Seeing her face should've brought him peace—and he truly expected it to bring some sort of comfort—but when it didn't, he felt himself break.
Gohan was back at home now, sequestered away from the hustle and bustle of the city, resting peacefully back among the animals and the forests and streams. Bulla had hugged him tightly and told him she was fine, that everything was alright now, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice. But his eyes fixated on the spot in the center of her head. Beneath the smooth skin that had reformed he could still see where the beam had entered, the red blood dripping down her face and her brilliant blue eyes dulled by lifelessness. He had killed her. She died at his hands.
She explained to him that it was Cell who had sent her to death—not him—and that without Gohan they would've all died. Her sacrifice was her choice. He tried soaking up her words in earnest.
And still he felt lost and empty.
He sat at the table, aimlessly spearing his food. It was unlike him to not eat, and Chi-Chi and Goku looked on with worry. When he excused himself after only one helping, Chi-Chi let out a deep sigh. As she cleared the plates from the table and piled them into the sink, she turned to her husband.
"I'm worried about Gohan," she said solemnly. Goku nodded his head. In all his years of fighting, he had never experienced such a reaction. Though, he had never been forced to kill an ally. In fact, the only beings—human or otherwise—that fell to him were foes who brought their deaths upon themselves.
"I don't know how to help him," Goku admitted. He shook his head and rested his chin on his palm. He wished he knew what to say or do to make Gohan feel even an ounce of relief, but every time he went to speak, he fumbled.
Goku didn't think like his human family did. Deciphering his son was easy on the battlefield, but in the home it was a different beast. No matter what he tried to do or say, it always came out wrong.
"Gohan will get over this," Chi-Chi said, leaning against the sink. "But it's going to take time."
"How much time?" Goku said. He looked up at his wife, his eyes mournful.
"I'm not sure," she sighed. "It could be a day, a week, a year…"
"I don't want him to feel like this forever." Goku got to his feet and moved closer to his wife. "I want him to go back to his normal self."
Chi-Chi flashed a sympathetic smile to him. Goku was a good man, albeit somewhat thick. For him, bouncing back from a fight was the easiest thing in the world, but for the Earthlings in his life, a life filled with battles brought mixed emotion. This was what Chi-Chi feared when Piccolo first took Gohan to train.
Children are complex. They discover who they are in real time, and one wrong step can send them on a trajectory of failure. They do not have the privilege of time and knowledge to help navigate the world as they live it. He was a young boy trying to emulate his father, throwing himself into battle with blinders on to the real world. Now, though, he was seeing the grittiness of battle, of the choices warriors must make and the strength they must find to do so.
She didn't want him to get lost in the despair of the fight, and yet here he was drifting away.
"Goku," she said, her voice soft but sure. "I think we need to talk about Gohan's future. I've always tried to put his studies before fighting."
As she spoke, she turned her back. She picked up a plate from the counter and placed it into the sudsy water. "And it wasn't because I didn't think he was strong, or that he wanted to fight. Secretly I feared this."
She continued on the dishes, now scrubbing each one with a concerning vigor, the froth of the soap coating her arms. Goku stood still.
"He's just a kid," her voice was shaking. Goku could tell she was on the verge of tears. "And even though things turned out okay, he still has to live with this forever. And I just think that, well, maybe—maybe we should be okay if he doesn't want to fight anymore."
She dropped a plate gently in the sink, and turned her head over her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she read his body language as if it were a cipher. She loved her husband, but his obsession with fighting often overshadowed everything else in his life. She did not think he would be angry, but she hoped he wouldn't protest, because this time she wouldn't let him take him away to train. This time she would make him see things her way.
Instead, Goku came up behind, gently wrapping his arms around her waist and burrowing his head into the crook of her neck. His warmth filled Chi-Chi through, and she relaxed her back to fall into his. The roughness of his hands felt like home to her, and as they traveled across her body catching her arms and cradling them in his, she let out a comfortable sigh.
"Chi-Chi," he whispered into her ear. "I think that is a good idea."
In his arms, she turned to face him. Joy danced across her face and sparkled, leaving her looking as luminous as she felt on the inside. Pressing her hands against his broad chest, she broke out into a grateful smile.
"Do you mean it?"
Goku nodded his head and returned her smile with one of his own. If Cell had taught him anything, it was that life was precious. His wife, his son-they were the only things that mattered to him, and watching Chi-Chi smile sent prisms of warm, electric light through him.
In the years they had been together, he had ignored her pleas to shield Gohan from the battlefield. Now, he could see he needed time. Gohan could be whatever he wanted to be, because as long as Goku lived, he would be there to protect them both.
He took a piece of her hair and gently brushed it back from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
"I mean it."
She brought her hands up to his face and caressed him. He smiled and then laughed.
"The only bad part is, I'll need to find a new training partner now," he joked. Chi-Chi's face turned pink and her smile deepened.
"Oh, I think I know where you can find another one," she beamed. He cocked his head. Chi-Chi pulled away from him and gingerly placed her hands on her stomach, but Goku did not understand. Seeing the confusion in his face, she giggled.
"I'm pregnant again, Goku."
"What?" he said. His spirit lifted and his smile grew even larger than before. "You mean it?"
"Yes." Pure happiness twinkled in her eyes. He lifted her up into his arms, hoisting her into the air as he laughed in a wondrous disbelief. Mixed within the cheers and tears of joy, the two danced around the kitchen, their embrace never breaking.
Bulla put on the new jacket her mother had given her. It was leather—unlike her canvas jacket she had travelled here with—and it fit perfectly.
She had never had a jacket that nice before, and felt a little ostentatious wearing it, but the heavy fabric gripped her body like a glove and it was oddly comforting. Morning light broke through the curtains of the guest room at Capsule Corp., and she knew it was almost time for her to go back home.
To Bulla, her journey to the past had passed like several lifetimes. Being dead was an odd experience: she was in limbo until she found herself in Otherworld, met with spirits who had also fallen from Cell and the androids. Her body was hers, she recognized every inch of it—from her fingers to her toes—but it was as if the spark of living was gone.
But before she had gotten accustomed to anything there, she was called back: Pulled through a tube of light, ripped through the darkness and back into her own skin. She tried to remember what it felt like to die, but it was indescribable. Maybe it had been so fast that she never felt the beam penetrate her head, or if she did feel it, maybe she couldn't find the right words to put to it. All she knew is one moment she was alive and the next she most certainly was not, transported from one realm to the other in the blink of an eye.
She looked in the mirror and examined her face. Drawing two fingers to her forehead, she gently pressed the spot where the beam had gone in, the smoothness of her skin catching underneath her fingertips. What an odd sensation: Dying and living again.
A knock jolted her. The door creaked open and there stood her mother of the past, holding baby Bulla in her arms.
"Are you almost ready to go?" Bulma said softly. "Not that I'm trying to kick you out or anything—"
"Of course not," Bulla smiled. "And yes, I should be getting home."
The evening after she was revived by the dragon balls, she and her mother had spent it going through old photo albums of the Briefs family and their motley crew of friends. She had heard many of the stories before—about strange cousins, vacations that had gone awry, funny moments at holidays and picnics and parties—but so many of the pictures had been lost in her time.
They didn't talk about her dying, or about Bulma's sadness. Instead, Bulla held the tiny version of herself, and she and her young mother sat side-by-side, focusing on happy memories instead of sad ones. She could feel Vegeta's energy hanging close by, but did not press her luck. At one point, late in the night after baby Bulla had gone to sleep, she found the courage to ask her mother what her father had done after Gohan had killed her.
Bulma sighed and smiled.
"When you died, he unraveled," she said. The words knocked the wind out of Bulla, and she did not think to ask for more.
The sun was low on the horizon. On the lawn, it was just family. She had said her goodbyes to the others the day the dragon balls had brought her and everyone else back to life. The news had chalked it up to Cell's evil magic curse being lifted, and celebrations broke out around the planet. As for the dragon, Dr. Briefs reported it to police as an experiment gone wrong.
Bulla thought about how incredible it was that people were willing to believe anything to give themselves some peace of mind. But it didn't matter. Cell was gone, the androids were free to start again, and she was going home.
Home.
She came out into the backyard, her new boots gliding through the dew-licked grass. Her grandfather and grandmother watched with eager eyes and she could feel her mother and younger self in tow. Despite the joy she felt seeing them there, a piece of her longed for her father.
Bulma saw the concern in her daughter's eyes. Without even asking, she knew what she wanted to hear.
"If he doesn't show up," Bulma said, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder, "just know that meeting you, it really did change him. He's just not always the best at showing his feelings."
Bulla nodded. She knew that was true, but it still hurt. Her expectations of him had been shattered along the way, and she hoped that he would have one last chance to redeem himself so he wouldn't tarnish the memory of her time here. In a life full of letdowns, she wanted this to be the one exception.
The time machine loomed over the small group of Briefs, its yellow metal shining against the orange glow of the sun. Once it had been a lifeboat bobbing along the stream of time, transporting a young woman to a world not yet touched by the atrocities of evil. Now, it was an emblem of victory, a flag of good and proof of a hard fought battle.
Had the girl before known what she would be asked to do, she might have been too scared to come. The woman who now stood in front of the machine wouldn't have it any other way.
"Come on now, dear," Dr. Briefs said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Give me a hug before you're off."
She embraced him, making sure to breathe him in one last time. He smelled of tobacco and starch with just a hint of peppermint. He didn't know it, but Gero's map was securely in her pocket, his red ink still as vibrant as the day he marked it.
"You're a clever girl," her grandfather said to her before letting go. "Never forget that."
Next she turned to her grandmother, who squeezed her tightly before thrusting a bag of pastries into her hand.
"For the journey," Panchy smiled. "In case you get hungry."
Bulla sheepishly took them from her and smiled. Bulma made her way over to Bulla next, in her arms the baby looked on curiously. Reaching out her finger, Bulla touched the little one sweetly on the nose.
"Grow up strong, okay?" She whispered to her younger self. "And don't let your dad give you and shit."
Gentle laughter tinged with sadness rose from them. Bulma handed off the baby to her mother while she took her turn to wish her daughter goodbye. She grabbed her upper arms and held her firmly, a smile filled with pride rushing across her face.
"You are incredible," she told her daughter. "And I'm so proud of you."
They hugged with the same ferocity they had the day prior. It was bittersweet for both: While they still had their own versions of one another, this was the last time they would see these versions. They were the same on paper, but both the Bulla of the future and the Bulma of the past shared something with one another that the counterparts of their time did not. A thread weaved forever between them that would travel across time and would be solely for them to hold onto.
When their embrace broke, Bulla's eyes looked up over her shoulder. There, standing on the lawn, was Vegeta, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed as always. The others saw and smiled among themselves, parting to allow Bulla to go through.
She didn't want to run to him—she didn't want to seem desperate—but she was. Her pace started slow, calm and cool, but her legs were shaking.
Despite what had occurred between them, her idolization of him never wavered. In her time, on days when things were hard, she drew her strength from her father's legacy. On days when she felt strong, she prided it on her Saiyan genes. Before she met him, she dreamed of him constantly: of the mundane things they could've done together, of the challenges they could've faced. Instead of imagining those things, she now had stories of her own to tell.
One foot after the other shuffled toward him, urgently cutting through the grass. A ringing sounded in her ear and her breath quickened. Inside her chest, her heart pulsed, pounding against her like a drum. Right before she got to him, she stopped herself. He was just in arm's reach but something held her back.
They stood looking at one another in silence when Bulla finally let out a deep, calming sigh. His face softened and his mouth curled, not into the devious smile he was known for, but one that was just on the cusp of joy.
"Bulla," he said. "I just want you to know…"
She nodded her head in anticipation and blinked.
"I am very proud of you," he continued. "You are what it means to be a Saiyan warrior."
Fire roared inside of her, bursting at her seams. Tears formed in her eyes and she let out an incredulous laugh, launching herself toward him and grabbing him in her arms. His body was tense, but her's folded against his chest, drinking him in deeply as if she had been thirsty her entire life.
His arms stuck out and remained rigid while she remained wrapped in him, laughing and crying at the same time. Affection was a strange concept to Vegeta, and her abrupt show of it made his skin itch just slightly. Instinct told him to push away, but something else entirely pushed him toward her. The night she died he had promised Bulma he would stay and be the man she and Bulla deserved. He believed that promise extended to both versions of his daughter, and after years of searching for a father's love, he would relent.
He reluctantly returned the hug. Around them the world melted away, drifted into the morning sky and up through the clouds. A lifetime of wondering stood still and evaporated. It was just the two of them: Warrior's cut from the same cloth, accepting love they both yearned for over and over again.
When they finally let go, the others had come closer. Dr. Briefs reached into his coat pocket to pull out a small camera. He lifted it up as if to ask whether he should take a photo.
"Something to remember us by," he smiled.
Bulma grabbed baby Bulla from her mother's arms and reached out to future Bulla, wrapping herself around her in a side hug. The two posed for Dr. Briefs and smiled. The camera flashed, a gear clicked in it and a small, square photo popped out from the bottom. Dr. Briefs gave it a shake, inspected it and grinned.
"It looks perfect," he said as he handed it to Bulla.
The photograph was smooth on its edges. She ran her thumb across the bottom, rubbing the thin film through her fingers as she stared down. Gently she placed it in her breast pocket alongside the map.
"Don't forget about us!" Panchy chirped, motioning for Bulma to take the camera from her father. Bulla and her grandparents posed in front of the time machine. Dr. Briefs' chest was held high in pride and Panchy leaned in, careening her head to nuzzle up to Bulla.
Another picture popped out and this time Bulma handed it to her, then gave her father back his camera. Bulla took it and added it to the other in her pocket, patting her jacket as she did it.
"Maybe you'd like to be in one too, Vegeta?" Her grandfather asked almost reluctantly. "A family picture?"
Vegeta paused for a moment. He had already spent a lifetime's worth of affection in the past few days. But when she glanced at him with her mother's eyes, and when he saw Bulma staring at him too, his heart twisted ever so slightly. Bulla had won a hard and difficult battle. If the spoils of her victory included a photograph, he would not deny her.
"You can add this to your other one," he said softly. "In the box."
Bulla stood back stunned. She had forgotten that she had told him that in the time chamber—about the picture they had together, the picture from her time. She remembered those days in the time chamber—and those days after—where he spewed vitriol and condemnation toward her. But all this time, underneath it all, he was thinking of her, holding close those tender moments they shared.
He moved in closer to them but did not touch, instead standing awkwardly to the side as both versions of his daughter and Bulma held onto one another and smiled. Another camera flash enveloped the family, the photo craned out of the bottom, and Dr. Briefs smiled again.
"Now this one," his eyes twinkled. "This one is simply indescribable."
Bulla nodded. The satisfaction she felt was what was indescribable. She was traveling home victorious in more ways than one, and these photographs were proof.
She entered the time machine, adjusted her coordinates and braced herself for the journey home. As she floated above them in the sky, waiting for the machine to catch the wrinkle in time that would send her back, she looked down. Raising her hand, she gave one last wave goodbye.
She swore she saw her father smile before fading into the otherworldly current.
The Capsule Corp. of the future had not changed, nor did she expect it to, as she set her coordinates to exactly five minutes after she had left. Her mother had barely cleared the lawn when she touched back down again, and it was strange looking at her again after so long. While it was only a few moments for future Bulma, it had felt like a lifetime had passed for Bulla.
The top of the machine popped open and Bulla made her way out, her mother's probing look wondering whether her daughter had simply forgotten something. But when she stood up and hopped down, Bulma could tell this was not the daughter who had left her moments ago.
Just by looking at her, she could see the work time had done. Energy was vibrating off of her, from the pink of her cheeks to the way she simply carried herself. Gone was the fear from her eyes that had plagued her for so long. Instead there was a self assuredness, a comforting confidence that she had never had before.
"Bulla," Bulma's voice was light. "Back so soon?"
"You could say that," she smiled. Her mother examined her and reached out to grab a strand of her hair. It was longer than she remembered.
"So?" Bulma asked. "How was it?"
Amusement danced across Bulla's face. She reached into her breast pocket, pulled out the photo of her and Bulma and her father, and showed it to her mother.
Bulma had been stunned many times in her life, but holding the photograph, it was a different kind of shock. Her bones ached for the life she could have had if the Z Fighters had won—if Vegeta had lived and stayed. And now here was a picture of her daughter, standing with a younger version of herself and the man she still loved with all of her heart, a hint of a smile on his stone-like face.
Victory. She had won. She had defeated the androids and she had convinced him to stay.
Her heart fluttered and tears formed in her eyes. Bulla took her thumb and brushed a falling drop away from her cheek, smiling at her with a sincerity Bulma had not seen in many years. Hope flickered in her as she looked at the determination in her daughter's face, and for the first time since Bulla had been born, she felt a sense of peace ripple through her.
"I have so much to tell you," Bulla said, grabbing her mother by the arm, and leading her inside.
Author's Note: I can't believe it's over! Thank you so much everyone for coming along this journey with me. This has truly been a passion project for me and I so enjoyed telling this story. I have a couple other ideas I'm kicking around - but if anyone has anything they think they might like to read, I'm always open to suggestions :) Thank you all!
