Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Happy Birthday Vegeta ❯ Aftermath ( Chapter 11 )

Author's Note: Thanks so much to my reviewers, knowing that someone is reading it makes it easier to keep writing...Oh, and I don't own Dragonball Z...

Chapter Eleven

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Bulma woke, an easy surfacing of awareness. Snugly tucked into a bed in the medical wing of Capsule Corp., she got the strangest flood of relief that she recognized her surroundings. Before she really had a chance to puzzle it out, she realized she was not alone in the aforementioned bed. Shifting her head to the side, she saw Son Gohan, sleeping soundly, and looking so much like his father that a whimper escaped and hot tears spilled. She knew the sudden storm of emotions was unlike her, and yet, she deserved to indulge them once in a while. So she laid her head against Gohan's, and grieved quietly for a loss that still plagued her when she least expected it.

Careful not to wake the snoozing demi-Saiyan, she pulled herself into an upright position, her muscles screeching from misuse. Confusion set heavily on her fragile features. What the hell were she and Gohan doing in bed, and why the hell did she feel like hell...'Kami don't let them be related causes'... She started with a yelp as someone cleared their throat from within the darkness edging the room.

"Bulma?"

"Piccolo?" she looked around exasperated, wondering if Yamcha and Krillin were hiding along the walls somewhere too. She blinked, bleary-eyed at the Namek who approached the bed, hugely intimidating, if not for the completely un-Piccolo-like smile that curved his thin lips. He nodded...yup...tenderly...at Gohan and said, "We've been unable to pry him from your side since we found you." Turing that unbearably gentle gaze on her, he asked, "What exactly do you remember?"

Bulma settled herself on the pillow behind her and cast about for recent memories. Her mouth trembled when they didn't march up in chronological order on demand. Fuzzy, bad feelings of absolutely nothing were what she had. She looked at Piccolo with a frown.

"I remember you and Gohan." The Namek kept his face still as the implications of her words rolled over him. Explaining an amnesiac Bulma to Vegeta was not his idea of a good time.

With a light sigh, he replied, "That as good a place as any to start. Do you remember what we were doing?" She shook her head, a tiny, negative motion. "What about the Dragonballs?" he prompted.

"Oh!" she gasped as images undulated through the inky emptiness of her short term memory.

"We found the last Dragonball! It's in a micro-capsule in my pocket--" she broke off as the rest of her recall swamped her. She remembered telling Gohan that nothing was going to happen to them, and then a stinging unconsciousness. Still, hazy impressions of being tied up, being helpless, nauseous, and threatened. Salty tears slid unchecked down pale cheeks.

"Oh God Piccolo! They were gonna cut my head off!!" The scream that emerged was wordless and shrill, a small, hurt animal sound. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and rocked, unconsciously comforting as she cried. Between sobs, she spoke brokenly.

"I...Didn't see much...but I heard everything...The man carrying me wanted to keep me from the...Queen...and that...that horrible woman wanted my hair!" Frantic fingers flew to her head, and she began to shake violently, as they found short, uneven lengths of hair. "Oh God!"

The desperation in her cry pierced Gohan's slumber like sharp needles. Shocked awake, and vertical, he found himself in bed with a hysterical Bulma. He grabbed her arms, trying to confine her trembling. "Bulma! Bulma, I'm so sorry." He folded her against his chest and forced back tears of his own. "So sorry...without my ki, I couldn't sense them until it was too late..." his voice cracked with the sheer depth of his regret. "So Sorry you had to go through that..." He held her until the tears and tremors eased. She pulled away and really looked at Gohan for the first time in - she didn't know how long.

"How long have we been gone Gohan?"

"Not as long as it seems. Less than 24 hours, " he hesitated, " you've been unconscious for most of it." She touched the back of her neck where the blank sensation had begun, and shivered.

Gohan caught Piccolo's eyes, and with a tilt of his dark hair, motioned for him to leave. The Namek nodded, accepting that they needed to work through this together, and sensitively withdrew his presence from the room. As his Sensei's ki faded, Gohan continued his explanation.

"I think you got more than one dose...and I think being half-Saiyan helped me metabolize it a lot faster than you." He moistened his lips nervously. "The doctor checked you out when we came in, he gave you a clean bill of health, physically." A quiet snort came from Bulma. "But?"

"But, you're gonna be groggy until the poison is completely out of your system, and you may be... emotional... about the whole thing." His breathing was rhythmic, and comfortable, she realized. She wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees, rubbing her face on the thin blanket covering them. A tremulous sigh escaped as her fingers worried the short wisps of hair at the back of her head. "I feel so fucking...vulnerable!" she said without lifting her head. Gohan's hand shook, as he turned Bulma's face to his. His usually sparkling eyes were bright with unshed tears, and a maelstrom of feelings that matched hers. "Me too," he whispered.

"You were so upset about not having your ki, before they took us. Gohan, how the hell did you get us out?" Her voice was compassionate, and he wished to Kami that he deserved it. A sick wave of guilt ate at him, but he swallowed it down.

"I found one of the guards carrying you somewhere, don't know where, didn't care. I'm pretty sure he's not gonna get up from where I dropped him." Gohan's tone was flat, empty. He knew his answer was a half-truth to placate himself, but he...needed... some time to come to terms with the choices he'd made, before he could ask anyone else to. "I literally ran into Piccolo and Krillin in the jungle, we took the jet back here, end of story." Gohan remembered her words and so did Bulma. She sighed again. "I've got to get cleaned up and get home. I told Vegeta I had a two-day conference, but that I'd be home early if I could. Not that he seemed interested. His birthday is tomorrow then." she finished thoughtfully. It took longer to gather the Dragonballs than she anticipated, and at more personal cost, but she had them.

Kami- she had a lot to do.

"Hand me the phone Gohan. I need a hairdresser...no, I need a miracle-worker." Gohan smiled a little at the return of her humor. "You could use the Dragonballs..." he offered, and thrilled when she socked him in the arm hard enough to bruise anyone else. She looked deeply into his dark eyes, and said, "We made it...thank you." Gohan flinched. "Don't thank me." he replied in that hollow, serious tone. "Are we getting together for Vegeta's birthday?" he distracted her. "Of course, dinner tomorrow night...at our house." She laughed. " I probably won't ever be able to get Vegeta to go out on his birthday ever again." Gohan grinned with her.

"Okay, I'll see you then, unless you need an escort home?" She considered it, for a full minute before she decided to answer. "I think I'll be just fine Gohan, thanks to you."

"Hmmm." He brushed her cheek with his lips, and left before she could see through him.