Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Another Lifetime ❯ Life's End ( Chapter 1 )

Another Lifetime

 

A DBZ fic by QueenSaiyajin

 

(Author's Warning and Disclaimer: This fic is not intended to infringe upon any rights owned by Akira Toriyama, FUNimation, TOEI, etc. This is just for enjoyment. Please note that this is rated NC-17 for sexual situations (B/V) )

 

 

 

Chapter One

Life's End

 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

 

Vegeta roared with the power of his Super Saiyan form, blasting madly at the training drones until nothing remained but smoke and scrap metal. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and his chest was heaving to take in gulps of air. It had been a long time since he had trained at 450G, and the last half hour of stretching to the limits of his ki in a relentless attack of energy had quite worn him out. He should be proud of his endurance, and any other time he would be. But this had not been about power, or strength. It had been a release of rage, pure unadulterated rage directed inwards towards himself. For despite being the most powerful man on Earth, he was powerless in the face of what threatened to destroy everything he held dear.

 

The monitor in the training room lit up, and Bulma's voice called him tiredly from his training. It shocked him to notice what he had tried all too hard to ignore—the pallor of her skin, the pain in her still-beautiful blue eyes. It had been difficult for her too, perhaps more so, and yet rather than comfort her he had escaped into his training. His guilt for having done so overwhelmed him as much as the need to go to her right now, and he answered her call much more quietly that he normally would when faced with interruptions.

 

“What is it, Bulma?” he asked, his heart pounding with dread. Already he had lowered the gravity as he prepared to take his leave.

 

“Vegeta, it's Trunks,” she said in a voice that betrayed her unshed tears. “I think…you'd better come now.”

 

He didn't even take the time to answer her, instead, rushing through the doors of the GT chamber and down the hall to their living quarters.

 

It had been a week since the pandemic plague that had swept the planet had made its way into his home. Trunks had been stricken at once, and Vegeta had scoffed at his woman's concerns, telling her that his Saiyan blood would help him overcome any illness, even one that had proven deadly to 70% of the Earth's human population—including all the Z Fighters. His only concern had been for her, with her pure human blood. He had even suggested a transfusion of his blood into her, as a means of protecting her against the disease. So far, Bulma had shown no signs of the illness. He thanked the gods daily for that. But Trunks grew worse by the day, and there was nothing that anyone, even his brilliant mother, could do for him. Even when Kakarot's two sons had both fallen to the disease, Vegeta had continued to insist that Trunks was an Elite, and that his Saiyan blood was more powerful. But in truth, the deaths of Goten and Gohan had shaken Vegeta more than he would let on to his family, and it was only for the sake of Bulma and Bra that he had refused to openly give in to despair.

 

Bulma was waiting for him outside the door to their son's room, and threw her arms around his neck as soon as he was close enough. At once she fell apart in his embrace, and he cursed himself again for not having been at her side throughout the entire ordeal.

 

“I don't know what else to do, Vegeta…” she sobbed. “He's slipping away and there's nothing I can do!”

 

For a long moment he held her tightly, caressing her hair and kissing her lightly on the forehead. “Dry your eyes, woman,” he said gently. “You don't want to upset the boy by letting him see you like this.”

 

Bulma nodded, wiping her eyes and breathing deeply. She had needed that release, but knew that he was right. “Come on. He asked to see you.”

 

He followed her into the room where his only son lay motionless, his eyes closed. For a moment, Vegeta feared he was too late. But as he sat on the bedside, Trunks opened his eyes, and Vegeta thought he would cry in relief.

 

“Papa…” Trunks hadn't called him that since he was a child. His voice was as weak as his body seemed to be, and in alarm Vegeta felt his ki flickering like a candle in the wind.

 

“I'm here, son,” Vegeta said softly.

 

“I'm sorry…I guess…my Saiyan blood…wasn't strong enough…”

 

His words cut through Vegeta's heart like a blast of ki, as he remembered another lifetime where he had scorned his infant child for being a half-breed. Trunks had proved time and again that he was a better fighter, and certainly a better man, than Vegeta could ever hope to be. Hadn't he praised him enough? Hadn't he made up for his disgraceful behavior after the Majin Buu affair, when he had finally realized just how important his loved ones were to him? “You are a Saiyan Prince, my son,” he told Trunks, his voice filled with emotion. “And I have always been very proud of you.”

 

Trunks smiled weakly. “Thanks, Dad.” Then the eyes that looked so much like his mother's closed for the last time.

 

“No…no!” Bulma cried at his side, falling to her knees and resting her head on the boy's chest. “No…not my little boy…” she wept.

 

Vegeta just sat paralyzed with grief, gazing down in horror at the lifeless form of his son. How had this happened? After all they had been through, all they had survived, how had a fucking virus taken his eldest child? Was this some divine retribution for the evils of his past? Had the fact that he had actually found happiness on this small world so angered the gods that they had done this to remind him that he did not deserve to be happy? And if so, why punish the boy!?

 

The doctors came in with their protective gear, and he knew the ritual they wanted to perform. Even the bodies of the dead had contaminated the soil and water supplies wherever they had been buried, and the government had ordered all victims to be immediately cremated. It wasn't the thought of that finality which bothered him. Cremation was a Saiyan rite as well. But to intrude on their grief like this, when Trunks' body was still warm with the fever that had killed him…

 

“Get out!” he roared at the medics. “Touch him and I will blast you where you stand!”

 

“But Sir, there's danger to the rest of your family! His body must be burned at once!”

 

The man had used the one argument that mattered to him. He stood to face them. “Then I will see to him myself.”

 

 

 

 

 

With his own hands he built the funeral pyre in the gardens just outside their home at Capsule Corp, an area deserted since the plague had forced everyone to stay locked indoors for fear of contamination. Even the servants had retreated once Trunks had taken ill, and the entire complex had been as still as the death that surrounded them. At sunset he laid Trunks' body atop the mass of wood. Bulma and Bra were crying openly as he lowered the torch to light the kindling. His own tears were dried by the heat of the flames, and he watched them burn until he could watch no more. He turned to the women who were all he had left in the Universe, and they fell against him, one in each arm. He held them tightly, possessively, as if daring anyone or anything to take them away from him too.

 

When the flames had died, and nothing was left but ash, the cool wind made Vegeta shiver. But as he bent to kiss Bra's cheek, he knew that something was terribly wrong. Her skin still burned like the flames that had consumed her brother.

 

“Bra, are you all right?” he asked, his heart beating wildly with fear.

 

“I don't feel good, Papa,” she said in a small voice. Then she went limp as she fell into unconsciousness.

 

“No, please, no…” Bulma wept.

 

“We will not lose her too!” he vowed, lifting her into his arms. But with a sick dread in his stomach, Vegeta feared that they already had.

 

 

 

 

This time, he did not leave their side. He was a permanent fixture in the chair by Bra's bed, making sure that she would never awake from her restless sleep to find herself alone during those brief interludes when he forced Bulma to get her own rest. In over thirty years that they'd been together he had never seen his wife so distraught, so utterly exhausted as she was over the next two days. Grief over her son and fear for her daughter had taken their toll on her, and Vegeta was going out of his mind with worry. Emotionally, Bulma had always been his strength, but as he watched her deteriorate slowly under the strain of Bra's illness, real terror began to creep into Vegeta's heart. What would he do if…if…?

 

“Mama? Papa?” Bra's eyes were glassy as she tried to lift her head to look for them.

 

Vegeta abandoned his chair to sit facing her on her bed, as Bulma bent to touch her daughter's forehead. As the color fell from her face, Vegeta felt his wife's alarm. The fever had not broken, and as he took Bra's hand in his he could feel the heat emanating from her body.

 

“We're here, my Princess,” he whispered.

 

Bra smiled up weakly at him. “I must be pretty sick. You usually call me `brat'.”

 

“And I will again the next time you deserve it,” Vegeta responded, though his insane worry for her would not allow him to maintain the façade of sternness he usually wore.

 

Bra's smile faded, her eyes welling with tears. “I don't think there'll be a next time, Papa. I'm dying, just like Trunks, aren't I?”

 

“Don't talk like that, sweetie,” Bulma soothed her, though her voice betrayed her breaking heart. “You've just got to be strong. As soon as the fever breaks, you'll be fine…”

 

“I'm scared…” she whimpered, in a voice that reminded Vegeta of when she had been a little girl waking from a nightmare.

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he told her, exercising supreme control to mask his own fear. “Just sleep. And when you awake, and the fever is gone…I shall take you shopping.” It seemed a ludicrous thing to say, and yet he knew his princess' passion. His promise had its desired effect.

 

“Really?” She smiled through her tears. “You know I love it when you take me shopping, Papa…”

 

“Then get well, my Princess…” he managed, though his voice was beginning to break. He bent to kiss her on the forehead before she could see the anguish on his face.

 

“I love you, Papa,” she said contentedly as she closed her eyes.

 

“And I…love you…” he said softly, awkwardly, perhaps only for the second time in her life. The first had been when she was ten, and she had charmed it grudgingly out of him, giggling deliriously when he had admitted aloud what he had shown her only with his actions.

 

Had it not been for the smile on her lips, he wouldn't be sure she had heard it this time.

 

Bulma gasped even as he felt the ki in his daughter's body fall silent. Even knowing the inevitability of this moment could not deaden the excruciating pain in his chest as he gazed in horror on the still form of his youngest child. The light of his life. His little Princess.

 

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” he roared at the Heavens. He fell crying on her shamelessly, as this second loss in as many days compounded the agony and grief that his son's death had left him with. Only when his own sobs had quieted did he hear his woman crying hysterically beside him, her own sorrow so overpowering that feeling it through their bond made it difficult to stop his own tears. Wrapping his arms around her he knew that this was one of those times when he would have to be strong enough for the both of them. But this kind of strength was something the Saiyan Prince wasn't sure he could muster.

 

 

 

 

The Earth was coming to an end. Armageddon was at hand, and the Saiyan Prince stood amongst the ashes and ruins of the planet that had been his home for more than thirty years, helpless to do anything but watch. For the Angel of Death was no enemy he could battle—no Android, nor Shadow Dragon, nor alien tyrant. It was a tiny virus, that had mutated into the instrument of the destruction of his world.

 

The stench of rotting corpses was everywhere, as these delicate humans fell more quickly than their brethren could cremate their remains. It was pointless anyway. Nothing would stop this plague from wiping out every living being. Vegeta alone stood unaffected, at once both spared and cursed by his pure Saiyan blood. He would be the last to die. He would suffer the agony of watching everyone around him slowly rot…

 

Trunks stood before him, a spirit beckoning him to the Other World. Vegeta looked down at Bra's limp form in his arms as his son told him that it was too late. They would all be gone soon. Then Bra's spirit was standing beside her brother's, even though her human shell was still cradled in his arms. He bent down to kiss her on the cheek, closing his eyes against the tears he was afraid to shed. Then, as he opened his eyes, it was no longer Bra, but Bulma who lay dead in his embrace…

 

He awoke screaming, tears streaming down his face, to a reality that was not much different than his nightmare had been. His children were dead. He himself had built their funeral pyres and commended them to the next world.

 

His children. His legacy. The only good that had ever come from him.

 

He turned to his woman's side of the bed, reaching for her, and cried out as he found himself alone. No! This couldn't be! In panic he jumped from the bed, screaming her name, suddenly unsure of what was real and what was not.

 

“Vegeta! What's wrong!?” she cried, rushing into the room.

 

His entire being heaved a great sigh of relief as he pulled her into his arms and clutched her tightly, like a life preserver in the sea of despair that was threatening to pull him under. She had saved his soul from certain damnation many years ago. Now, once more, she was all that he had to live for. The fear of losing her had manifested itself in his dreams, but even in waking moments it nagged relentlessly at him, shattering his nerves and bringing him to the edge of insanity. “Do not leave me, woman,” he commanded—no, begged—in a hushed whisper.

 

“I just went to the lab,” she told him, not realizing just what he meant. He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, frightening her with what must have been the desperation of a haunted man.

 

“I don't mean for a few moments, Bulma. I mean NEVER!”

 

Her eyes opened wide with some kind of emotion that he could not place. “Vegeta,” she began gently. “You know…we always knew…my lifespan is not the same as yours—“

 

“Don't speak to me of these things now!” he hissed angrily. “Our children are gone! There is nothing but us, and beyond that there is no reason for me to go on! So I'm telling you, woman, do not fall victim to this plague, because if you leave me I will die with you!”

 

There were tears in her eyes, but he dismissed it as the emotion she always showed in those rare moments when he told her just what she meant to him. She said nothing as she brought her lips to his, but he could feel the urgency in her kiss as she strove to drive away the pain that had consumed him.

 

He made love to her then, tenderly, slowly, letting her know with his gentle caresses how very precious she was to him. And he pleasured her over and over, until he felt her own grief fade away, if only for the time he held her.

 

He slept fitfully then, her bare flesh warming his and reminding him of the one and only reason he still had to live.

 

 

 

 

The next time he awoke it was to her soft kiss on his lips. “Vegeta…I'm going to the lab…” she whispered, obviously not wanting him to awake again to find her gone without explanation.

 

He blinked at her sleepily. “You're not going anywhere, woman,” he said, tightening his arms around her waist.

 

“It's important, Vegeta. There's something I need to finish,” she said insistently.

 

He opened his eyes to look at her. Despite her dedication to her experiments and responsibilities at Capsule Corp., in thirty years she had never rushed from their bed to get back to work. On the contrary, she had complained quite vocally every time he had left her alone to resume his training. Languid mornings in bed, partaking in what she called cuddling, were a pleasure that she had taught him to appreciate. Why, especially with all that they had been through in the past few days, would she be so anxious to leave him?

 

She must have felt his confusion, because she settled back against him, running her fingers through his hair. He kissed her again, deeply, his anxiety eased as she responded with just as much passion as always, perhaps even more. If he had his way he would spend the rest of his days just like this…

 

A long while later, he surprised even himself by voicing aloud something that he'd intended only to think.

 

“I need you, Bulma,” he sighed, burying his face in her neck. The desperation in his own voice made him shudder. He did need her. Desperately. His arms tightened around her to show her this was so much more than a physical need. With sudden panic it occurred to him that he was nearly paralyzed with his fear of losing her.

 

“I know,” she whispered softly, running her fingers through his hair. “That's why I have to take care of something in the lab. Something that will make sure you never have to be alone.”

 

He looked up at her in perplexity. The serious determination in her blue eyes made him worry even more. “Just what is it you're working on?” he asked.

 

She took a deep breath, as if thinking out her answer before she said, “Something that could make everything all right again. Please, Vegeta. Trust me. Give me an hour, and then come to the lab, and I'll show you everything.”

 

She had never lied to him, nor failed to do whatever she promised. Reluctantly he nodded, releasing her, watching her carefully as she pulled on her slacks and a T-shirt. She was moving as if in slow motion, and he wondered if it was a deliberate hesitance to leave him, or if she was simply exhausted. He rarely thought about her advancing age, as if ignoring that reality would make her as ageless as she was in his mind. But her slow, almost painful movements suddenly alarmed him. How long could a human live? How long until…?

 

“One hour,” she reminded him, smiling weakly as she kissed him on the lips. He closed his eyes, willing the time without her to pass as quickly as the years seemed to have.

 

 

 

 

 

Precisely one hour later, he found his way to her laboratory, not sure which she had piqued more, his curiosity or his concern. The latter won out as he stepped through the door to see the massive yellow space capsule in the center of the room, the specter of the past…and the future that never should have been.

 

“What the hell is this?” he nearly barked at her.

 

She looked up from her computer console. “It's a time capsule. Just like the one Trunks used to come to us from the future. I used the schematics from the old one to modify—“

 

“I know what it is,” he snapped, stepping towards her. “What I'd like you to tell me is what you're planning on doing with it.”

 

She pulled off her glasses, setting them on her desk and stepping towards him. “Not me, Vegeta. You.”

 

There was such a determination in her eyes that it frightened him. What could she possibly have in mind? “What are you talking about, woman?” he asked warily.

 

“Vegeta, I have done everything in my power to find a cure to this plague. But our world has never seen anything like it. The answer is not here. But maybe, in another world, another timeline, where they've had to deal with pandemics for years—“

 

“Trunks' timeline? The one from the future?”

 

“Yes. He told me once that the Androids had caused such devastation that diseases were running rampant. That's why that Bulma found the cure to Goku's heart virus. It was common in their time.”

 

“So you actually think they might have a cure for this too?” he asked dubiously.

 

She took a breath. “It's worth a try.”

 

Part of him thought it was too much of a long shot to even consider, while another part was angry that she hadn't thought to try this earlier. “And what would be the point now, Bulma?” he asked dully. “Trunks and Bra are dead. Finding a cure now wouldn't bring them back.”

 

“Unless you went back in time to one week ago, before Trunks got sick,” she said with meaning.

 

The hope that had sprung suddenly in his heart was extinguished just as quickly as he thought back to the discussions on time he had had with his son from the future. “It wouldn't give us back our children, Bulma. When Trunks changed time, it didn't alter his own timeline. It just created a new one—ours—with a different outcome. The most we could do is—“

 

“—give Bra and Trunks another chance to live,” she finished. “In some other timeline. Isn't that in itself worth the effort?”

 

It was, and yet it did nothing to dull the ache in his heart.

 

“Not to mention the people here that could be saved,” she added.

 

“Do you think I care about saving the rest of the world now?” he asked bitterly.

 

Bulma reached out to touch his face with a hand that was frighteningly warm. “What about me?” she asked gently.

 

His heart stopped. “What are you saying?” he said in a hushed whisper.

 

But as her eyes began to fill with tears, he knew. Gods, he knew.

 

“I don't have much time, Vegeta,” she said softly. “That's why I wanted to finish this.

I've exhausted every other possibility. If you take my notes to the other Bulma, even if there isn't a cure already, she could work on it. She has different resources—“

 

“Then come with me!” he hissed. “I won't leave you alone—“

 

“Vegeta, I'd never make the trip. It would be too much stress on my body right now. Anyway, it could take her weeks to come up with something—“

 

“Weeks?! You don't have weeks!” he said frantically.

 

“No matter how long you stay in that timeline, I can set the controls to return you to just moments after your departure. You could be there a month, and to me it would seem as if you were only gone for a few seconds.”

 

It was all too much to digest. In anguish he simply stared at her, wondering how he had failed to notice the pallor of her skin, the slight spike in her ki, the rise in her body temperature. Had he been totally blinded by his refusal to believe that the gods would take her from him too? “Why…didn't you tell me?” he barely spoke, his voice breaking with his heart.

 

She put her arms around his neck and he pulled her close, close enough so that he could bury his face in her hair. “I didn't want to…until I knew I could do something about it.”

 

“Bulma…” he sobbed, clutching her tightly. He held her unmoving, willing time to stop right here and now, before she could slip away from him. But even the eternity he seemed to hold her did nothing to answer his plea.

 

“Vegeta, please…” she whispered, looking up at him with tears he knew were for him and not for herself. “Do this…so we can be together…”

 

Slowly he nodded, kissing her, trying to draw strength from that one thought. So we can be together. It was all he had left, and he would fight with his dying breath to keep it.