"Can We Start
Over?"
A "Dragonball Z"
original flavor/alternate reality
fanfic
by: Jennifer L.
Mondazzi
originally
written: 09/21/97 -
10/10/97
Mou hitori de
arukenai... (I can't walk by myself
anymore...)
Toki no kaze ga
tsuyosugite. (The winds of time are too
strong.)
Ah, kizutsuku
koto nante! (Ah, what a wounding
thing!)
Nareta hazu, (I
should have gotten used to
it,)
Dakedo ima wa...
(But right now...)
Part 1: Memories
of the Future
<"I often
wonder what might have changed had I decided to take Mirai Son Gohan up
on his offer to start over with him.
For one, I
would not have continued my 'relationship' with that temperamental,
arrogant Saiya-jin Prince (who is now my husband), nor would I have
gotten pregnant with his child. Instead, it might have been Gohan's
baby that I had carried. I would probably have married him, and, if
even for a little while, I might have been happy. All the while, I
would have been fooling myself into believing that two people, from two
completely different realities, might have had a chance to make it
work.
In the end,
however, I would have ended up alone
again.
Gokuh had once
tried to explain it to me, in one of his rare moments of perfect
understanding. He had said that if Fate had wanted our love to be, then
it would have been, and no force in the Universe, nor in the Heavens,
would have stood against it.
He was right,
of course, but still, it might have been
nice...">
It was a moot
point now, Bulma knew, but her mind continually questioned itself,
torturing her with thoughts of what could have been.
She closed the
cover of her personal diary, stood up, and crossed the room. Heading
into the closet, she hid the book back in its special spot - under a
stack of books, in an old box, in the bottom corner of the small
walk-in. The diary was her secret, her only link to the past aside from
memories, and not even Vegeta knew about it's existence, as far as she
knew. She only wrote in it when she felt the urge to put down on paper
a particularly strong emotion or thought, and this morning, for some
reason, she had felt that need.
Perhaps it had
something to do with "present" Gohan's marriage, which was scheduled to
take place later today...
Bulma gathered
her things in her arms, and left her room, closing the door quietly
behind her. She walked down the darkened hallways, towards the elevator
at the end, her mood melancholy, speculative. She was so distracted
with her thoughts, that she hadn't even realized that the elevator had
reached the first floor of the Capsule Corporation's residential
section, until the ping of the lift alerted her to this fact. She
looked around, slightly embarrassed and partially bewildered, before
finally grabbing hold of her senses, and stepping out into the main
entrance hall. She let her feet take her out the front door of her
home, and jumped into her waiting skycar.
Placing the
paper bag that she carried in the seat beside her, she strapped herself
in before taking off, heading east, towards the mountains and the
barely rising sun, continuing her
contemplation.
"It is wisely
said that doubt is the evilest of all sins," Dende had once offered to
her, when she had prayed to him for guidance in coming to terms with
her feelings. "Knowing your life might have taken a different path had
you just chosen otherwise is always a terrible reminder of this, so
sometimes it's better not to ponder it, but to just let it go."
Despite her
misgivings over the events of the long-ago past, Bulma still found
herself, occasionally, longing wistfully for that short amount of time
once more - if only to know what might have changed. It had been more
than thirteen years since he had come, but she still remembered those
eight weeks as clearly as if they had been
yesterday.
Mirai Son Gohan
had crossed the boundaries of time to be with her, and to protect her
world from a dire fate. For the terrible suffering he had undergone in
order to do so, she knew that she would never be able to forget him,
and that, perhaps, was the greatest sin of
all...
THIRTEEN YEARS
EARLIER...
"Hey, Bulma!
You ready yet?"
Bulma looked
out of her window, from one of the top floors of Capsule Corporation,
and looked down upon Kuririn's bald, shiny head, as he stood outside on
her front lawn.
"Yea, be right
down!" she hollered, spiraling away from the opened portiere, and
skirting up her jacket and backpack from where they lay upon the bed.
Hurriedly, she crossed her vast bedroom to her vanity mirror, and took
in her appearance as she donned the jacket. She pursed her lips,
considering. <Looking pretty good, if I do say so myself>, she thought
with a smile. Picking up her hairbrush one last time, she ran it
through her long hair, and then satisfied, turned to leave. Closing the
door behind her, she started down the long hallway, towards the
elevators, humming to herself happily.
A dark shadow
moved slightly off to her left, and she instinctively jumped away,
dropping the backpack and crouching into a defensive posture - a trick
she had learned from Gokuh a long time ago. A derisive snort followed
her movements, alerting her to the stranger's
identity.
"I could have
snapped you in half by now, stupid
woman."
Bulma's hackles
immediately rose, and she sneered at the familiar tone. She tried to
calm herself, mentally remarking that this time he was not going to
upset her. Today, she'd planned to accompany her friends to watch their
training session. She wanted to measure the rise in their kis in her
newly fixed scouter, and then they'd all promised to have lunch
together before an afternoon of
sparring.
It had been
months since all of her friends had gathered to have a meal together.
The pressing knowledge that the cyborgs were coming within a year and a
half had weighed on all of them heavily, and their interactions had
been little more than passing words in all that time. This day was
supposed to return a little normalcy to their lives. Even Piccolo had
agreed to come - which made her incredibly nervous - but Bulma had
tactfully managed to swallow her objection in the face of little
Gohan's excitement. The boy really seemed to like the giant, fanged
alien from Namek, so who was Bulma to begrudge him some time with his
mentor outside of
training?
Secretly, Bulma
had hoped to catch a glimpse of Yamucha today as well. But only
because, she reminded herself, she hadn't returned his watch yet, which
he'd absently left at her bedside table several months ago. And that's
the only reason! she reassured her position, half believing the
lie.
Yes, today was
going to be nice! Therefore, there was no way that she was going to let
him dampen her spirits.
Bending down,
she lifted the backpack gingerly, adjusted it on her shoulder, and
continued on down the hallway towards her original destination. As she
passed by the shadow, she scoffed.
"Get lost,
Vegeta. I haven't got time to 'play' with you today, _little Prince_."
She'd said the last with as much scorn as she could muster, knowing the
reaction she would receive. Vegeta's irritated growl reached her ears,
and she smirked in perverse pleasure, mentally chalking one up for her
side.
She'd reached
the elevators, still waiting for his response, and was confused when
one didn't come by the time the car had reached her floor. As the doors
parted, she entered the lift, and pushed the button to go down, almost
annoyed by Vegeta's lack of witty repartee to her smart comment. That
almost took all the fun out of irking him. Almost.
Before the
portal closed behind her, however, she heard his nasty chuckle and
spiteful response loud and clear across the intervening space. "You
look incredibly ugly today, Bulma. I'm sure your unfaithful boyfriend
will think so too."
The doors cut
off her outraged scream.
That evening,
Bulma had returned to her room, carefully putting her backpack on the
floor near her door, and crossing the room to look back in the mirror.
Absently, for long moments, she stared at her reflection, contemplating
it. <I'm not ugly, am I?> The thought raced around in her head,
combining with the memories of the day's disappointing events.
First, her
confrontation with Vegeta had put her in a fouler mood than normal, so,
she'd snapped at Kuririn in the skycar, venting her frustrations out
upon him. Then, she had shown up at the practice session, only to see
that Yamucha wouldn't be arriving until after lunch. In addition, her
scouter hadn't worked properly, and so she'd had to tinker with it
several times to fix the problems - once even taking it completely
apart and reassembling it. All the while, she had waited for her
"unfaithful boyfriend" to show up, her ire increasing with each passing
moment.
What was he
doing that was more important than spending time with his friends, and
semi-girlfriend? Bad thoughts weaned around inside her mind, bringing a
bitter taste to her mouth, and a strange ache to her heart. _Was_
Yamucha out with another girl? Had Vegeta been right?
That thought
infuriated her further.
They'd had
lunch at noon, but talk was stunted, as her mood was quickly picked up
on. As soon as the others had finished eating, they had returned to
practicing and sparring, not bothering to relax and talk - as Bulma had
hoped they could do. She'd gone back to fixing the scouter, to keep
herself occupied and her thoughts concentrated on something other than
her doubts.
Finally, around
two o'clock, she'd managed to get the vital equipment working properly,
and Yamucha had appeared. She ignored him for half the afternoon,
determined to let him suffer for making her wait, but, by about four
o'clock, she'd figured it out that he hadn't seemed to be the one
suffering - she had. It took her a bit to realize that she'd wallowed
in her own self-pity and misery, and had wasted an entire day doing so.
This incensed her even
further.
To top it off,
she had returned Yamucha's watch - a gift to him on their first year
anniversary together all those years ago - and he had looked at it
blankly, as if he hadn't recognized it at all. She had thrown it at him
then, and stormed away, disgusted with herself and all men in general.
Kuririn had
taken her home around eight o'clock, and the ride had been
uncomfortably silent the entire way. He'd said a polite 'good night'
then took off quickly, leaving her standing outside, in the dark. She'd
just spent the last twenty minutes rifling through her backpack,
looking for the keys to the front door without a light source of any
kind.
Her perfect day
had been a disaster.
It was all
Vegeta's fault - and Yamucha's. Neither had said a kind word to her in
months, and the stress of constant bickering was beginning to weigh
upon her. She wasn't sure why, but the thought that neither one could
be civil towards her made her begin to doubt herself suddenly. Why
couldn't she keep Yamucha interested and devoted to her? Did he not
find her attractive anymore? Vegeta certainly didn't think she was
beautiful, and made no bones about telling her how gruesome and
repulsive she was on a constant basis. Perhaps Yamucha was beginning to
think that way too.
As she stared
at her face, she saw the eyes fill with tears, watching, detached, as
they spilled over and down her cheeks in glistening, crystallized
trails. She didn't sniffle, barely breathed, just felt. It was then
that Bulma realized the extent of the raw, aching loneliness that had
become a part of her existence over the last few
years.
Falling to her
knees, shaking all over, she wrapped her arms around herself and cried
her heart out, feeling her small frame wracked by the tremendous
strength of her sobs. Everything came out then - all of the pain, all
of the hurt, all of the anger. In the end, she felt drained, and could
only sit there, rocking herself slowly back and forth, wondering if she
was still sane, or if she was losing
it.
A sound from
outside her window snapped her out of her cataleptic state. She picked
herself up on unsteady legs and made her way over to the sill, looking
out into the blackness. Seeing nothing, she pushed the glass outward on
its hinges, and stuck her head out. Something blurred past her at an
incredible speed, almost taking her face off. She reeled backwards
suddenly, lost her balance and fell hard on her backside. Shocked, she
looked up to see a dark-haired, teenage boy perched on the lip of her
window frame, looking at her with an evil smirk, triumph shining in his
strange, almost in-human eyes.
"I found you at
last," he said, his voice more wicked than any she'd ever heard before.
He gave a small laugh, and hopped into her room fully, landing by her
legs, staring down at her.
Bulma scrambled
backwards on the heels of her hands and feet, trying to put as much
distance between herself and this horrible stranger. Inside, her heart
pounded loudly in her ears, and panic welled up. It increased
proportionally when she felt her back hit the wall behind her, knowing
that she had reached the limit of her escape. She continued to inch to
the left, towards the closed door, keeping an eye on the boy all the
while.
Somehow, she
knew that he was here to kill her. Nameless and faceless was the
forebearer of this knowledge, but she understood it clearly. Everything
inside of her screamed to
escape.
<Vegeta>, she
found herself telepathically begging,<please help
me!>
The fact that
she was praying to her most despised opponent for his intervention
didn't seem to matter at the moment. Nor did it make a difference that
he would no doubt harass her about the matter later. No, although the
Saiya-jin Prince was a horrible man, this boy, she knew, was
infinitesimally worse. The almost-deranged glint in his gaze confirmed
this. He watched her carefully, smiling like a lunatic at her attempts
to put room between them. <Like a cat to a mouse>, she thought,
sensing the inherent connection.
The boy's
collar-length, black hair swayed in the breeze created by the small,
rotating fan hanging in the center of the room. Other than that,
however, Bulma saw no movement to him - not a breath, not a blink, not
a twitch. It was as if he was a statue. However, lurking behind those
glassy, blue eyes was an intelligence and a malevolence that Bulma had
never seen before - not even in Vegeta. It frightened her more than
anything ever had.
Her mind
abandoned her then, and she began screaming, crawling the rest of the
way to the door as quickly as possible. As she reached for the knob, a
hand around her own stopped her cold, and her outcry died in her throat
as she looked up into the boy's
face.
"Tisk, tisk,
Bulma," he said calmly, raising a delicate eyebrow at her. "We can't
have you alerting the
neighbors."
He snapped her
wrist then, as easily as one might break a twig. She howled in pain,
trying to pull away, but the young man's grasp was tight and firm. He
continued to smile, amused at her attempts to break free from him, and
stood as stoic and unrelenting as a mountain. She struck at him, cried,
scratched and bit - anything just to get away, but nothing seemed to
phase him. Each attempt, however, hurt her. The boy's entire body was
as solid as steel, and just as
unyielding.
"What do you
want?" she yelled, trying to stall for time, hoping to get a chance to
talk her way out of this situation. The nefarious look that greeted her
question made her realize that this tormentor had no human side to his
soul, and that he understood her tactics. Delaying wouldn't work, and
neither would talking. He was going to kill her, but it wouldn't be for
money or power. No, she instinctively knew that this was something
definitely more personal.
Any hopes that
she might have harbored for mercy or freedom, were dashed in that
instant.
The boy reached
out his free hand, and placed it on the top of her head, rubbing the
hair there gently, letting it glide through his fingers. Bulma didn't
move, her terror having reached a pinnacle, and she waited breathlessly
for the next move, knowing it would bring her death. Instead of
delivering the final blow, however, the stranger squatted in front of
her, and continued to pay attention to her pastel-lavender hair,
feeling it's length and the softness of it. Perhaps it was accidental
on his part, but he spoke then, his voice far-away and thoughtful.
"Juu's hair was
like this - soft and pretty. I always liked touching it..."
He focused back
on her face then, and the anger returned full force. Grabbing a handful
of her mane, he yanked her face close to his, the venom rekindled in
his gaze. "You'll pay for what he did to her," he stated maliciously,
leaning closer to her, making her shiver in
dread.
From somewhere,
Bulma found the courage and the ability to speak. "Who's Juu?" she
asked in a half-rasp, half-whisper. There was a moment's hesitation, as
he considered her words, but then, the young man's smirk was back in
place.
"Someone you'll
never know," he promised, kneeling fully beside her, and pulling her
rigidly to him, one arm stealing around her waist. As their bodies came
into intimate contact with each other, however, the twist of his mouth
dropped suddenly, and the black aura that had seemed to surround him
melted quickly away, dissipating before a new, powerful compulsion.
Bulma observed
as the boy's eyes moved back over her features carefully, watched as a
dark intent slid through his thoughts. She whimpered in protest,
knowing where his musings traveled, and tried to move away. His grip
was firm around her, though, making escape impossible, and a painful
tightening of his arm stopped her short.
As if
mesmerized, half-unsure of his actions, the boy quickly leaned down and
gently pressed his smooth, cold lips to her own, his strange gaze
watching her expression the entire time. Bulma shuddered from the
contact, incapable of shutting her eyes to block out the vision before
her. Her inability to do so was not caused by any deranged curiosity -
as the boy's had been - but out of pure, unadulterated fear.
The kiss lasted
maybe five seconds in all, but it was the longest five seconds of
Bulma's life.
His mouth
parted from her own, drew back barely a fraction of an inch, but his
eyes continued to watch her face evenly. "You even taste like her," he
whispered, his voice low, curious. She felt his body shift slightly
then, and his hand released her broken wrist, sliding up her torso to
her neck, running smoothly, unfalteringly over the curves it found
there. Almost wistfully, he sighed. "It's too bad,
really."
Bulma knew then
that the moment had finally come.
Her body
spasmed, as she felt something razor-sharp stab through her chest,
resting just below her diaphragm. It burned as no fire ever had, and
she heard her own cry loudly in the hushed room, filled with surprised
pain.
Time seemed to
stop.
An instant
later, Bulma looked down to see the young man's hand, embedded up to
the wrist in her body. She watched, fascinated, as her blood sprung
outwards in a great wave, covering his arm in thick, oozing, crimson
liquid. He laughed cruelly, and yanked his hand out of her body
quickly, letting her go. Bulma felt her heavy weight fall backwards,
and she slumped against the wall, helpless. Weakly, she lifted a hand,
and placed it over the wound, her mind numb.
<The
blood....it's so bright...>
Everything was
blacking out on the sides of her vision, and she feebly lifted her
head, looking at the boy in surprise. "Why?" she choked out, feeling
blood strangling her words, filling her throat. The boy smiled again,
not bothering to wipe his hands of the gore. He stood, perfectly
comfortable, bathed in her vital fluids, as he answered her.
"Because I want
to hurt him," he said, a spark of madness in his eyes.
<Hurt who?
Please tell me.>
Somehow, she
couldn't make the words come out, despite her attempts. It just hurt
too much. She coughed instead, feeling bloodied bubbles forming in her
nose, and spit out the liquid that rushed up into her mouth. It
dribbled down her chin, and when she coughed again, it's droplets
sprayed the beautiful, cream carpeting, turning it an ugly scarlet.
<Mother will
kill me...for making such a
mess...>
"Farewell,
Bulma," the young man acknowledged, heading for the open window. He
turned back once more, and smiled almost innocently. "Say 'hello' to
Juu for me, will you?" he asked in a child-like voice, then saluted her
with two fingers to his brow, and moved to the window to
leave.
It was then
that they both noticed the dark shape outside, hovering at
window-level.
The boy didn't
have time to jump back as the shape fell upon it, raining blows that
blurred as they hit. Bulma couldn't see well, as her vision was slowly
turning gray and fuzzy, but she heard the sounds of fists smashing into
skin, and knew that someone had come to rescue her. She prayed that
whoever it was would save her, if only so that she could clean up the
mess she had made.
Vaguely, she
heard the boy's voice, screeching in frustration and anger. "She'll die
before you can get to her. Her life is mine, in return for
Juu's!"
A new,
unfamiliar voice - a man's voice - answered, cold and seething with
fury. "I'll kill you, you sick son-of-a-bitch, just like I killed your
warped sister!" Again, the two exchanged a few blows. Then, there was a
large crash, the feel of cold night air on her skin, and the young
boy's mocking laughter seemed further away.
"See you
around, Super Saiyan
Man!"
Then there was
silence.
With her vision
completely gone now, Bulma panicked as warm hands touched her cheeks.
She no longer had the strength to push them away, and part of her no
longer cared to, but the animal-part of her humanity rebelled silently
against the contact. She was lifted then in strong arms, and strangely
felt no pain; everything was pleasantly euphoric, and light sensations
were all that she was aware
of.
A low, urgent
voice - the man's voice - spoke in her ear roughly. "Hang on, Bulma,"
he begged her, carrying her somewhere swiftly; she felt the rush of
wind against her legs, as they moved. "Help is on the way. Just don't
give up on me, please!"
"Vegeta?" she
sputtered, pushing past the hot liquid that filled her mouth once more,
feeling it fall out between her lips as she spoke. "Is that you?"
There was a
moment of hesitant silence, but then the man's voice came to her again,
choked with emotion. "I'm here for you, Bulma," he assured her,
snuggling her closer to his shaking body. "Just stay with me this time,
and I'll never leave you again. I promise."
Bulma felt
herself smile, just before the shadows began to overtake her. "Oh,
good," she slurred, her head slumping against the solid shoulder
beneath her cheek, her last breaths easing away from her tired body. "I
knew you'd come for me." The darkness beckoned her, and she reached for
it. Obscured in the widening distance, she heard the man's voice call
out to her desperately one last time, echoing away in the
gloom.
"BULMA!!!!!"
TO BE
CONTINUED........
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
AUTHOR'S
NOTES:
"Mirai" means
"Future" in Japanese.
"Forever Love"
was written and sung by X-Japan, copyright, Dahlia/East-West Japan
AMCM-4271, 1996.
"Dragonball" is
the copyright of Akira Toriyama/Bird Studios/Toei Animation/Sueisha,
and the copyright, 1996-97 of FUNmation/Saban Entertainment, all rights
reserved.
All other
characters and situations are the property of this author, copyright
1997.