She was sitting at the desk in her room. Six hours had passed since the meal she'd shared with Vegeta, and Bulma was now reviewing a report that her father had prepared. She had another cup of tea brewed and was raising it to her lips for a sip when it happened. A rattle that was strong enough to knock her to the floor, causing her hot drink to slosh against her face and sting the skin. Her computer monitor toppled over, barely missing her head as she screamed.

An earthquake?

Now?

She rolled over, scooting on her stomach to try and clear away from anything else that had the potential to fall on her petit frame. Breaths shallow, adrenaline making her ears ring, Bulma paused halfway across the room. Now that she thought about it, the house wasn't even swaying, as it should with seismic activity. Did that mean this wasn't an earthquake, after all?

…Then… what was that?

Her eyes widened, reality dawning on her. Her ears weren't just ringing because of her nerves – they were recoiling from a loud noise! A blast!

…An explosion?

There was no need to investigate. If something had just exploded, there was only one thing it could be! She immediately ran for the stairs, with only one thought on her mind. She was overwhelmed with so much worry that her legs felt weak as she ran, and it felt like an eternity that she was rushing for the door. Nothing could have prepared Bulma for the horror she felt when she made it outside and caught a glimpse of his lifeless face peering out from the rubble. The Bluehead was in such shock that she couldn't even hear herself screaming as she ran across the yard, dropping to her knees as she panted in distress. All she could do was think one word. No.

'No.' She thought, picking pieces from the debris and tossing them aside.

'No.' She thought, catching a look of flesh on his shoulder that had been burned to a black leather.

'No.' She thought again, struggling to remove a chunk of metal that had been laying on his chest, desperate to free his body from the endless pile of wreckage. She knew she shouldn't touch someone who had been injured in a traumatic accident like this. There could be internal bleeding! There was risk of making things even worse! But what did any of that protocol matter when he was already dead?

'No!' She thought, feeling the tears finally catch up to her eyes as she pulled his head into her lap. 'No…'

She could feel hands on her shoulders, a voice instructing something. She shrugged them away, shaking her head. Wasn't Vegeta supposed to be invincible? He was supposed to have outlived them all!

How could this have happened? She had spent so much time working on all of his training bots, upgrading the gravity machine, arguing with him about taking it easy and not pushing the equipment so hard. He wasn't supposed to just suddenly die!

She could feel a pair of arms wrapping under her own, pulling her up by her axillaries. She shook her head again, screaming incomprehensively as she tried to resist the hold. She needed more time with the saiyan. She needed to process the situation. Her struggles were in vain, as the person lifted her feet from the ground and began to pull her back. Bulma opened her eyes to watch Vegeta helplessly as his body fell from her lap. The way he seemed to roll back in slow motion, his head slapping into the Earth with a dull thud. It was nothing more than dead weight.

The Bluehead seemed to lose all capability to yell in that moment, her eyes widening as the firefighter continued to pull her farther away. All she could do was stare into Vegeta's dusty face, all color surrounding her seeming to turn to grey as her chest heaved…

She just couldn't shake the shock.

She hadn't even realized how much she had been looking forward to until it was suddenly ripped away. There was so much about him that she was yet to learn. So many stories she'd been planning to coax out of him. So many meals left to share. This was a man she had assumed would be around for a long time. Three years wouldn't have even been enough – but at least she would have had that! She didn't know what might have been in store from them, but Bulma was suddenly hit with the overwhelming feeling that she'd just lost a huge part of her own future.

A future she had unknowingly hoped he would be in… for at least three years…

'No.' She thought again. This couldn't be over. Not so suddenly. Not like this. They were going to take him away to some medical facility! They'd destroy his body with an unnecessary autopsy. When they realized he wasn't human, they'd tear it apart even more to perform countless experiments, and he'd end up in some type of textbook. "No!" She let out another scream, throwing her arms out and waving kicks at the person who was carrying her. "Let me go! Let me go!" Whoever was holding her was strong, but they were having trouble from the fight she was putting up. Only thinking to quickly remove her from the scene, the firefighter hadn't thought to restrict her limbs as he carried her away. "Let go of me! This is my fucking house!" She screamed. "That was my fucking ship!" Her elbow suddenly came into contact with his cheek, and as he recoiled from the pain she managed to break free from his hold. As soon as her feet touched the ground she was running for the rubble again. Towards him. She needed to protect him. To keep his body both dignified and safe.

She would wish him back! She would find a way!

"Stop it!" The firefighter was yelling.

She ignored him. Who was he to tell her that? He didn't know anything! She looked ahead to see several more emergency workers gathering around the remnants of the ship. They were ready to blockade her from him – from the man she was trying so hard to get to. She glared, stopping in her tracks. "Don't you dare touch him!" She barked.

"Bulma!" Dr. Briefs called, having finally arrived at the back door. He began to make his way across the yard, weaving through the personnel that were attempting to quarantine the scene. Understanding that he was the true owner of the property, they all bowed their heads as he passed.

"Dad!" She cried, her face red with fury. She could hear the siren of an ambulance approaching from a few blocks away. "You of all people should understand! They can't take him!"

"I know, I know." He replied, lowering his voice to prevent any of the workers from hearing. "I didn't call them, Dear. It must have been a neighbor…"

She wiped the tears from her face, turning to glare at the few houses adjacent to their property. She was about to scream a hysteric about how they should all mind their own business, when she felt her father's fingers clapping over her shoulder. "Calm down, honey. Go inside! Try to relax. I'll take care of it. Everything will be alright."

She whipped around to face him, seeing the look in his eyes. He'd meant it. It seemed that these people regarded his opinion more than hers, anyway. Perhaps he was right. She was growing claustrophobic with all the emergency responders that were swarming them. She was going to end up hitting someone with a piece of metal debris if she stuck around for too much longer. "Alright! I'll go inside! Please, Dad! You can't let them! Don't let them touch him!"

.

Days…

It felt like days had passed since returning to the house from the chaos outside. Bulma sat on the couch, staring at the fireplace and hugging her knees. She could hear the various voices outside, the loud crashes of moving rubble, the engines of waste trucks that were being moved and filled. The cleanup crew were making good time with the destroyed ship, but it still wasn't fast enough.

It felt like they were taking days.

There was a commotion going on upstairs, as well. Bulma listened to footsteps racing up and down the floor, the clicking of equipment, a slew of incomprehensible words. Dr. Plocks, the family's go-to practitioner, was upstairs at that very moment examining Vegeta's body. She could hear his muffled voice speaking with Dr. Briefs - most likely discussing how to handle his remains.

The truth was that Vegeta had no way of identification. Of course he didn't – he wasn't even native to this planet! There was absolutely no way to prove that Vegeta had even existed! Legally, there was no way that anybody could claim his body. Nobody had no means of proving that they had the right. Bulma clapped her face into her hands, feeling as if the weight of the world has been thrown on her back. Dr. Briefs had stuck by his promise. He'd used his wealth and legal threats to intimidate the ambulance from retrieving the body. That had worked, but Dr. Plocks was another story altogether. He wasn't afraid of the Briefs family. There was no way he would simply shrug off the situation and leave a dead body in their possession – especially when they couldn't prove that they even knew him! What would happen now? What kind of mess was this?

She could hear footsteps coming downstairs. They had obviously reached some kind of agreement. Now they were on their way to inform her. Bulma squeezed her eyes shut, still overwhelmed by how badly her heart was sinking into her chest. She still couldn't believe it – she couldn't understand. He wasn't supposed to be gone… He was supposed to be there… yelling empty threats and making child-like demands… How could he have been so stupid to get himself killed? He had told her he was strong!

"Bulma, dear."

She looked up.

Sure enough, Dr. Plocks and her father were standing side by side, making their way into the room. The looks on both of their faces were grim and empty, and she found that she couldn't predict what either one was going to say. There was no indication in their eyes. Just disbelief. She quietly stood, waiting anxiously to hear what they were going to announce. She just knew that Dr. Plocks was going to take him. It was too hopeful to think otherwise. The two men looked at each other, as if trying to decide who should speak. Finally, Dr. Plocks cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Miss Briefs…" He said. He cleared his throat again, obviously searching for the right words.

It was true. They were going to take him away! Perform autopsies – destroy his body – send him on a world tour for students of medicine to examine. Put him in a museum. Publish articles! And there was nothing she could do!

Bulma felt the tears in her eyes yet again. As if his death wasn't hard enough, she now suddenly felt guilty for the fate of his remains. She couldn't even protect them. Feeling helpless and ashamed, the Bluehead fell back into the couch, letting a sob out as she fell. "No!" She cried. "Please – please! I'm begging you, don't!"

"Miss Briefs"

She shook her head. "You can't take him. I don't know what Dad told you, but you just can't!"

"Bulma, dear."

She was fighting to keep herself together, but the growing emptiness was becoming too much to bear. Even as she cried, she was shocked at her own reaction. She barely even knew him! She'd only met him a few months earlier! How was it that she could be this torn up about him? And, as she thought this, the dreadful feeling of grief managed to only become worse.

She'd only been able to know him for a few months…

"Bulma!" A pair of hands were now on her shoulders, willing her to look up. Her father was standing over her, Dr. Plocks at his side. "Bulma, stop crying, dear."

She blinked. "Don't you tell me to stop! You told me you'd take care of it! You told me you wouldn't let anyone touch him! You promised!"

Dr. Plocks intervened now, stepping in for the scientist who still appeared to be in shock, himself. "Miss Briefs, he isn't going anywhere. There's isn't any dead body to remove."

What?

She choked, the words not registering in her mind. What in the world did he mean by that?

"He's… It… it's very faint, but he has a heart rate." Dr. Plocks was obviously perplexed as he spoke. "The machines could not even detect it. It wasn't until I took a cell sample for the microscope and saw that the tissue is living. We ran a few tests, and… well - there's… There's brain activity. There's no trace of oxygen loss at all… I just don't understand… It... It isn't possible!"

She blinked again, dropping her hands from her face and staring at the two men as her mouth hung open. She'd just been so distraught a moment ago, and now she was hesitant to get excited. Terrified that she had misunderstood, she grabbed the cloth of her pants. "He's… he's alive?"

"I…" Dr. Plocks nodded, clearing his throat again. This seemed to be a nervous habit of his. "To be quite honest, I don't really understand it myself. He… He shouldn't be…" He didn't need to say anything more. As soon as he confirmed it, there was no doubt in Bulma's mind that it was true. It did make sense! It was possible! Vegeta was a Saiyan, after all! His entire life revolved around performing the impossible! Dr. Plocks didn't need to understand! It wasn't his business to know! She jumped from the couch, pushing both men back as she ran for the stairs. She needed to see it for herself. She needed to hear his voice!

"Bulma, dear…" Dr. Briefs tried, but he knew it was to no use. His daughter never listened – especially not when she was this emotional. She'd keep going until she reached the room and came to her own conclusion. All the two men could do was follow in her trail, knowing exactly what she would see when she made it upstairs. And they found her, standing in the doorway of his room, looking much less enthusiastic than she had a few moments earlier. She turned when she heard them coming, her eyes exhibiting the disappointment that they both had predicted. "He's… not… awake…" She muttered.

"No." Dr. Plocks clapped a hand on her shoulder. "He's alive, but barely. He isn't even stable enough to transport to a hospital. We're going to have to keep him here, on life support."

Wide eyed and dispirited, Bulma's mouth dropped open again. "But he'll be okay, won't he? He just needs to rest, right?"

"I'm so sorry, Bulma. As a physician, I don't like to give any false hope." Dr. Plocks shook his head mournfully. The Bluehead was about to say something back when he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "That being said, I didn't think he'd be alive at all, and he sure proved me wrong…"

This seemed to be all she needed to hear. "Of course!" She replied, the determination returning to her face. "I know he'll get better. I'm going to make sure of it! I won't leave his side at all until he wakes up!"

.

And she did stay by him. She didn't know what else there was to do – Dr. Plocks had hooked him to an IV for nutrition, a mask on his face to regulate his breathing, and there was a band around his arm to monitor his heart. But she stayed by his side, checking his temperature, fluffing his pillows, making sure his bedding was still warm. She knew one thing for sure, and that was that he would recover. If there was even a drip of life left in him, he'd come around and end up stronger than ever before! And she was going to do all in her power to help make sure of that.

What if his heart rate started slipping in the middle of the night? She just had to be there in case he needed emergency CPR!

What if his skin started to look blue, and his temperature began to drop? She needed to be there to make sure his blankets were heated!

Keeping an eye on him wasn't exactly easy. Days passed without a single movement on his part, and the hours dragged by incredibly slow. She hardly slept at night, terrified at the idea of waking up to find that something had gone wrong while she'd been unavailable to help.

…

Darkness.

This was nothing new.

He'd encountered this before. Without even a simple dream to occupy his mind, Vegeta was engulfed by absolute black. He was used to this. How many times had he been here? The portal between life and death, a vacuum that attempted to suck him in. But he resisted. He always resisted. Only once had that suction been successful at pulling him through, like a misty arm that wrapped its fist around his lungs and dragged him to his eternal slumber. But he had managed to escape. He'd been wished back. And he wasn't going to let it win again. Not now.

Shades of purple were hueing under his eyelids. The color was so faint that he could feel it more than he could see it, and it rippled across his skin like unkept water. The color radiated both heat and frost, shifting in intensity as if beckoning the prince to hell. They seemed to be there to assist the suction of the portal, attempting to distract him so his soul could be extracted away. He had experienced this feeling many times before. The annoying little bugs.

'Not now.' He thought, his voice booming in his head as if he were yelling. Somehow, through the darkness, he could feel something faint. As if it were muffled, worlds away, there was a steady energy nagging at the back of his mind. Waiting for him to find a way to seal the darkness away and go back into the light.

He could feel her.

Her aura.

What was she doing here? Why was she in this dimension? For all of his experience, this was something new. Her energy - so warm and pleading, unwavering and focused. Calling to him, as if to guide him the right way. As if urging him to escape the darkness. Coaxing him away from this cold.

How long he spent in this world was always unknown to him. Regardless of how much time passed in the land of the living, this place always felt the same. There'd been times that he had risen from this place to find that it had only been a few hours, and others when he awoke to discover it had been weeks.

It was because of this that he wasn't sure how much time had passed when he began to feel the light once again. It was dizzying. And bright. Never before had it been this suffocating to return to. When he was ready to reunite with the land of the living, he was usually awake in an instant, ready to break free of his regeneration tank and find a large meal to make up for. This time, however, it was a haze. His head was heavy, and there was a searing pain in his cerebrum. It seemed to take all the strength he could manage just to open his eyes a few slits, the image of the room taking even longer to focus in his brain.

Wait - he was in her room?

It was a blur, but he was sure he could make out her form sitting at the desk beside him. Her face was in her hands, and she was slumped over as if asleep. This certainly wasn't a regeneration tank!

But, then again, of course it wasn't…

He was used to risking his body during training, knowing fully well that a tank would be readily available to restore him back to health no matter how injured he became. But he'd known better – he was fully aware that Earth didn't have such a thing! But after years of recovering in regeneration tanks, it was easy to forget when he was in the middle of an extensive training session. His cockiness had gotten the better of him, and this time he really could have ended up dead..

How could he have been so stupid?

He felt like absolute hell, eyelids convulsing as he struggled to push himself upright. His vision was fading again, but he fought to hang on.

"Vegeta," He heard her voice, though it was amazing how it sounded as if she were speaking through a tube. He managed to prop one eye back open, struggling just to look at her. His body was ringing with a pain that rarely affected him in this way, his skin flaring as he attempted to grab the blanket.

"Wo…man." He choked, taking in a deep breath as he turned her way. His voice was muffled by the breathing mask, but she made out his words with clarity nonetheless. Bulma was right beside him now, and he felt as a damp cloth was placed on his forehead. She had a forced smile on her face, though she wasn't entirely sure if he could see it, for his eyes closed as soon as the towel came into contact with his skin. "Don't move… You're still injured." She breathed, her lower lip quivering to see such strain in his brows. He was in pain…

"Are you…" He choked out, teeth gritting. "...crying…"

"Sshh," Bulma urged, pulling the blanket up to cover his body better. "Let's just say… I think I found something that is worth my tears..." She wasn't sure if he actually heard it, for in that moment his breathing deepened, the fight leaving his face. His hand grew limp, and she knew that he had fallen asleep once again. "Just rest," She whispered, a warmth filling her stomach as she sat back to look at him. He was definitely out again, but the fact that he'd come back at all was more than enough confirmation for her worrying eyes.

Vegeta wasn't going anywhere.

She was going to get to have her time with him, after all. He'd be there for her to assist in his training, to participate in witty arguments, to eat her mother's warm meals, to provide unintentional comfort with his quiet aura, and to offer her his backhanded advice. He was such a mysterious specimen, so closed off and hardened, yet he was soft when he least expected it.

He was just misunderstood...

She found herself sliding down into her own seat, relief inviting the exhaustion to take over. He was alive, and she was so glad to have seen that fight in his eyes. She still couldn't put her finger on what it was exactly, or how he'd be involved in it, but she knew that he was surely going to be a part of her future. For at least the next three years…