I took some time to reevaluate the
timeline in this story, and rewrote some important aspects to make them
clearer. Please let me know what you think!
- Jennifer (Rena/Maigrey)
"Can We Start Over?"
Part 1
A "Dragonball Z" original flavor/alternate reality fanfic
by: Jennifer L. Mondazzi
originally written: 09/21/97 - 10/10/97
revision 1.0 written: 02/20/1998
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 Saiyan 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.
Goku 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 8 and 1/2 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...
March 18th, in the year 765
"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 Goku 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 in a
little over a year from now 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 mentally 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.
Although the Saiyan 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.
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, 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!" 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........
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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 1997-1998. **In accordance with domestic and international
copyright law, you may not reproduce this work, or any portion thereof,
without the express written permission from this author.**