"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes, Trunks."
"You heard what Gran said about the way he lives, mom."
"Yes, son, and thanks for bringing this to me." Bulma looked up from her newspaper, carefully placing it on the dining-room table. Despite the upheavals in everyone's lives in past years, she appreciated the touching and tasteful obituary of her younger self. She read it each month, counting her blessings.
After Trunks returned from conquering Cell with the Z Team, all seemed to be OK between them. But he also spent almost a month brooding until Bulma couldn't bear his sullenness anymore. She hoped he'd be somewhat happier after his first couple of visits post-Cell, after his outstanding accomplishments. His bravery kept Earth in both universes safe. He avenged his mentor's death by killing the cyborgs, and, after enduring a trial by inferno that only a Saiyan warrior could inflict, he forged a bond with the Vegeta who lived.
But one very important person didn't make it, shocking all who deeply loved and admired her. Bulma died in her sleep from a pulmonary embolism and stroke, thought to be a delayed side-effect from birthing baby Trunks. Later, an autopsy revealed a congenital condition that made her more susceptible to the complication. There could be no Dragon Ball wish for resurrection.
Vegeta found her after hearing their infant son uncharacteristically screaming at four a.m. Though they were still barely speaking, he hadn't yet left the home they shared with her parents. Bulma had been dead a few hours, he determined, after seeing purplish-red splotches from the pooling of blood. He fetched the older Trunks from a guest bedroom, handing the squirming infant to him.
"His mother is… dead. Keep him calm. I'll tell her parents."
Though in shock, Trunks calmly refused. "You let me do that, father. He'll stay just as relaxed with you. Trust me. What happened?"
Frustrated, Vegeta said brusquely, "That's a doctor's job to find out, not mine. Just… go, Trunks, please."
Trunks felt tears coming on as Vegeta slowly re-entered another room, carrying the baby on his shoulder. He later told his mother that any flickers of light left in the prince's eyes died with Bulma that morning. Goku's death had already devastated everyone, and then this. The blows were almost too much to process. Despite their quarrels, she'd given so much to him and others. She was full of life and boldness and love.
It wasn't fair.
A week later, the Brief family had a private funeral with close friends and relatives. Trunks paid his respects and left two days later, delaying his departure temporarily to fly over the burial site. Vegeta hadn't been seen by anyone – and no one tried to find him – until Trunks saw him sitting beside Bulma's grave with his head down. His hollow, bloodshot eyes raised toward the cloudy grey sky.
"Save your pity," he said telepathically. "Your mother is waiting. Don't leave her alone again."
Bulma suspected that too much time travel would become troublesome for someone somewhere. When that time came, she and Trunks were confronted by a female deity, Chronoa. In exchange for breaking the laws of time, they would contribute their talents to the goddess's work and responsibilities, and support the Galactic Patrol. Bulma still charmed Chronoa enough to get something she wanted: moving to the past with Trunks. When called upon, they could work. Trunks ultimately supported Bulma because he, too, enjoyed having new friends and a soon-to-be intact family. Neither put high hopes in Vegeta being fully available to their friendship – if he remained on Earth.
Bulma understood all too well how shattering it must have been to lose the woman he loved so suddenly. Before he died, her Vegeta seemed to have been further along in his emotional maturity but could still be just as much of a hard ass. Yet, when he let his guard down, they had good times together. Moving to the other timeline rejuvenated her enthusiasm for life beyond everything she expected. Age wasn't a concern either. She was nowhere near ancient and was full of energy.
The younger Bulma's parents welcomed her ecstatically, of course. Infant Trunks, though somewhat confused, bonded with her quickly. Working kept her mind busy, but helping raise another little one in a mixed, loving family, with living friends, was the best gift anyone could have given her. Her dining-room chat with Trunks extended from the previous evening's discussion with Dr. Brief and his wife after supper. Bunny Brief keep her ears on the gossip trail, prospecting for the right information. Son Goku's wife Chi Chi had heard about a loner living near a small village, Blue Oak, located in the mountains. Shrines and ancient wooden buildings and winding pathways decorated the area. People were friendly but mostly didn't bother those who, as shown by their actions, preferred more solitude.
Chi Chi had friends there from childhood who didn't tolerate much technology beyond phone calls. One rang her to chatter about a man with "hair like black flames" and longish beard who moved to the area not long after the younger Bulma died. His air could be intimidating, the woman said, but he performed odd jobs around town and fished to earn a living. Sometimes, children in town would dare each other to venture into the woods, to watch the man exercise. Her youngest son said his scowl could scare bark off a tree, and he often knew their whereabouts no matter where they hid.
"It must be Vegeta," Bunny said, dabbing her watery eyes with a napkin. "He is rough around the edges, I know, but Doc and I weren't pushing him out, especially with little Trunksie here. He is still welcome to live wherever he wants on our estate, Bulma. Just being here is enough."
Bulma smiled. "Rough around the edges? Really, Bunny? That man's tongue is a switchblade."
"And so is yours," Bunny replied with a wink. "How could you not be attracted? No matter where you two are, you appear to be star-crossed. He's a lonely person."
Bulma blushed. "Well, um… you're getting ahead of yourself on the star-crossed part. In fact, I'd call that revisionist history."
Dr. Brief picked up the baby preparing to leave the room. "You'd be wise to listen to her, kiddo. Doesn't matter how old you are now. All I see is my baby girl in you, and I'll put my grandson to bed tonight. We have some playtime to catch up on together."
Trunks cut key lime pie and poured coffee for the women, expecting either or both to hatch a plot. That made him uncomfortable. Vegeta did not want to be found. Doing so might be exceedingly ugly, and Trunks wasn't inclined to play peacemaker on anyone's side. Vegeta had profound emotional scars. Though the two bonded and came to respect each other, leaving the prince to his solitude might be best.
"Whatever you two are planning, I object," Trunks said, gulping coffee. "Mom, we came here without expectations for anything from him."
Bulma's fork pressed into the cake. "What makes you think that's changed for me? I know how to manage myself on that end – and did it long before becoming pregnant with you. I came here expecting to treat Vegeta as his own person. I won't conflate memories of the man who fathered you with him."
Bunny's arms folded on the table. "So, my dear, what's the plan?"
"Gran, come on!" Trunks complained. "Will you stop encouraging this?"
Bunny pushed her plate forward. "Quiet, boy, and give me a bigger slice of that cake! I have seen many lost causes in my lifetime, but I just don't believe Vegeta is one. Your mother wouldn't be considering action – as we know she is – if she believed that."
"I can only believe what I see," Bulma replied. "Then a conclusion can be drawn. Trunks, you'll fly me to Blue Oak in few days and leave me there. I'll pack light. Mother, can you make reservations at an inn, preferably with a onsen? I'll need several hot baths after all the hiking I plan to do."
Bunny beamed like a beauty-pageant queen. "Of course! I'll after finishing my delicious dessert!"
Trunks heaped cake into his mouth, conceding defeat. "Fine. Just don't hurt yourself."
Bulma's head cocked. "I've hiked all of my life, Trunks. I had to remind your father of that, too, when he was alive. Besides, in this case, I suspect our missing mountain tiger may find me first.
Trunks dropped off Bulma three miles outside of Blue Oak, which she insisted. The roads and trails offered stunning views of the forests, as well as the fishing settlements around town. A few elderly women and men were selling vegetables and fruit under canopies close to the inn. A younger woman with kind eyes vended sweets from another stall. Wide-eyed children milled around like sugar ants, hoping for handouts. Bulma handed a few zenni to the woman, buying dumplings with red bean paste and giving them to the children. Delighted, all of them bowed politely to thank her.
The woman retied her hair, smiling as the youngsters scattered. "Clearly, you aren't from around here. Be careful, madam. Those rascals will be looking for you now. One of them is my son. He runs the fastest."
"I thought there was a resemblance," Bulma said, laughing as she bit into another confection. "That's OK. It's Saturday. Children deserve to indulge. Oh, these are delicious! Are you here all the time?"
"Well, no. I work and live at the Cherry Blossom Inn nearby. I am the head chef. I do this for fun at times and to teach my sons to serve others humbly, especially the elderly stall keepers, when I ask them to work."
Bulma adjusted her jacket, feeling a tad chilly. "And when they aren't working on the weekends?"
"Boys are who they are , you know? I trust them enough to stay out of too much trouble. Lately, they and other nosy kids have taken interest in a newcomer who moved here a while ago. He is an attractive, strong man but mostly keeps to himself. Children are drawn to the mystery, I suppose."
Bulma looked up the road. "So his reserve doesn't worry anyone, then."
"Are you asking if we parents think he endangers our little ones? I guarantee he knows that he's being watched carefully, as we a close bunch of clans. This town has been here thirteen hundred years."
"Hm, sounds like you all have interesting stories."
The woman looked at her watch. "Where are you staying in town?"
"Actually, I have reservations at Cherry Blossom."
"Wonderful! I'll make sure your meal is extra special tonight! May I ask your name, please?"
"I am Brooke Brief, and yours?" She almost giggled. Trunks disliked her alias, but Bulma said "Brooke" sounded hip.
"I am Luna. Lovely to meet you, Ms. Brief. Maybe you can greet our mute man of mystery. He delivers fresh fish to our kitchen, particularly this time of year. It is getting chillier up around these parts."
Bulma rubbed her hands together. "Yes, and I can feel it. I'm leaving for the inn now. I want to get a good, long hike in tomorrow. Thanks again! Also, I'm keeping a lower profile during this visit. No need for multiple introductions to lots of people, including your hermit fishmonger."
Luna bowed, "I understand. Keep your stomach empty for supper!"
Bulma almost squealed. The onsen outside her room was exclusively hers to use for as long as she stayed. Bunny booked her stay for two weeks. Lounging in hot spring water surrounded by fresh herbs was right up her alley.
The evening left had her feeling energized for the following day. Luna made good on her promise, too, delivering a five-star meal and the best tea Bulma had in decades. She hoped not to spook Vegeta, especially during his workdays. He likely didn't know she was living on Earth and had apparently cut his senses off to everything else farther from the mountains.
Luna had given her enough intelligence for more precise sleuthing. Those young "rascals" the amiable chef spoke of were off from school for a month, making them the perfect, ready-made spies. Bulma abandoned the high ground, overhearing a preteen girl chittering with friends about the bearded, reticent fishmonger.
Bulma chuckled. Sounds like the sprites have crushes, and that one seems to be the ballsiest. She probably annoys him the most. Vegeta sure does know how to attract the spirited ones.
"Betcha he'll talk to me again. Mother says we're being too forward and that we should leave him alone. I said he just needs more people around sometimes. Maybe I can squeeze another grunt out of him."
"But, Hana, he's not that nice," a younger girl said, "and no one around here has been mean to him."
"I think he's sad," Hana replied. "He almost bit my head off when I challenged him on something, but then gave me some sweets, like some kind of apology. Then I saw this far-off look in his eyes. It was like how my grandpa stared when grandma died. Fisherman rolled a small netting of char, dropped on grandpa's stall and left without another word."
"You girls should be careful, carrying on like that. Your mother could be right."
The girls stood silently at first, blushing. They were used to older women in town scolding them for one thing or another. The visitor, it appeared, was another "auntie" who saw fit to butt into their affairs.
Hana wasn't deterred. "Hi! You bought us dumplings. What's your name? Are you moving here?"
"I am Brooke, and I wouldn't mind moving here. Your town is beautiful."
"Do you have a last name?"
"I do, Hana, but you have permission to use my first name."
"Mother says I shouldn't call adults by their first names."
"OK, then. I don't want to disrespect your mother. You may call me Ms. B."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Girls, actually, I do owe you an apology. I was eavesdropping too closely, I suppose, but I believe I know who fisherman is. I am here to find him."
All four girls' eyes brightened. "You do?"
"I do, but I also agree with Hana. He is likely sad and moved here to start a new life."
"So you're here to help him?" Hana asked eagerly. "That's great! Is there anything we can do, Ms. B?"
"First, before I ask a favor, don't feel pushed to do anything you're uncomfortable with. I plan to go hiking. Do your friends have a clear idea of where he lives?"
Hana nodded. "My older brother can show you the direction, but fisherman put up a fence around the old shrine where he stays."
"Wait." Bulma's eyes raised. "He lives in a shrine?"
Another girl jumped in front. "I'm Marya. The monks who took care of it died long ago. Our town left the building there to honor their memories. It's not thought of as a holy place anymore, but papa says a wandering soul arrives every ten years, living the same way fisherman does now. None of the wanderers have lived beyond those ten years."
"Maybe it's loneliness," Hana continued. "No one wants to see fisherman die. I guess that's why we kids make nuisances of ourselves when he's around."
Bulma laughed. "It's kind of you young ladies to care so much. He isn't an easy person to read, that's for sure. But I also know you think he's handsome – despite his furry appearance."
The girls giggled. "Yeah."
Hana took her hand. "He keeps his beard neat, mostly. Is he part of your family?"
Bulma bent down, holding both hands over Hana's. "Yes, he is, but I'm not here to force him to leave. It must be of his own free will."
"What does that mean?" Marya asked.
"It means that deep in his heart, he must want to come home."
"Can you tell us his real name?" Hana requested.
Bulma exhaled. "Ah, well, girls, that's not the best idea right now for different reasons, and I've said enough. If he agrees to leave Blue Oak, then you can give him a proper sendoff. For now, he responds to fisherman. That is the name he accepts, which means he approves of you using it."
"My brother Haru can show you the way," Hana said. "Ms. B, are you sure you'll be safe alone?"
"Yes, sweetheart. I hike quite well. Thank you for spending time with me, girls. I have enjoyed your company. Hana, where is your brother now?"
"He's practicing karate today. I can bring him to you after that, in about an hour. Is that OK?"
"That's perfect! I'll wait for you near that tea room on the main road. So fisherman doesn't come into town on Mondays?"
"If he's not here by now, he won't be," Marya said. "He usually does labor for other storeowners. He wears baggy work clothes when everyone is really busy around town."
Bulma left for the tea room, opening her mobile phone to call Trunks. She was too far from the alley across to the road to see fisherman sitting on a stool. His head hung low until a familiar laugh shook him awake. Daytime sleepiness plagued him during depressive episodes, and he was in a down cycle.
Vegeta staggered out of the alley, looking around curiously. No more laughter like hers. He was hearing things again. He wanted to return to his straw bed. Maybe he would feel less exhausted. Maybe he wouldn't dream about anyone, especially her or the boy.
He pulled a duffel bag over his shoulder, trudging in the opposite direction. "I will… train tomorrow."
Hana's brother Haru had the mien of an older man, though he was only thirteen. His sister, who was clearly proud of him, skipped happily behind. Whatever annoyance the boy may have felt about this interruption to help a stranger, he didn't arrive bad-tempered.
"My sister says you want to know where fisherman lives. She trusts people too easily, though. What do you really want?"
Hana elbowed him. "Haru! You're being mean. I know a nice person when I meet one. Apologize to Ms. B! I'm going to tell mother."
Haru sniffed dismissively. "Go ahead then, sis. She and father will probably agree with me."
Bulma cleared her throat, bowing. Tradition mattered a lot to the villagers, right down to youngest among them. "I don't want to cause trouble between you two siblings. I respect how much you care for your sister, Haru, and doubly appreciate that you came here anyway. My intentions are honest."
Haru's eyes narrowed. "So why don't you tell us your entire last name then if you have nothing to hide?"
Bulma smiled. "I am in plain sight, aren't I?"
Haru frowned, crossing his arms. "Will you pay for my help?"
"Of course I will."
"How much?"
Bulma matched his posture, continuing their negotiation. "Twenty zenni. It's the same one pays for touring parts of West City." Actually, it was more.
As Bulma waited patiently, appearing oh-so-very serious, while Haru and Hana moved back whispering like shrewd auction bidders.
"That is a fair price," Haru decided. "Would you prefer to leave now or early tomorrow? It is colder in the woods where fisherman lives."
"Oh, don't worry about me," Bulma said, "and tomorrow morning is fine, Haru. I have provisions to camp if I decide to stay later."
Haru shook his head, vehemently refusing. "I do not agree with this. You should not be alone while camping, especially with the weather changing daily. Our people know these areas well. I won't take you anywhere if you plan to do that tomorrow. You should return to town, as I cannot stay with you."
Bulma touched his shoulder. "Haru, I have an older son. Just like you, he's very caring and tough, and I can say with confidence that I have ways to broadcast my location. It's been years since I've had total freedom to enjoy so much beautiful nature and experience others' traditions. Also, camping is a backup plan in case fisherman asks me to leave, which, in all truth, I don't believe he will."
"By the way, Ms. B, I learned he was working in town today but left earlier than usual," the boy added.
"So there's a good chance he might stay in the woods, then."
Haru's head raised skyward. "Maybe, but that doesn't mean he's not working. The land gives to us all. He gathers its bounty. Our town just repays him in kind."
Bulma's head tilted. "You sure do know a lot about a man who spends so much time alone."
"My martial arts teacher teaches me these lessons. He is a kind man and observes when others aren't paying attention. He says fisherman has watched us training. He senses his presence."
This tidbit intrigued Bulma. Outside of her comrades, she didn't personally know of other earthlings who had mastered that skill. Even more strange was Vegeta not hiding more of his ki from a mortal, though he probably wasn't emitting all that much. Others would have found him by now – had they tried.
"What do you mean senses? " she asked. "You mean your teacher can sense people far away?"
Haru suddenly appeared uncomfortable. "I…I better go. My sister and I have chores later, and I want to see my friends before then. See you tomorrow, Ms. B."
Bulma waved goodbye as the children bolted around a corner. "Thank you both!"
She awakened the next morning pensive. As heartening as the stories were about fisherman and his apparent humility, some characteristics seemed to run counter to Vegeta's personality altogether. How much was he really caring for himself? Had he abandoned training? Her reflections on the complexities of grieving, based on personal experience, changed her mind. Vegeta, in his seclusion, had allowed his spirit to continue hemorrhaging. Once his mind fixated on punishing himself, he was damned effective at cranking up his unique brand of self-inflicted torture.
Haru insisted on staying with Bulma as they approached the temple, almost winning their disagreement. To his significant surprise, she reached down to kiss the crown of his head, following with a gentle hug. The boy wiggled, halfway trying to hide a sweet smile.
"You're definitely a mother," he said. "Mine kisses me like that."
Bulma slipped her payment between his fingers. "I'll be OK. I promise. Run along now. I'll let you know when I'm back in Blue Oak, and don't spend all that money in one place, hmm?"
Haru bowed. "May you have good fortune. I… hope you can help."
Bulma trekked around the temple's perimeter. The fence didn't appear impassable, just intimidating. Her keen engineer's eyesight also noticed makeshift silent alarms woven throughout the framework, but nothing that would harm anyone – maybe only trap them. Perhaps the conditions would become trickier if particularly daring visitors blew past the initial warning signs, as she planned to do. Both she and her younger self had cat-burglar instincts, and enough Capsule Corporation tools to indulge their urges.
Her intuition correctly suggested that fisherman wasn't on the premises. A rectangular scouter lens extended over her left eye. A hearing aid switched on, designed to monitor structural defects in the architecture as she ventured further within. She couldn't risk any broken bones. Her much-shorter hair was stuffed inside of a baggy hat, hiding her high-tech tools fairly from most long-distance observers.
All other observers except the bleary-eyed Saiyan recluse watching her between the trees. The woman's movements were just like…
"No. It can't be." He didn't want to believe. This trespasser worked more methodically, though, like a master craftsman. She obviously had enough confidence to believe she didn't have to rush the process. Her precision would deliver the results she wanted much quicker.
Vegeta gripped the side of his head, squeezing his eyes closed. Another day, another hallucination. Sweat shone on his bronze skin despite the air's nippiness. Memories of his last moments with his dead lover set off a bevy of emotional triggers, all centered around multiple losses in his life. He sought refuge in Blue Oak's expanse to relieve his overstimulation. Most of those modest, no-frills villagers didn't expect more than what he was prepared to give.
Being strong and smart were still central to his identity, but the determined arrogance that also shaped him - for better and worse – seemed to have retreated. Although the Bulma he loved argued stubbornly about how he pushed himself, she pursued methods to enhance his efficiency. She understood the basis of his arrogance, as maddening as it was, and drive to be the best. Despite her own vexing behavior at times, her kind heart also hoped for his healing.
