Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vigilantes ❯ Finale ( Chapter 5 )

Finale

“Beast of Burden”

Eighteen sat down gracefully at the edge of the Lookout, folding her legs beside her and tucking her hair behind her ears.

“You know Kami doesn't like it when you sit here,” she commented casually.

Bulma let out a soft snort and continued kicking her dangling legs slowly back and forth over the edge of the world.

Eighteen's lips curled upwards as she took in the lazy swell of cumulus in front of them, dipping slightly at the edge of the horizon as it curled around the dome of the world.

“Popo is over there feeding the birds again.”

The women snickered.

“He just can't listen to reason can he.”

Eighteen tossed her hair back behind her and leaned back on her palms, letting the late summer sun rays warm her face. She let out a throaty chuckle. “I can hear him now. `Kamiiii,'” she mimicked the stalwart man's full, effeminate voice. “`The little swallows leaked on my shoulder again.'”

“`Popo,'” Bulma imitated the Lord of the Earth, “`I'm not cleaning you up again!'”

The women broke out into a stream of lazy chuckles that tapered off into cozy silence as they looked out over the slow September sunset.

“You know,” Eighteen interrupted the quiet, “you can't just sit up here forever.”

She glanced at the older woman. Despite the blue cloud of curls obscuring her face, she knew the older woman's brows dipped into a deep frown.

After a moment of wading the silence from the other woman, Eighteen continued. “You're six months pregnant, Bulma. In the blink of an eye, you'll be a mom. I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I don't know that Kami's Lookout is the place I'd want to raise a kid.”

“And why not? Nothing can harm him up here.” Her voice was strained.

“Except a steep fall from the edge,” Eighteen drawled. “The same goes for you. You're human now, whether you like to admit it or not. Kami has a good reason for not wanting you sulking at the edge of the Lookout.” She watched as Bulma unconsciously checked the tattoo at her hairline with her fingertips and pressed on, her voice hardening. “Do you really want to raise a child with an old green prude and a inoperable genie as its only companions?”

“There's Dende,” Bulma argued.

Eighteen knew she was only being defensive because she was out of logical arguments. She knew Bulma harbored a hidden resentment for the little god head who had become Kami's new pet project. Kami had announced him as his heir soon after Bulma had recovered from the slew of injuries racked up her last night as the Chosen One. Dende's education monopolized Kami and Popo's time, while Bulma just got bigger, and remained alone.

Bulma was holding in a lot of feelings, and as her pregnancy progressed, Eighteen, normally indifferent (although mouthy), had to speak out. She didn't like to admit it either, but Bulma had become important to her as she readjusted to this unexpected new chapter in her life. Bulma was her only friend after the death of Seventeen, who had been, for years, her only companion. And, surprisingly, she and Bulma got along swell. Well, well enough when she wasn't being hard headed.

Eighteen cut her head sharply and scowled. “Look, I just know that if I had the ability to have a child, I wouldn't want to waste the rest of our lives up here,” she snapped uncomfortably.

Bulma turned her head toward the blonde, regarding her quietly through a mass of curls.

The older woman had let herself get caught in a funk since the Red Ribbon blow out, showering only interminably, letting her hair grow out in a tangle, the dull blue curls untamed. She was wasting what should have been a joyous time. “You should be enjoying this moment in your life, with or without the father of your baby--”

“Don't go there, Eighteen,” Bulma grit out, chest heaving.

Eighteen snapped; the small, untrained handle on her self control exhausted in the face of Bulma's stubbornness. “It's your reluctance to talk about him that's the damn problem, Bulma! Face it! You're a single mom. Now get over it! At least you have people that care about you!” Eighteen snapped to her feet, spilling the black cat that had snuck into her lap while she was arguing with Bulma. The cat sprinted back a few steps and then came to a stop, looking back at the android before sitting on its hind legs to wait for her. “Now show your child that you care about it and get the hell OFF THIS PLACE!” Eighteen turned sharply and stomped off toward the atrium where the women shared a room, the black cat's little paws hurrying to keep up.

“UGH!” Bulma shouted, chucking a small rock off the Lookout and getting clumsily to her feet with impatience. Once upright, Bulma paced back and forth, her arms folded tightly over her chest, the deep tangerine hues of the sun coating her with a fuzzy kind of warmth so at odds with her circumstances.

Bulma's hands fisted, and she regarded the horizon with seething resentment.

“I HATE YOU!” She screamed. “You left me here, alone!” Her voice carried out across the cloud cover with no destination, a message in a bottle never to be intercepted.

She broke down into sobs, but she was unsure whether they came from grief or embarrassment.

She knew Eighteen was right. She knew it was high time she got her shit together, to leave it...him...behind. She understood she could have it a lot worse, she knew they were losing patience with her brooding. But Kami had Popo...and Dende...and Eighteen had her fucking cat, and anyways, Eighteen didn't need anybody...who did she have?

The only love she had ever had, had never meant to be.

Another wave of bitter sorrow snuck up on her, and she choked on tears. She just couldn't stop feeling so hurt.

She felt an encouraging flutter behind her belly button and looked down with surprise. It was like bubbles fizzing inside her ribs -and then a thump followed that she clearly, definitely saw, in the middle of her swollen abdomen. Her hand instinctually moved to capture it, resting on the top of the swell of her belly with wonder. For a long moment there was nothing, Bulma's sadness again crescendoing, and then another swoosh from her left side ended with a hard thunk against her pelvis.

Bulma's breath hitched, and she let out a thick, sharp laugh, her eyes watering -this time with joy.

&&&&&&

“Tell me again what we're doing here,” Vegeta grumbled, glaring at the line of recently deceased waiting for Yemma to send them to their final destinations.

“Kami wants a word with you,” the Demon King sniffed, turning away from the line of stiffs regarding the two men fearfully and addressing Yemma. “What's the hold up with Kami?”

“Count on Heaven to keep Hell waiting,” Vegeta snipped.

Yemma's eyes slid sideways to regard Vegeta with irritation and slid away, willing himself to seem unperturbed. Stamping some papers and shoving them towards the man at the head of the line, the man plucked through the papers with unease, his eyes moving over the text before widening and then disappearing in a plume of red smoke.

“Tell me again why I'm letting these hellions stand here and harass me,” Yemma griped under his breath. As Piccolo and Vegeta bristled beside him, Yemma raised his voice, its boom making the crowd cower. “Just because you are the right hand of Hell doesn't mean you have to act like it in the middle of neutral territory, Mr. Ouji. Even Kami has the sense to let me run my show without interference or criticism.”

Just as Vegeta opened his mouth to tell him what he thought of Kami's sense, and Piccolo wrestled with whether or not to sink his fist into Vegeta's gut to shut him up before all of this uncomfortable waiting was for naught and he had to drag Vegeta away before getting his favor from Kami, a side door opened, revealing a shrunken figure. Kami leaned heavily on his gnarled wooden staff and wiped his brow with his robe.

“Sorry about the wait, folks.” He teetered towards them. “King Kai was visiting and Bubbles got into Popo's parsnips. Evidently, his species of simian is quite stimulated by parsnips. They're like catnip to him,” Kami complained. “Bulma had to lure him into the Room of Spirit and Time before he destroyed anything else.” He chuckled.

Piccolo tensed as he saw Vegeta's posture stiffen at his ex's name. Piccolo grumbled under his breath. He considered drawing his fingers over his lips and `locking' them at Kami but didn't expect the old fool would get it.

Vegeta had been intolerably irritable the last half year while working in Hell. When Piccolo had suggested he go holler at one of the women in the office and get laid to let off some steam, Vegeta had opened up such a barrage of curses and attacks on his character before stomping away that even the Lord of Hell was left stunned. Really, sometimes he couldn't remember why he thought he'd make a good partner.

Piccolo rolled his eyes. “Well, Kami, here we are. Now what do you want with us.”

Kami's face grew grim and he focused on Vegeta. “How have you been, son?”

To Vegeta's surprise, the eyes set in the old god's wizened, wrinkled face were an oaky brown that seemed to see right through him.

Vegeta glanced away uncomfortably. “How do you think I've been.”

Kami nodded slightly. “Bulma and the baby are doing fine.”

For a split second, Vegeta's eyes clung to Kami's like a man lost in a desert, teased with a mirage of water, before dropping to the ground again.

“She's getting big. Dende checks on them every now and then, since she refuses to leave the Lookout and go to a regular human doctor.”

“She hasn't left?” Vegeta's brows knit together with concern.

Kami shook his head. “She's doing about as well as you, I imagine. That's why I've made a deal with Junior here. I think a visit from you would really do her some good.”

Vegeta didn't catch Piccolo bristling at the nickname beside him, but Kami did.

Vegeta looked like he was struggling to decide how he should respond as emotions flickered across his face--worry, bitterness, regret, love.

He settled on turning to Piccolo. “You agreed to this?”

“If it means I've racked up a favor from this old fart, than you bet. He, of all people, rang me on my cell phone with the offer. I didn't even know the fool knew what a cell phone is. Look, I don't give a damn about your feelings or this blasted woman everyone can't stop talking about. I don't see what you all think is so compelling about her. But I'm getting my favor from God.”

Vegeta's eyes narrowed, but Kami spoke up, eyes twinkling. “I think you have other reasons for letting him see her, Junior.”

“Will you quit calling me that?” Piccolo snapped loudly. “That's horse shit. Now get going.” He waved his hand toward the door dismissively and settled for glaring at the wall. Yemma, eavesdropping, once again grumbled at their language.

“Don't I get a say in this?” Vegeta barked defensively.

“You don't want to see her?” Kami asked with confusion.

“I didn't say that,” Vegeta griped under his breath. “I'm just...I'm not prepared, that's all...”

“There's something else I'd like you to do before we head to the Lookout, son,” Kami asserted, his eyes darkening. “Something that very well take the anxiousness out of visiting Bulma.”

Even Piccolo turned toward the old god with guarded curiosity. “And what is that, you old kook?”

“I've already spoke to Yemma, and it's perfectly legal. I mean, that is, as long as it remains between us,” Kami explained, hushed. The two Hellion's eyes widened with the barely legal prospect the scion of Heaven was offering them.

Kami stared into Vegeta's coal black eyes and his hand gripped his staff firmly. “I'd like you to pay Yamcha Matsumoto a visit.”

Piccolo barked with laughter. “You've got to be kidding me.”

Kami's eyes didn't leave Vegeta's.

“You need to have a talk with him about what happened that night-”

Vegeta's face darkened with anger, and he interrupted Kami with barely contained rage. “I know all I need to know about what happened. The two of them were fucking around, he -surprise, surprise- betrayed her, and the android ripped his head off before she could. That's all I want to talk about-”

“--Bulma was raped by Yamcha that night, Vegeta--”

Vegeta visibly tensed, his mouth closing with a snap.

“She was never dating Yamcha,” Kami tried to explain, to a man who needed so desperately to understand why his life had turned upside down. “She led him on for a few months upon discovering his link to Red Ribbon, to scout for intelligence. She didn't want to bother you with details while you worked on an exhausting court case. She had high hopes of hurrying up the process of finding the Commander of Red Ribbon, to ease your load at the time. Not that she's told me any of this.” Kami shook his head regretfully. “She hasn't even spoken to Eighteen about it, I don't believe. Now that she is human, I have the ability to listen to her thoughts, if I so choose.”

Kami cleared his throat. “Yamcha became impatient with her unwillingness to...seal the deal, intimately...so he drugged, beat, and assaulted her, with every intention of ending her life that night, like he had ended the lives of so many other women. That's what activated the Archangel, and that's when he discovered who she was.” Kami's mouth drew into a thin line. “And that's how she discovered who he was- -your father and her father's murderer.”

Vegeta's face went slack with horrifying realization.

“As her both her...foster father...and the overseer of the scheme, I would have rather she had told me her plans. Or at the very least, informed her partner and lover. But she still didn't deserve even a fraction of what he did to her,” Kami uttered ominously.

“Why...why didn't she tell me?” Vegeta croaked.

“I imagine because she was feeling overwhelmed by the events of the night. She was suffering through the fatigue and morning sickness the first months of pregnancy can bring and the shock of learning she was expecting. The powers of the Archangel also have the tendency to shut off or amplify emotion, for the sake of its purpose. When she left the Lookout to head home to call you, her only concern was for you. We couldn't get to her to calm down long enough to let us patch her up.”

Vegeta remembered her straggling form stumbling into the dark kitchen, his anger dwarfing his concern, his only priority saying his piece. Hurting her. His master, his injured pride.

It had been his injured pride that sealed the deal with Piccolo for revenge on Red Ribbon. It had been his injured pride that had been the undoing of his only meaningful relationship. How much could have been prevented if he had just taken a step back from his indignity and let her tell her side of the story? He could have drawn his contract out long enough to see his son born, long enough to take on Piccolo in Hell's Court.

Vegeta looked away. For the first time since he was a boy, he felt tears stinging his eyes. “I failed her,” he asserted, his voice cracking almost imperceptibly.

“You're human,” Kami smiled reassuringly. “You will make mistakes, over and over again. It's about the only constant a mortal can rely on. Choices will be given to you time and time again as an opportunity to learn humility and graciousness from them.”

“Hurry up with the sermon,” Piccolo groused from behind them.

“Yes, well, I'm giving you the opportunity to visit Mr. Matsumoto and deliver him a personal message, from you...and from Heaven, unofficially.” Kami's eyes hardened, and Vegeta realized he must have been quite formidable in his day. “This is for no other reason that that.”

Vegeta stood straight, fingering the short sword at his belt, a smirk twisting up his face.

“Well then.” He turned to Piccolo. “Do I have your blessing?”

Piccolo's hard glare softened momentarily and he snorted. “If it's a butchering of the damned you're after, I'm certainly not going to stop you. Not when it so clearly advances Hell's agenda.” The two of them shared a smirk, for a moment a brutal harmony between them.

“Through that door, son. I will collect you tomorrow at Hell's second bell.” Kami's arm outstretched, pointing to the door behind him.

Vegeta nodded, once more glancing at Piccolo and Kami, checking for duplicity or ill will. Finding none, he advanced toward the door, steps growing bolder as he approached. His hand grasped the knob and he pulled it with grim efficiency, the undisputed Right Hand of Hell as he entered the red light beyond. Blue fire licked up his body like static before he shut the door behind him.

Kami looked at the closed door resolutely, and then turned to Piccolo with a knowing smile.

“So what are you going to do with the rice cooker, Ma Junior?”

Piccolo growled and headed towards the back exit where Snake Way loomed winding through Heaven's celestial clouds and beyond. Kami followed him slowly, a smug smile refusing to leave his green face.

“Is it because you have other plans than being the Great Demon King?”

“Stay out of my business, old man,” Piccolo retorted as he leapt onto the wall, his leather coat billowing behind him for a second as he stood and stared out at the abyss in front of him that hid Hell's landscape. He turned his head to regard Kami with his own smug smile, his red plaid flannel collar bright against his emerald throat. “And, if so, you shouldn't be so self righteous about it. My old man is a lot more trouble than I am.”

Piccolo let out a silent chortle and then regarded Kami's wizened, hunched form with a moment of solemnity. “I've heard you have your own prodigy waiting in the wings.”

Kami nodded once, slowly.

“Let them figure it out then. I'm tired of this life. Maybe you should get some rest while you can, too.”

His voice roughened. “Send Vegeta my way when he's through. And be prompt tomorrow. What kind of example are you setting, anyway.”

Piccolo stepped off the wall and fell towards Hell, and Kami stared at the place he had been just seconds ago contemplatively.

“It just goes to show I was right about you all along. You're not so bad, Junior.”

&&&&&

The breeze was a warm caress as Vegeta made his way slowly down the steps of the atrium on the Lookout, adjusting the tops of his gloves and surveying the garden in front of him. The last tie was the only time he had been up here, and it had been dark, and he had been rushing. Now he could clearly see the orchards, the almost labyrinthine tangle of rose bushes, small plots of vegetables interspersed here and there. Vegeta made his way rigidly down the walkway and into the small jungle, passing by cherry tomatoes and vining green beans curling around stakes as the walkway turned into mislaid stones, leading deeper into the fragrant jumble. Kami had instructed him to take the path in order to find Bulma, and sure enough, he soon began to hear the soft hum of nearby voices drifting on the breeze. Vegeta's pace slowed even further as he recognized one of them, her striking, calm tenor in response to another's- - Popo's. His heart thumped wildly. It drew him in like a fish on a line, and he found himself breaking through lavender bushes, the soft sunlight dappling under a few birch trees that clustered around a wrought iron table where Bulma and Popo stood, sorting through tea leaves and murmuring. She had her back to him, but he could see her nimble fingers tearing leaves and tossing them into a wicker basket, her thick unruly hair in a careless bun at her neck. Although in loose jeans and an open gray hoodie, he could instantly recognize the difference in her shape, and as he began to run his eyes over her to uncover it's secrets, she turned her head in his direction, her blue eyes wide in her pale round face, her body twisting just enough with her for him to catch the swell of belly under her white t shirt. Her hands ceased their movements and time froze as she took in the sight of him, and he absorbed her rounder, wider form under the dappled light filtered between yellow birch leaves.

Bulma dropped the tea leaves and walked away.

Vegeta watched her disappear into the hyacinth and looked at Poop in question, who had turned to him and stood, watching him.

Popo's normally impassable face tightened and then softened as he wiped his hands on a small rag and then clasped them in front of himself. “She is not herself,” his sad voice carried to him from across the bucolic, green expanse. “Kami invited you here because he is worried about her.”

Vegeta nodded gravely and solemnly followed the path she had taken into the vegetation.

He found her sitting on a park bench in the shad, encircled by mimosas, her hands fidgeting in her lap. He came up from behind her and slowly eased himself onto the park bench, giving her space and notice, half expecting her to bolt again.

She crossed her arms protectively over her chest and turned her head away from him.

He tried to keep his cool but cast anxious glances at her, waiting for her to say something.

“Why are you here?” Her voice was hard but her body posture was contradicting her, strung tight with nervousness.

“Piccolo and Kami allowed me to visit. Do you want me to leave?”

She turned to him finally, her rounded face pinched, her eyes troubled. “I just wasn't expecting you, is all.”

Vegeta sensed her skittishness and picked a strategy, relaxing agains the bench, slumping slightly and resting his arm on the back of the bench behind her casually. “It's beautiful up here. One would hardly know it was late September.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she attempted to regain her footing on safe ground.

“Yes. Well. Time kind of stands still here. The weather is always mild, and Popo takes full advantage of it,” she said matter of factly, gesturing around her at the garden.

“There is no sunlight in Hell,” Vegeta informed her conversationally, closing his eyes and resting his head against the top of the bench. “The sunlight feels good.”

He could feel her watching him, taking him in when she though the didn't notice. He cracked his eyes open a hair and smirked as her eyes roamed over the defined ridges of his suit and she blushed, letting out a breath of air from her nose and looking away.

“How are you feeling?” Vegeta asked curtly.

“Fine. We're fine,” she said dismissively.

“Uncomfortable yet?”

Bulma opened her mouth to make a smart aleck comment when she realized he was asking specifically about her pregnancy, and relaxed fractionally.

“I'm getting there. They say the second trimester is the easies, and it has been for me. None of the exhaustion and queasiness of the first trimester. I'm headed into the third soon and I don't know that it's going to treat me well.”

“You're lucky to have this, then,” Vegeta gestured around him. “A veritable paradise, here. No demands from your job, no extreme weather, no uncomfortable obstetrics visits...only soft soil under your swollen feet and everywhere the quiet of things growing.”

She finally looked up at him then with wide eyes, wondering if he was making fun of her.

“Is that why you haven't left yet?”

And there it was. Her face crumpled into a frown. “What do you care.”

“Don't give me that bullshit, Bulma. Why are you still here.”

She shivered at the sound of her name from his lips. “What am I supposed to be doing, huh?” She glared at him, the most direct attention she'd given him yet. “Everyone keeps saying that, but what am I supposed to be doing?” Her voice thickened with tears that she quickly dashed from her eyes. “Sorry, pregnancy hormones.”

“You don't have to hide from me. I just can't understand why the fiery little woman I know is up here in the clouds hiding from life, which used to excite her, and letting things pass her by.”

Bulma jumped up and began pacing back and forth in front of him, deciding on going on the offensive and turning to stand in front of him, her belly in his vision. “The Bulma you knew is no more! Why can't you guys understand that? I'm not Blue Menace anymore. I have no purpose anymore. I'm the least important person on this island. I'm just a...an oven...for a child...you don't want,” she choked, head falling into her palms.

Vegeta stood quickly and put his hands on her hips, guiding her to sit back down on his lap.

“No, I'm too big,” she protested weakly.

Vegeta snorted. “No, you're not. You're tiny as ever. You've just got these mouthwatering curves you're hiding under these clothes.”

Bulma looked at him with surprise, unaware when Vegeta turned her and plopped her down on his lap.

“Woman, you're too strong to be falling to pieces.” He shushed her when she began to protest. “No, listen to me for a moment. So you're fully human now. So what. It doesn't change the fact that you are a very special lady. You have amazing people surrounding you, caring for you, because they like you. And before you give me that horse shit about not knowing who you are, think about where you've come from. You withstood the death of your parents, the acquisition of their legacy, a bunch of deplorable assholes who call themselves foster parents, and the reward of not one -not two- but three Ph.D's and a tenured position before I was even out of law school. You were so strong, you made Kami stand up and take notice, and you know how much flies over his head.” That earned a sniffling giggle from her. “You are so amazing that Kami gave you a gift. A gift to fulfill a purpose in life, to save a lot of people and to right an enormous injustice in our world. And you did. You did it almost single handedly. Believe me, I was there, I know.” He smiled when she smiled. “You're absolutely awe inspiring, Bulma Briefs, not because you were the Blue Menace, not because you were Chosen, but because you're you. That's why you were Chosen in the first place. Because you're you.”

She leaned her head into the crook of his shoulder and he felt her body rack with tremors. He ran his hands up and down her arms supportively. “I didn't fall in love with Blue Menace. I fell in love with the woman inside her suit. Kami gave me that gift. The gift of you. I'm sorry I messed it up.”

She buried herself closer to him and he relished the feel of her, the smell of her hair under his chin, and his hands moved over her slowly, consideringly.

“I'm sorry, stupid pregnancy mood swings-”

“Shut up, Bulma, you know you don't have to play games with me. You don't have to apologize for crying. You went a whole fucking lifetime being the strong one. You've deserved a chance to cry.” Vegeta tilted her head up so he could look her in the eyes, their breaths mingling. “My only concern is why you don't feel you have to be strong for our son.”

“I just keep thinking this is a dream I'll wake up from,” she murmured, inches from his face, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

He smoothed the loose hair from her face. “I wish it were. But it's not. Life keeps going, with or without us. Take a break. You deserve it. But then do what you're so damned good at--getting back up on your horse. Although I can't be around, you have another man to take care of.”

She nodded, resting her head back under his chin and breathing him in. They sat there for a long moment, until Vegeta's hard voice broke the silence.

“I need to tell you something, Bulma. And in the spirt of being open with each other, it's something you may not want to discuss. It's about...that last night.”

She looked up at him gingerly.

His face darkened. “I had a little visit with Yamcha Matsumoto yesterday.” Her eyes widened, shifting between panic and fear of rejection. “As the Right Hand of Hell, I have the ability to read my subjects memories to determine compatible punishments.” He didn't mention the heads up he had from Kami, not knowing if Bulma knew Kami knew and not wanting to cause a rift between them. “Bulma Briefs,” his eyes held hers with mesmerizing darkness. “I had fun cutting him up into tiny pieces and feeding him to the Hounds of Hell.” His fingers gripped her chin, willing her to understand. “The denizens of Hell can't die, they're already far past that landmark. Do you understand?” Bulma's deep blue eyes absorbed the impact of what he was saying.

“You mean...you mean...he's only...piles of dog shit now?”

Vegeta nodded gravely.

Bulma laughed sharply, and then squeezed him. He kissed the top of her head. “I'm so sorry, Bulma. If I could have done it differently that night, if I would have just trusted you, everything would be different...” He wouldn't have Yamcha's memories of Bulma under him haunting him at night.

“But what about your contract?”

He paused, and then nodded modestly. “There is that.” He chewed over his next words carefully. “I had planned on neutralizing my contract with Piccolo by two different means. One is in a realm I have some grasp of: Celestial Court. I was going to argue that the fine print clause 869-B didn't dictate the length of my time on Earth before retracting back to Hell once Piccolo had his rice cooker back. I had a solid case, but not indefensible. Believe me when I say Hell has the best lawyers, so not even my experience in law was something I could bet on. My other option was, simple, to challenge him in front of witnesses and kill him.”

“But he's incapable of dying,” Bulma reminded him.

“Not true. Piccolo isn't any more immortal than Kami. They are of a race that has a longer lifespan. Long enough to be trusted as guardians of realms. Long enough to call us humans mortals and be so distant from the short, topsy turvy life that often ends at a drop of a hat. Kami and Piccolo are too powerful to be ended so easily...making them convenient celestial custodians. I didn't expect that path to work out,” he admitted roughly. “I was willing to try anything to be with you, even if it wasn't in a traditional way...with me being the Lord of Hell, for instance. I never expected to fall in love...I made my pact one hard night with Piccolo in a bar and I never looked back...that is, until there was you. Tell me, Bulma, how could I say no to you? How could I reject us and move forward as if nothing was lost? You might ask why did I even let myself fall, and I ask, how could I not? I couldn't. I wanted it all. I thought there was a chance I could have it all. So I took it.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Why didn't you tell me you were pursuing Yamcha? Because you wanted to protect me. Because you wanted to take a stand for me.”

But, you said the case you were working on was to support me--”

“It was. It sill is. In a moment of weakness, I might have had Nappa draw up any necessary papers to separate our property, but my will still stands. You are still listed as my only receiver. You could go to the West City Bank, right now, and ask for all my life's savings and get it. Get you guys a house, a car. My car is in storage, if you'd rather have it, although it's not entirely family friendly. You wouldn't hurt for anything. You wouldn't have to work or cross paths with anyone you didn't want to. You could have solitude, if that's what you're wanting--”

“I don't want solitude,” she lashed out. “I don't want to be on Earth at all.”

“Why?” He vented.

“What's the point? There's no one, nothing for me on Earth except pain--”

“And up here, the pain is better because you can keep it inside?”

Her mouth parted to stutter a rebuttal, but a tiny fist pounded from within, shaking both of them form their argument. They both looked down. Another thump resounded between them, one Vegeta clearly felt.

“May I?” He asked her roughly, his hand hovering over her belly.

“Of course,” she whispered straightforwardly.

Rethinking it, he briskly pulled off his gloves, tossed them on the bench, and then carefully placed his hands on her belly, feeling a little bit like a seer over a crystal ball. She gently moved his hands to her right side, and there, he could feel something harder under the surface of her taut stomach. And, like that, it moved to escape him. He let out a tiny little laugh, and Bulma gazed up at him with adoration.

Time stopped for them as Vegeta moved his hands again and again, seeking it out to capture it only for the brat to slink away and tease him with a sharp thump that left Bulma a little breathless.

“Do you think this is a game? Vegeta asked, and Bulma giggled.

“He's practicing his `arguendo,' aren't you proud, Vegeta Ouji?”

He placed his hand on the hard lump of a foot before it kicked and once again and slunk out of sight and touch.

He froze Bulma with a teary stare. “Very,” he whispered.

He stood and wrapped her in his arms, one palm resting on the swell of her belly. “You have to spoil him for me where I cannot,” he whispered in her ear gruffly. “That goes for you, too. I don't know when I will see you again. Can you promise me that?”

She looked into his eyes with the fearless, committed eyes of a saint.

She rubbed her cheek against his own and inhaled him in, arms wrapping around his thick waist tightly.

Finally, she nodded.

Kami, Popo, Dende, and Eighteen stood at the edge of the mimosas, watching them embrace silently, Bulma's cat winding around their feet as it purred. The last lightning bugs of the season were just sending out their blinking invitations to mate, and, reluctantly, Kami cleared his throat.

“It's time to go, Vegeta.”

&&&&&&&&&

“Gimme Shelter”

Kami awoke, his sweat chilling him in the cool night air, Popo's warm back against his. Carefully throwing off the sheets, Kami stepped into his slippers and shrugged on his robe, shuffling to the pane-less window and letting his eyes roam over the gray cloud cover that blanketed the sky as far as he could see, the late gibbous moon's light glancing off the tops of the careening cumulus like the crests of waves of an immense sea.

He searched outside himself for the feeling that had woken him form his sleep.

At first, nothing. Then, there it was again: the slight distortion and reorganization of power, an energy he felt very deeply, as it was, literally, his other half.

“So, he's gone and done it,” Kami murmured in the dark. “Now what?”

&&&&

Bulma ran her hands across the wall as she tread down the hallway and into the sunny kitchen, finding Eighteen leaning against the counter munching on a a bag of chips. Bulma's eyebrow winged, and she tried to hide a smirk and failed. “I thought you were going to the store to pick up groceries, not junk food,” she teased her.

“You should know better than to send me to a grocery store. Eating is optional for me and I'm forever thin and young. What, pray tell, is going to stop me from eating nothing but donuts?” The woman's dry tone suggested she was bating Bulma, and Bulma knew it, knocking her gently out of the way with her hip to peer inside the cabinets and fridge. To her relief, there were veggies, dairy and meat, and she glanced back and saw a loaf of bread on the counter. Just as she closed the refrigerator, she popped it back open and sighed. “Is is hot in here?” She groaned. Eighteen looked at her critically. “Asks the pregnant lady to the robot. No, it's not. So where are we going to get furniture?”

Bulma closed the fridge door with a soft thud and turned around, leaning against the fridge and taking int he empty town house which still smelled like fresh paint and carpet cleaner.

Another sigh escaped her. “I don't know. I don't know that I care. I just want somewhere to sleep.”

“You're going to want somewhere to sit down really soon, I can feel it,” Eighteen droned, and Bulma smiled, breaking out a bottle of wine, a box of crackers and a block of sharp cheese.

“Well then. Let's drink on it and then make a decision.”

Eighteen watched her expertly slice through the white cheddar and frowned. “You're not supposed to be drinking.”

Bulma scowled down at the cheese before placing it on a paper towel and biting into a slice. “I know that,” she chided. “It's not alcoholic.”

Eighteen giggled and popped a cracker into her mouth. “Slow your roll, mama bear. You'll be able to drown your sorrows this time next month,” she teased through a mouth full of cracker.

“Hmph,” Bulma replied over a mouthful of cheese, popping the cork and drinking the wine straight from the bottle just as the doorbell chimed.

“I really need to buy some dishes,” she mumbled as she waddled to the front door, forgetting the bottle of wine clutched in her hand. She saw two figures through the clouded panes of glass, expecting her overly cheerfully landlord to be standing at the door.

Upon opening the door, she stood blinking at the shivering figures of Nappa and Radditz, who each gave her sheepish smiles, albeit Radditz's was much toothier. She noticed Nappa's oversized truck on the sidewalk and frowned curiously.

“Hello,” she greeted them uncertainly.

“Bulma, you're huge,” Radditz pointed out tactlessly.

Bulma leveled him with a deadpan stare and turned to Nappa, the more intelligible of the bunch.

“We come bearing gifts,” Nappa said, smiling collectedly.

She returned it with her own half smile. The last time they had seen each other, she had been bent over Yamcha's hand while Nappa glared daggers at her right before he made the call to Vegeta that would change their life.

“What---”

“We got Vegeta's stuff out of storage. And yours, too. It's in the back of Nappa's truck. Just tell me where to put it!” Radditz informed her cheerfully.

“His-mine-what?”

“I put Vegeta's stuff into storage when I realized he wasn't coming back,” Nappa explained soberly. “Someone put your stuff into storage and even signed out of your renter's contract. Some woman.” He shrugged.

Bulma stood gaping.

“Oohhhh-kaayyy,” she intoned. “But how did you guys know I was here-”

“Hey boys,” Eighteen's clear voice drifted from behind her as she effortlessly held up a large case of beer. “Have a beer with us and then we'll start unpacking.”

Bulma looked at Eighteen like she had grown a second head.

“Hell yes!” Radditz exclaimed, moving to intercept a frosty bottle from Eighteen's possession. As he popped the cap, he surprised Bulma by putting his arm around her and squeezing her to his side. “You look good, B. Hey, you're not supposed to be drinking, are you?”

Bulma, stunned, looked down at the wine bottle in her hand. “It's not what it looks like.”

“I was gonna say. I don't know much about birthin' babies, but I remember the time I tried to take my wife out drinking when she was pregnant, she nearly blacked my eye...”

He moved inside, flirting innocently with Eighteen down the hall and out of the cold.

Nappa and Bulma stood awkwardly in front of one another.

Slowly, he held his thick arm out, offering his hand from his wool coat. Bulma took it, her hand small inside his own, and he pulled her into a gentle hug. Her head barely topped his abdomen.

“Vegeta would be proud, Bulma.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she sniffed, hoping Nappa thought her nose was running from the chilly weather.

“You're the woman he always wanted. The woman he always deserved. He sends his love.”

Bulma broke down into sobs, then, and Nappa held her gently as the clouds began to send flurries to meet the ground.

&&&&&&&&&&

Bulma pulled out another cookie sheet from the oven and licked her lips as she listened with half an ear to Dende chatter to the cat. Eighteen was due back from a date at anytime (with a guy she had admitted to Bulma was `more muscles than brain matter, just the way I like them'), and she had to get the snickerdoodles in before Eighteen returned and wolfed down all her chocolate chip cookies. Her back ached and her feet were fat and numb and her belly seemed to protest with a sharp cramp every time she struggled to bend to put a cookie sheet in the oven, but she was just too full of energy to take a break.

The radio played quietly in the corner of the kitchen, some obnoxious pop station Dende had insisted on listening to. She was just glad the Christmas season was over. There was only so much “Here Comes Santa Claus” she could take before someone got a radio thrown at them.

“Dende, do you like snickerdoodles, thumbprints, or chocolate chip the best?” She asked the young boy without looking away from spooning batter onto the hot cookie sheet.

“Um, I've never had a cookie,” he replied innocently, stroking the cat's thick black fur with pleasure.

“What?” Bulma looked up at him, pausing in the middle of dropping batter onto the greased pan. “Never had a cookie? Kid, where have you been?”

“I was raised in a boarding school with other monks,” he explained apologetically, “until Guru decided I should tutor under Kami.”

“Oh?” She replied with interest. “That sounds like a pretty humdrum upbringing.”

“I learned lots of things there. Stuff like healing, and the Laws of Nature...”

“That sounds fascinating.” Bulma smiled at him sincerely.

This was the first time Dende had visited her by himself; with hindsight, she could tell he was just a little intimidated by her. She was Kami's chosen pupil, after all, but now that they were getting to know each other, she regretted her closeted resentment of the adolescent. He had had no one his entire life, with only a stoic education to call his own and a cheerless castle to call home. She was also the first human he'd ever know, and the first pregnant one, for sure. She smiled down at the last batch of cookies before sliding them into the oven. The kid had never even had a cookie before. She felt a possessive, sympathetic tug at her heart, and she scraped off the baked cookies with a spatula, breaking off a piece of one and holding it out to him between her fingers.

“Try one, Dende,” she encouraged him.

He stared at it timidly.

“They're delicious. You'll wonder how you ever went without.”

Sensing his inner struggle, she popped it into his mouth, and the boy's eyes widened.

“You're on Earth, now,” she smiled sweetly. “It requires some degree of daring to be here.”

She watched him as he chewed the morsel with relish, and she wiped her hands free of crumbs on a dish towel.

Another cramp skittered up her belly, and she rubbed it out absently. The last month had been full of them; she wasn't concerned. Her body was gearing up fro labor, and, after almost ten months of waiting, she certainly wasn't going to convince it not to take its time.

“Excuse me, Dende, I'll be right back,” she said softly, making her way down the short hall to her bedroom and into the master bathroom.

She pulled her stretchy maternity pants down her hips and settled very carefully onto the cool ceramic toilet, feeling urgently like she had to pee and yet having to force it out. Well, there was thirty five pounds of baby stuff resting on her bladder, she supposed.

After a small trickle, she huffed and went to pull up her underwear when she noticed a thin, glossy liquid coating the crotch of her panties. Squinting, she poked it. It didn't look or feel like her normal pregnancy discharge she had become unfortunately accustomed to. She tugged her underwear and pants back up around her hips and waddled back out to the kitchen where Dende sat, tapping his foot and humming to the song on the radio. The cat perched on the kitchen table stiffly as it tried to determine whether Bulma as a threat to its position or not. Before it could decide, Bulma scooped it off the table and bent to drop him softly on the floor.

“You know you're not supposed to be up there, kitty -Ow.”

Bulma let the cat go a little too soon and straightened, her hand against her side as it fell onto its paws with a thunk and scurried off. “I'm achy today,” she commented absently.

“You're in the first stage of labor,” Dende remarked casually, licking chocolate off his long, lean green fingers. “Your amniotic sac has ruptured and your contractions are about five minutes apart.”

“What?!” She shrieked, startling the cat and causing poor Dende to jump in his seat. “You knew t hat all this time and didn't think to say anything?”

Dende blushed as she chastised him and lowered his hands to his lap. “I thought you knew. I thought that's who you were making all these cookies for!”

“How would I know, I've never done this before!”

“I haven't either!” He wailed.

She let out a breath of air between pursed lips and planted her hands on her hips in thought. “I'm sorry, Dende, that's just a lot to take in at the moment.”

“How am I going to get to the hospital?” She questioned nervously, glancing at the door. “I better call Eighteen.”

“Is there anyway I can help?”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“I don't know.” He fidgeted. “I could...check to see that he's not unusually stressed. I could listen in to see how far you're dilated.”

“The doctor said I've been at a one for weeks,” she griped thoughtfully.

“Well, that's likely to have changed with all the contractions you've had the last few days. Their function is to open your cervix to allow room for the baby to pass-”

“You sure act like an expert for never having met a woman,” she snapped, and then sighed. “Once again, I'm sorry. Will you check on him?” She asked weakly as the event began to close in on her.

Dende hopped off the stool and approached her carefully, placing his soft hands against her protruding, tight belly.

“He's fine. His heart rate is slightly elevated but that's normal during labor...”

“Bulma let out a relieved sigh through her nose. “Anything else?”

Dende looked up at her. “You're dilated to a three...working up to a four.”

Bulma's eyes widened.

“This is really it, then, huh.” She regarded him with intensity.

Dende nodded. “Yes. You'll be a mother soon.”

Bulma released a little self satisfied smile at Dende's words, and then moved to pick up her cell phone. She dialed Eighteen from her speed dial but hung up with frustration when she got her brisk, cool voicemail. She mashed redial and pressed the phone against her ear with her shoulder, worrying her dish towel in her hands.

This time when she got Eighteen's voicemail, she left a curt message. “Hey there, you trollop. I'm in labor. Where are you?”

Bulma hung up the phone and held it out in front of her in thought, her brows dipping.

Slowly, as another contraction racked her belly, this time squeezing her back, too, she dialed another number, and waited.

“Hello?” A deep gruff voice answered, the sounds of dishes clanking and voices raised, drowning him out.

“Hello? Nappa? It's Bulma. I have a favor to ask you.” She waited for his rejection.

“What is it?”

“Ummmmm....I'm in labor, but my ride to the hospital bailed. Is there anyway you could take me?”

After a pause, she heard a harsh chuckle and then a sniff. “Yeah, I can be there in about twenty minutes. Can he hold out that long?”

“Who -oh, yes, yeah, I think so.”

“Okay. And Bulma?”

“Yes?” She asked politely.

“How many times did Vegeta tell you to get a damned car.”

The line disconnected with a click.

She scowled at the phone and then dragged her feet over to her purse. “What does he k now, anyway,” she mumbled.

“What?” Called Dende.

“Nothing.” She raised her voice. “Dende, can you go tell Kami where I'm headed for me, if he doesn't know already?”

Dende cocked his head to the side, staring at the wall, and then shook his head remorsefully. “He knows, Bulma. He wants me to stay with you.”

“A delivery room is no place fora young boy,” she lectured. “You'll see all sorts of stuff you can't unsee,” she informed him earnestly.

Dende paused again before meeting her gaze nervously. “I don't think he will take no for an answer, Miss Bulma!”

“Well I hope you know what you're doing Kami,” she called out to the ceiling. “You're going to scar this poor boy. Well, Dende,” she relinquished, “I'm just going to grab my coat and my hospital bag.” Her voice tightened and she massaged her back as she puttered out of the room.

“Miss Bulma?”

“Yes?” He heard her call from the bedroom.

“What's that smell?” He frowned, trying to detect the unfamiliar source.

He heard her steps race back down the hall, and she swept into the room before throwing open the oven door. Smoke billowed out, burning their eyes, the acrid smell of burnt cookies in their noses.

“My cookies!”

&&&&&&&&

Vegeta sprinted down the hospital hall, trying to button up his shirt as he ran. He had used the nearby bathroom of a burger joint as a portal from Hell, barely having time to strip off his suit and into more appropriate khakis and shirt. He didn't even remember doing it, frankly. All he knew is he was running across the street through the icy rain as horns blared at him and into the emergency ward of the West City Centerpoint Hospital.

“Excuse me,” he snapped at a nurse walking down the hall. “Where's the maternity ward?”

“It's on the fifth floor, there's an elevator down the hallways-”

“No time!” He called as he leapt up the stairs two by two, ignoring the stiffness in his knees as he did so. “I'm getting too old for this,” he muttered darkly as he took the last flight of stairs and burst through the doors.

“Sir, you need to have a visitors pass-”

“Where is Bulma Briefs?”

“Are you on her guest list?”

“I don't give a damn if I'm on the guest list,” he seethed, fixing her with a black stare. “You better damn well let me into see her, now.”

The nurse jumped to work frantically through her computer screen before calling, “Room 534!”

Vegeta took off.

“It's on the right!” The nurse hollered.

“Right,” he muttered before turning around and racing the opposite way down the hall.

He nearly ran past it.

Taking a step back, he threw open the door to room 534.

And was instantly greeted by a thin wail, nurses looking up at him in surprise as they finished wiping him down and swaddling him tightly in a small white blanket.

He moved inside without his own volition, stopping over the baby in the nurses arms.

“Vegeta?” Bulma's tried voice came drifting over to him, and he looked over, finding her sitting up in the hospital bed, pale and clammy, the hospital gown hanging loosely off one shoulder.

He glanced between them, frozen.

“Is this your son?” The nurse asked him.

He nodded briskly, reaching out to touch the newborns chubby, petal soft cheeks, when, to his surprise, the nurse handed him over to him. Vegeta reached out and was surprised by how light he was as she placed him in his arms, how the swaddling made him so easy to hold. The newborn made sucking motions with its glossy pink lips, his cloudy eyes blinking away the glare of the new world.

Vegeta looked up at Bulma and met her smile.

“Who dressed you today? Piccolo?” She teased as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed delicately.

“Very funny,” he replied with half a brain, watching his son's face settle into a restful composure, testing that he was still breathing with his finger unconsciously and feeling relief only when he felt the tiny warm gust of breath against the inside of his finger.

He felt her fingers trace his back as he heard the door open once again, and glanced up as he saw three figures enter hesitantly, shadows against the fluorescents of the hallway, when he realized it was the green kid from the Lookout and his oldest friends.

“Oh, shit, look whose here,” Radditz proclaimed, dropping his coat on the nurses station, missing the nurses repugnant glance.

They took in Vegeta's wondering, soft gaze and settled in a half circle around him.

“How'd it go, B?” Radditz asked, smiling.

She smiled back; she couldn't help it, Radditz' smile was just so contagious, reminding her eerily of Goku's. “As well as it could. Five hours of labor, no drugs. A few minutes of pushing, and there he was, purple hair and all.”

“A helluva lot better than my wife's, then. She was in labor thirty six hours before they decided she was a good candidate for surgery.”

“What?” Vegeta frowned and pushed the cap off his son's forehead. Sure enough, fine tufts of lavender hair greeted him in disarray.

Bulma laughed out loud. “Surprise! He's a throwback! That's why I named him Trunks,” she said, easing her way carefully up to lean against him and over his arm to run her fingers along the curves of his crumpled ear. Vegeta caught her eye, too overwhelmed to speak. “After my father. And yours. Trunks Vegeta Ouji.”

“Trunks,” he murmured.

“Shall we break out the cigars and the brandy?” Radditz grinned and pulled four cigars from his pocket. “Um, er, sorry, kid. Looks like we're one short.”

“Dende doesn't need a cigar, Radditz, he's eleven,” Bulma chided him goodnaturedly.

“Congratulations, Vegeta,” Nappa said, holding his hand out for him to shake, Radditz following suit. Vegeta juggled his son so he could snake a hand out to shake with, and he felt Bulma's hand rest at the back of his neck, her head lean against his shoulder companionably.

“Congratulations, dad,” she whispered in his ear, and he looked up and returned her watery smile.

&&&&&&&&&&&&& &&

“What do you want?” Kami asked, his voice catching the wind and rifting from gust to gust to the figure against the moon, his cape billowing and snapping behind him.

“I've come to congratulate you, grandpa,” the original Demon King crooned, smirking at Kami from his perch floating at the edge of the Lookout.

Kami sniffed. “State your business, Mao Senior.”

“My son has relinquished his position,” Piccolo Sr. informed him briskly. “He is no longer Lord of Hell.”

“I knew that already. I felt you when he figured out how to open that cooker. Just what purpose does it serve to inform me of something I'm already partial to knowing?”

“I'm a restless spirit, brother. I just can't seem to get any satisfaction down in the confines of Hell. Might have to jump ship...move upstairs.” He leered down at him. “Tell me, how does it feel to be Pop Pop to a child of Hell?”

“Much better than standing here wasting my time with you.”

“Can't say I've missed you Kami.”

“I wouldn't cause trouble if I were you, Senior. You've been stuck in that kitchen appliance for a long time. This is a new generation. My progeny and Piccolo's protege just recently toppled an empire even we peacemakers couldn't undermine. I would not set myself against them, if I were you.”

“Oh, shut up, old man. Bleeding heart martial artists are no match for me-”

“Your son let you out precisely because you are no match for them. You are no match for this generation. You have no power here. No one fears you here. You're a doddering old fool who can easily be contained by a simple Containment Wave. Piccolo freed you to put the burden of Hell on your shoulders, not for any sentimental desires for terror and chaos. Your days are over.”

“You'll regret your words,” he ground out, before turning and diving into the thin cloud cover as Kami watched his descent with tight lines pulling at his face.

“Dende is not ready for Piccolo Sr.,” he sighed.

&&&&&&&&&

Vegeta watched the slender blonde warily as she leaned over a sudoku puzzle and tried to figure out where she had gone. She pushed the puzzle away and sat up, looking the essence of a bored and over privileged teenager.

“I don't have the patience for these things. Bulma has been trying to get me into them and it's just not going to work.”

Vegeta leaned back against the short sofa being careful not o jostle the sleeping newborn and snorted. “Why are you still here again?”

Eighteen gave him a slow cheshire grin and sat her chin on her fist. “Does it bother you that Bulma and I are-” her eyes widened to emphasize each word -”best friends?”

“I don't know what she sees in you.”

“Maybe it's more like what I'm willing for her see me do,” she purred.

Vegeta's eyes narrowed to slits.

“Maybe she just needed someone to keep her warm at night-”

“You're going too far, you dysfunctional toaster.”

Eighteen snickered and pulled her phone from her back pocket and checked her messages.

“Nappa got home alright,” she mentioned.

Vegeta's eyes could have shot lasers at the oblivious young woman.

“He gave you his number?”

“Nah, I found it in Bulma's phone when I was trying to get him to bring her stuff over, only to learn you'd already called him. He's alright, t hough. I like Radditz more, but, well, he's married,” she sneered.

“You're a plague on my life,” he grit out.

She winked at him as she rose from the chair and stretched her long limbs, glancing at Bulma's sleeping form under the thin hospital blankets, her round shoulder and mess of curls poking out from under it.

“Tell her to text me when she wakes up. I'm going home to sit in front of the tv and eat the thumbprint cookies she made.” She yawned.

“Wait -she made thumbprints?” Vegeta seemed to realize he was drooling and hid it up with a scoff. “Careful where you place your head, you might fuck up your reception,” he growled.

There was a sharp rap on the door and it creaked open, a shadow figure in the low lighting of the sleeping woman's room.

“Isn't this lovely,” Piccolo Jr. drawled, closing the door behind him with a smirk.

“I can only assume if you're at a hospital you're here with a sinister ulterior motive,” said Vegeta as he readjusted Trunks on his chest.

“Not so.” He smiled. “Unless you count the Dark Lord of Hell making a friendly visit at a maternity ward depraved. How does it feel? Lemme guess -sunshine, glitter, a unicorn or two?”

“Much better than unicorns and glitter.”

“Powerful statement.” He threw himself into the chair Eighteen had just vacated. “What if I told you it could only get better.”

“Then I would tell you you truly are a master of deceit.”

Piccolo snorted softly and grabbed at the book of sudoku before grazing through it with distaste and throwing it back on the table. “Ain't nobody got time for sudoku.”

Eighteen smiled from the corner of the bed.

Piccolo looked up sharply, changing his tone. “You're relieved, solider. You're done. Pack your shit and get out of my hair. Better yet,” he reached into his pocket and tossed a capsule onto the table, where it rolled and bumped to a stop against the puzzle book.

“This isn't a very funny joke.” He stared icily at the green man.

“It's not a joke. Your contract with me has been annulled. You're no longer my right hand man...As I am no longer Lord of Hell.” He looked up at him with a sharp smirk. “Still bros, though, right?”

Vegeta just stared at him.

“I'm done?”

Piccolo nodded, spinning a ringer on his finger.

“What the hell happened while I was gone?”

“I let the proverbial cat out of the bag. The cat being my father. The bag being a Hello Kitty rice maker he had been magically sealed in,” he revealed with disdain. “The Turtle Hermit sure had a sense of humor to seal him in a girls kitchen appliance.”

“Would you have rather it been an Easy Bake Oven?” Eighteen quipped, drawing Piccolo's attention to her for the first time.

“It wouldn't hurt my feelings none.” His eyes quickly ran over Eighteen's leggy form. “And you are?”

“A pest,” Vegeta answered for her.

“Vegeta doesn't like you?”

“Only because he has no sense of humor.” She gave him an enigmatic smile from under her lashes.

“You're quite right. The man's a dud.” He pulled out a thin black cigarette and lit it with a snap of his fingers, sucking in the aromatic tobacco and blowing out a cloud of ebon-gray smoke.

“You can't smoke in here,” Vegeta said indifferently.

Eighteen couldn't take her eyes off him.

“Ah, that reminds me. Your powers are gone. You're human now. So have fun with that.”

“Tough luck,” Eighteen smiled smugly at Vegeta, who barely spared her a glance of loathing.

Piccolo's smirk grew and he finally gave Vegeta a look of genuine good will. “I'll be around.” He turned to Eighteen, who stood flippantly at the foot of the bed. “Where you headed.”

She shrugged, smiling coyly, for the first time seeing genuinely excited. “Where you gonna take me?”

“I've got half a mind to celebrate my departure from Hell in style. Care to fuck shit up with me on this lovely winter night?”

Eighteen's smile grew and she sauntered towards the door. “I'm already causing trouble,” she said as she slid out the door, leaving it cracked for him.

“Where'd you find her?” Piccolo stuck his thumb behind him before taking another long drag on his cigarette.

“Bulma found her. Guarding the Commander of Red Ribbon. Until she marooned for no other reason than she was bored. For some reason, Bulma saved her life and brought her home like a stray cat. I hope she gets the hint to leave soon.”

“Don't worry, Pops, I'll have her out all night.” A smarmy smile curved around Piccolo's face and he turned to leave, putting his cigarette out on the door jamb before turning around once more. “Congrats, man.” He nodded before closing the door softly, and shortly after, he heard Eighteen's laughter echo down the hall.

Vegeta gave the closed door an arrested look before glancing back at Bulma, who was lying on her side facing him with a small smile on her face.

“How long have you been up?”

“I just woke up,” she murmured sleepily, gazing at the bundle in his arms.

“He's been out the whole time you've been asleep. Bulma, I...” He cleared his throat, shifted Trunks in his arms before standing to place him very carefully into the hospital bassinet. Then he sat down next to her on the bed, head hanging on his shoulders, before looking up at her pensively.

“What?” She asked him.

“My contract is void. Piccolo let me go. I'm free.”

She stared at him.

“No shit?”

“No s hit,” he said breezily, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before being replace by a tense grimace. “I...I don't want to put you out, but...I don't have anywhere else to go....I could sleep on the couch-”

“Vegeta, you're welcome to stay with us.” She put her hand around his and drew him down to lay beside her.

Nose to nose for the first time in almost a year, they stared at each other hesitantly.

She ran her hand along his jaw and then tapped his nose. He blinked.

“I didn't think I'd ever be able to do this again,” she whispered, nervously avoiding his gaze. “I...I want to be with you.” Her voice was barely legible.

“I want to be with you, too,” he whispered back, his roughened voice winding around her like a hot embrace.

“Are we...okay?”

He wrapped her in his arms and squeezed her gently, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“We'll take it one day at a time.”

They dozed in each other's arms until Trunks small cries roused them.

Vegeta got out of bed to bring him to his mother to eat.

“Did Eighteen leave?” Bulma asked tiredly as she worked her sore body to sit up against the head of the bed.

Vegeta snorted as he delicately handed Trunks over, sitting back onto the sofa and running his hand through his hair as Bulma worked to unbutton the front of her hospital gown.

“Yeah. Out for a night on the town with the Lord of Hell, of all people.”

“What?!”

“You and her aren't...with each other...are you?” He leveled at her a glare full of dark promise, an unconscious reminder of the sheer, intimidating power of Black Vengeance.

“What?” She looked at him confused. “Oh.” She stared at him blankly. “Oh, no. We're just friends. Why...” She grinned. “Oh, I think you two are just going to get along wonderfully.”

He growled and dropped his head between his arms again, trying to wrap his head around what it meant to be free....`I'm free'...

“And who knows? Maybe she'll bring Piccolo home and we'll be one big happy family like a sitcom!”

Vegeta sprang up from the sofa, trapped her between his arms, and shut her up with a kiss.

&&&&&&&&&&&