Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Between the Crosses ❯ Between the Crosses ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or any of the characters featured in this story, nor am I making any material profit from it.

Very special thanks to LisaB, and Bulma Peacecraft for beta-ing this fic.

For some reason, when I post something containing italics, they disappear unless a normal text character is in front of it. This is why in 2 or three places in the story, there's a period at the beginning of an italicized sentence.

.Between the Crosses.

"I'm going to Flanders," she had said, with that sad little smile on her face, as she stepped out the door into the early morning mist.

Flanders.  It was a joke, their own private joke, just between the two of them.  Flanders, she had said.  FlandersFields.  A place of death.  It was their joke, to call it that, the tiny grove, but it brought no laughter.  It brought tears instead, and sobs…and memories.

What else were they to call it though?  The graveyard, perhaps, for that is what it really was, or maybe the cemetery, burial ground, or what-have-you.  They were all too morbid for her tastes; grim reminders of what lay beneath the surface of the earth, in the shallow, hasty graves.  They hadn't even had time to dig proper holes, for fear of drawing unwanted attention to themselves.  The darkness in which they worked lasted only so long before daybreak; the androids only needed so much sleep, if you could call it that.

She couldn't bear to call it any of those other names.  A cemetery was something that sat out behind the church, a quiet, imposing place where you went every Sunday to put flowers on the grave of some relative you'd met only once when you were five.  The graveyard was a place where you held a séance with your friends, but got so scared you all nearly wet yourselves and ran home, nearly crying with fright.  A burial ground…no.  You used to giggle about that in high school; that the building was built on an ancient Indian burial ground, and that crotchety old Mrs. O'Malley was really possessed by a vengeful warrior spirit.

So Bulma called it Flanders Fields; a place of remembrance.  A place of pain and sorrow, of tears and memories, but most of all, a place of hope.  Hope for the future.

There was a small path she always took, winding through the woods near the ruins of Capsule Corporation, where she lived with her son.  It was a wonder the forest still stood, amidst the destruction caused by the androids, but it was there, standing proud and tall.  Bulma had a theory, about why the androids hadn't touched it yet.  It was natural, sprouting up from the Earth in majestic defiance of the surrounding city.  The twins, with their cold mechanical parts, resented the technology that had destroyed their lives, and they hated the people, who went about taking their humanity for granted.  To be fully organic, fully human, despite all of their power and strength, was something the twins could never be, so they set out to destroy it.  But they did not hate nature.  They did not hate the trees.

And so the forest stood, still proud and tall and most importantly, alive amidst the surrounding wasteland.

Step after step, Bulma made her way down the path, ever alert.  Just because the androids hadn't destroyed the forest yet didn't mean they never would, and besides, there were still wild animals to contend with, should one of them see her fit for his breakfast.  The morning was peaceful though, and with the birds fluttering about and whistling in the trees, it was hard to believe anything was wrong with the world.  Bulma knew better though.  She had been through too much, lost too many of her loved ones to ever forget humanity's suffering at the hands of the androids.

Gingerly stepping over a raised tree root, she felt the familiar moisture building up in her eyes, threatening to flood her vision.  It happened every time she set foot on the path, always knowing the destination to be Flanders Fields, and every time, no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop the tears from falling.  She was a strong woman, yes, but to be cold and unemotional was not in her nature.  It was simply not an option.

Bulma stopped a moment to wipe a tear away, pulling a rag out from her pocket to do so.  It had become her habit, to carry one at all times.  After all, one never knows when a rag might be needed.  One of the remaining machines in Capsule Corporation could spring a leak at any moment, or a tremor caused by one of the android's blasts could shake the house, spilling all kinds of things on the floor.  At any moment, her son could burst in through the door, bleeding to death and in need of a bandage.

One never knows when a rag might be needed.

With her tears wiped away, Bulma stuffed the fraying piece of cloth back into her pocket and adjusted the basket sitting in the crook of her arm.  The sweet smell of freshly cut blossoms drifted up to her nostrils and a tiny smile curved the corner of her mouth.  She had been growing them all year, under phosphorescent lights in what remained of her father's old basement workshops.  It was too dangerous to grow them outside, where the androids were lurking, and where hungry animals would have eaten them.

Poppies.  Bright red petals, with black button centers.  Blossoms for her friends.  Blossoms for the dead.

Bulma walked on, clutching her basket tightly, avoiding her obstacles before they even came into view.  She had traversed the meandering path so often that she could have done it blindfolded.  Three steps forward, sidestep to avoid a rock.  Twenty more steps and then hop over a fallen log.  Step left to avoid a groundhog's hole, big step over a small brook….  She would walk the path again and again forever, many times into eternity.

Trunks was not with her this time, nor had he been for many trips before…not since the newest arrival to Flanders.  She had taken him with her, as a small boy, when they could cry together, for those he had never met, never knew as she had.  She had not feared to cry before her child then.  But now…he wasn't there anymore, for her or her child, and she had to be strong.  Strong for Trunks.

.Everything will be okay Trunks.  Don't cry.  No.  That's wrong.  You can cry.  Mommy will be strong for you.  Mommy won't cry, because she knows it will be okay.

But Mommy did cry.  She cried herself to sleep every night, unaware that her son sat outside her door, his heart wrenching with every sob.  He didn't let her know.  She needed to carry out this façade of strength, as much for him as for herself.

She stood for a moment at the edge of the small clearing, swallowing the lump in her throat and trying to muster up the courage to set foot within the small circle.  The trees were thick enough above to shroud the clearing from cold blue eyes, but it was not the androids that caused her hesitation.  It was the mound of dark soil, just barely beginning to sprout grass.  He had been their last hope.  She had thought he might have been their salvation, but she had been wrong.  He had been strong for them, but he too, had succumbed like all the rest.  She was the last one.  Her small family had gained yet another guardian angel.

"Gohan…" she murmured softly, the tears finally spilling forth from her eyes.  For so long, he had been their protector, but now he, too, was gone.  They were alone, she and Trunks, two against the world.

Tentatively, she took a step beyond the shadows, into the spotty light of the clearing.  She clutched her basket tightly, looking around and above for any sign of the androids, as she always did.  There was nothing but the chirping of unaware birds, or the occasional scuttle of a rabbit through the underbrush.  Bulma took a deep breath, forcing the tension out of her shoulders.  In her little forest, it was easy to forget about all the world's problems.

Quickly, she moved toward the newest grave and began her ritual.  First, she brushed off the makeshift headstone, cleaning it up as best she could, and plucked the unsightly weeds from around its base.  The grass was only just beginning to grow over the freshly packed dirt, so she was careful not to disturb the young green sprigs as she pulled at the interspersed weeds.  She worked slowly, stopping often to wipe away her tears, or blow her sniffling nose.

"Your mother was always so proud of you," she snuffled, pulling at a stubborn dandelion.  "Even though she was always complaining about your training, secretly, she was so proud."  Telling Chi Chi that her son had died was, perhaps, the worst experience Bulma had ever had.  To see such a strong, proud woman so broken….  Her screams of agony still rang in Bulma's ears, especially at that moment, as she lovingly tended the grave of her best friend's son.  Even Goku's death had not shaken them so much…at that time, life was still just a wish away.  The androids had not come yet, and everyone had been consoled by the suggestion of traveling to New Namek for the dragonballs and Porunga.  Of course, preparations had been made, but then disaster struck.

The twins had appeared out of nowhere, razing cities, destroying everything within their path.

She settled some poppies neatly on Gohan's grave and then, quietly, Bulma moved on to the next one.  Yamcha…her first love…perhaps the only real one?  They had shared so much together, but he was gone; his time with her had ended long ago, and she had allowed it, for another.  No, Yamcha had not been her only love…compared to the other, perhaps she had not loved him at all.  A shaky breath escaped her lips, as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to forget her memories, trying to block out that warm smile.

"Yamcha…" He had gone for her; professed the love in his heart that had never died, then went off to fight.  For a long time, she felt as if she had killed him herself, for saying she no longer loved him that day.  "I did love you…" she whispered, as she did every time in Flanders Fields, "but perhaps not enough to save you."

He had come to her, before he went to join the others.  He had come to tell her a secret…one that he had been holding within his heart for a long time.  "I still love you Bulma." He had said it so calmly, but with so much feeling that she could hardly stand to look at him.  "I know you feel the same. I know you must still love me, somewhere in your heart."  Of course she had still loved him…but there was the other one.  The other man in her life; the man who drove her to the deepest pits of hell and the highest peaks of heaven all at once.  What was she to do in such a situation?

Trunks had wailed then, as if to save his mother from her awkward situation, and her decision was made.  "I'm sorry Yamcha, my son needs me."

He had fought hard that day, along with the rest of them.  Tien, Chiao-tzu, Piccolo, Gohan, even Yajirobe had gone…and now they were all buried here, in her little field.  All dead in the ground, rotting away, and she could do nothing!

"Why am I so weak?"  She wanted to scream out her frustration and anger.  "Why couldn't I help them? WHY?"  She sobbed aloud, pounding her fist on the ground and startling the songbirds in the trees.

"Oh." she gasped, clapping one hand over her mouth, frozen still.  Her eyes peered around cautiously, scanning the shadows around and the sky above.  She was shaking with the strain of remaining so still, gripped with the fear that one of the androids may have heard her scream.  They would slaughter her here…here in Flanders Fields…how fitting it would be.

But…Trunks still needed his mother.  They weren't allowed to kill her yet, so she had to be quiet and not be found out.  Stifling her sobs, she moved toward the next grave, continuing her sombre routine, tending to the headstones of Chiau-tzu and Tien, side by side together in death, as they had always been in life.  The doll prince and his assassin bodyguard.  Bulma sighed as she came to the next grave.  Yajirobe's always seemed to be the messiest; somehow.  It was as if his spirit were there, tromping about in its sloppy clothes, trying to make the place more homey.  He would be there for eternity, after all.  She shook her head, a sorrowful smile curving her lips.  "To think, it's your fault everything turned out the way it did." She murmured, her gaze drifting to the far side of the small clearing, to the solitary headstone that rested within the shade of the trees.

Shaking her head, she carefully arranged a handful of poppies beside the stone marker and doubled back, past Gohan's grave, up to Piccolo's.  She had been surprised, at first, when the others had appeared with the massive green body.  He was no longer a deity, after fusing with Kami in a desperate attempt to gain power.  His body had remained after death that time, instead of fading away as it had done before.  The thought had disturbed her immensely.  These things…these androids…they could kill Gods.  Although she had never been especially close to the green being, burying him had frozen her heart with a terror that had remained dormant until that point.

 Poppies for an alien, who had been a God and a Demon all at once.

Goku's grave was always so hard to visit.  It brought such a rage to her heart, to know that he had been defeated by such a sneaky enemy…the heart disease that had taken him away from her, from Gohan, from Chi Chi, from the world….  It wasn't fair.  "If only you had been here…" she whispered, her heart bursting.  "If only you had been here, none of this would have happened!"  It was what they had all felt, when the first of the Z fighters fell in battle.  He had always been their saviour.  When there was an impossible task to be done, Goku could do it.  When there was no one else to depend on, he had been there.  But then the unthinkable had happened…

Goku died…for good.  The disease had struck so unexpectedly, quietly eating away at his heart until there was nothing left.  Who would have thought that such a strong warrior would survive so many battles, only to be betrayed by his own body?

Of course, they could not wish him back.  Shenron could not bring back those who died of natural causes…if only they had known…then they could have…could have….

 "What could we have done?" she sighed, "Killed you and then brought you back to life, hoping the heart disease died with you?  Wished away the disease? …There are so many things we could have done, if only we had known."

When the androids appeared, the others had tried to appear optimistic, but deep down, they knew only death awaited them on the battlefield.  It was hopeless without Goku.  Everyone knew it…even he knew it, though it tore at him to admit it.

Shaking her head, Bulma turned back to Goku's marker.  There was nothing buried underneath; she had erected it there out of tribute, and because she liked to think that even though it wasn't his real grave, he could still hear her when she spoke to him there.  His body was actually buried in a small cemetery, up near his old home on Mount Pauzu.  Chi Chi visited him every day there.  Bulma wished that they could have transported Gohan's body there, to be buried with his father, but it had been impossible at the time.  Nobody travelled further than a few blocks now, for fear of the androids.  And poor Trunks; who could have asked him to fly off with the lifeless body of his best friend slung over his shoulder?

So Chi Chi had to make do with a small fake marker, until the day when they could exhume her son's body and bring it home, where it belonged.

Poppies for Goku.  Her best friend.

She sat for a moment, not yet ready to go to the next grave.  It was the hardest one.  So long as she died before Trunks, it always would be.

It weighed heavily on her heart, that thought.  The possibility that she, like Chi Chi, would have to visit her son's grave…if she could even bury him.  He was the last survivor.  If he died out there, who would bring his body back to her?  It was selfish, she knew, but she would much rather die first…but preferably not for a long time yet.

Wearily, she got up from the ground, clutching her empty basket as she turned to face the last headstone.  There were no more poppies, but that was okay.  There never were any.  He wouldn't have wanted them.  He probably didn't want her sorry old figure bawling on his grave either, but that was too bad for him.  He was dead and she had buried him, so she could damn well soak his dirt with her tears if she wanted to.

The stone was so cold to her touch.  It made her wince every time, jerking her pale hand back with the shock.  But after a moment, she lay her hand back down, as she always did, to caress the smooth surface.  This was the one she had loved so much, cold in the ground.  He had left her alone with a tiny baby, to go and die.

At first, there had been so much bitterness in her heart, sprung from so many unanswered questions.  Why had he gone?  Why had he gone and thrown away his life?  Why had she allowed him into her life, into her bed?  Why had he come?

Why had she let herself love him?

He had never been particularly nice to her…but somehow, she had been so drawn to him.  Somehow, they had become lovers.  Her unexpected pregnancy had thrown their relationship into turmoil.  He barely looked at the child, in all the time he remained with her.

And in the end…in the end, he had gone to fight.  Gone to die.  For them.

Bulma had found him, that fateful day, in Trunks' nursery, watching the sleeping infant with guarded eyes.  It weighed on her heart to remember how much sadness she had seen there, peeking around the doorframe, unnoticed by his dark gaze.  He had laid a gentle hand on the boy's head, smoothing down silken lilac hair, not saying a word.

"I'm leaving to fight."  He said, noticing her presence at the door.  "I will defeat those two tin cans."  His voice was strong, but she could see right through him.  They both knew he would not return. 

"Please…" she took a step into the room, tears beginning to well in her eyes.  "Please stay a little longer. I'm not ready for you to…go."

"Woman…."

"Why do you have to go at all?  It's useless for you to die out there!"  Stay here and train in secret.  You aren't ready to face them!"  She cried, clutching at his hand, as if she had the strength to make him stay.  His eyes grew dark.  Trunks began to cry.

"How DARE you?" he roared, throwing her hands away.  "I am the Prince of the Saiyans, the mightiest race in the universe!  I will NOT be defeated by a couple of machines!"

"You've got nothing to prove Vegeta."  She pleaded.  "Stay here.  Please…"

.Her cries fell upon deaf ears, as he stormed past her.  She heard the door slam, and she saw a bright trail of energy sweep across the sky.

.That night, Gohan brought him home, with a hole where his heart had once been.

Hell had descended upon her that night.  Her sadness and fury had been wild and raw, raging around her in a whirlwind of unimaginable pain.

"I hated you for so long…for leaving me…us…alone."  Her voice was shaky with stifled sobs.  "I hated myself for pushing you like that…."  She pulled a weed out of the ground, tossing it over her shoulder.  "Maybe…maybe if I hadn't said the things I did, it could have been different.  I could have told you…I could have told you that I loved you, before you left.  Maybe you could have said it too…I mean, not that I expected you to ever say that.  That's not the sort of thing you'd do, is it?"

Bulma sat down with a thump, hugging her knees up to her chest.  "I used to wonder a lot, whether you even cared.  I couldn't see past myself…my own grief, my own pain.  Silly, huh?  What kind of guy goes and dies for someone he doesn't care about, eh?"  A sigh escaped her lips, and she sat quietly for a long time, lost in thought.

"I wish you could see him, Vegeta."  She broke the serene silence.  "I think you'd be very proud of him."

She stood up after a moment, brushing dirt and grass off her bottom, and gathered her things together.  "He'll meet you, but it won't be the same you…. He'll meet me too."  She said, after a moment.  "I hope he likes us."

She stretched her arms upward, soothing the aches of her work, mentally preparing herself for her next task.  Vegeta and the others were gone; they would never return…but somewhere, it would be better.

Somewhere else, her son would know his father. She would make sure of it.

Somewhere else, there would be no Flanders Fields.