Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Bulma in Me ❯ Chapter 17
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Cordelialove 
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 05.14.2008 | Pages: 2 | Words: 950 | Visits: 260 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 05.14.2008 | Pages: 2 | Words: 950 | Visits: 260 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter 17
I stood stone still and watched the thick, brown color ooze over the roots of the bright blue hair. It slowed mid ear and I stared hard into the mirror, trying not to shake when I saw the honey brown color begin to snake around my irises and spider web into the sapphire of my eyes.
Something was very, very wrong.
I clutched at my chest, feeling a tight clenching begin to take over my upper body.
I crumpled to the floor in a heap, pulling my knees to my chest and softly rocking, thinking that maybe if I ignored it, if I softly hummed and pretended not to see it, that it would go away and I’d be Bulma again. My shoulders and neck were throbbing and it was becoming hard to breathe.
The fat tears made their way down my cheeks of their own accord and I didn’t budge to swipe them away, I just kept rocking and humming that same tune; the song I’d heard as a little girl. The song about fairy tales where nothing bad ever happened and wishes weren’t granted and then taken away.
Vegeta found me about 30 seconds later.
I don’t know how he knew that something was wrong, but the look on his face when he burst through the door told me that he’d felt it too.
He stared hard at me, mouth open and poised to question, then he slowly sank to his knees before me.
He pulled my clenched hands from my knees and took in my hair, my eyes, before reaching out to touch me, as if it weren’t real.
I began to feel woozy then and nearly fell back in his arms. I tried to talk, to tell him not to be upset, that I was sorry, and that I loved him; but all that came out was a gasp.
Vegeta’s eyes went wide. It was a look I’d never seen on his hard face: worry. He shook me hard and roughly brushed the hair from my face, willing me to speak.
“Woman? Bulma! Look at me!” He shook me harder, growing desperate.
I looked at him through hopeless eyes and reached my hand to caress his face.
He clutched it anxiously, his bottom lip starting to quiver but no tears falling.
Suddenly he lifted me from the floor and raced out of the room with me in his arms.
He flew downstairs to the lab door and kicked it in, ignoring the blaring alarms and flashing lights.
“Vegeta?” Papa was already down there at his desk but at the sight of his only daughter lying limp in the Saiyan’s arms he stood, knocking back his chair. “Bulma?? Vegeta what happened?”
Vegeta ignored him and tore across the lab to the desk where he whisked everything off of it with one arm and laid his cargo down gently.
“Fix her!” He hesitated, seeming to fight with himself for a moment, “FIX HER!”
Dr. Briefs surveyed his daughter with a combination of angst and bewilderment.
“Her hair…” he said softly, putting a hand to the side of my face, “Vegeta, what happened?” He repeated softly.
Vegeta put his hands on the desk and lowered his head, his arms were visibly shaking.
“I don’t know.” He said quietly, not daring to look up.
I grabbed my father’s arm gently, mustering all the energy I had.
He looked at me. “What is it, peanut?” he said gently, lowering his head to hear me.
I knew it was time to tell hm. “The…gen transplant….file” I managed almost inaudibly, falling back against the desk.
“The what? Honey, what are you…” I stopped him with my hand and pointed to my desk, wheezing in pain.
He looked at the desk for a moment, then back at me and then made his way to my files. He found it and brought it back to me, glancing at the first few pages.
He pushed his glasses up and stopped short when he reached the second page.
“Oh…Bulma…” his eyes began to glisten, “Bulma, why wouldn’t you tell me about this?” He grabbed my shoulders roughly, the tears flowing down his pale cheeks.
“What? What is it?!” Vegeta was growing impatient.
“Cancer.” Was all my father said, staring into my eyes and choking back the sobs. “She…she’s dying…”
“NO!” Vegeta growled, ripping the file from my father.
“Yes…” I whispered, “I…wanted to….to tell you….”
“Shhh…Bulma, shh…” Bulma's father smoothed back the hair from my face and clutched my hand, which I pulled toward me.
“Papa…” I rasped.
He held me then, pulling me up into his arms and weeping into my hair before he was roughly pulled away by Vegeta, who held him stiffly by the shoulders and glared into his eyes.
“Fix. Her.”
Dr. Briefs scanned through the pages. At one point he gasped, the file falling from his hands.
“She’s not Bulma.”
I stood stone still and watched the thick, brown color ooze over the roots of the bright blue hair. It slowed mid ear and I stared hard into the mirror, trying not to shake when I saw the honey brown color begin to snake around my irises and spider web into the sapphire of my eyes.
Something was very, very wrong.
I clutched at my chest, feeling a tight clenching begin to take over my upper body.
I crumpled to the floor in a heap, pulling my knees to my chest and softly rocking, thinking that maybe if I ignored it, if I softly hummed and pretended not to see it, that it would go away and I’d be Bulma again. My shoulders and neck were throbbing and it was becoming hard to breathe.
The fat tears made their way down my cheeks of their own accord and I didn’t budge to swipe them away, I just kept rocking and humming that same tune; the song I’d heard as a little girl. The song about fairy tales where nothing bad ever happened and wishes weren’t granted and then taken away.
Vegeta found me about 30 seconds later.
I don’t know how he knew that something was wrong, but the look on his face when he burst through the door told me that he’d felt it too.
He stared hard at me, mouth open and poised to question, then he slowly sank to his knees before me.
He pulled my clenched hands from my knees and took in my hair, my eyes, before reaching out to touch me, as if it weren’t real.
I began to feel woozy then and nearly fell back in his arms. I tried to talk, to tell him not to be upset, that I was sorry, and that I loved him; but all that came out was a gasp.
Vegeta’s eyes went wide. It was a look I’d never seen on his hard face: worry. He shook me hard and roughly brushed the hair from my face, willing me to speak.
“Woman? Bulma! Look at me!” He shook me harder, growing desperate.
I looked at him through hopeless eyes and reached my hand to caress his face.
He clutched it anxiously, his bottom lip starting to quiver but no tears falling.
Suddenly he lifted me from the floor and raced out of the room with me in his arms.
He flew downstairs to the lab door and kicked it in, ignoring the blaring alarms and flashing lights.
“Vegeta?” Papa was already down there at his desk but at the sight of his only daughter lying limp in the Saiyan’s arms he stood, knocking back his chair. “Bulma?? Vegeta what happened?”
Vegeta ignored him and tore across the lab to the desk where he whisked everything off of it with one arm and laid his cargo down gently.
“Fix her!” He hesitated, seeming to fight with himself for a moment, “FIX HER!”
Dr. Briefs surveyed his daughter with a combination of angst and bewilderment.
“Her hair…” he said softly, putting a hand to the side of my face, “Vegeta, what happened?” He repeated softly.
Vegeta put his hands on the desk and lowered his head, his arms were visibly shaking.
“I don’t know.” He said quietly, not daring to look up.
I grabbed my father’s arm gently, mustering all the energy I had.
He looked at me. “What is it, peanut?” he said gently, lowering his head to hear me.
I knew it was time to tell hm. “The…gen transplant….file” I managed almost inaudibly, falling back against the desk.
“The what? Honey, what are you…” I stopped him with my hand and pointed to my desk, wheezing in pain.
He looked at the desk for a moment, then back at me and then made his way to my files. He found it and brought it back to me, glancing at the first few pages.
He pushed his glasses up and stopped short when he reached the second page.
“Oh…Bulma…” his eyes began to glisten, “Bulma, why wouldn’t you tell me about this?” He grabbed my shoulders roughly, the tears flowing down his pale cheeks.
“What? What is it?!” Vegeta was growing impatient.
“Cancer.” Was all my father said, staring into my eyes and choking back the sobs. “She…she’s dying…”
“NO!” Vegeta growled, ripping the file from my father.
“Yes…” I whispered, “I…wanted to….to tell you….”
“Shhh…Bulma, shh…” Bulma's father smoothed back the hair from my face and clutched my hand, which I pulled toward me.
“Papa…” I rasped.
He held me then, pulling me up into his arms and weeping into my hair before he was roughly pulled away by Vegeta, who held him stiffly by the shoulders and glared into his eyes.
“Fix. Her.”
Dr. Briefs scanned through the pages. At one point he gasped, the file falling from his hands.
“She’s not Bulma.”