New year, new me right? Does that mean I'll make regularly scheduled updates? Naw. semi-regular? Mmm, prolly, naw. They'll just continue to happen when they happen. I've never been one to tie myself down to resolutions.

Huge shout out to the very awesome Froglady15 for beta-ing. Go check out her stuff, she's got a new smutty offering in her big bang story Glorious, on AO3.

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Bulma awoke, still clinging to Axle's neck, when she heard the mechanical sounds of a lock being turned. Through drowsy, squinted eyes she could see they were still in an alley. A dim orangey wash struggled to seep in to the backstreet from between buildings, never providing enough light to break the darkness into something less than menacing. The door groaned in protest as Axle pulled it open, seemingly against its will. Bulma peered into the gloom, but the door clicked shut and the darkness swallowed everything.

The boys' heavy footsteps clomped up an unseen staircase; each step creaked as they made their climb. They rounded a corner, turning right onto a landing, and then continued up. Once past the archway at the top, dim light bled in from curtained windows that opened into the street, casting enough light to draw out shadows of objects in the room to frightening lengths but did nothing to ease the ambient eeriness. Bulma felt herself being lowered onto something soft, followed by a blanket being settled over her. She was vaguely aware of the paper bag containing her strawberries crinkling as it was set down. Neither boy said anything as they arranged themselves on the floor. Quiet, steady breathing soon lulled her back to sleep.

Soft grey light filtered in from the window across from where she lay. Bulma stretched out, not expecting one of her arms to hit a soft wall of backing cushion. As she shifted, a thick quilt blanket tangled around her. Sitting up, she blinked her eyes, not dropping the blanket due to the unfamiliar chill nipping at her cheeks and nose. It made her feel stiff; like she had not slept as soundly as she could have.

"Where am I?" She muttered, drowsy.

Axle answered, from below and to her left, "We are in West Town."

Bulma yawned, her eyes, drooping closed. Under the heavy weight of torpor she collapsed back upon the couch on which she lay.

About an hour later she shifted; her was arm numb from having slept on it, her shoulders and neck were stiff from a lack of pillow support. She was still not feeling entirely rested, but hunger nibbled at her belly and the urge to pee forced her to trundle off the couch.

She stood there, shoeless socked feet planted on an old, worn rug. Awake enough to inspect her new surroundings, she looked around. Axle and Mojag were gone. Behind her, nested in a corner of the room, was the old style couch she had slept on; its ornate wood frame looked like it used to be covered in gold paint. Now only scattered chips remained. Next to her couch was a matching chair, with some folded blankets on it and between the couch and chair was a round-topped end table on which sat a lamp with a gold tasseled lampshade. From where she stood, a large window opened to a main street, with curtains drawn back, mid-morning light flooded in. To the left of the window sat the chair and blankets, to the right of the window sat another chair next to a black iron wood stove. Below the window was a low table. Her gaze continuing around, she saw a door on the wall opposite from where she stood. Further right, nested in that corner was a book shelf; it held more nick knacks than books. Drawing away from the couch, she could see the small delicate porcelain figures were covered in dust. The books on this shelf were of old fashions from decades ago, dress patterns, flowers of the world and their uses, a few books about birds, gardening and old magazines meant for housewives. Books on the lowest shelves were children's picture and story books, and a few grade school primers. From the bottom self she followed the foot of a floor lamp up to its tasseled shade.

A group of framed photos hung on the wall. The largest, most prominent photo was a wedding picture. Bulma gasped upon realizing whose home she was in. She moved closer to the wall of photos, craning her neck up at what she could see was a younger less stern looking, and redder haired Dr. Gero. He had quite a few less wrinkles and his long hair was pulled back into loose pony, no bald spot in sight. A beautiful woman with wild auburn hair gazed at Gero; her soft blue eyes brimmed with love. The woman's slim figure was wrapped in a soft and lacey white dress. She wore a crown of fresh white flowers, gauzy veil pulled back, framing her like a halo; all of this gave her an ethereal look, like she was a celestial being that had deigned to step down from heaven and gave a mere human the gift of her presence.

"My mother was beautiful," said Axle. Bulma looked up at him and then to the surrounding photos. There was one of the woman holding a small baby, another of her hand stitching small clothing, and another of her working in a garden in a home set somewhere in a countryside with snow-capped mountains in the distance. In all of the photos she smiled so warmly, so beautifully. In a whisper, Bulma asked of no one in particular, "I wonder if my mother was beautiful too?"

Sorrow flooded her heart; the walls that she had begun to build to try to protect it from Kenworth and Gin were still flimsy. It was difficult to keep from feeling, and what with all this breaking from the usual routine she felt vulnerable and a bit discombobulated. Being in Gero's home felt weird. She felt like she was intruding someplace she should not be.

She looked down at her feet, Axle never noticing, as he was too lost in his own study of the pictures on the wall. The rug under her feet was mostly maroon, with goldish flowers and vines and leaves that seemed to wind around infinitely. Her eyes landed on a flower and followed a stem that whirled around it. The winding stem came to another flower and left again to wind and attach to another flower and so on until the vine reached a blue and white border at the edge of the rug. In different places the vines branched off into more spirals and then branched off again. Each spiral ended at a central flower, but all were connected. In following the flower pattern, Bulma had made her way back to the couch. She discarded the blanket there and tuned back to Axle, momentarily unsure she should interrupt him.

"Where is the head?"

Axle broke from his trance. "There is a bathroom down stairs, on the other side of the workroom. Be careful, it's dark. That back room does not have windows." He turned back to stare at the photos on the wall.

Bulma warily eyeing him, shuffled past and into the dining room, glancing to the left and catching a glimpse of the kitchen and the unadorned table. At the archway of the stairwell she stopped cold, gasping at the sight of a pale ghost, but it was only her reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite the stairs. Like the living room furniture, the mirror had an ornamental frame. Below the mirror a table, covered in dust and an empty flower vase. From the vase a thin spider web sagged under the weight of accumulated dust. Each step creaked and groaned. The lower she went, the mustier it seemed. The air held the feel of unlived in staleness. On the landing between floors was another table and mirror. This mirror caught the light from the rooms above and shone it down to yet another mirror on the floor below. Upon reaching the ground level, Bulma wondered how long she could hold off the need to pee. She wondered why the bathroom had to be on the ground floor, and on the other side of a creepy dark room.

She gulped and edged forward. The mirror behind her reflected a dim path to a narrow door across the room. She vaguely remembered going through this room last night. A razor thin strip of light marked the bottom of the door that led out to the back alley. Spider webs hung like gossamer drapes from electrical wires that dropped from the ceiling down to dead light bulbs which hung over a long table draped in canvas. A large peak in the heavy material tented the middle. Creeping forward a few steps and then left, Bulma almost bumped into a stack of boxes along the wall on her right. She reached out to touch the boxes as a guide in the dark; they were dry, scratchy and left her fingers feeling dusty.

She squeaked at something furry touching her fingers and shuffled further into the dark and nearly lost control of her bladder at the sight of three corpses looming along the wall behind the canvas covered table. Head down, squeezing her eyes shut, her heart pounded in her chest and her fists clenched in clammy sweat.

"I don't want to be here! I don't want to be here anymore!" she chanted to herself, frantically.

She wanted to go back to the ship. She kind of wanted to go back to the orphanage.

As she got a handle on her breathing rate, she slowly opened her eyes onto the floor where she could just make out older foot paths in varying levels of dustiness. She needed to go to the bathroom. She needed to move forward. She needed to stop being afraid. Gero would not have corpses strung up in this dark and musty store room, she reasoned. She had to force herself to be reasonable. Dead things smelled bad. Dead things rotted. The only smells she could detect where dust, moldy canvas and her own sour sweat.

Keeping her head down, she shuffled onward, opening her eyes here and there until she reached the door. It creaked open to reveal the creepiest looking bathroom she had ever seen. She didn't bother closing the door and did her business quick, reached for the flush chain hanging from the ceiling and willed herself to not look into the mirror above the sink as she tried to wash her hands, but there was neither soap nor was there water from the faucet. Bulma settled for wiping her hands on her shabby dress despite feeling that did nothing to rid her hands of germiness.

She still needed new dresses.

She latched onto the thought as she regrouped to make the trek across the creepy room again. She needed new dresses. The corpses would be hanging along the wall to her right on her way back. She needed new dresses. The rough scrape of paper scratched across the floor under her socks.

Bulma opened her eyes. Behind a film of dust on yellowed sheets were hand drawn pictures of dresses. Picking one up, she saw a long, willowy woman posed dramatically in a flowing gown with a fitted bodice. She reached down for another. This model wore a frilly, poofy skirt. Another drawing lay half hidden under the heavy canvas. She pushed the canvas aside, raising a puff of dust and revealing a few more sketches; there was a smart older style dress, slim in design with matching large brimmed hat, and another model in something sleek and elegant. She scooted over to pluck up an image of a carefree model wearing a flowy summery sun dress.

She reached for another and bumped her head against something hard, but padded. She looked up. A scream stuck in her throat as she sat back, frozen in fear. One of the corpses loomed over her. The pale pink body did not move. It did not have arms or legs, or rather it had a single metal leg that ended in a wide flared and flat base.

"You're a dummy!" Bulma breathed, slumping in relief. She stood, dusting herself off. Gathering up the fallen sketches, she looked for a place to put them and decided upon the stack of boxes along the wall. This first floor was a dressmaker's workshop and based on the practically antique look of the building, she had to be in a very old part of West Town, which had to mean she probably wasn't very far from the orphanage. She set the sheaf of papers down. She still needed new dresses, but she doubted there was anything in her size here, but that thought didn't stop her from peeking into one of the boxes. In it were vases. Not what she expected. In the back of her mind she knew she should not be rifling through someone else's things, but she felt like she had stumbled upon a treasure trove and her natural curiosity drove her on. She picked up the box of vases; something in it clinked as she set the box aside. She plucked out a vase shook it. When it made no sound she checked another, then another until she found the noisy one. She over tipped it into her hand and out of it fell old flower detritus and an object like a large pill.

She nearly dropped the vase when Axle called out from the stairway, "Bulma, are you okay?"

Pocketing the pill thing, Bulma stuffed the vase back into its box and set it down onto its earlier place just as Axle's shadowed form came into view in the stairway.

"Yeah," she said nervously, "I just bumped into some boxes and almost knocked them over. It really is dark down here. Why aren't the any lights?"

"This house is old and no longer receives electricity from the local power grid." Axle lumbered up to her. He looked around, his face blank but Bulma could see that his mind saw things that she did not.

She said, quietly, "This was your mother's workshop."

Axle nodded. "She was beautiful. And she made beautiful dresses."

Axle turned to look at her.

"I saw some of her sketches when I almost fell over after knocking over the boxes."

Axel's features softened. "Come on, you haven't had breakfast."

Upstairs she sat at the kitchen table and Axel set a plate of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon in front of her. Bulma's eyes widened and she gushed, beaming at Axel, "Is this real food? Real eggs, and real bacon?"

Axel chuckled, "Yes. My mother showed me how to make this. It's really the only thing I know how to prepare, aside from reheatable MREs."

"You really miss your mom."

"I do." Axle said, solemnly.

"You have memories of her. You got to know her. I didn't know my parents at all." She forced a smile before Axle could say anything else. "I'm glad she taught you how to make breakfast. Thank you for the meal."

It was a struggle to not shove the entire plate into her mouth all at once. Every bite was amazing. The eggs were rich, the bacon was greasy perfection and the pancakes drizzled in sweet sugary syrup was heavenly.

After breakfast, Bulma insisted that she wash the dishes. In the kitchen there was water stored in large jugs. It wasn't until then that it occurred to Bulma to ask about Mojag.

"He usually leaves town to gather fire wood." Axle said.

"Oh. All day?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I've never thought to ask."

"But he's your friend too, isn't he?"

Axel contemplated quietly before answering. "I see him as a comrade. He does not confide in me, nor do I to him."

"Oh." Bulma said. Awkward silence followed as she set plates in the rack to be dried. The water that had been warmed on the woodstove had gone luke-warm and was a murky grey. She over tipped the basin and let it drain, then dried her pruney hands on a towel. This errant thought reminded her of the daily prune the orphanage made all the girls eat for dessert. "To keep you regular," the aunts would say.

"What do you do when the Doctor leaves like this?" She followed Axle to the living room. The late morning sun shone brightly in from the window. From the position of the sun, Bulma determined that this window faced south. The early morning chill had fully melted away and the wood stove's embers had cooled to a barely noticeable warmth.

"I stay here, but this is the first time father has taken this long of a trip."

Axle sat on the floor, cross legged, looking like an over grown child. Bulma sat herself on the same couch she had slept on the night before. "So you don't know where he went then."

"No."

"Nor where Mojag went to, really."

"No."

Silence. It seemed this week was going to go by slow. What was she going to do? She needed new dresses, she remembered, playing with the loose seam of her hem.

"I think I would like to finally buy some new dresses."

"I will go with you into town, but I should not stay out long."

That struck Bulma as odd. "Why not?"

Axel shifted, looking uncomfortable. "We should not allow ourselves to be noticed by the Marines. They do not know you, or Mojag. They know of Gin and Kenworth, but they believe my father and I to be dead. Every time we come to town, it is dangerous."

"But yesterday!" Bulma cried.

"Yes, that was not good, but that Marine was just a boy like myself, and he did not recognize me upon sight." Axle stood. "I will accompany you to the main square where the book store is and make sure you know how to return."

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Bulma sequestered herself in corner. Libroso had greeted her with a smile that morning and seemed surprised but genuinely happy to see her for a second day in a row.

"Love becomes an obsession for the human caught up in it. It makes one lose their selfhood. Thoughts of another consume you."

Bulma looked up from the book in her hands. Libroso seemed engrossed with something on his desk, his pen scratched away furiously. She dove back into Helene Fishel's engrossing descriptions of love. A few hours later she finished the book and wandered up and down the rows, wondering what to read next.

"Child, don't you ever take a break? You've been here all morning."

"You spend all day here though, don't you?"

Libroso laughed. "Honey, I do but I work pretty much the entire time. I catalog new and donated books and shelve them. I peruse catalogs and place orders for new material and receive those shipments when they come in. Sometimes, long distance customers write and ask for particular books to be mailed to them. I write back with prices, receive payment and then send the orders out."

"So you don't get read anything?"

"Oh, heavens, no child, not until I get home do I have time to read something myself." Libroso patted her on the head like puppy. "It's about time I close for my lunch break. I need to dash on over to the post office and send out orders. I can't leave you here by yourself."

"Oh, I see." Bulma allowed him to show her to the door. "Mr. Libroso, sir, may I ask you something?"

Libroso chuckled, "yes my dear?"

"Where can I find a dress shop?" Bulma blushed as she grasped the sides of her skirt.

Libroso knelt down, meeting her eye to eye. "If I had a kid sister I'd want her to be as precious as you. Oshkana's down the road specializes in children's' clothes, and SW General has a good selection too."

Bulma left the bookstore, not really that interested in clothes. She was disappointed the woman from the day before had not shown up. She wandered down the street, taking notice of the various shops. The store after Libroso's Book Emporium was a curio shop with delicate glass figures displayed in the window. After that was a shop that sold beads. "Bone, seed, clay, and more!" the sign in the window proclaimed. Then there was a leather shop, a seamstress, and a cobbler.

This time she made sure to pay attention to street signs. She mentally repeated the directions Axel had given her. She didn't want to get lost again. She meandered further; in the distance she could see Oshkana's wooden sign, but she hung a left on Cove from Main. Here there were more food stores. There was a grocer's, a bakery, a candy shop, and there was the tea shop she had stopped at the day before. This time she wanted something more substantial than chocolate covered strawberries. She ended up inside a sandwich shop and left with a basic ham and cheese on sweet white with a bag of handmade potato crisps in a grease soaked paper bag.

As she crunched on, she wandered further up Cove until the smell of salty ocean grew stronger. Cove ended at Bow Avenue which went north and south, with Ocean Avenue cutting across diagonally as it followed the coast. At the very south end of Ocean and Bow was Coast Street. At the North end of Bow was Sea Street. The buildings here looked like grimy shanties. They were built so close together there was hardly any room between them. They looked like houses, but had no yards. In front of some houses women sat smoking cigarettes. They eyed her warily, looking tired, worn, and bedraggled. A boy ran past her, bumping her, and shouted back her angrily, "Watch it bitch."

Dread quickly washed over her as she realized she had yet again wandered somewhere she wasn't supposed to be. The crisps and sandwich she had eaten sat like a hard lump in her belly. It was midday; there should be no danger in being out here at this time. She crumpled up her empty food wrappers and stuffed them into an over flowing garbage barrel. She should turn back, she thought.

A filthy looking man, with dark bags under his eyes bumped past her, nearly knocking her over. "Watch it kiddo!" He turned to help her up.

"I'm sorry, sir," Bulma apologized.

"No prob sweet thing, my bad." He kept a hold of her hand, never letting up his grip. "You're a little cutie, ain't cha? I ain't seen you around here before."

Bulma tried to pull away from him, but he didn't let go.

"I got lotsa time yet until I ship out," he crooned to her.

Bulma yanked away harder. "Let go, mister," she pleaded, "Please."

"Oh, you can call me daddy, kiddo."

Her heart jumped into over drive. She didn't know why he was talking to her like that, but she knew it was all wrong and every nerve in her screamed, "Run away!"

"I see you ova there Cole Lier!" A raspy, vaguely feminine voice called out. "Wat'chu doing with that girl-child when you know a woman is what you need!"

The man called Cole turned to the voice calling out to him. "Merina, my darling! I was just comin' to see you!"

"Like hell you were!" Merina retorted.

Bulma pulled away, at Cole's moment of inattention. "Merina, my queen of Ho Street, I'd never hold another above you!"

"Mmm, hmmm!" Merina turned her nose up at him. "Boy, you can't handle these ocean tides two days in row!"

Bulma backed away, afraid to move too fast for fear of drawing Cole's attention.

She watched as Cole moved in, ready to wrap his hands around Merina's wide and generous hips. "Oh I got the gumption to ride this hurricane again."

"Mmm, hmm!" Merina crooned, she jerked her hips into his and grabbed him by the waist, "If you've got my money, honey, I've got the time!"

Cole disappeared past Merina's door. Bulma stood up and ran.

She didn't stop running until she reached Sea Street. Once there, she ducked around the wall of a veranda skirted building. Leaning against that wall she slid down to her tush and sat until she caught her breath. Those were mating signals that she picked up from that man. Helene Fishel's words echoed in her head. Mating! Mating meant- it meant-

She shook her head, as if to rid it of such dirty thoughts.

She sat, in the shade until a nearby clock tower rang in the hour with a single loud clang. The sound shook the wall and her entire body; it must have been close. Bulma stood and wandered past the shade. On Sea Street she could see the wide empty yard of the marine parade grounds, though she did not know them as such at that moment. She did, however recognize the Marine tower to the west that loomed above all the other structures like a sentinel on watch.

Some watchman, Bulma thought, why hadn't she seen any Marines on Bow Street earlier?

From Sea Street she could find her way back to Main and eventually the book store. She had her fill of wandering for the day and just wanted to be somewhere safe.