Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Another Lifetime ❯ Future's Past ( Chapter 2 )

Another Lifetime

 

By QueenSaiyajin

 

(Rated NC-17. Warning: some sexual situations in this chapter.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

Future's Past

 

 

The maelstrom of color and light was blinding, constantly changing patterns too rapid for his mind to follow. He shut his eyes against the onslaught, only to be bombarded with images as his telepathic mind tapped into the strands of time that were unraveling as he was carried into the past. His final words to Bulma, that he would return to her no matter what, still echoed in his mind even as he relived those last few horrific days. Bra's still form was cradled in his arms, and then Trunks' funeral pyre burned anew, the stench of fire and death making his stomach clench in physical and emotional pain. Then they were there again, all of them, Bra in her little polka dot dress running into his arms and telling him how proud she was of him for that tiny nudge that had knocked out the asshole who was to face him in the Budokai…Papa, you're so strong!...Then she was a baby again in Bulma's arms, and he was there for the miracle of her birth, the most wondrous thing he had seen in all his years…Gods, why wasn't I there for Trunks? The anguish rose to his throat as he felt Trunks in his arms again, that first embrace ever, before he had sacrificed himself to save them both…Why did I wait so long…? The little purple haired boy tried so hard to impress him, and indeed he did that day he went Super Saiyan at the age of eight…was that the first time he'd ever taken him to the park? How many times had Bulma tried to teach him what it was to be a family, while he had been too busy training, training, training… For Cell…For the Androids…To defeat Kakarot… Who was that gorgeous girl with Kakarot's son and the short bald-headed guy on Namek…? I want her…she will be mine…

 

His life had passed before him in an instant, yet he had relived each moment in all its anguish and joy. His eyes shot open and he gasped as the space capsule jerked to the side, thrown by its re-entry into the atmosphere. The sky was grey and filled with clouds of dust and smoke, as fires raged below him. In alarm he recognized the broken form of what was left of Capsule Corp, and he grabbed the controls to set down beside what appeared to be the remains of his home, his heart still as he feared the worst.

 

He landed where the remains of his first gravity chamber were strewn about, just yards from the main residence. The great yellow dome was cracked, smoke pouring from a fresh hole in the eastern corner. With his senses he reached out for Bulma's ki, worried when he felt nothing. Then a loud blast drew his attention, and he looked into the sky at its source.

 

Android 17 was suspended above him, laughing at his handiwork. Vegeta's jaw clenched in rage as he jumped out of the ship, and he was about to take to the sky when another figure appeared facing the artificial being.

 

“Kame-hame-ha!”

 

Vegeta's eyes opened wide to see Kakarot's eldest son blasting his father's signature attack at Android 17. But it wasn't seeing Gohan that surprised him.

 

It was the fact that he was still a kid.

 

The Android reacted with inhuman speed, deflecting the blast back to the adolescent Son. Gohan was thrown into the ground, creating a crater fifty yards wide. Vegeta stormed at the Android, silencing that inane laughter with a swift kick to his face.

 

The Android was shocked, not so much by the attack as by its source.

 

His lifeless eyes opened wide in surprise, only to gleam with the thrill of a challenge. “I thought I killed you,” he said matter-of-factly.

 

“You did,” Vegeta spat, remembering his future son's story. “Now it's my turn.”

 

Vegeta had no doubt he could finish this machine in one blast. But a vengeful streak within him wanted to drag this out. The Android would have no idea that his strength had increased by tenfold since that rueful day. He fired a light blast at the idiot's head, smirking evilly as he singed that ugly face.

 

“What's the matter, Android?” He motioned to Gohan who was just picking himself up below. “Don't tell me that toys only like to play with children.”

 

“You son of a bitch, you're going to mess up my face!”

 

Vegeta laughed. “It's too late for that.”

 

“You'll stay dead this time!” 17 shouted, aiming a massive blast at the Saiyan Prince.

 

“I don't think so,” Vegeta replied, easily deflecting the attack into space.

 

For the first time, he saw real fear in the Android's eyes. “What…the hell happened to you?”

 

“I matured,” he replied dryly, extending his palm to the Android. “Galick gun!”

 

Android 17 evaporated into smoke and ash.

 

“Vegeta!”

 

He turned to see Gohan suspended next to him, staring in astonishment. The boy looked no different than he had when he'd defeated Cell, perhaps a year or two older, though his power level seemed nowhere near what Vegeta remembered from that day. Perhaps his full potential had not been unlocked in this timeline. But why was he here? Hadn't Trunks said he'd been killed?

 

“I can't believe it,” the boy said, breaking into a grin. “Vegeta, this is great! I can't believe you're alive! But how? There are no more dragon balls—“

 

“I'm not from this time, Gohan,” Vegeta told him simply. “Now tell me! Bulma and Trunks! Are they--?”

 

He turned sharply to see the yellow air car coming in towards Capsule Corp., and breathed a sigh of relief as he felt his woman's ki. Another energy was with her, and it felt like vaguely like his son's, and yet…

 

She ran from the car, and he knew that from this distance she couldn't see him.

 

“Gohan!” she called out. “Did you do it? Did you really kill 17?”

 

Gohan landed in front of her, drawing her attention so that she didn't notice him hovering above. “No, Bulma, I didn't. Vegeta did.”

 

Gohan motioned to the Saiyan Prince, and only then did he lower himself to the ground, looking upon her with speechless adoration. She was so beautiful. So young. So full of life…

 

Bulma's eyes opened wide in shock, and she fell to the ground in a dead faint.

 

Vegeta rushed to her, relieved to see that the fall had not injured her. “Bulma,” he said softly, brushing the hair from her face.

 

A loud wail drew his attention to the ship, and he flew to the hatch, remembering the familiar ki he had felt before. At once everything made sense as he saw the lavender haired toddler still strapped into his seat.

 

“Trunks,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. The boy looked up to see the face that was somehow familiar to him, and smiled.

 

“Papa?” he asked in a small voice.

 

Vegeta nodded, unable to speak, as he took his son into his arms, embracing him as he knew he never had before, and thought he never would again.

 

 

 

 

 

The blast was like a supernova, and the entire Earth seemed to shake. Bulma watched from her balcony, clutching her baby in her arms, trying to sooth him with a lullaby, ludicrous as that seemed in the midst of this Armageddon. The world was falling apart around her, yet her only concern was for the man who had left that morning with a promise to protect them. Suddenly, the pain stabbed through her heart, and she gasped for air. And she knew. Long before Piccolo came to tell her those two words that would mean the destruction of her entire world…

 

“Vegeta's dead.”

 

She awoke crying out his name, tears streaming down her face as they did every time she relived the worst moment of her life. But this time, as her vision cleared, the face that bent so worriedly over hers convinced her that this time, she had either died or gone mad from her grief.

 

“V-Vegeta?” she whispered.

 

Then he smiled at her, that beautiful smile that she had so seldom seen. “I'm here, Bulma,” he said in a voice filled with emotion.

 

She didn't care if this was a delusion. If it was, so be it. She threw her arms around his neck, crushing her lips against his, reveling in the taste and sensations that had been relegated only to her dreams. But as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her deeply, lovingly, she knew that he was real. Not the enigmatic Vegeta that he had shown the rest of the Universe, but her Vegeta, the one who had loved her in a way that even he hadn't understood. He'd never said it in words, but even now she could feel the emotion rising within him as he broke their kiss to bury his head in her shoulder, holding her tightly, possessively. Was he sobbing lightly against her ear? The same way he had that last night before he'd been taken from her?

 

For the longest time she clung to him, eyes closed against his shoulder, praying that when she opened them he would still be there. She took a deep breath and looked up through her tears to see that his own eyes were red and moist. “How?” she asked simply, though she didn't even care. He was back. That was all that mattered.

 

 

 

 

Vegeta held her to him, his heart in turmoil. No matter how much he had reasoned that this was not his Bulma, and that little boy was not his Trunks, logic was thrown out the window the moment he'd held them. He hadn't expected the child, but rather the young man he had known so many years ago. Had this been some miscalculation? Or had some force greater than either of them brought him to this moment in time when they needed him most? What would have happened had he not been there to destroy 17? He shuddered to think of it. He'd lost too much in the past few days. He could bear to lose no more.

 

He'd watched Bulma's unconscious form, marveling at how different she was from the woman he had grown old with. Her hair was long and simple, her clothes old and tattered, her face devoid of that ridiculous paint that he had to admit only accentuated her beauty. The past two years had been difficult for her and the boy, and yet she was still so beautiful, the natural look no less appealing than the carefully pampered and groomed appearance that she had always spent so much time on. But everything else…her scent, her delicate ki, the sound of her voice, the beating of her heart…it was all his Bulma. And as she cried out for him in her dreams, he knew the hell that she had been through.

 

It broke his heart. It filled him with despair that he had so utterly failed her and the boy in this time. He had been weak, arrogant, and probably too stubborn to fight alongside the others. As a result, he had left her alone, with the son he would never know. What a fool he must have been! What a fool he was! Bulma would joke from time to time of what a jerk he had been when he had first come to her. They could laugh only in hindsight, for he was nothing like the asshole he had been. She and their children had seen to that. But in this time, Bulma had never known the extent of his love and devotion to her.

 

He hadn't even told her he loved her. Trunks had said as much.

 

As he held her now he was ashamed, and at the same time amazed that she could still love him so much. But hadn't her capacity to love him been the key to his transformation?

 

I'm sorry, Bulma… I'm so sorry…

 

“For what?” she asked, looking up at him, not even realizing that he hadn't said it aloud.

 

The fact that she could hear his thoughts only further thrust him into confusion. Was he bonded to her, as he was with his Bulma? Had remnants of the Saiyan bond that had never completely developed between them been reawakened by his presence? And if so, what did that mean? Was she his Bulma? Was there really any distinction between the woman he had loved for over thirty years, and the woman he held in his arms right now?

 

“I'm sorry for failing you,” he said softly. “I was bound to protect you and the boy…”

 

“All that matters is that you're here now,” she sighed, resting her head against his chest.

 

He didn't know how he would ever tell her that he wasn't here to stay.

 

 

 

 

 

“All this time…we thought you were dead…”

 

It felt so good to lay against him, surrounded by his strong arms, feeling his soft kisses on her face, her hair.

 

“I did die,” he said quietly.

 

She looked up at him. “Then how…?” She cursed herself for beginning the question again. It didn't matter, did it? And yet something in his manner suddenly made her uneasy.

 

“Bulma,” he said, taking her face into his hands. “This may sound insane, but…I'm not from this time. I've come from another timeline, another future.”

 

She looked into his eyes, then at the rest of his face. Only now under close inspection did she see that he did look somehow different. His skin was still perfect, but his eyes seemed to have aged, for they held a lifetime of pain and joy that she knew nothing of. There was a gentleness, a tenderness that had always been there for her. But somehow it seemed he was less afraid to show it now, as if maturity had made him see the foolhardiness of his emotional inhibitions.

 

And then there was his hair.

 

She reached up to touch it, still spiked with his ki yet soft to her fingers, but much shorter than it had been. She liked it. “When did you do this?”

 

He smirked. “You made me cut it about ten years ago.”

 

She looked at him, a feeling of warmth rushing through her. “You mean…we're still together in your time?”

 

He nodded. “We've been married for over thirty years,” he told her.

 

Her eyes filled with tears, but she wasn't quite sure why. Was it the joy of knowing that he had stayed beside her for an entire lifetime? Or the despair of knowing for certain what she had truly lost that day he had died? Perhaps it was a little of both. His eyes filled with worry and she tried to smile at him. “I guess…you did love me after all,” she said awkwardly, thinking herself a coward for never having had the nerve to ask directly.

 

His face was suddenly stricken, and she knew it was for the guilt of never having told her in this life. “I do love you,” he said passionately, bringing her face towards his and kissing her tenderly.

 

They were the words she had waited years to hear. And yet she could taste her own tears as she reluctantly separated from him. “But…you're not my Vegeta. You don't know what he felt or didn't—“

 

“Yes I do,” he swore to her, closing his eyes against her pain. He drew her back into his embrace, and whispered desperately in her ear, “Until that moment when our paths diverged, I was him. And I can tell you that I wanted you ever since the moment I saw you on Namek. And I loved you from the first day you invited me into your home. No matter what happened next, this is true, I swear to you! And I'm sorry if I was too much of an arrogant son of a bitch to admit it to you! But you are my life, woman! You are all that I have! And now, you are all that I have left!” His voice was breaking with his emotion, and she knew that every word he told her was true. What had happened in those years that had made him so willing to betray the feelings that he had always so vehemently denied? She didn't care. All that mattered was that what he was telling her now was like a balm to her wounded heart.

 

“Vegeta,” she whispered, burying herself in his chest. “I've missed you so much! It's been so hard without you!”

 

Gods, I am so sorry, Bulma… he seemed to whisper.

 

For a long time she lay against him, relishing his warmth, his touch, and the soft kisses he planted on her hair. But in the midst of her happiness, her logical mind intruded with the one disturbing question that she had to ask.

 

“But Vegeta, if everything is so good for us there—why did you come here?”

 

He seemed to pause just too long, and she pulled away from him to look into his eyes. “Tell me,” she said, though not sure she wanted to hear.

 

He breathed deeply. “Almost thirty years ago, you sent Trunks back in time to warn us of the Androids—“

 

“Trunks? He's only three years old!”

 

He shook his head. “Not now. In…your future,” he explained, trying to make sense of it. “Trunks was about eighteen. He came to warn us and to bring a serum you developed to cure Kakarot of his heart virus, in the hopes that it would give us a better chance.”

 

She nodded pensively. “I have to admit, it's something I've thought about. That ship you came in…did I make it?”

 

“Yes. It's just like the one you sent Trunks in thirty years ago.”

 

“That still doesn't explain why you're here. Is it to bring me the ship? So I'll know how to build it?”

 

He paused, as if he hadn't considered that possibility. “Maybe. But the main reason you sent me here was because of the Plague.”

 

“Plague?” she asked.

 

“A virus brought back from space. It's killed over 70% of the Earth's population. I'm immune because of my Saiyan blood. But everyone else—“

 

Her eyes opened wide. “Trunks?” she asked with trepidation.

 

He lowered his head and closed his eyes as if blocking out the memory. “He…died a few days ago.”

 

She gasped.

 

“And our daughter…”

 

“Daughter?” she asked in disbelief.

 

He looked at her, his eyes moist. “Bra. She was only sixteen. She looked just like you. She got sick right after Trunks…” He couldn't finish, and she could see how painful this was for him. She couldn't imagine losing her only child. To lose two?

 

 

“There was nothing I could do?” she asked gently, covering his hand with hers.

 

“You tried. But…there was nothing. And then you became sick…”

 

“Am I dead?” she asked gingerly.

 

He shook his head. “No. But it's only a matter of time. My Bulma….sent me here because she thought you might be able to find something she couldn't. The Time Capsule is set to take me back to the precise moment I left.” He looked into her eyes, pleading with her as he said, “It's the only chance I have to save her. Please. Help me…”

 

Bulma's emotions were swirling with such ferocity she could not speak. Her child…her children…were dead. Her precious son and the daughter she had never known. And Vegeta was begging for her help to save…herself. Yet in doing so, she would lose him again, not to another woman, not to death, but to…herself. The version of her that had lived a lifetime with the man who was the lost part of her own soul. He'd bestowed upon her the greatest gift of all, the certain knowledge that he had loved her as much as she loved him. But it wasn't her that he loved, but another Bulma who was waiting for him, in another lifetime that was never meant to be hers.

 

But this was Vegeta. It didn't matter which incarnation. And he needed her. She would deny him nothing. She could deny him nothing.

 

“I'll help you,” she said finally. But all she could think of was the fact that in the end she would lose him again. Forever.

 

She didn't know if she could go through that again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her promise to help him gave him no real relief. How foolish he had been not to think of what his reappearance would do to her. In seeking her aid he was causing her more heartache. His words of love, meant to reassure her in a way his younger self never had, had brought her only fleeting happiness. For in the end, he was only teasing her with a taste of what their life could have been. In the end, he would be gone. She, and their son, would be alone again.

 

She slowly stood, detaching herself from him both physically and emotionally. She brushed the hair out of her face, fastening it in a ponytail as she always used to when she had longer hair. It meant she was ready to work. It meant that their brief moment of intimacy was over. For that he was both relieved and disappointed. “Okay, why don't you show me the stuff, um, I sent,” she said in the tone that meant she was getting down to business.

 

He reached into his pocket for the capsule his own Bulma had given him, and handed it over to her gingerly. She took it without allowing any real contact between them. “I'll be in the lab,” she said, turning to go.

 

“Bulma,” he began, but he didn't really know what to say.

 

“There's nothing to say, Vegeta,” she said, the tears she had tried to hide from him betrayed by her voice. “Please, just let me get started. If you want…we can talk later.”

 

He let her go, no matter how much he didn't want to. It was the right thing to do. He couldn't bear to hurt her any more than he already was.

 

 

 

 

Away from him, she ran to the lab, peeking first to make sure that Trunks was all right. He was playing with Gohan, the boy who had become like an older brother to him. Gods, what would it do to him to meet his father—only to lose him again? Was the time he would spend getting to know Vegeta be worth the inevitable confusion and pain when he returned to his own time? Her racing thoughts were too much to bear. She took refuge in her private office, only then allowing herself to become an emotional mess. Laying her head down on her desk, she cried unabashed, not knowing whom she felt sorrier for—herself or her baby. The injustice of it all was maddening. A part of her was furious at Vegeta for doing this to her—but what had he really done? He had come here to save her. Could she really fault him for that? She could see that it hurt him to cause her such pain. She could almost feel his internal struggle. Yet she couldn't help but think that her future self had been a selfish bitch not to realize what this would do to her, and to Trunks.

 

When there were no more tears left, she fingered the capsule that Vegeta had given her. She willed the scientist in her to take over, as she popped its contents to find out just what this was all about.

 

 

 

 

Vegeta fought his instinct to follow her, knowing she needed time alone to digest this all. Perhaps he did too. But first, there was one burning desire that he would not ignore.

 

He stepped into what in another time had been their luxurious living room, but was now a dark, worn version of its former self. Everything at Capsule Corp seemed to be in disrepair, and if he remembered his son's tales, it was not long before they would abandon this place for the bunkers beneath. Well, at least he could prevent that dim future. With 17 gone, 18 would soon be on a rampage, and Vegeta would promptly send her to Hell with her insane brother. Then at least his family here would find some peace.

 

His family. He thought over those words as he watched Trunks play a game with Kakarot's brat. He had never really made them his family in this time, at least not in the real sense of the word. How stubborn he had been in those days! Was there any way he, in the short time he would be here, could make up for what his younger self had neglected to do? Could he be a father to this boy if for only a brief time? Would it benefit his son, or make his departure all the more difficult for both of them?

 

But as the three-year old demi-Saiyan ran to him crying, “Papa! Papa!” with the carefree and unfettered affection of a boy who had never really known Vegeta's rejection, all those questions became moot. He scooped the child into his arms, smiling at him openly, just happy that he was alive.

 

“Papa teach Trunks how to fly? And go boom with lights?” the boy begged excitedly.

 

For a moment he was back in the past, with the same little boy under very different circumstances. Despite the difficult lesson he'd learned when Cell had killed his son, he had still found it hard to relate to the toddler, for the most part ignoring him until he was old enough to train. He had been five when they'd begun, not three. But Vegeta didn't have that luxury of waiting another two years. He tousled the boy's lavender hair affectionately with one hand while he held him in the other arm. “Yes. Papa will teach you everything he knows.”

 

“Yay!” the toddler said, clapping.

 

He looked over at Gohan, who was watching him in disbelief. The Vegeta he had known would never have acted like this, showing such open affection to his son. “Come, boy. I think you could use a little training yourself.”

 

“Yes, Sir!” Gohan said, beaming.

 

They went outside, to the area where his old GT chamber had been destroyed. They could easily have gone to the gardens, but Vegeta couldn't bring himself to walk through the place where he had laid his children to rest. The memory itself hurt so much that he struggled to concentrate instead on the little boy who was anxiously waiting to learn how to be a warrior. He thought that perhaps he should ask Bulma if she minded this, but in retrospect remembered that she had eventually let him train with Gohan. She couldn't possibly object to his training his own son…

 

“Me wanna fly!” Trunks said, jumping up a little higher each time.

 

“One thing at a time, Trunks,” his father told him. “First, I want you to make an energy ball.”

 

The toddler frowned. “Me no know how.”

 

“Watch,” Vegeta told him. He extended his hand, palm facing up, and with his other hand helped Trunks to do the same. “Now concentrate. Your energy is inside of you. Close your eyes and feel it. Will it to come together in your hand.” To demonstrate he formed his own tiny ball of ki, and the boy's eyes opened wide as he made it grow larger.

 

“Me try, Papa.”

 

Vegeta let the energy sink back into his hand and nodded approval to his son as he furrowed his brow in concentration. Miraculously, he could feel the boy's energy level rising ever so slightly. Then, suddenly, a marble-sized ball of energy took shape. How the hell he'd done that on the first try, Vegeta couldn't imagine. But he was duly impressed. “Good boy, Trunks,” he told him. “Good boy!”

 

“That's amazing,” Gohan said coming over to them. “How'd he do that so fast? It took me days of trying!”

 

Vegeta smirked. “He's a Saiyan Prince, that's how,” he said proudly. It was a pride he'd never allowed himself to display for the boy until years later.

 

It felt good.

 

 

 

 

Two hours later, Trunks was running around shooting tiny balls of ki at his father and Gohan. Vegeta had already warned him not to shoot them at his mother, and hoped the toddler was mature enough to understand. There was a reason Saiyan babies weren't trained in energy attacks until they were older. They'd tried flying, but the most Trunks could do was remain suspended in the air for a few seconds at a time. But Vegeta was certain that he would master the art in a couple of days at most. The boy was a prodigy! Why had it taken him eight years to see that the first time around?

 

While Trunks sat on the grass aiming his attacks at them both, Vegeta and Gohan sparred in the air above him. He'd learned that Gohan was twelve years old, only one year older than he'd been when he'd defeated Cell. But his power level was no where near what it had been in that other time. He had still not achieved Super Saiyan, and when he saw Vegeta ascend he begged him to teach him how to do the same.

 

“Vegeta, you don't know how glad I am that you're here,” Gohan said as they landed beside Trunks. “It's been…hard…being the only one left.”

 

Vegeta nodded his understanding, acknowledging the heartfelt words. He looked away, not wanting to embarrass the boy by letting his gaze linger on Gohan's moistened eyes. “You did well, Gohan,” he told him. “Your father would be proud.”

 

Gohan sighed. “I've been lucky. But I'm not the fighter my father was, and I'm not anywhere near as powerful as you.”

 

Any other time Vegeta's ego would have reveled in that admiration, but he knew it was misplaced. “Gohan, in this time all you lack is the proper training. But in mine, you surpassed your father…and me. You saved the Earth when you were eleven years old, defeating a being that none of us could.”

“Really?” Gohan seemed amazed, and Vegeta wasn't sure if it was from his admission, or the mere fact that he had made it. He shook his head. “It doesn't matter, Vegeta. That was in your time. Not here. You even told me that when I'm older, the Androids will kill me—“

 

“Not any more,” Vegeta pointed out. “17 is gone, and as soon as his sister tries to avenge him, she will die too.” He paused, looking down at Trunks who was pulling at his leg.

 

“Papa, watch!” Tired of throwing ki balls at the older Saiyans who didn't even feel them, the toddler had taken to blasting rocks and trees. Vegeta smirked as his son fired at the trunk of one of his mother's favorite fruit trees, sending it crashing to the ground.

 

“Boom!” Trunks said, clapping.

 

“Good boy,” Vegeta told him. “But I don't think Mama would like you doing that to all her trees. And certainly don't blast anything in the house. Understand?”

 

“Uh-huh,” the boy murmured, going back to blasting rocks on the ground.

 

Vegeta turned from his own son back to Kakarot's. “Don't sell yourself short, Gohan. You're a Saiyan warrior. And you have fought and survived in this time longer than any of us did. That in itself should make you proud. And I saw your handiwork in the way you trained him,” he said, motioning to Trunks.

 

“Well, it doesn't matter anymore, now that you're here,” Gohan told him with real relief on his face. “You can train both of us, and then the three of us can face anybody!”

 

Vegeta didn't respond at once, and Gohan was too perceptive to miss the meaning of that.

 

“You…are going to stay here, aren't you?”

 

Vegeta's face hardened. “I told you why I'm here. Once Bulma has come up with an antidote—“

 

“You can't leave,” Gohan said, real panic in his eyes. “We need you here, Vegeta—“

 

“I won't go until the Androids are destroyed,” he reminded him, though Vegeta knew that there was more to it than that.

 

“I can't protect the Earth on my own,” Gohan said. He motioned to the destruction around them. “Look! Do you see what's happened on my watch?”

 

Vegeta looked away, watching his son throw ki balls at the remains of his GT chamber. Maybe Bulma could build a new one, and he could train both of them, his son and Gohan… But no. There was no time for that. “I have to go back,” he said, more of a declaration than a real argument. He didn't have the strength or the will to argue his point. There were so many reasons why he should stay here, yet the one most important called him back to his own time. “Bulma is there. She needs me.”

 

“What about Trunks?”

 

Vegeta looked sharply at Gohan. “I am doing as much as I can while I'm here, and the rest will be up to you. I'm entrusting him to you, Gohan! I'm entrusting both of them to your care!”

 

Gohan looked at him speechless. He understood the import of what Vegeta was asking of him. He knew that it showed the great regard the Saiyan Prince had for him. And yet… “It's not the same,” he said quietly.

 

Damn Gohan for preying on the guilt that was already consuming him! “Look, Gohan, I have seen what Trunks will become. His mother raised him well, and you trained him well. He doesn't need me—“ Even as he said it, he knew it was bullshit. And Gohan called him on it.

 

“You're his father! Do you see how he loves you and looks up to you already? I know what it's like to lose a father. There's nothing that can replace having your Dad!”

 

The anger and pain in Gohan's eyes made it impossible for Vegeta to retort. He would not belittle the boy's anguish. Especially when he was absolutely right.

 

“I don't want to talk about this now,” he said, ending the conversation.

 

Gohan didn't pursue the discussion. But as Trunks ran up to him, levitating himself to grab onto his father's neck, Vegeta knew that he had created a situation that would only cause pain to them all.

 

 

 

 

 

Bulma sat at her desk, staring at the holo projector that had just finished its transmission. She knew now why her own instructions had told her to watch the message alone. Surely Vegeta had no idea just why she had sent him here. And her future self wanted it that way.

 

It hadn't been easy to see the image of herself, thirty years older and marred with her sickness and grief. It was too frightening to imagine. She had lived through something no parent should ever have to—the deaths of both her children—and was waiting for death to take her to them. She had no real hope for a cure. She had exhausted all possibilities. The trip through time had not been for herself, or even the rest of humanity.

 

It was for Vegeta. To give him hope, and…something more this Bulma would not even dare to consider. For a long time after watching her future self, Bulma couldn't stop crying—for herself, in this time and the other. For her children, her beautiful little boy and the daughter she would never know. For Vegeta. All the pain he had suffered in his lifetime, and all he had done to atone for his past…He was a good man, and had been a good husband and father. He had become one of Earth's heroes, and her greatest protector. Future Bulma's words had only served to confirm what she had always known. Had he not been killed by the Androids, he would have found happiness and peace in this world, with her and with their family. He had found that in their time. But everything he had worked for, everything he had cherished, had been taken away. You don't deserve to suffer any more, Vegeta. It's not fair…

 

Bulma knew why her future self had sent him here. It had been a selfless act of love.

 

And she would have done precisely the same thing.

 

But because she loved him, she knew what he expected her to do. To find a cure, despite the fact that Bulma had in essence admitted to her that there was none.

 

For him, she would do it. She would work relentlessly to find the one thing her love wanted…even if it meant that she would lose him again.

 

 

 

 

 

Three hours later, she was no closer to isolating the virus. It was unlike anything in her computer banks. Tomorrow she would check with some colleagues in other cities to see if they had ever encountered such a strain. For tonight, she was satisfied that she had made a good start, and as darkness fell, she worried that she had left Trunks to Vegeta and Gohan for too long. Bringing her laptop along to email the information she had to her associates in New York and London, she made her way back to the living room to see how everyone was faring.

 

She stopped dead in her tracks as she saw her three-year old son suspended in the air, throwing tiny ki balls at his father's chest.

 

“Vegeta! What in the world is going on?!”

 

Vegeta turned to her, his dark eyes glowing with more happiness than she ever remembered seeing there. But Trunks' reaction was not as quick. The ki ball he'd aimed at Vegeta shot past him and struck her mother's antique lamp, sending it crashing to the floor.

 

“Ooops,” Trunks said, his eyes filling with worry. “Me sowwy, Mama. Pease don be mad.”

 

“It's my fault,” Vegeta offered, stepping towards her. “I know you don't like him practicing in the house, but he was enjoying himself.”

 

“It's…okay…” she managed, despite the lump in her throat. The scene before her was something she had never hoped to see. Vegeta bonding with their son. Having fun with him. Playing with him. Even when he had been alive, he had barely seemed to pay any attention at all to Trunks. Had he lived, would he take so much joy in the little boy? Or had a lifetime of loving his son and then losing him made Vegeta have a new perspective on what it was to be a father?

 

“Mama, look what Papa teached me!” Trunks said excitedly, flying over to her.

 

“What a big boy!” Bulma cooed as he landed in her arms. “Did you have fun with Papa today?”

 

“Yeah! And Papa teached me how go boom with light balls!”

 

“I can see that,” she said glancing at the mess on the floor and winking at Vegeta.

 

“He's very advanced. I couldn't even shoot ki blasts until I was four, and I didn't fly until I was five,” he admitted to her, clearly impressed with his son's skills.

 

“Well, he's brilliant, like his Mama,” Bulma replied, stroking his hair lovingly.

 

“Yes he is,” Vegeta concurred in a serious voice, looking at her in a way that made her flush.

 

She looked away from him awkwardly, and back at their son. “I bet you're hungry, Trunks-kun.”

 

“We both are,” Vegeta told her.

 

“Come into the kitchen, I'll see what I can whip up.” She started to carry Trunks from the room, but turned back to him. “After you clean up the mess, that is.”

 

“You want me to do it?” he asked incredulously.

 

“Things are a lot different now, Vegeta. No servants. We have to do everything ourselves.”

 

He smirked at her. “Does that mean you do your own cooking? That never was your strength, you know.”

 

“It's still not,” she admitted, but added sweetly, “but it's all you've got.”

 

 

 

 

He was pleasantly surprised that Bulma had risen to the challenge of becoming a more than adequate cook. Knowing his tastes, she prepared him huge trays of rare beef, with delectable sides of mashed potatoes and fresh vegetables from her garden. Sitting at the table with her, Trunks in his high chair next to them, brought back memories of a time when he had scoffed at such simple domestic pleasures. How foolish he had been! How much time had he wasted in solitary training when he should have been savoring every moment with them. He could tell by Bulma's reaction that she was completely surprised by his attentions to Trunks, and he couldn't help but think that it was a disgrace. He had been an asshole in this time too. But in dying, he had never had a chance to make up later for his poor behavior.

 

Trunks was giving Bulma a particularly difficult time, and he glanced over at the boy's plate. “You still haven't begun to give him rare meat? How do you expect him to grow strong on grilled cheese?”

 

“Just because you like eating beef while it's still mooing doesn't mean he has to eat it,” she replied. “He is half-human, you know. Human babies don't eat bloody meat.”

 

“He's also half-Saiyan,” he reminded her, taking the pathetic meal from Trunks' tray. He ripped a sizeable portion of beef from his own dish, and placed it in front of the child. “There, boy, I'm not going to let your mother starve you to death.”

 

Bulma was about to protest when Trunks picked up the meat with delight in his eyes and proceeded to devour it with as much finesse as Kakarot when he ate. “More! More!” he cried gleefully.

 

Vegeta looked at Bulma's amazed face and smirked in satisfaction. He'd expected her to retort in her usual sarcastic manner, but was surprised instead to see her eyes begin to moisten.

 

“It hasn't been easy raising him alone,” she said softly. “How could I possibly know how to bring up a Saiyan child?”

 

Vegeta's face grew serious. He hadn't meant to upset her. “Bulma…” he began. But what could he say? It wasn't as if he would be staying in this time to help her in that difficult task. “You…raised him well. I saw that when he came to us from the future. You…will do fine.”

 

Reminding her of his limited time here was not the brightest idea, he realized belatedly. She stood from the table. “Please…finish feeding him, okay? Just bring him upstairs when he's done, and I'll give him a bath. I need…” She didn't even finish the thought, and he knew it was because she didn't want to cry in front of him. He watched her go, deep in thought until Trunks drew his attention.

 

“Papa! More!”

 

His face softened as he turned back to his son. “I can teach you to eat well and to fight,” he told the boy grimly as he refilled him plate. “But interpersonal relations are something you will definitely need to learn from your mother.”

 

Trunks was too busy gobbling down his food to even wonder what that meant.

 

 

 

Bulma threw herself down on her bed, letting loose all the emotions that had built up over dinner. Who was this man with Vegeta's face? When had her Vegeta ever taken so much interest in his son? It was beautiful to watch the interaction between them. In a few short hours the two had seemed to forge a father-son bond that was everything she had always wanted for her little boy. But knowing that Vegeta had no intention of staying here made each moment bittersweet torment. How would Trunks react if his father were to disappear again, never to return? How much more would that damage the boy than never having known him in the first place?

 

She had almost cried herself to sleep when she heard water running in the bathroom down the hallway. Suddenly the water stopped to be replaced by Trunks' giggling and jabbering away. She tip-toed quietly towards the bathroom, peeking around the doorway to discover the most unbelievable thing she could have imagined.

 

Bent on his knees before the tub, Vegeta was giving Trunks a bath. The boy was giggling as he formed tiny balls of ki and threw them at his father's face. And Vegeta…he was laughing as he bounced back the tiny energy balls in a Saiyan equivalent to a game of catch.

 

Vegeta must have sensed her presence because he turned his head to see her, his face growing crimson with his embarrassment to be found in this relaxed domestic scene. “I…thought I would give you a break,” he muttered in explanation.

 

Bulma thought she would cry again, her eyes misting over but this time with joy. “Thanks,” she said simply, and went back to her room.

 

She fell asleep with hopeful dreams of a world where Vegeta would stay to be the husband and father she had always dreamed he could be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her eyes opened in darkness, to the sound of drawers being opened and closed. In alarm she switched on the lamp by her bed hoping the intruder was no one more than Trunks wandering into her room as he did some nights. But the sight that met her was not a three year old boy.

 

It was Vegeta. And he was stark naked.

 

In surprise he turned to her, clearly embarrassed, though she didn't know why. It certainly wasn't the first time she had seen him unclothed, and he had never been particularly modest. “I came out of the shower and looked for clothes in my old room, but there were none,” he said in feeble explanation.

 

“You…weren't sleeping there anymore,” she murmured, trying to concentrate on her words rather than the sight before her. It was hard to believe that he was thirty years older than when she had last seen him like this. His body was still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, his muscles still tight, his skin still firm. “Your things…are in the second drawer,” she said softly, her face flushing as she watched his manhood react to her admiring stare.

 

In awkwardness he turned back to the dresser, reaching for a pair of black training pants.

“Trunks is asleep,” he told her, trying to break the spell between them.

 

Sixty years old and his ass is still adorable, she thought to herself, starting when his body seemed to stiffen in reaction to her thoughts. Slipping from the bed she came up behind him, kissing his shoulder lightly as she ran her fingers down his back. She could feel him tremble at her touch, and it sent a warm rush of arousal through her that she had not felt in two years.

 

“Woman, don—ohhhhh,” he moaned uncontrollably as she rubbed tiny circles on the spot where his tail had been.

 

“Don't?” she asked playfully wrapping her arms around to run down his chest as she kissed her way down to his tail spot. He growled as she tasted his sensitive spot, at the same time wrapping her hands around his engorged arousal.

 

“Bulma, please,” he moaned taking her hands off of him. He turned to face her, and his erection was in front of her, throbbing with his desire. Was this what he wanted? She brought her lips to him, reveling in the taste of his skin and his passion that she had missed so desperately for the past two years. She twirled her tongue lovingly around his huge head, taking him into her mouth, incredulous that this was happening so fast. She wanted to cry in delight as he pushed towards her, fondling her hair as she sucked at him, making him moan with pleasure.

 

But then, suddenly, he pulled away from her, and she looked up at him stunned. “I can't,” he said, clearly fighting his own desire. He reached down to pull her up to face him, looking her in the eyes, where his passion seemed to war with his guilt. “I can't do this,” he said with as much conviction as he could muster.

 

“Why?” she whispered, wanting him so badly that it hurt.

 

“Because I came to save Bulma,” he said, “Not betray her.”

 

“What are you talking about?” she wept, mortified beyond belief. Hadn't that been what he wanted? How could she have totally misread him? “I am Bulma—“

 

“I know,” he said painfully. “But she's the one I gave myself to. We have an entire lifetime that binds us together. She is my woman, and I can't pretend that those years never happened. I've never been unfaithful to her…and I won't start now.”

 

He released her, turning around to slip on the training pants as she just stared at him dumbfounded. She couldn't fault him for his loyalty to her, but he had hurt her beyond all reason. “Why can't you see that we're the same person?” she cried. “In this lifetime, or another, our spirits are bound together. If you can see Trunks as your son, then why can't you see me as your mate? It doesn't make sense! It's not fair!”

 

“I know,” he said softly, wiping the tears from her cheek. His own inner conflict played out on his face as he breathed, “And I'm sorry.”

 

In moments he was gone, and Bulma just stared after him, feeling like an utter fool for thinking that this Vegeta could ever belong to her.