Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Saiyan For All Seasons ❯ Closure ( Chapter 23 )

A Saiyan For All Seasons

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

Closure

 

Thank you to LisaB for Beta-ing.

 

******************************

 

 

Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains. Dust motes danced and glowed like miniature fireflies where a more intense beam escaped between the join. The air was perfumed with white roses, vanilla scented candles, and the most glorious of all, a deep musk that tamed and enhanced the other two less important fragrances. There was no sound except for the deep whoosh of air as two sets of lungs breathed evenly in and out. The last vestiges of sleep gave the scene a dreamlike quality. It blurred the edges, softened the light, and eased the mind.

 

Carefully - as though sudden movement or noise would verify that she was still asleep and this was a dream - Bulma rolled onto her side, propped herself up onto one elbow and stared down at the other face just inches away from her own. The sun made his skin golden where it hit the sharp angles of his face. She didn't dare to lift her hand up to touch those features - that would ruin the spell - but she let her eyes trace over where she most longed to touch. The dip of his eyebrows, furrowed and low even in sleep. The sharp angular cut of his nose, straight as though carved rather than formed in nature. Then there was the most mesmerizing feature of all; his mouth, relaxed and free from any worries, his lips parted slightly as he exhaled.

 

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, calming her feelings before she dared to open her eyes again. What would happen if she opened her eyes and he was gone? If her room were empty, and the whir of the gravity room replaced the glorious sound of his breathing as he lay next to her? Surely it would be too much for a human heart to bear. She wasn't sure why his decision to stay with her all night mattered so much. Why waking up to see him lying next to her was such a fundamental part of her need, but at this moment, it was all that mattered to her - as essential as breathing.

 

Since his return and their conversation (such as it was) in the hanger, their lovemaking had become more fervent than ever. Despite his assurances that he would return to her and Trunks when he felt it was safe enough to return to Earth, Vegeta was still not giving up on his plan for continuance in space entirely. That wasn't the only thing. It was weird to even imagine it, but he seemed less self-possessed than usual when they were together. When he looked her in the eye, well… there was a new edge to it, a new intensity that could be mistaken for vulnerability, and that was unnerving. There was no escaping from the truth though. They were running out of time. The androids were set to arrive in less than twenty-four hours. The mini-bubble of peace they shared since his return from space, where need and desire had overridden ego and vanity, was about to burst. It was unlikely that their reunion, should the androids be defeated, would offer up anything so relaxed and natural as this to make separation now less painful.

 

She hadn't asked him to stay, but as she opened her eyes to make absolutely certain she wasn't dreaming, it felt like it would destroy her if he hadn't. Last night had been their final night together before the Androids arrived - because he was determined to spend the very last night away from Capsule Corporation and free from all distractions to prepare for the battle undisturbed - and Bulma wanted to say goodbye properly, not just with her body. Closure was necessary, however dimly Vegeta may regard the word. With it came peace of mind, no matter the outcome.

 

Her eyes opened.

 

Relief bloomed, unlike any feeling before it. He was there, substantial, perfect, and draped in the Egyptian cotton sheets with his bare chest on full display. He was staring straight back at her, as awake as she undoubtedly was. She tried to suppress a smile - Vegeta seemed to dislike her showing emotion for him so openly - but she was just too damn happy to fight it. Her whole body sang with exultation and it wouldn't be denied such a refreshing release.

 

To her relief, he smiled back.

 

“Good morning, Vegeta,” she purred.

 

His smile edged into a satisfied smirk. “Good afternoon, Bulma,” he corrected, his enunciation so much better than her own.

 

“Afternoon?”

 

“We were a little overactive last night. It stands to reason that your body would need time to recover. You're only human.” He was obviously pleased with himself.

 

Bulma couldn't help it. A blush flamed bright red across her face as he continued to stare at her. There was a time - too distantly foggy in her mind to recollect clearly - that having him look so intently at her would bring fear to clog her throat and restrict her movement. Now it was desire that made her unable to swallow, and pure unassailable joy that kept her rooted to the spot.

 

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, his tone playful.

 

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, stretching her limbs out. “Like a baby. You?”

 

“I'm not sure I slept much at all.”

 

“What… how come?” Bulma was mortified. Would he ever stay with her while she slept again if he'd had such a bad nights sleep? However long it would be before he came back, the thought of never waking up to him in bed with her was a horrific one. “Did I fidget too much, or was the bed too soft, or… oh god! Did I snore?” She put her head in her hands.

 

He chuckled slightly and reached out to take her hands away from her face. “You do fidget, your bed is perhaps a little too soft, but you don't snore,” he assured her. “But that isn't why I didn't sleep.”

 

“Oh,” she replied, slightly mollified. “Then why?”

 

His eyes narrowed and his lips set a grim line. “I do not need to sleep so long or often as a human, but to stay and watch you - to know that I had to let you sleep. It was somewhat frustrating, and I was unable to find anything relaxing in the situation.”

 

“Well… I'd say I'm sorry about that, but it would be a lie.”

 

“So?” he asked.

 

“So?” she repeated.

 

“Are you well rested now?” There was fire in his eyes, black and smouldering in her direction.

 

She swallowed hard, and nodded mutely, unable to find the words to reply.

 

A heartbeat later and she found herself underneath him. His body pressed hers into the mattress, and his eyes glared down. They were hard with that new look, the intense vulnerability. It looked like he was in pain. Maybe he saw the confusion on her face, or maybe he couldn't control himself any longer, but either way he crushed his body to hers and found her lips with heady ease.

 

The kiss was gentle to begin with, but it grew with intensity and emotion until her head swam. The musky scent she had revelled in earlier now consumed her, mixed as it was with his sweet breath, and the passion he held for her - that they held for each other. All her thoughts centred around one instinct, the desire to be near to him one last time. She clung to him like there was no tomorrow, like they had no time left, because it was true. They didn't have any time left.

 

Vegeta's thoughts seemed to be on the same page. He growled and tore his lips away. Panting but furious at the same time.

 

“I won't do it. I won't leave you on Earth, Bulma!”

 

The pain was easy to see on his face now. No longer hidden behind his eyes, it snarled his features and tortured Bulma's heart. His emotion, as well as her own, made her eyes sting and prickle with the tears that she refused to let surface.

 

“You will come with me,” he snapped, as though it were an order.

 

“We've be over and over this, Vegeta,” she replied. “You know I can't.”

 

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, and his lip curled over a snarl as he fought for control. Then he stared down at her, glorious, even in fury. His arms were locked like restraining bars either side of her head. It wouldn't take much for Bulma to turn her head to kiss his wrist, or lift her hands to hold his face, but she daren't move while his grip on control was so tenuous. All she could do was stare up at his face and hope that her eyes would plead her case for her.

 

He exhaled, one long shuddering breath, and his face was calmer. One iron bar flinched back into life and lifted to touch the side of her face. It trailed along her cheekbone, back and forward, as he thought his next move through.

 

“You hide it well, woman.” No longer Bulma, just woman now he hadn't got his own way. Like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “But I can see the pain in your eyes. I am a Saiyan,” his voice was soft, coercing. “I am a strong warrior. I can cope with anything this life can throw at me. I was born evil, therefore I was born to suffer.”

 

Bulma shook her head frantically. It wasn't true. It wasn't his fate to suffer. He was enslaved until his master shaped him into a killer, but he was not born evil. This moment proved it more than anything. It was his fate to conquer everything the universe had to throw at him. It was his fate to survive it all!

 

“Irrespective of your delusional view of me,” he said, carefully noting her silent protestations. “I will live through this imposed separation of yours. But I am troubled by the thought that you might not. You're only human. You are weak and vulnerable. Unlike the last few times I've left your planet, you will have no means to contact me. The Ice-jin home world is too far away for your father's technology to work there, and communication between us would be far too risky with you and the boy left here unprotected anyway.”

 

“We'll be far from unprotected, Vegeta.”

 

He snarled and growled deep in the throat. “I would not trust your precious Z warriors to make a cup of tea without screwing it up. You think I would trust them to look after something so… so….” He broke off mid-sentence, as though he had said too much.

 

Bulma's breath hitched in her throat. She could see it on his face, though he had his mouth firmly clamped shut, unable to say anymore. He did care, more than she'd ever realized he cared before, but she could also see how much that compassion for her and Trunks cost him. How much he hated himself for it, and how much it disgusted him to feel it.

 

“I'll be fine, Vegeta.”

 

He merely raised an eyebrow. Bulma could feel the panic in her face at the thought of him going, at the thought of not being able to contact him, and it must have been as clearly visible to Vegeta as well.

 

She closed her eyes and breathed the emotion out. “Okay,” she relented. “It will be hard for me. There is no question about that, but it's absolutely necessary that we do things this way, because there is no other way. I can't give up who I am for you, Vegeta, anymore than you can give up who you are for me.”

 

“You could try, but you're not even prepared to do that, are you?”

 

“So then, are you prepared to try? Are you willing and prepared to stay on Earth, if we survive the Android attack?”

 

He said nothing. Bulma knew the answer. He didn't need to say anything.

 

“I believe,” she smiled, “that we have an impasse.”

 

“Ugh!” he snarled and let his hold on her loosen as he rolled onto his back next to her on the bed once more. “You're insufferable, woman.”

 

There was silence. Bulma wanted nothing more than to reach out across those few short millimetres and try to comfort him, but that would be like giving in. He had to get used to the idea, and she wasn't about to risk losing him by giving into an elopement. Comfort would be quickly misconstrued as acceptance. Then she would be right back to square one again. Besides, there was a lot to think about before his leaving became an issue. The threat posed by two psychotic and deadly Androids had somehow been negated by their most recent dilemma.

 

Vegeta's confidence was doing it. Whenever he mentioned the Androids in any context it was always as a trivial threat. It was enough to interest him and test his power, but nothing formidable enough to overthrow it. He trusted so implicitly in his `Legendary' status that it was hard not to feel as confident about it as he was. Bulma couldn't afford to do that. She knew that as confident as he was about beating the machines, there were certain factors within that equation that didn't necessitate his concern, as they did hers. Her friends for example, other human life, and even her planet… they were all superfluous to him. Now… okay… she doubted that Vegeta would willingly destroy a planet that he needed undamaged to ensure his own survival. She was even cautiously optimistic about him wanting to save it if her and Trunks' lives were reliant on it, but she couldn't be confident that he wouldn't be willing to sacrifice it, if it meant the difference between winning and losing. He would pick winning, and to hell with the consequences, every time.

 

As he so rightly said, she was only human. There was no choice. She had to worry.

 

“Your silence speaks for you, woman,” he muttered, breaking the silence. “You can protest as much as you want, but I know you're considering it.”

 

Bulma turned her head slightly to see him, but he was staring straight up at the ceiling. His face was thoughtful, but otherwise devoid of emotion. It was cold and hard, the spell broken. Bulma couldn't find any part of the passionate, volatile man she had seen recently in the line of his features. He was the cold, aloof Vegeta that took everything and gave nothing.

 

“Actually,” she replied, “I was thinking about the Androids.”

 

“Worried?” he asked. Then his voice dropped low. “Afraid?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I will beat them.” His voice was low and emotionless. “There is no need for your concerns. You are not afraid of me, and yet I am twice as dangerous to you as they are.”

 

“I don't believe that.”

 

“You should. The worst they can do is kill you. I know very well what would happen if I do things the way I want to do them. I know that it will be worse than death, because I will destroy you - soul and all. But you see I still want to take you with me. I still would take you with me if you'd let me. Just because it would gratify me to have you and the boy close by.”

 

Bulma contemplated that for a moment. Was it right to feel a surge of joy at the prospect of losing her soul? She smiled slightly. She'd given up being rational about her addiction to Vegeta a long time ago. It would make no difference so long as she could be secure of his need for her, then the rest could all be razed to the ground. After all, did death still matter to her as much as it once had? Several of her friends had already died. The afterlife didn't sound so bad. From the stories she'd heard it even seemed possible to have fun there. She had a family to look out for now, but as long as she could guarantee their safety, then she was willing to make any sacrifice. Of course, to enjoy the afterlife you did need a soul, a good one.

 

“I still don't believe you.”

 

“Why? What part of “dangerous” don't you grasp about me, Woman?”

 

“You could make me go with you.”

 

“I don't understand,” he confessed. “Are you trying to talk me into this?”

 

“Not at all, but in case you haven't noticed, you're about five billion times stronger than I am. You could stop me from doing anything if you wanted to. You could take Trunks and I with you, and there would be nothing I could do to prevent it.”

 

There was a pause as Vegeta considered what she said.

 

“But you're not going to force me to go, are you?”

 

He was no longer still, no longer calm. His great fists curled into balls so tightly that his tanned skin almost became white with the effort to keep his anger and ki under control.

 

“No,” he spat. “I am not.”

 

“Because?” she urged, knowing he would not deny her an answer. She was eager and willing to hear how he would explain this phenomenon.

 

He turned his gaze away from the ceiling, and she could see the conflicting hate and passion in his face. Deadly. Beautiful! His nostrils flared, and his eyebrows met lower on his forehead than she had ever seen them before. His jaw flexed and tensed as he warred with himself. It was his eyes however that betrayed him most. Even so deep in shadow she could see the glint in them. The desire.

 

“Because you would hate me for it, and however much I hate myself at this moment for being weak, I am strangely glad that you don't hate me - that you don't fear me.”

 

“I truly don't, Vegeta.”

 

He nodded.

 

Feeling safe in her own mind, and secure of his, the no-man's-land between them was now null and void. Bulma braved the few millimetres and rolled into his chest. Vegeta's arm automatically flexed, crushing her body to his own.

 

“Do me a favour, Bulma,” he whispered in her ear. His lips kissed a line of fire up her jaw.

 

“Anything!” she replied. He could ask her to walk over hot coals right now, and she'd probably agree to it.

 

“Keep away from the fighting tomorrow.”

 

Ok, anything but that. “What… why? I might be able to help.”

 

He growled. “You'll only end up getting yourself killed. That's not going to help anything.”

 

“But--”

 

“Don't argue with me. On this point you really do have no choice.”

 

Bulma laughed. “What are you gonna do? Tie me up and lock me in the basement?”

 

“If it's necessary, yes!”

 

She looked up, and the smile froze on her lips and then disappeared completely. His face was deathly serious. He really did mean it. He wanted her nowhere near him when the fighting broke out.

 

“I've never had to think of anyone other than myself and my opponent during battle. If you come and you end up in trouble, it's probable that I'll be so wrapped up in the fighting that I won't even think about trying to save you. As you said, I can't change who I am for you, Bulma.”

 

“How about if I'm close by, but not close enough to be in any danger? The Z Senshi are meeting on a hill to the south of the city. I need to see them before it all kicks off. It's important to me. I have a secret that they deserve to know.”

 

“Very well,” he allowed. “You meet with them. You say your goodbyes, and then you leave immediately.”

 

Bulma couldn't argue. It was a very reasonable request for Vegeta. So long as she got to see them all and wish them good luck, then she would be happy. She needed that closure as much as she'd needed the closure this day had brought her. Vegeta cared; he'd admitted it in almost every sentence he'd uttered since waking up beside her this afternoon. It was more than she could have ever dreamed about.

 

“Okay.”

 

Now she would enjoy it. There was nothing left to deny herself. His touch was insisting and demanding. Letting him go was something she couldn't contemplate just yet. She would enjoy him one last time before he left.

 

********

 

As it turned out it wasn't one last time, but several incredibly satisfying times. Exhausted anew, Vegeta had let her fall asleep again. When she'd woken up, only two hours later, he had already left. Bulma had refused to be unhappy about it. She had gained so much that afternoon that it felt wrong to be scared or anxious when her heart was swelling so much.

 

Trunks had stayed with her parents all night and all day - they seemed to be very understanding and tolerant about her need to be with Vegeta before he left - but now it was her son's turn for attention. Completely rested, and knowing that she wouldn't be able to get to sleep this night even if she tried, Bulma spent the night in the rocking chair by Trunks' crib, wondering what tomorrow would bring as she watched him sleep.

 

There was another trial to be faced. In the morning Yamcha would be coming to meet her at Capsule Corporation before they flew to the rendezvous point just outside South City. They would be alone in an air car together for two hours. That wasn't exactly a pleasant prospect. No, not pleasant, but essential. It didn't matter what he said to her on the way. She would not leave him upset, hurt, or angry. His note had given her confidence that he would be on his best behaviour, that he was sorry for what he had put both her and Kiko through. She wasn't angry with him, not anymore. Out of everyone, he had been the one to suffer most. At the end of the day it was her need for his friendship that had kept him close, and that was the root of the problem. Yamcha would always be dear to her, no matter where he went or what he did. If she could accept that it was only friendship that kept them close, then she was positive that he could too.

 

Trunks woke up at seven in the morning, and Bulma fed and changed him before she got ready herself. It was not a day to be fashion conscious. She wore simple tracksuit bottoms with an orange T-shirt, and a sleeveless tan waistcoat over the top. Not the most attractive outfit in her extensive wardrobe, but practical for scampering up hills, or running away quickly if she needed to. Besides, despite her conversation with Vegeta, her women's intuition was tingling. She was important in this story somehow, and she'd be damned if she didn't turn up in South City well prepared.

 

She met her father in the hall. He stopped her with just a look, from over the corner of his spectacles, and a clearing of his throat. It was formal enough to be out of place. Normally he would simply wave as he scurried past, or meet her with an eager frantic grin as he revelled in an inspired mind. This was his way of being cautious, a figure of authority. A man ready to talk as a father to his daughter. Bulma actually gasped in surprise. The last time he'd used this face was when he'd confronted her over a misplaced pregnancy kit.

 

“Yikes, Dad, what did I do?”

 

Despite the parental front, he allowed himself a dry chuckle. “Nothing yet, but that doesn't let you off the hook.”

 

“It would in most judicial systems. Innocent before proven guilty, remember?”

 

“I'm not here to sentence you, Bulma. In fact I'll be very happy to let you off for good behaviour.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “You're going to meet up with them today, aren't you?”

 

There was never a question who them was. Individually Mr Brief liked pretty much every contingent of the Z Senshi, but as a collective, when there was trouble on the horizon and he knew that Bulma would get dragged into the fray, he was less than generous about them.

 

“Yes.”

 

“So if I was to tell you to be careful and to not do anything reckless, would you listen to me?”

 

Bulma smiled. “Sure, Daddy. I would listen to anything you had to say.”

 

He shook his head. “But you wouldn't promise me not to either.” It was a statement of fact. They both knew it was true.

 

“I won't make promises it's not in my power to keep. I will go with them. I will help them in any way I can, and I will stay with them if it's the right thing to do.” The look on her father's face was painful to watch. She decided to soften the blow a little. “I will not, however, knowingly put myself in any more danger than I need to be in. I will be smart, and I will come back home to you and Mum.”

 

“Are you going to leave Trunks here or take him with you?” he asked, staring at the baby in her arms.

 

Bulma thought about it for a moment. Leaving him at Capsule Corporation was probably the sensible thing to do, but the thought of being away from him on such a momentous day was painful to her. Besides, her new life had been a secret for far too long. It would be wrong to keep her friends in the dark when there was no reason for secrets anymore. How had Vegeta phrased it? “It seems we both have a secret to tell. The arrival of the Androids will truly be a memorable day for everyone involved.” He wanted them to know Trunks existed; Vegeta wanted everyone to know that he was Trunks' father, and then he wanted to show them that he was Super Saiyan too. In Vegeta's mind this day was all about his superiority, and she cared for him too much to make it anything less than spectacular for him.

 

“I promised Vegeta that I would tell the Z Senshi about Trunks today,” she explained, and then as an after thought she added, “And I also said that I would keep away from the fighting. It won't hurt to take him if I'm going to be nowhere near the frontline when the real battle begins. Besides,” she continued, her eyes softened and her voice constricted. “If something were to go wrong, then I would want to be near him, I would want to know that he was safe.”

 

Mr Brief bowed his head. “Very well,” he said with reluctant acceptance. “I will not make you do anything you don't want to. Just don't forget that you're still my little girl. I want to keep you safe too.”

 

Bulma smiled and bridged the small gap to hug him tightly to her chest. It was a little uncomfortable. As much as they both loved and respected each other, they weren't in the habit of showing emotions in such a physical way. Mr Brief coughed his embarrassment, and Bulma took it as a sign to step back.

 

“Well, well,” he babbled, his cheeks a bright shade of pink. “Your mother is in the kitchen. Breakfast is ready and Yamcha is here, waiting for you.” He chuckled a little at the revelation. “I thought I'd better give you advanced warning. There's going to be enough fighting as it is today. If I can avoid one in my own kitchen, then I will.”

 

Bulma laughed and walked away. “There's no need to worry, Dad,” she threw over her shoulder, “I invited him.”

 

She stopped just outside the door. The smell of syrup and coffee was an intoxicating, heady mix and tempted her to take those few short steps into the kitchen. Her heart was beating too quickly. Trunks strained against her grip on him and held his hands toward the door, smelling the food and eager to get his share. It was amazing how quickly his weaning had passed, and he was so advanced in his eating habits now that he'd probably put a toddler to shame. Obviously the Saiyan food gene hadn't got lost in mix.

 

“Shhhh,” she soothed him, and with a long deep breath, she found her resolve and marched confidently into the room.

 

The morning sun was shining brightly through the kitchen windows. Her mother was humming as she flipped pancakes onto a plate by the stove. Yamcha stood right next to her taking the pancakes before they'd properly cooled, pouring syrup over them and devouring them in the same movement. Bulma shook her head. Some things never changed.

 

“Morning,” she greeted as neither of them had noticed her entrance.

 

“Morning, Bulma. Morning, Trunks,” Mrs Brief welcomed them, and she left the stove for a moment to take Trunks from Bulma's arms and sit him in the high chair at the near end of the kitchen table. “There's plenty for you all. Everyone will need their strength today.” She tittered and danced as if it were a normal day. As though Bulma and Yamcha were going on a long walk, or for an outing together rather than trying to save the planet.

 

Bulma couldn't be distracted for long though. Yamcha, who had now stopped eating and was staring at her just as intensely as she was staring at him, captivated her. He was wearing his usual orange training gi, very obviously prepared to fight, even though he knew he was completely outclassed. Had he ever returned to regular training? Would it even make a difference if he had? A guilty look crept over his face, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

 

“Hey,” he said, as though he were a stranger in her home rather than a guest.

 

“Hey,” she replied, feeling as awkward and self-conscious as he looked. “You're here early,” she observed a moment later.

 

“Yeah, I figured we had a few things to get through before we left.”

 

Bulma smiled. “One or two,” she agreed.

 

He smiled back. “Perhaps it would be best if you have breakfast first, and then you could meet me outside?” he suggested.

 

“I'm not hungry,” she lied. “Let's get this over with.”

 

Yamcha held his hand toward the door, and Bulma followed his direction. They walked together in silence out of the kitchen, through the hall, and into the crisp morning sunshine. It was very warm outside. They took a path between two rows of neatly clipped box hedges that circled the main house. There was an old iron bench set in a copse at the end of the main garden that shielded the area from the surrounding buildings. It was Bulma's favourite part of the garden. It offered outside solitude in one of the busiest and most densely populated cities in the world. They both sat down awkwardly on the cold, damp bench.

 

Yamcha was the first to speak.

 

“I'm not here to make things difficult for you, Bulma. I hope you realize that.”

 

“I know you're not. And I didn't invite you here to punish you, or make you feel any worse about this whole mess than I already know you do.” She looked him over once and was pleased with what she saw. “You look well,“ she commented.

 

“I feel it too,” he agreed. “Strong as a horse!”

 

Bulma believed every word. Even before the whole desert training fiasco, the stress and dissatisfaction of his chosen lifestyle had shown on the lines of his face, the hue of his skin, and the light in his eyes. It was so easy to tell now - when he did look so well, and she'd had time to look back and reflect on the whole retched business - that he had been suffering for a long time. How had she missed it? Guilt aside though, she really was pleased to see him back to normal, so vital and… serene. Yes, serene was the right word. He looked carefree - at ease with himself. Hope blossomed in her heart.

 

“Is there any way, after all we've been through, that we can still be friends?” she asked.

 

“I think so,” he agreed, “but I won't delude you any more. I won't delude myself. I don't think I'm quite there yet.” He smiled. The action didn't quite reach his eyes. “If we survive this today, then I promise you that we'll try. How's that?”

 

“Not as reassuring as I hoped it would be,” she admitted, “but I'm glad you're being honest.”

 

“And what about today?” His face was furrowed in thought. “Why did you invite me here?”

 

“It seemed like the right thing to do.” The mood had shifted. It was hard to deny the melancholy of such a day, but Bulma had hoped that their meeting - if for some reason it should be their last - would not be a sad one. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine was in the air around them. Was it wrong that such a potentially horrific day should start out so peaceful and calm?

 

“A grand farewell?” he asked, his voice cocky. “I don't want to think of it that way.”

 

“Me either,” Bulma asserted, “but if we do have to say goodbye.” She looked him dead in the eye. “For whatever reason.” Would he hear the double meaning in her words? She hoped he would. “Then I want to say it on good terms. I want to remember it like this. I don't want to remember seeing your face in so much pain, or remember the feeling of anger that ripped through my chest the last time we saw each other.”

 

Yamcha grimaced. So it was still painful for him to remember that day as well.

 

“I want to remember us like this. I want to remember you sitting beside me with the sun in your hair, and knowing that you thought as well of me as I do of you. At least I'm hoping you do. I know you have every right to hate me. I know that it's selfish of me to want you here when you've already suffered so much. I just want to say that--”

 

He raised a hand that silenced Bulma in mid-flow. “Don't,” he said, his words strained. “Don't make yourself the villain in this. You're the best friend I've ever had, and I abused your trust for so long…. It makes me angry to think of it. How I acted.” He closed his eyes and blew a shaky breath out. “Can you forgive me?”

 

Bulma smiled. “There's nothing to forgive,” she attested, and held out her hand to him. “I think we should call a temporary timeout on the angst, just for today. What do you say? Temporary friends again?” she asked.

 

“For today,” he agreed, and then took her hand and shook it.

 

They smiled at each other for a little while. It became uncomfortable after a few minutes and they both felt the need to stand up and go back to the house.

 

“So, shall we see if Trunks has left us any pancakes?” Bulma joked.

 

“Sounds good,” he agreed, and they walked back to the house a little less awkwardly than when they'd left it.