preference into google docs for maximum writing clarity. Hopefully the now correct grammar doesn't throw you out of the story!

In other news I'm sure you noticed this chapter came out a little late. Luckily, there was a good reason for this! I recently posted a new fic in a different fandom. You can check my profile out if you want more information on it. But I enjoyed taking a little break to do that. For the next few weeks, though, I'm planning on focusing on this fic.

Reviews:

Torya: The narrative points to yes, Bardock and Kakarot are heading to Earth and likely will encounter the others.

Cityracer: I'm glad you liked Kakarot here! He got some more attention here, as well. He's not a perfect ally to his father. Also, interesting thoughts on a potential Kakarot / Yamcha rivalry. You certainly had me thinking of a few things...

Bulma also got some more attention here. Wonder whether you dislike of her has decreased any further…

Also, it's funny that you mention slice-of-life chapters. It very much so depends on how long this Volume and the next ends up being, but there's a good chance that I might section this story into the first four volumes, and then have the fifth volume be its own story. If I do that, that'll give me ample opportunity to do slice-of-life stuff in the "new" story.

There was some more Launch / Bez detective team-up here, too!

You're one hundred percent right. Chiaotzu IS a hard character to write. To be honest! It may have motivated me killing him here. But I digress.

Anonymous: Launch is definitely a short-term thinker. So, you know, Kakarot is small potatoes compared to her current nemesis. Thought that may change once the goop machine is finally destroyed. Also, yes, she came in at exactly the wrong moment, lol.

Yeah, Rush was NEVER going to be a placeholder character. He's actually got a huge impact on the story… as this chapter makes that clear.