Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A Heart Worth Believing In

1

In hindsight Bulma realized that the very first warning sign that something was wrong was the fact that Vegeta sat down for dinner wearing a zipper hoodie where he would usually only wear a sleeveless top during summer or a button-up shirt with rolled up sleeves during winter. 

Apparently Saiyans, thanks to their strength and massive ki, were able to tolerate low temperatures much better than humans, though they generally preferred it warm. 

The first sign Bulma noticed was when Vegeta ate a few bites and then pushed his plate away. 

In her entire life ever since meeting Goku Bulma hadn’t seen a Saiyan stop halfway through a meal.

“Is something wrong with the food?” Bulma asked, wondering whether it was too spicy. 

Vegeta had a spice tolerance befitting a two-year old, much to Bulma’s chagrin, who would eat a raw chili pepper if there was nothing else around. 

Bulma had wondered for a while whether that was a Saiyan thing. She couldn’t remember Goku being too bothered by normal amounts of spice, but he usually went more for quantity than exquisite spice balance.

Had Vegeta grown up getting used to different spices, or had he eaten bland field rations? Ew. 

Vegeta continued to stare at his plate, took a few more bites, and then pushed his chair back. 

“Vegeta?”

“What?” he asked, curtly as usual. 

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I am.”

“You barely ate.” Bulma took away the knife from Trunks he’d just snatched.

“So?”

“Why?”

Vegeta took his plate and carried it over to the counter. “Because I’m not hungry. I’m going to bed.”

And with that, he stomped out.

“What was that?” Bulma asked Trunks.

“Tunks want more.”

“At least one of you behaves normally, huh?” Bulma shrugged and served Trunks another plate. His Saiyan heritage was most obvious in his appetite. He already ate a grown human’s portions.

“Papa not food?” Trunks continued with his mouth full.

“Apparently not,” Bulma sighed. “I’ll put his leftovers into the fridge in a box so he can eat them later if he wants.” 

“No lef’overs! Eat all!” Trunks ranted. 

“Yeah, you eat up. I’ll deal with your dad later.” 

She didn’t see Vegeta again that evening. He had a tendency to go to sleep early, and while this was very early, it wasn’t completely unusual.

The next morning Bulma forced herself to get up at seven, a time she usually considered to be a crime against humanity. Thankfully Trunks adored his grandparents and was happy to be woken up and entertained by his grandma until Bulma crawled out of bed.

But she wanted to be up in time to see Vegeta. They rarely saw each other before lunch due to their vastly different sleeping schedules.

The gravity room was still inactive when Bulma passed the outside control panel on her way to the kitchen. She’d insisted there must be a way to turn off the artificial gravity from the outside if anything happened.

(Vegeta had scoffed at her mention of something possibly happening to him, but this was her house, and her rules.)

She heard Trunks giggle and her mother coo at him from the living room. How early could one be up?

She yawned widely and entered the kitchen with still half-lidded eyes, going straight for the coffee machine. It was turned off. Huh. Was Vegeta probably not even up yet? He had quickly caught on to human coffee-drinking habits and the coffee machine had been the first kitchen device she’d seen him use after taking him in.

It smelled like tea. Who in this house would drink tea in the morning? They only had some here for when Bulma’s mother invited her friends over, or the rare occasions the Sons made a trip to the Western Capital. 

A sound behind her almost made her jump up on the counter in fright. She spun around and only now noticed she wasn’t alone in the room: Vegeta was sitting on the corner bench at the table, leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out. 

“Sitting,” Vegeta replied without looking up. “I live here, if you haven’t noticed before.”

Bulma already had a cutting response on her tongue when she got a better look at him.

Her heart, still beating quickly, jolted.

Something was not right.

First, she had never seen Vegeta drink tea.

Second, he was wearing the same zipper hoodie as last night.

And third, dark circles under his eyes contrasted starkly with his ghostly pale skin. 

“What the hell is up with you?” she asked. 

He glared at her, which hadn’t impressed her in years. “Absolutely nothing aside from this house being way too cold. Is there no heating you can turn on?”

“Uhm …” Bulma looked down at her bare legs sticking out from her sleeping shorts, “the heating is off in the entire house because it’s late summer and really warm?”

“It’s fucking freezing in here,” Vegeta complained further, taking a sip of tea and looking at the cup in disgust. He didn’t even like tea!

“Alright, stop.” Bulma had enough of this game and checked the thermostat by the door. “You’re telling me you’re cold ? We have 22°C in here. I’ve seen you walk around sleeveless and in shorts at 15°C. You’re drinking tea ? You barely ate anything last night. And, excuse me, but you look really fucking horrible.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You’re getting sick .”

His shoulders twitched. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

“Okay, then you talk sense. What is going on?”

With an annoyed growl Vegeta got up, emptied his cup into the sink and walked out after placing it on the counter. “I said leave me alone.”

Bulma was very aware that this was exactly what Vegeta would act like if he was getting sick. And this was not a normal tone for him to speak to her.

Vegeta had gotten very civil over time, and while remaining taciturn in general, he would hold a normal conversation with Bulma.

She packed her worry aside to make room for anger, and stomped past him.

“Vegeta, cut it out!” she shouted when she arrived at the stairs.

He ignored her, making his way up.

Bulma followed him, wondering whether he was usually this slow since she caught up with him easily when he reached the final step.

“Why are you this out of breath?” she asked. It had been fifteen steps.

Another glare, but he didn’t seem to have the air to argue back.

Bulma grabbed for his wrist and, before he could react, pushed up his sleeve and felt for his pulse, ignoring the shock about how ice-cold his skin felt.

“Your heart is racing, Vegeta.”

Now, he pulled his hand free, looking away, still breathing way, way too harshly for someone who spent his days training in 200 times gravity.

She’d seen him jump up the entire flight of stairs with the same ease as others took a single step.

“Stop it,” he breathed.

“No,” she said firmly. “This is no longer a discussion. To your room. Now.”

He turned his face away and walked on, visibly slower and with less ease than usual. He was still out of breath when they reached his bedroom, where Bulma sat him down on the small couch. 

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” 

Years traveling the world among martial artist friends and years spending with Vegeta training obsessively had made her well-versed in the field of medicine, and she was keeping half a hospital’s worth of medicine and other equipment ready at all times.

Bulma entered the main bathroom on the second floor where she kept her medical supplies. With a bag full of equipment she returned to Vegeta’s bedroom, where he was still sitting on the couch. 

“What do you even want?” he asked again, but a lot quieter now. 

He looked exhausted. 

“To make sure you’re fine,” she said curtly. “Take off the hoodie.” 

He harrumphed but did as told. 

Bulma wrapped the cuff of the blood pressure meter around his upper arm and grabbed for his other hand to clip a pulse oximeter on his finger. 

“Don’t be hysterical,” Vegeta muttered. Now that he’d taken off the hoodie he seemed to be shivering slightly. 

Bulma looked at the values given out, took off the devices and bit her lip. 

“I’m not hysterical,” she said, “but I am being serious about this: you’re grounded.” 

“What?” 

“You’ll stay right here, on the couch or in your bed. You can go to the bathroom if you must, but not a step further down the hallway. Not until I know what exactly it is we’re dealing with. Take your shirt off.” 

“What.” 

“Take it off so I can put on the sensors for the heart monitor!” 

“Get a grip.” 

“Your pulse is racing and your blood pressure is below sea level. Your oxygen saturation is at 91%.” 

Bulma rested her hands on his knees and looked him in the eyes. “Were you anyone else I’d be taking you to the ER right now.” 

Did she get through to him? She wasn’t sure. But he did take his shirt off and even held still while she took several blood samples. 

“I’m taking those to the lab. And then I’ll have to make a phone call. Stay. Here.” 

Before leaving she threw him a blanket. He glowered at her but didn’t seem to be up for a fight.

That almost scared her more than all the readings she’d taken. 

She’d never seen Goku get sick with the flu or anything like it. Trunks had so far avoided all childhood ailments. From Chichi she knew that Gohan had virtually never been sick his entire life. 

There probably weren’t many things a Saiyan could fall ill with. 

But Bulma knew of one. 

* 

Two hours later she had confirmation. For once, she hated to be proven right.

“Come on, pick up the phone ...” she whispered impatiently.  

“Hello, this is the Son household?”

“Finally!” Bulma explained.  

“Hm? Bulma?”  

“Gohan, is your mother at home?”  

“Not right now, no, I’m alone. Is something wrong?” Gohan asked.  

Fuck. Bulma would have preferred not to discuss this with Gohan. But what choice did she have?  

“Gohan, sorry for asking, but ... do you still have some of that medication left Trunks brought from the future? For Goku?”  

The line remained silent for a few seconds. “You mean for the heart virus?”  

“Yeah.”  

“We used it all up back when Dad was sick, sorry. Since Yamcha, Mom, Grandpa and I took it too in case it was contagious. Is Trunks sick?”  

“No ...” Bulma sighed, feeling her heart sink. “Not Trunks. It’s Vegeta.”  

“ Vegeta ?!”  

“I know, it sounds crazy. But the blood tests are pretty clear. I don’t have any of Goku to compare obviously but ...”  

“What are you going to do?” Gohan asked, sounding worried. “How is he?”  

“I’ll try to find a way to cure him, obviously. For now he’s resting. It’s not too bad yet. I think I remember someone mentioning that Goku got worse quickly because he turned Super Saiyan when he was already ill? I’m hoping we’ll have some more time now.”  

“Can I ... can I help you? I could come over ...”  

Precious little Gohan, always willing to help no matter what.  

“No, Gohan.” Bulma smiled. “I’ve already told my parents to take care of Trunks and stay away from Vegeta and me for now. It’s no use risking you getting infected too. If there’s anything you can help with ... I’ll call.”  

“Okay ... I’ll ask Mom when she’s home ... I’m sure you’ll find a way.”  

After hanging up Bulma leaned back in her lab chair and rubbed her temple, wishing she’d gotten some samples of the medication. She could have replicated it then.

Or if Goku was still here ... maybe he still would have antibodies she could use to make something.

What a scientific genius she was: having groundbreaking medication from the future in her grasp and not taking the opportunity to study it.

She continued to research the medical database of Western Capital Main Hospital. She'd hacked into it while analyzing Vegeta’s blood samples. The virus was known, but research was limited since it wasn’t common and would rarely make people seriously ill, if at all.

Why did it hit Goku and Vegeta then? Because they were Saiyans? Was there something about their physiology that made them more susceptible to this particular virus?

And where had the other Bulma gotten the medication from? Who had developed it? Manufactured it? If she knew that, maybe she could find that person’s counterpart in this timeline ...

She took another of the blood samples and run it for analysis. The first thing to make a cure would be to fully understand the virus.  

While the machine was working she checked her tablet where the readings of Vegeta’s vitals were constantly updated.  

At least for the past two hours they had remained stable: not good, but not life-threatening either. His temperature was rising, which she’d expected. At least his breathing rate had settled somewhat.  

She left the lab and walked upstairs where she found Vegeta still on the couch, blanket draped all over him, dozing.  

He startled awake as she approached him, blinking wearily.  

“How’s it going?”  

“I’m not dead yet, am I?” he grumbled, accompanied by a cough. He rubbed his chest.  

“Chest pain?”  

Immediately, he lowered his hand.  

“The good news is, I know what you have.”  

He looked up, jaw clenched. “And the bad news is that there’s nothing left of the pills Kakarot got from Trunks, right?”  

Bulma froze. “You figured it out too?” 

Vegeta smiled darkly. “I’m not that stupid.”  

It was sometimes hard to tell, but he really wasn’t. “I just talked with Gohan on the phone. They have nothing left.”  

“Well,” Vegeta said and folded the blanket back to pluck the sensors off his chest.  

“And what’s that supposed to be now?” Bulma asked when he removed the pulse oximeter from his finger. 

“What do you think? I’m leaving.”  

“Excuse me?”

Vegeta took a breath and got up from the couch. He must be dizzy since he blinked a few times before he took the hoodie and slipped into it.  

“I’m not going to die lying in bed.”  

“Who said anything about dying?!” Her voice was higher than she would have liked. “Sit back down!”  

“What? Are you now a pharmacist? Going to brew up a remedy by yourself?”

“If I have to, I will.”

“Tsk, don’t bother.” He turned around, to the door.

“Vegeta!” She stormed past him and blocked the door. “Where are you even going? How far do you think you’re going to get in your condition?”

He stopped very close to her. “That’s my problem.”

“It’s going to be mine when I have to bury you.”

“Do you think I’ll leave a body to be found?” he sneered.  

She felt her face slip. “What? Are you planning on killing yourself out there? One giant explosion and boom?”

“I’d rather do that than roll over and wait for a ridiculous virus to kill me. I’m a warrior, did you already forget?” His breathing was now elevated again.

“How noble of you. Now cut it out and let me at least try to do something about this.” 

“I’m not relying on some miraculous cure you may or may not be able to cook up. Out of the way.”

Bulma put both her hands on the doorframe and lifted her shoulders. “Make me.”

Vegeta balled his fists at his side. It looked more helpless than threatening. She hadn’t been afraid of him in so long, she wasn’t going to be intimidated now.

Especially not when he looked like he was barely managing to stand.  

Bulma was aware of his pride, and she did feel sympathetic; being ill was never fun, especially not when you’re not used to it.  

And it wasn’t like this was the end of it: he was going to feel a lot worse than this very soon.  

“Sit back down,” Bulma said, hoping she didn’t sound too gentle. He didn’t like that.

He exhaled. His forehead was sweaty. “Let me through,” he said, calmer now.

“Come on ...”

“To the bathroom,” he hissed.

Bulma’s lips twitched. “Alright, then back in here.”

While he was gone, she picked up the medical equipment he’d thrown off and opened the window to let some air in.  

Vegeta returned, hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched. The sight made Bulma’s own chest ache.  

He glowered at the open window.  

“I’m going to turn up the heating soon, don’t worry.”  

He wrinkled his nose and sat down on the couch again with crossed arms. When Bulma approached him with the ECG he scooted away. “Leave those off; I’m not dying yet.”  

At any other time Bulma would have given him a piece of her mind, but she decided they could compromise for now: he wasn’t leaving, and she wasn’t going to bug him with constant monitoring just yet.

“Fine. But I’m either going to bring you something to eat and drink, or I’ll hook you up to an IV. The third option is I knock you over the head with a hammer and do the latter anyway, including attaching you to every piece of monitoring I can find. Your choice.” 

He looked so offended she almost laughed.

“Is the hammer this tempting? Would it feel like going out fighting?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. But don’t bring that nasty tea.”

“Got it, I’ll be back soon.”

She heated up the leftovers from last night’s dinner, prepared some fruits and sweets, water, and iced tea she knew Vegeta liked.

“You don’t have to eat it all,” she told him when she noticed the look he gave the tablet she brought. “Just drink as much as you can.” 

She left him alone after that. Depending on how things went she’d have to bug and prod him a lot soon so she granted him his alone time while she still could. 

Bulma was just down the stairs when the doorbell rang.

Gohan was standing outside with a basket in his arms.

“Gohan?”

“Uh, hi,” the boy greeted. He had barely grown taller in the past two years, as if catching up on his lost childhood after spending the years between four and nine almost constantly fighting or training.

“I’m not staying long,” Gohan continued, “but when Mom heard about Vegeta falling ill with the same virus she wanted me to bring you this.” He held out the basket. “It has all kinds of herbs from our garden. There’s recipes in there. When Dad was sick Mom gave him different kinds of tea. Some of them help with pain, high heart rates or can ease respiratory distress. She says they helped Dad when his symptoms were really bad.”

Bulma took the basket, recognizing Chichi’s meticulous work at packing herbs and writing out detailed instructions. She swallowed. “Send her my thanks.”

Gohan looked down at his shoes. “I took a detour on the way here,” he admitted. “I was at the Lookout first, to ask Dende if he could heal Vegeta. But he said he couldn’t heal illnesses. Apparently it’s similar to how the Dragon Balls can’t resurrect someone who died of natural causes.”

It would have been too easy. “Thank you for asking. I’d invite you in but …” She paused. “Gohan, would you mind if I took a sample of your blood? If you took the medication back then and it prevented you from getting ill maybe you have some antibodies.”

Gohan’s eyes widened. “Sure!”

He readily held out his arm once Bulma had fetched her needles and tubes. 

When she was done Gohan stepped back and looked up at the windows of the second floor. “Send Vegeta my regards. Uhm, if you think he’s in the mood.” 

Bulma returned his grin. “I will.” 

Gohan lifted off and hovered there. “Please call me when you have news!” he asked, and was gone so quickly Bulma couldn’t even see him in the sky. 

Bulma brought the blood vials into the lab where she sat down at the desk, burying her face in her hands, allowing herself one short moment of weakness. Whatever happened, she wasn’t going to get much rest over the next days and weeks, and she ran through a mental list of things she needed to do. 

Make sure Trunks was settled with her parents: check. 

Get Vegeta to cooperate: in progress. 

Make sure they had enough oxygen stocked: 

Order medications that might help: 

Keep checking medical databases for clues on a cure: 

Read up on her chemistry: 

Stock up the lab on ingredients:  

Save Vegeta: 

She bit her lip. This wasn’t the time to cry yet. 

She had work to do. 

* 

Twenty hours later she felt like she was floating. Numbers and chemical formulae were dancing before her eyes even when she closed them. 

She moved her hand and knocked an empty can of energy drink off the table. It landed among several others. 

She blinked and tried to decipher what her tablet screen showed her. 

Late last afternoon she’d taken apart some medical equipment and built an armband that constantly measured Vegeta’s pulse without bothering him too much. 

His heart rate was increasingly irregular, with the average constantly rising. 

It was 6am. She’d last checked in on him at midnight. At the time he’d been sleeping. 

Bulma saved her results from the past hours on three hard drives and two cloud services and then turned off the computers. She needed to sleep at least two or three hours. Her concentration was gone. 

Her tablet beeped. Vegeta’s heart rate was rising quickly. 

She cursed and hurried upstairs, only to find his room empty. “Vegeta?” 

Only then did she hear the sound of the running shower from the bathroom. 

With a sigh she sank down on the couch. It was still warm. Why didn’t he use the bed? Was it because the couch felt less like a sickbed?

She realized she was shivering. It must be from exhaustion; the room was way too warm to be comfortable.

She blinked. 

The sun falling in through the window blinded her. She shook her head. Oh come on. 

Wait. The sun? The morning sun didn’t reach Vegeta’s room. 

“How late is it?!” she asked and shot up.

“1pm,” a voice rasped.

Startling, she turned around. Vegeta was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. 

“What?” Bulma shrieked. “Why didn’t you wake me?!” 

He shrugged. “You didn’t say anything … about when you wanted to get up.” He sounded breathless. 

“But … I can’t sleep that long. I need to get back to work.” Rubbing her eyes until they burned she looked around. “Fuck. Fuck .” 

Vegeta looked at her with half-lidded eyes. “Calm down, Bulma.”

She breathed in deeply. She had definitely needed to sleep, but … “How are you?”

He raised a brow. “Never better.” 

“Yeah, I can see that. Care to let me check you out?” 

Shrugging, Vegeta let her take his vitals. The results didn’t do her mood any good, though they weren’t surprising. 

“Did you eat since last night?” 

No reply. 

“How much did you drink?” 

He nodded at the half-empty bottle. 

“That’s not enough.” 

He didn’t react. His shoulders were rising and falling with his short breaths. 

Bulma handed him the bottle. “Drink.” 

He rolled his eyes and did as told, but lowered the bottle after just two sips. Just this had him breathe even harder. 

“Better look … after your wonder drug,” he suggested. 

Bulma nodded. “I will.” 

She retreated from the bed and turned to the medical equipment. 

“What’s this?” 

She ignored him when she returned to the bed and started disinfecting the skin on the back of his hand. 

“It’s IV time,” she informed him. “If you don’t drink properly I have no choice. And it’s easier to give you medication this way.” 

“Ridiculous,” he muttered but didn’t try to pull his hand away when she inserted the needle. While she was glad she didn’t have to argue any longer, his now more than obvious weakness frightened her. 

She set up the infusion and showed him how to unhook the line himself if he needed to go to the bathroom. 

“I’ll be back at the lab,” Bulma told him once she was done. 

“How’s it going?” he asked. 

“Never better,” she repeated his words from earlier, and realized she’d thoroughly revealed herself this way: It had been his way of telling her he felt awful, and in turn he immediately understood that she wasn’t getting anywhere in her research.

If she didn’t have a breakthrough soon, she wouldn’t be able to help him.

Chapter Text

2 

A challenge was only fun if failure didn’t mean death. 

Bulma was pushing notes around on her tablet while trying to tune out Vegeta’s labored breathing. 

He was getting steadily worse, and she wasn’t getting anywhere . 

“This doesn’t make sense” she uttered, frustration and exhaustion breaking through.

In three days she’d gotten about twelve hours of sleep, and fear was manifesting in her heart.

She threw the tablet onto the couch and pressed her fists on her eyes. 

“I can’t do it,” she whispered, a hysterical note to her voice. “I don’t know what I’m missing.” 

“Years of studying?”

She turned around. “Save your breath if you’re only going to talk nonsense.”

He had precious little of it at this point. Bulma looked him over. He was sitting with his back to the wall again, slightly hunched over. His chest was heaving with every breath now.

Where his condition had been concerning but stable a day ago, it was now outright bad.

He returned her gaze with half-lidded eyes. Pain and shortness of breath kept him from sleeping more than a few fitful hours at a time.

Still, he managed to scoff. “Your genius … isn’t going to … be enough.” 

He was right. The bastard was right.

But what was she going to do? Roll over and watch him die? 

She watched him try to catch his breath. His pulse spiked just from talking a few words. 

“Okay,” she sighed. Aside from finding a way to cure him she also had to keep him alive for however long that took. 

“I’m putting you on oxygen now.” She’d suggested it for the first time the day before but he’d refused, claiming he was fine.

He didn’t’ say anything while he watched her prepare one of the oxygen tanks she’d already set up in case she needed them quickly.

“Here, put this over your mouth and nose. I’ll try to adjust the flow as you need it.” She held out an oxygen mask. 

“I don’t … need anything,” he gasped, left arm wrapped around his chest. He was hiding his pain less well now. 

“I know, that’s why I’m letting you hold the mask by yourself so you can take it on and off as you like.” 

He obeyed and pressed the mask to his face. He had mostly given up fighting her every attempt at making things easier for him. It was all just keeping up appearances: she told him what to do, he complained, she insisted, and he caved. 

Bulma was getting tired of their little game but she put up with it, knowing how miserable he was.

“Breathe as deeply and slowly as you can.” 

To her relief the oxygen support did calm his breathing. His tense shoulders relaxed. Slowly, his eyes shut. 

“You should lie down for a while and rest.” 

Immediately he straightened, eyes snapping open. 

“Vegeta …” 

He shook his head and lowered the mask. “Don’t you have work to do?” he whispered. 

“I’ll get right back to it, don’t worry.” She checked his vitals. “There’s only so much I can do for you here anyway. I’m not a doctor and I’m also not a nurse.”

Vegeta squinted at her. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet?” 

“You’re going to tell me I should be in a hospital.” He breathed through the mask several times. “And I’m telling you no. Do what you want with me here. It’s not like I can stop you. But … here .”

She realized that he was serious: this was his hard boundary. And it wouldn’t do much more than put off the inevitable anyways. No doctor in the world could heal him.

“Alright, fine. ”

He nodded and, as if to thank her, did as told and laid down on his side, clutching the oxygen mask with one hand and his chest with the other. 

Bulma’s own chest ached at the sight. She went to get two syringes from the supplies.

“Give me your hand.” She tugged at his left hand and pulled it from his chest. He barely resisted. 

“This should help with the pain for a while,” she told him when she injected him with the first syringe through the IV on his hand, “and I hope this gets your heart rate down a little.” 

“Now what?” he asked.

Bulma shrugged. “I keep trying.”

He took a deep breath from the mask and looked up. “Maybe stop trying to do … something you don’t know how. How about … do what you know you can.” 

“Which would be?” 

“Tsk. Are you somehow … less of a genius … than the other you … from the future? You have … a better chance … at building a time machine … to get the stupid pills … from the … future … than at … inventing them … yourself.” He winced. 

Bulma took the mask from his hand and pressed it to his face. “Shut it.” Then she laughed. “Do you have any idea how long it must have taken me to build that thing? Never mind the planning? I have no idea how that thing even worked.”

With more strength than she’d thought he had left, Vegeta pushed her hand away. “Giving up?”

No … no. But the time machine … it would take her years. She tried to remember the design of it, the humming noise, the glass dome … 

Another memory overlaid the image in her mind. 

Molten glass. Eggshells. Hope lettered on the side, revealed under smudged moss.

“Vegeta, you’re a genius!” she cheered. “Thank you!” She bent down, pressed a kiss to his cheek and rushed out without paying attention to the dumbfounded shock on his face. 

She had a time machine! 

* 

Trunks had left the second time machine with her; the one Cell had traveled to the past in. 

Bulma pushed everything in the workshop to the side: half-finished engines, shuttles and a broken training robot from Vegeta. 

It took her a good twenty minutes to find the capsule with the time machine in it, and once she opened it, her heart sank. 

This thing was broken.

There was no way Bulma would manage to repair it, at least not in time to help Vegeta.

She climbed in anyway and began dissecting the technology. It was insanely complicated, but it bore her handwriting. She was, quite literally, the only person in the world able to understand what purpose the individual components served.

The radar which held the temporal coordinates was still intact. It worked … on a … a frequency. Like a radio.

Bulma narrowed her eyes. A … temporal … radio frequency.

“Future me, you’re a god incarnated into the body of a mortal.”

She wouldn’t be able to travel to the future.

But her voice could.

* 

“You want me to do what ?” Gohan asked with bulging eyes. His voice was muffled from the mask he was wearing. “I’m supposed to shoot at that?”

“I need energy,” Bulma explained. “And lots of it, to make this work.” She was also wearing a mask.

She didn’t think Gohan was in any danger of getting sick, but she did not want to risk anything. His blood test had revealed that he did not have antibodies in his system, but the virus itself. 

As did Bulma, and Trunks, and both her parents. 

It seemed to be a different strand than the one that was killing Vegeta though. Maybe a less deadly one? Bulma had no time to do more research on that so for now, she played it safe. 

“Energy from me ?”

They were in the workshop, Bulma sitting in the time machine’s cockpit, Gohan hovering in the air beside her. 

“Yeah. This thing ran on a really complicated fuel system. I can’t replicate that in time, and no fuel on Earth will deliver enough power to make this work. So I took the building plans of Gero’s androids. Some of them sucked up energy from ki blasts, right? I took the technology behind it, and built it into a kind of battery.”

Gohan stared at her. She bet his mouth was hanging open under the mask. 

Bulma grinned. She was probably looking a little crazy by now but after four days with little to no sleep she thought she was entitled to that. “Once the battery is fully charged I’ll connect it to the time radio.” 

“Time … radio,” Gohan echoed. 

“Yep. And now let’s go see if I’m right about this.” 

Gohan nodded. “I’ll try my best.”

Bulma took Gohan to the gravity room. It was built to withstand high energy emission and she was able to watch safely from outside.

Over the cameras Bulma watched Gohan shoot a small ki blast at the device. As she’d hoped it sucked it in, the light on its side glowing a soft orange instead of its former red.

“Is that okay?” Gohan asked over the speakers.

“Yeah, perfect!” Bulma called. “It’s working! Keep going until the light’s green, alright?”

It took Gohan a few minutes to power the battery to full capacity. Bulma was sure he could have done it a lot quicker, powerful as he was, but if the battery broke, Bulma would have to start from scratch.

And Vegeta wasn’t getting better.

“Okay, this should do it,” she hummed after connecting the battery with the radio. “I’ll turn it on now.”

“And you think this can reach them?” Gohan asked. “Like a phone call?” He was hovering outside of the cockpit again, arms crossed on the edge.

“It should connect with their time machine. So I really hope they don’t have it locked in a capsule.”

The coordinates were still set. Bulma turned up the volume and took the speaker to her lips.

Please, she thought, please work.

She heard static and pushed the speak button. “Hello?” she asked.

Nothing.

“This is Bulma. Can you hear me? Does this come through? Give me a sign.”

No reply.

She adjusted the frequency. There-

“And so … bration … rebuilding … new university … fireworks … courses to … rt … emester.”

Gohan and Bulma looked at each other.

“It sounds like radio,” Gohan wondered.

“Future radio.”

So, it worked, in one direction at least. 

But … she returned to the frequency the time machine had been set to. 

There was still no reply.

“Well, time is set to exactly seventeen years in the future. It’s evening. They’re probably not in the workshop.”

“We keep trying?”

“Of course.” Bulma looked at her watch. “We can’t keep it on the entire time. I’ll make an attempt to reach them every hour. Thank you, Gohan.”

His eyes showed he was smiling. “I told Mom that I’d be staying, okay? I … I’d like to help. I can try reaching them while you get some sleep, okay?”

“That’s actually a pretty damn good idea. I’ll prepare a bedroom for you after I check in on Vegeta. You can put some pizza in the oven in the meantime, alright?”

“Sure!”

Checking in on Vegeta dampened her mood. He was rarely awake anymore, spending most of the time in fitful slumber, and if he opened his eyes he didn’t seem to be fully lucid.

“Don’t you dare die now, hear me?” Bulma told him after sitting down at his bedside. “It’s not over yet.”

She kept him on painkillers to keep him as comfortable as possible but his body burned through them at an insane rate. She wasn’t sure about other medication; his heart rate was getting more irregular and she was afraid of making things worse.

His temperature had been at 41°C for a full day now. She took the wet cloth from his forehead and doused it in cold water to put it back on.

She was pretty sure no human body could have survived this long.

She placed a hand on his chest. Despite the oxygen support his breathing was worsening. “Come on, you’re stubborn enough for this.”

He shivered under her touch, hands twitching. 

“Yeah, that’s right. You keep fighting, and I’m getting help.” 

When she left the room she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Even if they reached the future timeline. Even if they came with the medicine. 

Would they be in time?

How long until it was too late?

* 

The entire night, Gohan and Bulma took turns on the radio.

Bulma got some sleep in but she didn’t rest well, not with having to look after Vegeta every two hours or so.

Gohan, just like his father, was able to essentially fall asleep anytime, anywhere, so he didn’t even use his guest room and instead curled up in the seat of the time machine.

It was eight in the morning when Bulma was changing Vegeta’s sheets he’d been sweating through in the night. One advantage of him being unconscious now was that he wasn’t bothered anymore by being taken care of: the time between him becoming too ill to get up and losing consciousness had been the worst.

“Bulma!” Gohan yelled and barged into the room, waving wildly without even wearing a mask. “Bulma, come! It worked!” 

She stared at him. “It what?” she breathed. 

“I have … uh, you on the radio! Come down, she’s, you’re, I mean, waiting!”

Bulma felt her knees go weak. “I’m coming.”

Gohan’s eyes flickered to Vegeta. He swallowed, then was gone. Getting up here and back down again didn’t take him more than two seconds.

“Hear that?” she said to Vegeta. “We’re going to make it.”

He didn’t respond, sleeping calmly for a change.

Sometimes she felt the urge to hold his hand, or to kiss his forehead. But she knew he would hate her for it.

So she just squeezed his arm, made sure he was lying comfortably, and rushed down.

“She’s here, she’s coming,” Gohan said into the radio excitedly and held out his hand to pull Bulma up into the cockpit.

“Bulma?”

She felt her heart race. 

“Yes. I’m … I’m Bulma.”

“And so am I.”

That was her voice, a little distorted, older, more tired but … it was her.

“Hello, Mother.”

And that was Trunks, the other one.

She felt tears running down her face.

“Hey.”

“You need our help? Little Gohan said …”

“Did he already tell you?”

Little Gohan , wedged into the seat with her, shook her head. “Only that we need help.”

Bulma swallowed. “We do. We do.”

“What is it?”

“It’s … the virus that killed Goku. It’s …” she sobbed. She was … so tired.

“Vegeta,” Bulma, the other Bulma, said, voice hollow. “He’s sick.”

“How … did you know?”

“We … we’ll tell you later. We’ll have to get ready. Give us five hours. We’ll be with you then.”

“You’re coming?”

“Of course,” Trunks said decisively. “Wait for us.”

The line went quiet.

Bulma stared at the radio, trying to breathe. The tears wouldn’t stop flowing.

“Would you …” she sobbed, “give me a minute.”

“Of course.”

It was more than a minute; Bulma sat there crying for half an hour. When she eventually left the workshop she found Gohan in the kitchen, eating cereals from a salad bowl.

“I wanted to prepare the guest rooms but I wasn’t sure which you’d want, and where to find bed sheets.”

Bulma’s lips twitched. “Thank you. But that has time. I’ll try to get some sleep now. You should too.”

Gohan shrugged. “I’m not that tired.  I called Mom. She’s worried but she said I should stay.”

“Will she be okay with you missing out on school?”

Gohan stirred in his bowl. “Yeah. She’s been a lot less insistent about it ever since Dad died.” He sighed. “And she’s happy whenever I take care of Goten for a few hours. According to her I was much calmer when I was twenty months old.”

“Trunks is the same. I can barely keep up with him when he runs off.” Which was one reason why she’d been so glad that Vegeta was now willing to at least spend a little time with him.

She swallowed. “Alright. I’ll lie down on the couch in Vegeta’s room.” 

“He’s not doing well, is he?” Gohan asked quietly.

Bulma looked down at him. He looked more like a little boy now than he had on Namek six years ago.

He still deserved to know the truth. “Not really, no.”

Bulma was aware Gohan was one of the few people in their friend group who held no grudge against Vegeta. In this, Gohan was more like his father than in any other regard: he did not have a resentful bone in his body, and he would give anyone a chance.

“I thought so.” Gohan pushed the half full bowl away. “I can feel it.” 

“Feel it?”

“His ki. It’s getting weaker.”

Well, that probably wasn’t too surprising. “Hopefully it’ll get stronger again soon,” she decided and left Gohan alone.

Her legs were trembling on the way up. Hard to believe that a few days ago Vegeta had still walked up here by himself, and now …

He was still out, burning up and breathing with effort. But at least … probably not in pain. Bulma really hoped his unconsciousness was deep enough to give him relief.

Bulma took a much needed shower and pulled one of Vegeta’s shirts over her head before lying down on the couch, not caring about her wet hair, and drifted off after her head barely touched the pillow.

Chapter Text

3  

Bulma had set her alarm clock to half an hour before the likely time of arrival. Enough to get dressed and have a quick look at Vegeta who, at least, hadn’t gotten worse since last night.

Now she was pacing in the yard, Gohan at her side, waiting for the whirring sound of the time machine’s engines. 

“I can sense them,” Gohan suddenly said, raising his head, and not two seconds later Bulma heard them.

The time machine materialized overhead. Two people were sitting in it but the reflections on the glass made it impossible to see details.

Bulma and Gohan stepped back and watched it land.

It was still the same time machine Trunks had used in the past, but with some adjustments and a new paint job.

Bulma could still see its name though: Hope.

The cockpit opened.

Bulma had tried to imagine meeting her future self, but was that even possible?

Trunks was the first one to climb out. He hovered in the air and helped his mother out of the seat.

Bulma held her breath.

It was her … and also not. An older version of her, obviously, but also … more worn. Older than her years, which really wasn’t a surprise.

Her hair, dyed in an intense shade of blue, was held up in a messy bun on top of her head.

A pack of cigarettes was wedged into the chest pocket of her work overall.

Trunks’ eyes immediately flitted upward, to the window of Vegeta’s room. His face darkened with concern.

He probably felt his weakened ki just as Gohan did.

The other Bulma was looking around with both wonder and deep nostalgia on her face. Did the Capsule Corp compound even still exist in the future? Probably not.

Eventually, she turned her attention to Bulma and Gohan.

“Hi,” Bulma said.

The other gave a smile. “I always hoped I’d get the chance to meet you someday. And …” she looked at Gohan. “Little Gohan … it’s so good to see you.”

She moved as if she wanted to hug him but then thought better of it.

“Hello,” Gohan said, politely as always, though he did seem a little insecure.

“I just wish it was for happier circumstances.” Bulma felt anxious. “Do you … do you have the medication?” she asked. She would gladly sit down for a chat, but for now, her priority was to get those pills.

Future Bulma’s shoulder slacked.

Bulma’s heart sank. “You don’t?!”

“It was a relatively new medication,” Future Bulma said. “Manufactured in only one factory in the world. And shortly before Trunks returned from the past … it was destroyed in an attack by the androids.”

It felt like getting hit by a truck. “No …” This couldn’t be … this couldn’t …

“Don’t worry, Mother” Trunks said. “We didn’t come here just to tell you that.”

He had already been fully grown when she’d last seen him, at half a head taller than her or Vegeta. Since then his shoulders had broadened and his face had lost all youthful softness. He looked a lot like Vegeta, but also very different.

“We have a plan,” Older Bulma added. “Let’s go inside. We have a lot to talk about, and work to do. But first … before you resort to calling me Old Bulma or something like that, just call me Blue.” She winked.

“Blue?”

“It’s my nickname.”

Once inside, Blue asked about Vegeta’s condition. She didn’t want to see him just yet, and Bulma saw a deep-seated pain in her eyes whenever his name was mentioned.

She gave her the tablet that monitored his vitals constantly, alerting her to any change.

“Oxygen at 87%. I assume from the other readings that he’s already on additional oxygen?”

“I forced it on him two days in.”

Blue smirked a little. “The rest is … well, bad. When has he last been lucid?”

“Not for at least fifty hours.”

“I see …” Blue took a deep breath. “I’m not 100% sure. But when Goku was at this stage he lived for seven more days, and I guess medication or not, he was well past saving days before the end.” She looked down at Gohan. “I’m sorry. This must be hard for you.”

Gohan had his chin resting on his hands and shrugged. “I’ll be fine. Can you save Vegeta? Even without the drug?”

Determination sparked in her eyes. “I am pretty sure I can.” With that, she turned to Bulma. “The factory is gone, but not the formula and the research notes. I brought everything I was able to get my hands on. Together we should manage to make a batch within two days.”

Bulma tried not to get her hopes up too much. And there was another issue too. “I realized that almost everyone is a carrier of this virus. Even … even Trunks. The little one. Are they in any danger?”

“No,” Blue shook her head. “This virus is very common. At least 70% of the world population are carriers. In humans it can mutate and make them ill when their immune system is compromised but otherwise most simply have it in their system all their lives. It’s why developing a medication took so long.”

“So why did it kill Goku in your time? And why is it killing Vegeta now? Because they’re not humans?”

“That’s my working theory. Trunks and myself carry it too, as did Gohan in our time. So it’s most likely that it’s just full Saiyans that are at risk.”

Bulma breathed out. “That’s the first good news I’ve heard in days.”

“Now, before we can get started, we’ll have to get some things ready. This is a list of things we’ll need, including medications that should help Vegeta hang in as long as he needs to. Is the lab ready?”

“Uhm,” Gohan piped up.

“Hm?”

“If no one’s at risk of getting sick from being here, can I ask my mom if she wants to come over with Goten? I think … she really wants to help.”

“Goten?” Blue echoed, head tilted.

Gohan’s eyes widened. He smiled brightly at her and Trunks. “Right, of course you don’t know! Look!” He pulled out his phone and showed the two a picture of himself with Goten on his arms.

“Mom didn’t know she was pregnant until a few weeks after Cell. That was Goten’s first birthday.”

Blue put both her hands over her mouth. “You have a little brother!”

Gohan nodded, looking at the picture fondly. He was probably the best older brother anyone could imagine.

And Trunks, the older Trunks, was probably the one who knew best. His face softened. “He’s cute.”

“I'd be happy to have Chichi over,” Bulma told Gohan. “If she doesn’t mind taking care of Trunks too; maybe my dad can help us out in the lab.”

Blue’s shoulders jerked. Right; her parents must be long gone.

“Are you okay with that?” she asked her.

“Of course.”

*

Blue was immediately smitten by Goten, who, shy as he was, absolutely refused to leave Chichi’s arms. As much as he looked like Goku must have at his age, his personality was very different, and many people he didn’t know at once really intimidated him.

Bulma noticed that Blue held herself back when meeting her parents and Chichi, but it was clear she had trouble doing so around Gohan. Knowing that Gohan from the future timeline had been the only survivor of the android attack, Bulma wondered whether they had been much closer than she and Little Gohan were.

“I haven’t seen a properly equipped lab in decades. Rebuilding is going well but a lot of it is still makeshift,” Blue said once she had inspected the lab, excitedly pointing at equipment she didn’t have access to. “This will make things easier.”

Bulma decided that, whatever was going to happen, she would pack her entire lab into a capsule and give it to Blue to bring home to her timeline.

“Before we get started we’ll need senzu beans,” Bulma said. “I don’t assume you have any here?”

“Uhm, I’m afraid not. Since apparently they don’t help with the disease …” Something which Bulma found decidedly unfair.

“Oh, they’re not for Vegeta. They wouldn’t help him indeed. But Trunks will need some.” She pointed at her son who had a slightly suffering look to him.

“I can get them,” Gohan offered. “I can make it to Korin’s and back in twenty minutes.”

“Perfect. Get going. Trunks, come here.”

Trunks sighed and sat down on one of the lab chairs.

“What are you doing?”

“To manufacture the medication one key ingredient is the virus itself. I’ll extract it from Trunks’ blood. Unfortunately he doesn’t have a very high virus count, so we’ll need a lot of blood.”

That explained the look on Trunks’ face.

“Also,” Blue continued, “it’s more effective to extract the virus from some as closely related to the patient as possible. Ideally from the patient themselves, but Vegeta has enough on his plate already; let’s not bleed him out.”

This was the afternoon:  Trunks was sitting in his chair for hours, replenishing his blood with senzu beans whenever he started to feel dizzy. When older Bulma herself was finally satisfied with the amount of blood he’d given he was exhausted despite the senzu and ordered to lie down, which he did happily.

Gohan was constantly carrying stuff around as needed, sometimes asking a curious question. Bulma’s father ordered more ingredients and tampered with the equipment to make it work faster.

Bulma herself worked at the microscope, alternating with brief visits upstairs. Vegeta wasn’t getting worse at the moment, but neither was he comfortable. Bulma dearly wished she could do more for him.

“Lie down and sleep,” Blue told her in the early evening. “You didn’t do any useful work in two hours. We’ll be alright here, so go get some rest.”

Bulma wished she could argue back but the three hours of sleep she’d gotten earlier had done nothing but put off the inevitable: she’d reached her limit.

“Okay.”

She wasn’t sure how much sleep she’d be getting on the couch in Vegeta’s room, but she couldn’t imagine sleeping in her own bedroom either.

She got herself some snacks from the kitchen. Bulma’s mother and Chichi had made cold snacks all afternoon and placed them on the kitchen table for everyone to come in and get some if needed.

In the living room Trunks was out cold on the couch.

Goten and baby Trunks were in a playpen pulling each other’s hair and seemingly enjoying it immensely; despite being so young and a year apart, they had immediately taken a liking to each other, and apparently in Saiyan children that translated into constant brawling .

Bulma smiled at them all, thankful to no longer be all alone.

“I think if you knew how many people are here just to help you you wouldn’t believe or even understand it,” she told Vegeta when she sat down at his bed. “I can’t even blame you. And still …” She leaned her head against the bed frame. “As unlikable as you are … I can’t stomach the thought of losing you. I …” I’m beginning to love you.

Hot tears made their way through her closed lids. This was it, right? Officially, they weren’t a couple. She hadn’t believed it would be possible to have him as a partner, but ever so slowly … her perspective had shifted.

He wasn’t unpleasant to live with. He kept his room tidy, didn’t clutter, wasn’t loud (except for their shouting matches) and even did his own laundry.

Bulma knew today that what she didn’t want was a partner who was too dependent on her, and too … well, sweet. She thrived on butting heads with someone. Vegeta was headstrong and argumentative in a way that pushed all her buttons, but he also … left her alone.

Bulma liked spending her days in the workshop or the lab. She liked brooding over a specific problem without interruption. She liked being by herself.

She liked someone who challenged her and wasn’t intimidated by who she was, and who didn’t just care about her for her money.

“And maybe I’m seeing something in you that you don’t even see yourself.” She raised her head, resting it in her hand, and looked at his face. Still so tense. “You probably wouldn’t even relax in death, would you?”

She shook her head and went to check the IV, making sure it was filled, and exchanged the oxygen tank. He needed more now than in the beginning to breathe somewhat normally.

“Good night,” Bulma sighed eventually, knowing she’d done all she could, and went to sleep.

*

Bulma slept through most of the night, getting up to look after Vegeta every few hours, and work went on throughout the next day like a movie in slow motion.

There was a lot to do, but also a lot to wait for. Extracting the virus from Trunks’ blood took time. Blue requested blood samples from Vegeta to try and match the medicine as best she could.

They were making progress: according to Blue they should be able to finish the medication by tomorrow.

Now if only …

They were taking a break, all scattered in the living room. Trunks was currently being climbed by both his younger self and Goten, who had gotten over his timidity quickly by simply following Little Trunks’ example, who did not know what shy meant.

Gohan was lying belly-down on the floor, making notes in a schoolbook.

Chichi was talking with Bulma’s mother about her herb garden, Bulma’s father was snoozing on the couch, and Blue just … watched.

It was an almost peaceful moment until Trunks and Gohan both startled. Their heads snapped up. Trunks was on his feet with the children in his arms within seconds.

“What is it?” Bulma asked, immediately having a bad feeling.

“You sense it too?” Gohan asked.

“Yes.” Trunks turned around. “Mother, you have to go up to Father. Something’s wrong.”

“What? His vitals haven’t changed at all in hours.” Bulma took the tablet out to make sure but was already getting up.

“Not for long. Hurry!” Trunks handed the kids over to Chichi and Bulma’s mother and was running upstairs with both his mothers on his heels.

And just as they reached Vegeta’s room the tablet started beeping.

After almost two days of relative peace, Vegeta's vitals were suddenly dropping rapidly.

“No no no, what are you doing,” Bulma groaned. Not now. They were so close …”

“I’ll help you,” her own voice from decades in the future sounded at her side. “You did stock up on all the drugs I asked you to, right? We can get this under control.”

Blue knew more about this than she did. She went through the drawers and cupboards and drew up several syringes. “We’ll need a second IV line now,” she said, eyes trained on her work.

It was the first time she’d come up here, same as Trunks who was standing by the door, gripping the doorframe tight enough to crack it.

“His temperature is rising,” Bulma said helplessly. “43°C.”

For a human, that meant almost certain death.

“It’ll likely get to 44 soon,” Blue said, muffled by the cap of a medicine bottle between her lips. “In a Saiyan you can usually add a few degrees to a human’s temperature. Trunks’s average is 39°C. It’s more important to get his heart rate down and his blood pressure up, and quickly.”

She did what Bulma herself hadn’t dared, and injected several doses of medication designed for that same purpose.

While she was working she kept her focus solely on the IV, as if to avoid looking into Vegeta’s face.

“Why did this happen so suddenly?” Bulma asked as they waited for the drugs to take effect.

“Stupid Saiyan physiology,” was the answer. “Their bodies are all adapted to function normally for as long as they possibly can, even when already critically injured. Their adrenaline level can get insanely high and push them far beyond their limits.”

“So they can continue to fight.”

“Exactly. I think the most glaring example was Goku’s fight against Piccolo at the tournament, or when Goku and Vegeta first fought. They just kept going and going even though their bodies were already badly damaged.”

“And Vegeta was stable for so long …”

“... because his body pretended to be in better shape than it was. And now he’s past the breaking point.”

Bulma stared down in Vegeta’s face. “How long can he …”

Blue placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’re not at our limit yet. We can still help him fight.”

“And the medicine …”

“First dose is ready in twenty hours.”

Shakily, Bulma nodded. “Thank you.”

Blue smiled. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened. “I didn’t come here to watch Vegeta die a second time. We’ll make it.”

She turned to Trunks, who was still by the door.

“You felt it even before the monitoring did, right?”

Trunks nodded. “His ki was weak from the start, but it more or less remained the same since we arrived. But just now it suddenly dropped, like my power level drops when I go from Super Saiyan to base.” He looked at Vegeta, then down again. “I should go back down.”

“You don’t have to,” Bulma said. “Come in.”

“But … Father wouldn’t want …”

“You’ve given twice the amount of blood in your body to help save him.” she said firmly. “You can come in.” Of course Vegeta wouldn’t want anyone around to see him in his current state, but keeping out his own son who was putting his own health on the line, was a step too far.

Carefully stepping in and sitting down on a chair at the lower end of the bed, Trunks looked younger than he was.

His mother and Bulma herself looked at each other.

“For now, we did what we could,” Blue said. “Come on, let’s get some air.”

She took Bulma upstairs and out on the top balcony. There, Blue put on a cigarette. “It’s going to get worse,” she said after taking a pull and blowing the smoke upwards. “His condition will become critical, and the medicine will take a while to take effect. If all works out it’ll be two days before he gets better, at least. And even then there might be setbacks.”

Bulma had been trying to prepare herself for that. “Can I have one too?”

Blue looked down at her cigarette. “You sure? You’re not going to quit once you start.”

She shrugged. “Right now I’m sure.”

“I’m not in any position to give you advice actually.” Blue winked and held out her pack of cigarettes. “Don’t take too deep pulls in the beginning.”

Bulma lit the cigarette and watched the tip glow softly. The first pull made her caught violently. “Ugh.”

“Told you,” Blue hummed with amusement.

Bulma wondered what the two of them looked like to an outsider, standing there side by side with their cigarettes. Like mother and daughter, probably.

“Why Blue?” she asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Blue pointed at her hair. It was in a ponytail now.

“Yeah, but why this shade of blue?”

She shrugged. “When the first stores opened again and luxury goods like hair dye became available I decided I didn’t want to look grey for the rest of my life. And the variety in colors is still limited. I might go shopping while I’m here and stock up on some of the stuff I can’t get back in the future.”

“Grey hair …” Bulma mused, twirling a strand of her shoulder-length hair in her fingers.

“I’ve been grey for years now. It got worse after Gohan died. I think you’ll be saved for a few years yet.”

Well, Bulma thought, that heavily depended on what was going to happen with Vegeta.

She figured Blue had a similar thought, because she said no more.

*

Just when they came down again and were about to enter the living room, the doorbell rang.

“I think it’s Yamcha,” Gohan said.

Blue gasped. Her eyes went wide. She followed Bulma along with Chichi and Gohan.

Trunks was still with Vegeta. It was probably not long until someone would have to stay with him all the time.

Bulma opened the door for Yamcha.

“Hi,” he said, a little breathlessly. “I was close by and I thought I’d check in. If that’s … okay?”

“Of course,” Bulma assured him. “If you don’t mind all of us being tired and overworked.”

“Not at all, I won’t bother you for long too, promise-” He stopped when he noticed Blue.

She was standing in the middle of the entrance hall with tears streaming down her face.

“Uh, hi?” Yamcha blinked. “I guess you’re Future Bulma?”

Bulma had seen her older counterpart struggle with keeping her emotions in check, succeeding so far.

But now it seemed she had reached a breaking point too.

“Are you okay?” Yamcha asked, in his typical, awkward way.

Blue shook her head. A moment later she had rushed forward and flung her arms around Yamcha, burying her face in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “Sorry. Sorry …”

Yamcha looked at Bulma helplessly. She shrugged. What was going on?

“Hey, I guess … I’ve been dead in your time for years, right?”

That didn’t help soothe Blue’s crying.

“Okay …” Yamcha said, overwhelmed, and put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s fine. Cry yourself out.”

She probably needed it.

It took her a good ten minutes to regain her composure. By then, they were sitting on the couch.

“I’m sorry … this was embarrassing,” she said and accepted a tissue Yamcha offered her.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is for me,” she said, then looked at Bulma. “You did reconcile in this timeline? You’re friends?”

Oh. Bulma quickly got an idea where this was going. She and Yamcha exchanged glances. Things had been awkward for a while, especially when she’d become pregnant from Vegeta. But they hadn’t ended things on bad terms, and their friendship had never been at stake.

“Things between us ended amicably,” Bulma told Blue.

“Of course,” she whispered. “With Goku alive, a lot must have changed.”

“Would you like to tell us what happened in your timeline?” Yamcha asked. “Did we … break up badly?”

“That’s an understatement,” Blue explained, wiping her face. “We broke up a few months after Goku died. It was a massive fight. We didn’t talk for months. And just when it seemed to get better … I got pregnant from Vegeta. You asked me how the hell that could have happened, and I … I was scared and hormonal and I said things to you that were probably unforgivable.

We never talked again after that, and the next time I saw you … I collected your body.”

“Oh shit.”

Bulma could only agree with Yamcha here.

“I’m sorry I reacted that way,” Blue repeated. “I know you’re not the same. But I have to admit … it’s not easy to keep both versions of all of you separate.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yamcha said. “I’m … I’m not that other me, but I guess … I would have forgiven you? If that helps?”

“I’m not so sure about that,” she whispered. “But it does help. Thank you.”

Chapter Text

4

The house was quiet. Everyone was sleeping. Blue watched Trunks asleep on the couch, the TV control slipped from his fingers.

Little Gohan was curled up on a futon in the corner, tiny Goten clutching his older brother’s pajamas in his sleep.

It reminded her of Gohan and Trunks, shortly after ... she pinched the back of her nose. This was harder than she thought it would be.

All the what-ifs and no-mores she used to imagine during the darkest hours when hope was only a theoretical concept were right here before her eyes.

She was still embarrassed about her reaction to Yamcha. Twenty years she’d tried to make peace, and in the end she lost her composure at the sight of him.

She stretched her back and winced. She was going to have to tell Bulma that she couldn’t spend her days bent over an engine without doing some exercise in between forever.

Her eyes wandered towards the door. She’d avoided going upstairs as much as possible.

When Vegeta first started to crash she had no choice, and she continued to help Bulma keep him as stable as possible but she’d never lingered in the room afterwards.

Memories she’d buried deeper than any other were haunting her again. Memories and feelings she’d never allowed herself to dwell on.

She sighed. They did that down here too. Against better knowledge Blue kneeled down at Little Gohan’s side. She was almost sure the one she’d known had been taller than that at eleven.

Taller, and darker. All his childlike innocence had been lost when he was nine, and the rest of his life had been dedicated to one single thing.

Blue lightly touched his hair.

He sighed in his sleep and curled tighter around Goten.

Seeing this version of him made Blue believe she’d done the right thing.

For Gohan and everyone else: Chichi was alive, as were both her sons. Yamcha was doing well, and Trunks had the chance to grow up in a world in which his father was alive.

Blue glanced at the door again. Finally, she made up her mind and went up the stairs.

The door to Vegeta’s room was ajar. A streak of light came through.

She knocked softly.

“Yes?” Bulma’s voice asked. So she was awake.

Blue stuck her head in. “May I join you for a while?”

“Sure.” Bulma was curled up on the couch with her tablet in her hand..

Blue entered, keeping her steps as light as possible despite knowing that Vegeta wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon.

As much as Blue had insisted she could save him she wasn’t sure now.

His condition had steadily gotten worse since the afternoon, faster than she had hoped.

She studied the readings of his vitals on the display at the head of the bed.

None of them were compatible with human life, and even for a Saiyan they were starting to push it.

Twelve more hours until the first dose would be ready. According to Blue’s calculations four doses, with one administered every two hours, should be enough. She was preparing six just to be sure.

Now if only he held out this long, and long enough for the medication to take effect.

Blue sat down on the couch with Bulma.

“Can’t you sleep either?” Bulma asked, casting her a glance before turning back to Vegeta.

“I don’t think I’ve slept more than three hours at a time for twenty years,” Blue admitted. “I’m used to it. What about you?”

Bulma shook her head. “I tried. But I can’t rest. Can’t relax.” She rubbed her forehead. “It’s not like he’s the type to appreciate a good bedside manner.”

Blue chuckled. “Maybe we can annoy him enough to keep fighting.”

She considered herself strong and tough. She had to be after surviving so long. But to finally look at Vegeta properly still took courage.

They had all but maxed out on the oxygen flow and his chest was still pumping with labored breaths, the oxygen saturation in his blood so low an ordinary human would already be dead.

The sight of him was familiar in more than one way. The scars on his chest and arms were the same, as was the constant tension on his face. That was good though. She’d seen his face free of tension only once, and he hadn’t been … there anymore.

She pressed her fist to her mouth.

More than twenty years, and still …

“Bulma.”

She looked up into her younger self’s eyes. There was an unspoken question in them.

Blue had never talked about this to anyone. The only one beside herself to remember had been Gohan.

“He didn’t die immediately,” she whispered, feeling a dam breaking in her mind.

Bulma placed a hand on her knee.

“Everyone came together to make a stand. They thought that maybe together they might stand a chance. I got there after the fight. I … I found them. Their bodies. Those … those whose bodies were still intact, that is.

Gohan was the only one still conscious, though badly injured. Apparently Piccolo died protecting him, and that’s when he first turned Super Saiyan. It wasn’t enough to defeat the androids but it saved his life.

When I arrived he quite literally was kneeling beside Vegeta, trying to stop him from bleeding to death with his bare hands. Vegeta … was still breathing, but so badly wounded I barely recognized him.

Gohan later told me that he fought desperately and violently, coming at the androids no matter what, even after they’d blown off half his leg.

And he took more than one hit during the fight that was aimed at others. Gohan was convinced that, at this point, Vegeta had decided not simply to fight, but to do so in order to protect something. As if he’d finally chosen to stand on our side.

Gohan also said that he had almost, almost turned Super Saiyan, just when the androids finally broke through his resistance with a ki blast directly to his head. He didn’t get back up after that. He never regained consciousness.

We got him to the hospital where he lingered for two more days until the doctors told me there was nothing they could do anymore. Even if they could keep his body alive … he was too far gone.”

Blue let her tears flow free now, feeling Bulma’s hand grip at her knee.

“So I decided … to let him go. I let them pull the plug. Even now I sometimes wonder if that was the right decision. Saiyans can be so ridiculously resilient.

But at the time it felt like allowing him to die with an ounce of dignity was the last thing I could do for him.

When I entered Gohan’s hospital room to tell him … he already knew. He’d felt the last remnants of his ki fade away.

He was devastated to lose his last ally. He’d hoped that together … they could continue training until they were strong enough to stand a chance.

Chichi had died when the androids came to raid her home searching for Goku, so I took Gohan with me after that, essentially raising him.

And I know that during all the years he insisted on training Trunks he always hoped that in doing so he could not only honor Goku, but Vegeta as well.

Like Gohan I chose to believe that Vegeta died protecting us. And you know what? When Trunks returned to the future after the Cell Games and told me how Vegeta reacted to him getting killed? I felt vindicated. I always wanted to believe that there was more to him than the angry, abrasive man he was. Even against all evidence … I knew he was worth my faith. And I was right. I was right .”

She placed her hand on Bulma’s and squeezed it. “Don’t give up on him.”

Bulma’s shoulders shook with suppressed sobbing too. “I won’t,” she whispered. “I promise.” She placed her free hand on Vegeta’s elbow. “You know him; he won’t let himself be helped without a fight. It took me a while to convince to let me try and save his life. I was stubborn enough then, and I’ll be stubborn in the future.”

“Thank you,” Blue whispered, wiping her face. “Look at me. It’s been so long and I feel like I miss him more every year.”

She’d always claimed she hadn’t been in love with Vegeta. But there she was, loving him all the same.

She had to make sure he lived. For Trunks to have a father, and for one version of herself to find her happiness.

And maybe … for Vegeta to find it too.

*

“Is Vegeta responding to the treatment?” Chichi asked and slid a cup of steaming coffee over the table.

Blue gratefully curled her fingers around it. “I can’t say yet. We won’t know for certain until tomorrow or so.”

She’d just injected the fifth dose.

“How’s Bulma?”

“Sleeping on the couch. I didn’t wake her up.”

Chichi took a sip from her teacup. It was 2am. “I couldn’t fall asleep tonight. So I decided to make cookies.” She pointed at the oven.

“Thank you.”

“Actually … I think I still owe you my thanks,” Chichi said. “You saved Goku’s life.” Her eyes were melancholic. “I know it may sound strange since I still lost him in the end. But I’m sure it would have been harder to accept him dying of an illness instead of doing what he loved, and he died fighting. And … to discover I was pregnant with Goten … even though I had mood swings the entire time, it helped me look forward to the future.”

“Goten is a wonderful kid.”

“He’s a menace,” Chichi chuckled but quickly sobered again. “And thank you for taking care of Gohan.”

“I failed to protect him.”

“So did I.”

Blue paused.

Chichi lifted her shoulders as if she was feeling cold. “I tried so hard to keep him away from that kind of life. I suspected early on that he had huge potential, though I kept pretending I didn’t know. I thought to myself that if he wasn’t strong he wouldn’t have to fight. Pathetic, considering I used to be a martial artist too.”

“It was the tournament, wasn’t it?” Blue said gently.

Slowly, Chichi nodded. “I was feeling so giddy over finally marrying. Of course neither Goku nor I were really prepared, though we learned to make the best of it with time. But then …” she pushed the cup from her left to her right hand. “Then I had to watch him fight Piccolo and almost die, and I thought … I never wanted to see something like that again. Certainly not with my own child involved.”

“I understand.” If Blue had been given the chance she would have kept both Gohan and Trunks away from the fighting. She would have kept them hidden and safe until the time machine was ready.

“I understand your worries, Bulma,” Gohan had once said, “but there is no way I can hide while people die. I’m Son Goku’s son. I couldn’t live with myself if I tucked my tail and ran.”

A few weeks later he’d lost his arm, and another year later, he’d been dead.

She and Chichi smiled at each other, mutual understanding a comfort for them both.

“It was strange seeing him,” Blue said, stirring sugar into her coffee. “Gohan, I mean. As well as everyone else too. And my parents … Bulma’s parents are now older than they got to be in my own timeline, but they still look young to me now.”

“Once this is over, will you return to your timeline?” Chichi asked.

“Yes,” Blue said decisively. “It’s our home, battered as it may be. Trunks and I actually talked about this. It would be unfair, you know? To abandon our world because we’d have it easier in this one. And it’s not hopeless anymore. We’re rebuilding, reinventing, recovering. So many people are having children. It’s a world worth living in, even after all we lost. I’m happy we did what we did, to give all of you a chance, but it was never for ourselves.”

“Your world is lucky to have you,” Chichi assured.

“We’re doing what we can.”

They all were.

*

“I’m sorry,” Blue whispered tearfully. “I don’t know what more we can do.”

The sky was just turning grey with dawn outside. Inside, Vegeta was losing the fight. They had given him all doses of the medication, and it was still a few hours until they’d know if it worked. But even if it would take effect right now … it seemed too late.

Vegeta’s body was running out of strength faster than the medicine took effect. Blue watched his chest heave weakly in an attempt to draw in air, but after so many days he just … couldn’t anymore.

He had taken Bulma’s  promise to stay here instead of being admitted to a hospital, even if that meant … this. They weren’t equipped like a hospital. All they had were a few monitors and oxygen tanks, no actual respirators.

“I could have … paid someone to come,” Bulma uttered through gritted teeth. She had one hand buried in Vegeta’s hair, one on his arm. His temperature was dropping below 35°C, which Blue knew was a worse sign than a high fever.

“It wouldn’t have been impossible to set up an ICU in here,” Bulma continued. “I don’t care if he’d have liked that.”

But it was too late for that now; Blue didn’t think Vegeta would make it another hour.

“I’m getting Trunks,” she breathed. “He should be here.” She didn’t get very far; Trunks was already halfway up the stairs.

“He’s dying, isn’t he?” he asked, an almost scary look in his eyes.

Blue shook her head. She couldn’t say anything. This was not … how this was supposed to go. Failure hadn’t even been an option.

And now …

Trunks stopped in front of her. He was so tall … she hadn’t expected him to grow this much taller than her or Vegeta. When he placed both his hands on her shoulders she felt … tiny. And old. So very old. The child she’d fought so desperately to keep safe was now holding her with his strength.

“This isn’t over,” Trunks growled, squeezed Blue’s shoulders and then continued on his way, entering Vegeta’s room with long strides.

Blue followed him and saw him fold back the blanket and place his hand on Vegeta’s chest.

“What are you doing?” Bulma asked.

Trunks ignored her; he was glaring at Vegeta’s face. “I’d rather kill you in battle myself than watch you die like this.”

Blue had never seen Trunks with such fire in his eyes. She’d seen him angry, desperate, mad with grief, but not with this … violent determination.

He bared his teeth and kept his hand pressed on Vegeta’s chest. “Come on!” he uttered. Sweat was glittering on his forehead.

Blue narrowed her eyes at the monitors, then at Vegeta. He was starting to breathe deeper, actually drawing in air each time his chest rose, and his oxygen saturation crept up, just enough for Blue to consider it survivable .

Now, Trunks was starting to pant.

“Are you sending him your ki?” Blue asked.

Trunks nodded and took his hand away. “It’s … crazy,” he gasped. “It’s … sapping the energy out of me as if I was fighting an overwhelming opponent. I’m not sure how long until the ki I’ve sent him will run out. Maybe with Gohan’s help … and if we have some senzu left …” he collapsed on a chair and rested his elbows on his knees. “Father just might pull through.”

*

The next hours were terrible. Gohan and Trunks took turns lending Vegeta their ki, replenishing their energy with senzu beans and, after they ran out of those, with more food than Blue had even thought a Saiyan capable of eating in one sitting.

At about 3pm in the afternoon a very tired Bulma shuffled into the lab where Blue was doing blood work to try and see whether there were any changes.

She looked up, frowning.

Bulma hadn’t left the upper floor since yesterday, when Vegeta’s condition had become truly unstable.

“Have a look.” She held out the tablet to Blue.

She took it and studied the numbers on the screen.

“It’s working?”

Bulma nodded. “It’s working,” she repeated, voice hoarse from exhaustion and tears glittering in her eyes. “He’s stabilizing.”

The bloodwork confirmed it a few minutes later: the medication was doing its job, and Vegeta’s body finally had the chance to heal.

There was no reason to relax just yet: Vegeta was by no means out of danger, and still only hanging in with Gohan and Trunks lending him their ki every two hours or so.

But it was a first glimpse of hope.

*

It was a slow process. There were still setbacks; it took another night until Vegeta no longer needed Trunks and Gohan’s ki, and another day until Bulma and Blue were confident to say his condition was no longer life-threatening.

After that it was a slow recovery.

Blue studied Vegeta’s face. She’d finally convinced Bulma to get some proper sleep in her own bedroom, and taken the couch for herself.

That had been a mistake; her back was killing her now. Thankfully they had a stock of pain meds. She’d helped herself to some before having a look at Vegeta.

She had removed the oxygen mask to see how he was doing without it. For the past ten minutes he’d done okay, but he was starting to struggle again now. She placed the mask back on his face to let him rest.

It was still a good sign though; he was finally getting stronger.

Chichi had explained the progress of this timeline’s Goku’s illness and recovery to her in detail. If that was any indication it was entirely possible that Vegeta would remain unconscious for several more days. Blue had often seen Gohan and Trunks recover like this from injuries: they would sleep, sleep, sleep, sometimes for days, and once they awoke they would be ravenous.

There was no such thing as a mild diet for a Saiyan.

Blue had an idea what Vegeta would say is he was offered plain rice and soup after waking up.

“Why go to such lengths to save me from this illness if you now want to starve me, Woman?”

She smiled to herself, feeling a pinch in her heart. She was desperate for him to recover, but she was also afraid of the moment she heard his voice or looked into his eyes. 

There was another reason why she’d never considered staying in this timeline: as much as she wished for these two to truly find each other she knew seeing it would cause her more grief than happiness in the long run.

*

Blue entered Vegeta’s room at 3am.

The lights were on.

Bulma was curled half kneeling on the chair by the bed, half lying on the mattress. Ah, to be young and able to sleep in such a position.

“His ki feels almost normal,” Trunks had told her before she came up. “He’s asleep, not really unconscious.” He’d refused to accompany her; he was probably worried Vegeta might wake up and be unappreciative of visitors.

The oxygen mask was gone now. Only a small band around Vegeta’s wrist still observed his pulse. For a human male of his build it would have been a little high still, but for a Saiyan it was likely fine. Only a single IV line to his left hand remained.

Blue watched his chest rise and fall with deep, even breaths. His head was tilted slightly to the side, facing Bulma.

She held his right hand. There was a bandaid on its back where hours earlier the second IV had still been attached.

And his fingers were curled, ever so slightly, around Bulma’s, in a position that could not have happened coincidentally.

Swallowing a massive lump in her throat, Blue stepped back. They didn’t need her anymore.

When she turned off the lights and closed the door behind her she knew she wouldn’t enter this room again until Vegeta was awake and well.

Chapter Text

5

Vegeta was gone.

Bulma realized that the bed was empty before fully waking up, and even as her mind went from numb to processing to somewhat awake she knew this wasn’t even surprising.

“Oh, you dumbass,” she hissed and slowly unfolded herself from her position. Something slipped off her shoulders.

She scanned her surroundings. Soft morning light entered through the window. It was probably around 6am.

The bed was empty. Vegeta still did have a single IV line in his left hand last night. It was neatly rolled up and hanging off the IV stand. The needle, a bloody tissue and a roll of band aids lay on the nightstand.

Bulma turned and felt a piece of cloth under her feet. Remembering something sliding off her back earlier she looked down and realized it was the blanket from the bed.

Her mind blanked there. When had she …

But she certainly hadn’t taken the blanket from Vegeta. She picked it up and threw it into the laundry bin in the corner, trying not to smile. She rubbed her hand, vaguely remembering that she’d held Vegeta’s last night. It felt warm, as if an echo of the touch still lingered on her skin.

One of the cupboard drawers was half open. It was the one where Vegeta kept his boxers.

Last night, Bulma had gone down to get three sandwiches from the kitchen, but ended up only eating one. She’d placed the remaining ones on the nightstand.

It took her only one glance to see that the plate was now empty. You’re welcome, Vegeta, she thought, relief slowly spreading throughout her body.

He was up, he was eating. He’d been out of danger for three days but for him to finally be awake …

Bulma stepped out of the room and looked up and down the hallway. Nothing. Vegeta had his own small bathroom that only he used. She peeked inside where she found water droplets in the shower and a damp towel hanging off the rack.

She almost felt like on a scavenger hunt when she entered the kitchen. The coffee machine was already on, the microwave door open, and the fridge half empty, which was rather impressive given the lengths Chichi and Bulma’s mother had gone to to make sure everyone in the house was fed over the past few days.

Fine, Bulma decided and put a cup under the coffee machine. He’d turn up eventually and she wasn’t going to search the entire house for him.

It was half past 6 when Trunks walked in, hair disheveled.

“Morning,” he mumbled and narrowed his eyes. “You’re down here?” Without waiting for an answer he shuffled to the fridge and peeked inside. Immediately, his shoulders straightened. “Where’s all the food?!”

“Go ask Vegeta,” Bulma huffed.

Trunks whipped around. “He’s awake?”

“All evidence points to that, though I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Well …” Trunks frowned, then pointed upward. “I can sense him somewhere upstairs. Probably on one of the balconies.”

Bulma considered it a win that he hadn’t flown off completely.

“Did I hear that right?” Blue asked, looking around the corner. “He’s already on the run?”

“After taking all our food.”

“He did what?” Gohan added, sticking his head inside. “All of it?”

“Most of it,” Trunks groaned. “There was half a cheesecake. I wanted that for breakfast!”

“Not the cheesecake!” Gohan whimpered and joined Trunks in front of the fridge. “What are we going to eat?”

“Trunks, you know where my credit cards are, right?” Bulma sighed. “Take the black one, the code is 8450. You and Gohan go ahead and get yourselves breakfast before you take bloody revenge, alright? And bring me a croissant.”

“And one for me,” Blue added and laughed. “So, Vegeta’s fine.” It didn’t escape Bulma that her eyes remained sad, even when she laughed.

“He is. But I think he needs some alone time. I’ll go look for him later.”

*

“Are you staying up here forever?”

Vegeta was standing at the railing of the balcony, looking over the city.

Bulma joined him there.

He grunted in reply but didn’t turn to her. He was still pale; his face looked slightly worn, the only proof of his narrow escape from death. Any human would still be bedridden after an illness like that, taking weeks to recover.

And he just … slept it off. Or ate it off; there was a tower of used plates on a tablet beside the balcony table.

“How do you feel?” she asked, not even expecting an answer.

But he surprised her. “I’m fine.”

“I know. But take it easy, okay? It was really close a few times, and if you want it or not, I’m going to give you a check-up later.”

“Do what you want,” he shrugged. “What are all of them doing here?”

“You mean Gohan and Chichi?”

He hummed, face dark.

“I needed Gohan’s help with the temporal radio. And Chichi helped take care of Trunks and make sure none of us starved while we were working in the lab.” She turned to the side, staring at him until he caved and returned her gaze. “I couldn’t do this by myself. It was hard enough as it is. You were dying. Trunks lent you his ki, taking turns with Gohan. You wouldn’t have made it without them.”

His brows tightened. Of course he didn’t like hearing that.

“Did you really build a time machine?”

“Nope, but I remembered I still had the second one, that Cell got here in.”

Vegeta’s mouth opened in surprise. “Wasn’t that one broken?”

“Yeah. But I managed to get some components working to make it possible to send a radio call to the future. They picked it up, and both came in their own time machine.”

He shook his head, huffing. It almost sounded like he was laughing. “Insane woman.”

And that sounded like a compliment.

“You knew that much.”

“What happened? Why didn’t they just bring some of those pills with them?”

Bulma tried to hide her surprise at him asking. She told him about the destroyed factory, the fact that the virus was only dangerous for full Saiyans, and about Blue taking Trunks’ blood to make the drug.

“The adult one, I hope.”

“What? Of course the adult Trunks!” Bulma shrieked, secretly touched by this hint of protectiveness for their little son.

Vegeta only shrugged, and Bulma told him the rest of the story: they had managed to finish the medication in time, he’d eventually responded to the treatment and recovered after Trunks and Gohan lent him their ki to help him through the worst of it.

She would have liked to tell him more: about Blue’s faith in him and his future counterpart who had fought until the end, or about Gohan’s offer to help when he hadn’t even known that he could, and Chichi’s, and Trunks’ worry.

She would have liked to tell him about Krillin’s call to ask about Vegeta. She would have liked to tell him that people had been worried, and wanting to help.

“What are all of them doing here?”

He wouldn’t appreciate it.

Bulma hung her head. She felt the exhaustion of the past ten days quickly catch up with her now, and it wouldn’t be long until she passed out. She’d gotten a little more sleep since Vegeta had started getting better, but it had been far from enough.

“Don’t give up on him,” Blue’s voice echoed in her mind.

“In any case, you lived. And I … I’m glad you did. More than that. I was scared.”

She could see a million questions in his eyes. First and foremost: why?

Why do this for him of all people, why go to such lengths to try and save his life?

He would never ask though.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she gave the answer regardless.

“It’s not like you need me.”

That was true. And in many regards she never would.

“I don’t have to need you. Isn’t it enough to want you?”

He held his breath.

Bulma knew she had to tread carefully. This was foreign territory to him, and he expected danger to charge at him any moment.

He wasn’t someone showing affection easily, if at all, and in turn, he had a very hard time accepting affection either, maybe even more so. The thought of others caring about him made him put up his walls instantly. Strange, how someone this proud of himself could like himself so little.

Bulma was sure he rarely felt comfortable in his own skin, especially when he had no enemies to fight.

She looked down at his hands, hanging over the railing. She remembered holding his right hand last night after she’d removed the first IV. The band aid still there, the edges rolling already, probably from the shower.

Slowly, she placed her own hand over his. For some reason she felt that he would allow her to.

And he did, though his next breath was sharp.

Bulma let her hand lie there for a few seconds, feeling the warmth of his skin, then patted it lightly and ripped the band aid off. There was only a tiny hole still visible, soon to be gone, leaving no trace of what he’d been through.

And then, because the moments he was open like this were too rare to just let them go by, she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

She felt him jolt, knew he was gripping the railing with both hands now.

She broke the kiss when she felt he was getting too tense, and stepped back.

“Chichi, Gohan and Goten are going to leave for home soon. Gohan tells me to say hi. Trunks and Bulma will be staying until tomorrow.”

She left him alone then. Sometimes she had to overstep his boundaries, because he was trapped inside them more than she was locked out. But overstaying her welcome in his space would make him fight her - and himself - even harder.

Bulma was no fool; she knew who he had been before coming to Earth. She all too well remembered the state he’d left Goku in when he was done with him.

Thirty years of that kind of life wouldn’t be unlearned in a few months or even years.

He would not just suddenly turn a switch. There would be no great reveal of his true self.

It would take much longer than that to slowly chip away at the walls and to reveal the heart she knew was beating inside.

That he was letting her, however grudgingly, had to be enough for the time being.

*

It was noon when Trunks, Blue and Bulma, all seated in the living room, heard the first microwave in the kitchen turn on, and the second one shortly after, accompanied by the clinging and clanging of dishes being moved around.

Whenever Vegeta had come home from training injured and exhausted or staggered out of the gravity room with the last of his strength he’d been insatiable.

And Goku had often acted as if he was dying after a fight, but once he’d eaten he was suddenly overflowing with energy again.

It was more than likely that Vegeta still felt weaker than he was letting on, and the only thing to alleviate that was food. Lots and lots of it.

A few minutes later Vegeta surprised them all by entering the living room, carrying a tray of food in each hand.

Bulma had expected him to eat in the kitchen or take the food upstairs.

He stopped when he saw them turning to him, eyes flitting over Bulma and Trunks before landing on Blue, where they lingered.

His gaze was unreadable.

And Blue … Blue’s smile did reach her eyes this time, yet still was so profoundly sad that Bulma felt a lump in her chest.

Vegeta opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Good to see you,” Blue said, very softly.

There was a fight going on inside Vegeta. To see Blue, to know that a version of him had been in her life and died, and that he owed his life to her - not just now, but the entire reality he lived in - was clearly affecting him on a level he wasn’t used to.

Eventually, he gave her a nod before abruptly turning away to sit down at the dinner table and concentrate on his food.

He had his priorities sorted out.

They left him in peace, all three of them aware that his presence in the same room as them was already significant.

There was one, though, who did not care about whether Vegeta was interested in having company.

Trunks had fallen asleep in his playpen earlier, curled up like a cat on his favorite blanket. Now, though, he lifted his head and yawned, cheeks puffy and red from sleep.

“Hey there, little man,” Bulma called out to him.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked at her. The playpen hadn’t been able to contain him in almost a year. It only stalled him, usually enough for Bulma to rush over to him and stop him from wreaking havoc in the house.

He climbed out with well-practiced ease and looked around, probably in search of something to entertain himself with. He was really good at plucking things apart. Bulma once hadn’t paid attention for a few minutes and he’d somehow managed to get into the workshop and empty every single drawer within his reach.

But this time, something else caught his attention.

His eyes went wide when he noticed Vegeta, who was so focused on his food he probably had forgotten everything around him.

He only noticed Trunks walking up to him when he was only a few steps away. “Papa!” Trunks declared loudly.

Vegeta stopped eating and looked down at his son.

Trunks reached up and grabbed the seam of Vegeta’s shirt. “Papa back!”

Vegeta stared at him, unmoving.

“Papa eat food? Papa good?”

He’d asked after Vegeta a few times. She’d told him he wasn’t feeling well but hadn’t been sure he understood. Apparently, he did.

Vegeta breathed out slowly. His shoulders relaxed.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked Trunks.

Trunks’ face at hearing Vegeta’s voice broke into one of those smiles only children were capable of; brightening the entire living room.

Bulma pressed her fist to her mouth and bit her thumb. Trunks had been so intimidated by Vegeta when he was a baby. He’d gotten over that a year ago, but he’d never before smiled at him like this.

“Tunks miss Papa,” Trunks explained. “Papa gone long.”

Vegeta leaned back and crossed his arms. “As you can see, I’m back. Don’t make a scene. My food is getting cold.”

“Food?” Trunks echoed. “Tunks food?”

Vegeta glowered at him. “No. It’s mine.”

Undeterred at being told no, Trunks started climbing up Vegeta’s leg.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Vegeta said and grabbed Trunks by the scruff to lift him up and set him down on the chair beside him.

Immediately, Trunks started grabbing for the food on the plate. “Tunks food.”

And Vegeta let him.

Now Trunks, the other Trunks, turned away, biting his lips. There was an unspeakable longing in his eyes, glittering with unshed tears.

Blue placed a hand on his knee and squeezed gently.

Bulma couldn’t imagine being in their place, looking at a scene neither of them had probably thought possible and knowing it was forever out of reach for them.

If she wasn’t careful she would cry too; for the man beside her who had grown up without a father and only just now learned what he’d missed, for that other Vegeta who had never gotten the chance to become someone other than who he’d probably thought he was destined to be, and for Blue, who had been proven right about Vegeta, which gave validation to her grief, and with that, new strength.

*

“This technology is ridiculous,” Vegeta noted, leaning against the workshop’s wall with crossed arms, looking every bit his usual self in training pants and a sleeveless top. After several meals he was already looking less pale than in the morning.

He and Trunks were watching Bulma and Blue connect the ki-chargeable battery to the functional time machine. Blue and Trunks had actually arrived here without having enough fuel for a return trip, and it was easier to adjust their time machine to Bulma’s battery instead of making more fuel.

“Do we look like power plants?” Vegeta continued his rather unhelpful commentary.

“Well, not you, so shut it and get yourself something to eat if you’re only going to complain,” Bulma called and waved her wrench at him from inside the time machine’s cockpit.

When she’d examined him earlier she’d found signs that there still was some inflammation going on around his heart.

That was to be expected and not concerning. Vegeta wasn’t likely to even notice anything while at rest or moving around the house, but he wouldn’t be allowed to train for another two weeks, and heavily advised against turning Super Saiyan for at least that long, ideally a month, since the strain the transformation put on the body was significant.

He had taken those news with nothing but contempt. Bulma didn’t know whether she should be glad about that or worried. She did prefer him like this instead of weak and in pain but she also knew that the better he felt the harder it was going to be to keep him from disregarding medical advice.

She had already temporarily deactivated his control codes to the gravity room, just in case, secretly making a bet with herself how long it would take him to notice, and whether or not he would simply accept it or come to her to complain.

Needless to say, he was going to be insufferable, or rather, he already was .

Bulma might have told Blue and Trunks to just take him with them if she wasn’t aware that such a joke wouldn’t be too well received.

“Okay, I think we’re done.” Blue shut the last maintenance hatch. “Now Trunks only needs to charge the battery, and we’ll be ready to go first thing in the morning.”

“Should I do it right now?” Trunks asked. Since ki blasts were included in the no training order, he would be the one to do the charging.

And anyways, Vegeta had just said that he wasn’t a power plant.

“In the gravity room,” Bulma told them. “And then I guess it’s time to grab something to eat.”

“Finally you’re saying something smart,” Vegeta grumbled. Since taking Bulma’s sandwich in the morning he had eaten through half the pantry, barely going two hours without looking for his next meal. He had a lot of catching up to do.

*

Blue hugged Yamcha for a long time. “It was good meeting you,” she whispered eventually and loosened her grip, plastering a smile on her face that seemed characteristic of her: equal parts honest and forced.

Yamcha had come to say goodbye to her and Trunks despite the early hour.

Everything was ready and packed. Bulma had handed Blue a box of capsules, all filled with tools, machinery, various shades of blue and purple hair dye, cigarettes, clothes from brands she liked that no longer existed in the future, various other stuff she’d considered useful, and the detailed building plans of several androids as well as the one for the ki battery, as they’d named it.

“I would give you the building plans for the time machine,” Blue had said, “but …”

“Where would be the challenge in that?” Bulma had answered, and they’d shared a cigarette in the workshop, late at night, when Vegeta and Trunks had long gone to sleep.

“Thank you,” Bulma said when it was her turn to say goodbye. “I owe you one.”

Blue placed her hands on her shoulders. “I can’t say it was easy,” she said quietly. “But I’m glad we could do this for you.”

Bulma nodded. There was no promise of staying in touch, much less to visit. They lived in two different worlds, and to mix them up too much probably would not be the best idea.

But when in need they wouldn’t leave each other hanging.

“Hey, Trunks,” Vegeta called from the side.

Trunks turned, surprised by Vegeta even saying anything.

“Don’t slouch in your training. Those ki blasts were sluggish.”

Trunks’s smile made him look eerily similar to Vegeta. “I will.”

Blue looked back to Vegeta. As far as Bulma could tell the two hadn’t really talked, with both of them probably avoiding the other.

Vegeta returned her gaze, then stepped forward to approach them.

He had his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Take care,” he said to Blue.

“You too,” Blue said, and then Vegeta was already walking past them without looking back, disappearing into the house.

Sometimes, Bulma would kill to know what was really going on in that head of his.

“Well,” Blue sighed. “I didn’t really expect him to thank me.”

“I think it counts,” Trunks objected.

“Yeah,” Blue muttered, still looking at the door, then abruptly turned away. “Come on. It’s time to go home.”

They entered the time machine, and as they’d come, with a whirring sound in the air, they vanished.

Bulma told Yamcha goodbye too, then lit herself a cigarette.

Not even two full weeks had passed and yet had felt like an eternity.

It was finally over.

But … no.

The entire point of this had been to make sure that it wasn’t over.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

Ten Years Later

“That was weird, beating myself up,” Kakarot huffed as he went back to base form.

“I think it was fun,” Vegeta replied, rolling his shoulders. “He wasn’t even that strong.”

“Nope. It was like when Ginyu took my body. All strength and no clue how to use it.”

“Not to mention that he took your body when you were far weaker than you’re now.”

Strong enough to cause Trunks trouble, but not a match for two the two of them coming at him at once.

“I wonder how we would deal with each other’s power if we swapped bodies.”

Vegeta felt the hair on his neck rise. “No thanks!”

Kakarot laughed. “Let’s head home.”

Vegeta reached into his pocket for the capsule with the time machine.

Cramming into the cockpit with Kakarot wasn’t particularly comfortable. “Get off my back!” Vegeta hissed when he engaged the controls.

“Oh, I’m already feeling woozy again …”

“If you puke all over me I will kill you. And then I’ll hunt you down in Otherworld and kill you again .”

“Then hurry it up!”

Vegeta would have died before admitting it but he did feel similar about time-traveling. His stomach lurched when the engines hummed and took them through time and space back to their own timeline.

Once the control lights turned green, indicating that it was safe to open the glass dome, Kakarot jumped out and behind the next bushes.

Vegeta remained sitting still to wait for his head to stop spinning, breathing fresh air.

When he was sure he wasn’t going to join Kakarot he exited the time machine. Bulma, Trunks (both) and everyone else were already running up to them when he landed on the ground.

“Are you alright?” Bulma asked and eyed his face. He knew it must look wild; that Zamasu guy may not have posed them an actual threat but he had landed a few punches.

“I’m fine. How’s she?”

“Mom is okay,” the older Trunks replied. His broken wrist was in a cast now. Otherwise, he looked fine and a lot less discouraged than when he’d first arrived the day before with that girl, clutching his unconscious mother in his arms, and needing help to climb out of the time machine. “She wasn’t critically injured.”

Vegeta nodded, allowing himself some relief.

“How did it go?”

“We finished him,” Kakarot groaned and came back from behind the bush. “We took turns chasing him around and beating him up until Vegeta finished him for good.”

“How’s the city?” Trunks asked.

“About 20% destroyed and half of the remaining buildings damaged,” Vegeta replied. “Could have been worse.”

( He had done worse damage in the past.)

Trunks breathed out. “Thank you.”

“If you’d train harder you could have taken care of that by yourself.”

“Vegeta,” Bulma hissed and slapped his arm.

“What?”

“Be nice.”

“That was me being nice.”

*

An hour later Vegeta walked up and down the hallway in front of the guest room door.

He felt mostly fine after a hot shower and a meal; he couldn’t remember many fights he’d gotten out of with so few injuries and zero broken bones.

Eventually, he knocked.

He didn’t get an immediate reply and was almost about to retreat when the door opened and Trunks peeked out. He looked surprised to see Vegeta standing there. “Mom’s sleeping,” he said. “She’s okay but still tired and she insisted on staying awake until she heard you and Goku returned safely.”

Vegeta stepped back. “I’m coming back later.”

“Actually …” Trunks scratched his arm above the cast. “I was planning on getting something to eat and maybe lie down a little. Would you stay here? I don’t think she’d want to be alone.”

Vegeta opened his mouth and closed it again. “... fine,” he uttered eventually.

“Thanks, Father.”

With a nod, Vegeta pulled the door close behind him. The blinds at the window were half shut to block out the sunlight, but it was still bright enough to see clearly.

Bulma was pale, the right side of her face swollen; a bandage was hiding the massive bump on her temple. There was dried blood in her hair, now dyed an azure-blue shade.

Aside from that, and a few more wrinkles around her eyes, she didn’t look too different than she had ten years ago. She’d gained some weight which suited her well.

Vegeta stood in the middle of the room for minutes, feeling out of place, but at the same time unable to leave.

Finally, he pulled a chair to the lower end of the bed and sat down.

He half hoped Trunks would return before she woke up. But he knew that this time, he would not get to avoid a conversation he hadn’t been ready for ten years ago.

He wasn’t sure he was now.

About half an hour passed. Vegeta had his legs up on the bed and was half dozing in his chair. After spending an entire night in the future timeline and hunting down Zamasu he was pretty tired.

His eyes snapped open when Bulma sighed wearily and started to move.

“Trunks?” she muttered.

“He’s probably asleep by now.”

Bulma’s head jerked. She winced, blinking and trying to focus on him.

“Vegeta?”

“Mhm.”

Bulma slowly turned on her side and sat up with a soft groan, gripping her bandaged head.

“It’s usually advisable not to move around too much with a concussion,” Vegeta noted.

“Since when do you give out medical advice?” She was sitting up now and leaning against the headboard, looking at him properly.

Now that she was awake he did notice a significant difference. He had never forgotten that silent devastation lingering behind her eyes, not in all the ten years since he’d last seen her.

He wouldn’t say it was gone, but way less pronounced.

Ten years were a long time. Did she see a difference in him too? Physically, he hadn’t changed. But what about the rest?

“Are you injured?” she asked.

“Not worth mentioning.” He took his feet off the bed and sat up straight.

She nodded. “You saved us. Thank you.”

Shrugging, he looked away. “You saved us first.”

Bulma folded her blanket back. She was dressed in one of his old shirts. She scooted closer to him, pulling her feet in.

It wasn’t easy to withstand her scrutinizing gaze, but if anyone deserved his honesty, it was her.

“I always thought we’d meet again one day. I didn’t expect this time you’d be watching me while I was ill.”

“Only because Trunks wanted to get some sleep.”

Bulma chuckled. “I’m not so frail that I’d actually need constant observation.”

Vegeta raised his shoulders. “I can see that.”

“You’re looking good.” Bulma leaned forward. “How have you been these last ten years?”

I was happy, and I got so pissed about it that I made it everyone else’s problem.

“I ruined everything, and then I died.”

He felt immediately sorry for his words when Bulma jerked. Her hands gripped her knees.

“But you’re alive now,” she breathed. The smile was gone, having made room for concern and confusion.

“Yeah.”

“I figured something must have happened if even Goku is alive again,” Bulma whispered. “They told me that he returned to life five years ago and that it’s a long story. I was too out of it yesterday. Is he still here?”

“Afraid so,” Vegeta grumbled. “He always hangs out here longer than he has to.”

“Fascinating.”

“What?”

“Did you two become friends ?”

“Absolutely not!”

Bulma winced and held her head. “Not so loud, please. I promise I won’t say that again.”

“... sorry.” He was afraid it was too late now anyways, but there was no way he was going to admit to any such thing as being friends with Kakarot .

They sat in silence. He noticed her eyes droop, with a small crease forming between her brows.

“You should sleep some more.”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But I like talking to you.”

“Bulma …”

“You can call me Blue like everyone else does.”

He shook his head. “You’re Bulma.”

“I know. It’s just to make things less confusing.”

“It’s not confusing to me.”

She was Bulma, and Bulma was too. While their essence was the same, they were too different people.

That was a simple thing, at least to him.

“Then call me Bulma,” she gave in and leaned back into the cushions. “If I sleep now, will you tell me later what happened five years ago?”

He breathed in sharply. “If you really want to know you can ask Bulma. Or Kakarot.”

“I’d like to hear it from you.”

To anyone else he would have said no. He very much did want to say no to her too.

“Later.”

*

Later was the next morning. Vegeta was sitting on the top balcony, forgoing his morning workout for once. Still slightly sore after fighting Zamasu he’d decided he could take the day off.

“Good morning.”

He’d sensed her coming. When she sat down next to him with a cup of coffee in her hand and a cigarette in her mouth he acknowledged her arrival with a hum.

She had slept through most of yesterday, only getting up shortly for a tearful reunion with Kakarot before he flew off for home.

He eyed her. “Is that my shirt?”

Bulma tugged at the pink button-up. He hadn’t worn it in years.

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “Bulma’s stuff is a little too tight for me right now, so she handed me this. I like it.”

“You can keep it.”

“Thanks.” She took a pull from her cigarette.

He wrinkled his nose. “Bulma got that smoking habit from you, am I right?”

“Yep,” Bulma admitted light-heartedly. “She picked it up from me when we were both having a pretty stressful time.”

He rolled his eyes and reached for his own coffee cup on the table beside him. “Sure.”

“So … is it later now?” she asked.

He looked down into his coffee, then at her. Aside from the band aid on her temple and the bruising around it she was looking a lot better today.

“Does it have to be?”

“I can’t force you, Vegeta. But I feel like it is something that you want me to know, and that there is a truth about you I shouldn’t hear from anyone else.”

“The truth is the truth.” He shrugged and emptied his cup.

He didn’t give her the most detailed account of the events unfolding during and after the tournament. He hadn’t been present for a lot of it after all. But regarding himself, he left nothing out.

Bulma had never asked about the details. She’d looked him in the eyes after their return home until he’d averted his gaze.

“Don’t ever do this to me again,” she’d said, her eyes angry and her voice shaking with treacherous relief at his resurrection.

“I won’t.”

And somehow, she’d been satisfied with that.

Maybe because she knew him too well, and because all that had happened had changed him too much for him to hide it any longer.

Now, for some reason, he was capable of telling Bulma about his greatest failure, and its consequences.

It was by no means easy. But as she listened without hiding her shock and her grief at it all, he found it in him to admit the truth: the fear of changing, and of realizing that he still wasn’t good enough.

When he finished Bulma told him about their own encounter with Babidi, having been asked for help by Kaishin and Kibito. Trunks had killed Dabra and all of Babidi’s underlings. Kaioshin had ended Babidi, and they’d taken Buu’s egg back with them to dispose of it safely.

“He’s better at this and I.” At the time, he hadn’t cared about the world’s fate. Or rather, hadn’t thought about whether it would be in actual danger.

“You already know,” Bulma muttered eventually after minutes of silence, “that your history is too complicated for you to ever really leave it behind. Even if you no longer are that man from sixteen years ago, he will always be a part of you.”

He balled his hands to fists, digging his nails deep into his skin. Even now, even in front of her, he felt like he was being torn open violently.

“Let him rest,” Bulma whispered.

“How?” He looked up to see tears glittering in her eyelashes as she blinked.

“Stop fighting your own happiness.”

He felt his face slip, and her lips twitched.

“Ten years ago, while you were sick and I was not sure whether we could save you, I made a wish. There were no Dragon Balls involved, but it was still granted. And now I get to see it.”

Vegeta ground his teeth. When he finally couldn’t take it any longer, he got up and marched towards the railing. The morning was cool, the sky overcast with clouds that promised rain sooner or later. It didn’t make the city look very inviting.

He liked it that way.

A few minutes later he heard Bulma’s steps approaching. From the corners of his eyes he could see her lean her back against the railing and look up at the sky.

A light wind moved her hair. It was shorter now, just barely touching her shoulders.

“Before Trunks and I left for our timeline again ten years ago,” she said, the skin around her eyes wrinkling with a much lighter smile, “Bulma and I made a bet.”

“A bet.”

“I said she stood no chance at keeping you from training for more than a week. She said she would make it the full two weeks.” She glanced at him. “Who won?”

He harrumphed indignantly. “You bet on my health?!”

Bulma shrugged.

“Ten days,” Vegeta growled. “Bulma blocked me from the gravity room’s controls, so I couldn’t do much anyways. When I had enough I took a flight around the globe.”

“Ten days?” Bulma huffed a laugh. “I’m impressed. It must have been hard to rest for that long.”

“Not really,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

He sighed, annoyed by how amused she sounded. “I felt like shit.”

“Oh?” She was not surprised.

“When I woke up there were two sandwiches on the nightstand. Without those I wouldn’t even have made it out of bed, much less into the kitchen.” Sitting up alone had been pushing it. He’d leaned against the wall while showering and made it down the stairs with trembling knees. There’d been half a cheesecake in the fridge. Only after eating that he’d been certain that he wasn’t going to pass out before the first cup of coffee ran through.

Bulma held her fist to her mouth and softly bit into her knuckles, chuckling. “Let me guess. You were barely managing to stand on your own two feet.”

At this point he knew there was no way to pretend otherwise anymore. “It took me three days until I started to feel somewhat normal again.” He’d kept a stash of food in his room for a week because he frequently woke up hungry in the middle of the night.

Now, Bulma laughed out openly. “I knew it.”

“Pff.”

She placed a hand on his arm and urged him to turn to her. “Vegeta.”

He raised a brow questioningly.

“I’m now going to do something I never thought I could. Sorry in advance.”

“What?”

Vegeta froze when she hugged him. She placed her arms around his shoulders and squeezed while he stood there, his arms hanging helplessly in the air.

“H-hey!” he stuttered.

He felt her tremble and her heart hammer when she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Now you’re pushing it,” he grumbled. Opening and closing his fist he finally placed his hand on her back.

“No one’s ever gotten very far with you without pushing it a little,” Bulma chuckled when she let him go. “I hope you won’t suffer lasting damage from this.” She winked. “I’m going to get myself breakfast and see how Trunks is doing. See you later.”

Vegeta took a breath as he watched her walk away. Did she really want to go? Or did she just want to give him space?

“Bulma.”

She stopped, glancing back.

“Thanks. For saving me back then.”

For a moment, all the grief of her own past returned to her eyes, but then it vanished with her smile. “You’re welcome.”

Vegeta leaned against the railing. To thank her also meant to acknowledge that he was glad he had survived.

Which he was. Because that way they could …

“We’re having another child,” he told her.

She gasped. “A-”

“Bulma is eight weeks in. We found out two weeks ago. Only Trunks and her parents know so far.”

Bulma bit her lips. She almost seemed like she was about to cry. But she didn’t. “I am very, very happy for you.”

Vegeta wasn’t sure whether he would ever dare call himself happy . But sometimes he could not pretend he wasn’t.

Bulma probably suspected that already. She rubbed her hands and walked a few steps back in his direction. “I met someone,” she told him.

“Someone?” He raised a brow.

“He’s been working underground to help people stay safe before Trunks returned and got rid of the androids. Since then we’ve worked together a few times during rebuilding. We’re friends.”

“Friends?”

She shrugged. “For now. He has a bit of an ego but his heart is in the right place so … who knows.”

“It’s not like you don’t know how to deal with an ego.” He smirked.

While she generally seemed way more gentle than Bulma, now, a spark of her headstrong personality shone through. “True.”

Vegeta pushed himself away from the railing and picked up his empty cup from the table before accompanying her back inside.

Bulma would soon wake up and she didn’t appreciate being alone when the morning sickness hit her. She never said something about it, but he’d noticed, and … she’d spent one pregnancy by herself already.

If the woman beside him was so adamant about him having changed for the better he might as well try and live up to it.