Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Just stay there
'Cause I'll be coming over
And while our blood's still young
It's so young, it runs
And won't stop 'til it's over
Won't stop to surrender

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The path was steep, jagged, but somehow familiar.

Bulma’s feet struggled to find steady footing on the broken, rocky incline as she pushed forward, the trail winding up the mountainside like a scar through the thick undergrowth. Trees and bushes flanked the trail, their branches acting as rough handrails as she grabbed them, trying to keep her balance.

Her white nightgown fluttered around her ankles like the flicker of a ghost, the pale fabric catching on the wind in soft, unpredictable patterns, and her hair flowed down her shoulders, swaying in the breeze like a wave of the sea, moving with a rhythm all its own.

The forest around her was unnaturally still.

The first light of dawn painted the world in cold, pale hues of blue, as if the night itself was reluctant to leave. She didn’t stop; she was close now. Almost there. Her pace quickened as the dense forest thinned out, giving way to an open plateau. The ground beneath her became firm and rocky. And then, out of nowhere, a warm hand landed on her shoulder.

She froze, but only for a moment. That touch - she knew it well.

Finally. A slow smile spread across her lips, and she turned, her heart racing with recognition. His smile mirrored hers, warm and intense.

“You found me,” she whispered, her voice soft with relief.

May, 756

Bulma’s eyes snapped open.

She stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, her breath coming in soft, measured puffs. For a few brief moments, the dream lingered - just out of reach, like trying to hold onto mist. She blinked, trying to keep hold of its fading fragments, but no matter how hard she tried, it slipped away into the corners of her subconscious, dissolving into nothingness.

With a frustrated sigh, she let her gaze shift to the glowing red digits on her bedside clock.

2:00 AM

Great.

Groaning, Bulma rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, pressing hard as if the pressure might push away the annoyance of waking up in the dead of night. Over time, she’d come to realize that her best mornings started with a solid nine hours of sleep — uninterrupted, luxurious, and necessary. She prided herself on how good sleep kept her looking radiant, and frankly, anything that messed with her beauty routine was the enemy.

Ugh. Go back to sleep, she told herself, rolling onto her side and squeezing the pillow against her chest, trying to settle back into that comforting drowsiness.

But after flipping to her left, then to her right, and even lying on her stomach, she gave up with a low growl, kicking the sheets off with frustration. Tonight simply wasn’t it.

She yawned and stretched, arms reaching above her head, her back arching in a deep curve. Begrudgingly, she pushed herself out of bed and padded barefoot to the large glass doors that led to her balcony. She paused for a moment, peering out through the sheer curtains at the world beyond before quietly stepping outside.

The night air wrapped around her - heavy, humid, thick enough to blur the sharp city lights. West City never really slept; its pulse continued, even in the late hours. But tonight, something felt off. The air pressed down on her, thick with the promise of a storm.

Bulma sighed, absently running her fingers through her blue hair. Was the humidity going to ruin her hair tomorrow? Of course it would. The universe would see to it that she had a bad hair day, right when she needed to look flawless.

Not that it’s my wedding day or anything, she thought, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Still, the idea lingered, heavy and uncomfortable. Son-kun, of all people, getting married tomorrow.

Her frown deepened, the thought twisting strangely in her chest. She couldn’t quite place why it irked her. Maybe it was just... odd. Son Goku, the wild kid she had once found living alone in the mountains like a feral little monkey, was getting married before she was? Just –- come on.

She shook it off, forcing a grin. The whole point of attending a wedding is to upstage the bride, right?

Of course, she would be the most beautiful woman there. She was Bulma—a genius, an adventurer, and yes, gorgeous. Her mother had reminded her every night when she was little, and Yamcha... well, he always knew when to butter her up. It was undeniable. With a flick of her hair, she resolved not to dwell on it anymore.

Just then, a voice broke the stillness.

“Hey, you!”

“AAARGHHH!” Bulma yelped, jumping out of her skin, heart hammering in her chest. In her panic, she threw her arms up in some half-baked defensive stance Yamcha had once tried to teach her, her eyes darting around wildly.

“Who’s there?!” she shouted, fists raised like she was ready to fight (spoiler alert: she wasn’t). “I’m warning you—I can and I will throw a mean punch!”

A sharp, amused whistle echoed through the air.

Bulma’s eyes narrowed, immediately irritated by the mocking tone. She whipped her head around, ready to deliver a verbal lashing to whoever dared to mess with her in the middle of the night—only to freeze mid-sentence when she spotted the figure floating just above her balcony.

Son Goku - upside down like some kind of oversized orange bat - hovered there in mid-air, his arms crossed over his chest and a stupid grin on his face.

Bulma’s mouth dropped open.

Of all people — really? Embarrassment surged through her, heat creeping up her neck. She must’ve looked completely ridiculous. No way she was letting him see that, though. With a quick scowl, she dropped her arms and crossed them tight over her chest,

“Son-kun!” she snapped, her glare sharp. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Goku, grinning, flipped through the air, floating closer.

“Hehe, sorry Bulma!” he said. “I forgot you’re an old lady now.”

Bulma’s eye twitched. “I – you – how dare you!” she roared, but Goku only laughed harder. Bulma shot him a dirty look and swatted at his arm. “You dummy! You’re so rude, I can’t believe it! Actually, no—scratch that, I totally totally can believe that!”

Goku stuck his tongue out and Bulma rolled her eyes. Whatever. It was impossible to stay mad at him for long.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, studying her with surprising attention.

Bulma leaned against the balcony railing, her eyes drifting to the sky. “Yeah, I guess,” she sighed. “What about you?”

Goku shrugged. “Same,” he replied, floating down to perch on the edge of the railing. His gaze wandered over the skyline, his usual carefree expression replaced with something more distant. “It’s this whole wedding thing,” he said at last. “Feels… I don't know, weird.”

Bulma raised an eyebrow, turning to look at him. Weird - that was an understatement, if she’d ever heard one. But, still - Goku? Nervous? That was new. She knew him to be the most carefree, untroubled person in the world — someone who could snooze (and had snoozed) soundly while waiting for his turn in something like the world martial arts tournament.

“I bet,” she sniffed. “Anything that doesn’t involve fighting or food probably confuses you.”

Goku rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, probably.”

The jab didn’t land as she expected. Instead, silence followed - a strange, thoughtful quiet that felt odd between them. Bulma glanced at him, and for the first time in a long while, she found herself studying his profile — really looking at him.

There was something different about him. Something subtle but unmistakable. The same carefree, happy-go-lucky Son Goku was there, but beneath it, there was something more, something she couldn’t quite grasp.

Her mind flashed back to the Tenkaichi Budokai, when Goku fought Piccolo Daimao’s offspring. She'd watched in terror as Goku, bloodied and battered, made the last stand against Piccolo. She had thought this is it. We’re all going to die. But then, as always, Goku had pulled off the impossible. He had saved them all. Again. And he had been freaking amazing while doing it: fierce, unstoppable, a true force of nature and – Bulma gulped – handsome to boot.

And now he was about to get married.

Okay, so. Stranger things had happened.

Right?

A strange unease crept into Bulma’s chest. She wasn’t sure why, but the thought of him flying off with the Ox King's daughter - Chi-Chi, was it? - gnawed at her in a way she hadn’t expected.

And now, here they were, side by side on her balcony, enveloped in the quiet of the night.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable yet charged, like the air before a storm, until an unfamiliar fidgetiness crept into Bulma’s limbs. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to find a sense of ease, but the flutter in her stomach only intensified when Goku turned to face her. His black eyes were wide and alive, brimming with an energy that seemed to pulse beneath the stillness. She found it impossible to look away, her heart picking up unexpectedly, tumbling around in her chest as if trying to escape.

Goku smiled — warm, bright, and utterly unguarded — and something in her shifted. For the first time, she questioned what he saw when he looked at her. Did he see her the same way he always had? Had she changed as much as he had?

At least she wasn’t wearing lipstick now, she thought with a smirk.

Bulma allowed herself to be scrutinized for several moments, but as the silence stretched on, her smile morphed into a nervous grimace. She couldn’t hold it any longer; her voice came out strained as she finally broke the tension.

“What are you doing all the way up here?” she asked, her jaw clenched, unable to hide the underlying question: Aren’t you getting married tomorrow morning?

Goku shrugged, his smile unwavering. After a beat of silence, his grin widened. “Wanna go for a walk?” he asked, a familiar spark in his eyes.

Bulma blinked, caught off guard.  “A walk? Now?” She hesitated, then sighed. "Uh… sure?"

“Great! Woo-hoo!” Goku exclaimed, throwing in a quick somersault mid-air as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He stopped lightly before her, floating in the air with effortless ease.

Bulma did her best to conceal her amazement at his casual display of power, but her eyes still narrowed in suspicion. “Goku…” she started, ready to backtrack, but he had other ideas.

“Come here!” he said, tugging at her arm, his enthusiasm infectious. Except to Bulma, it didn’t feel like a gentle invitation; it felt like she was being swept up by a whirlwind. He tugged, and kept tugging, and before she knew it, her feet were no longer on the ground.

Her heart lurched. "Goku!" she yelped. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Goku only laughed in response, the sound loud and carefree. "Let’s go!" he shouted.

With an ease that defied logic, he scooped her closer against him, as though she weighed less than air. His arms, firm and strong, wrapped around her waist securely, but that didn’t stop Bulma from going rigid with fear.

“GOKU!” she shrieked again, her hands instinctively gripping his forearm like a vice. “What the hell – have you gone completely nuts?”

Goku’s laughter rang out again, light and full of joy. "Nope! We're going up!"

Bulma cracked one eye open, instantly regretting it. The city below them looked like a patchwork of tiny lights — each flickering further away with every second. Her stomach flipped. "No, no, no, nonono—put me down!" she screeched, her voice climbing in pitch with every syllable. Her legs flailed wildly in protest. "I thought you said we'd walk!" 

"Aww, come on, Bulma! This is way more fun!" Goku responded, completely unfazed. He ascended a little higher, as if to prove his point.

"Fun?!" Bulma’s voice was a mixture of terror and incredulity. "You think an eighty-foot fall is fun, you absolute idiot? I am too young and way too pretty to die tonight!" she wailed, her legs kicking frantically as if hoping they’d somehow reconnect with solid ground.

Goku chuckled again, adjusting his hold around her waist. "You’re fine!" he said. Then, with slightly less patience: "Would you stop squirming?"

He made a slow, graceful turn in the air, guiding them forward as though gliding through the night sky was no more difficult than walking.

"Stop squirming?!" Bulma snapped, clinging to him as if her life depended on it — because, well, it absolutely did. "I’m two seconds away from a heart attack, you lunatic!"

Goku rolled his eyes. "You’re acting like I’m gonna let you fall," he said.

Bulma’s eyes darted up to meet his, and for a brief moment, the tight knot of fear in her chest loosened. There was something in his expression — something steady, something unshakeable—that made her pause.

"...Uh?" was all she managed, her brain too frazzled to form a coherent thought.

"I said I won’t let you fall," Goku repeated, as if speaking to a particularly slow person. But there was also something else - something that felt like a promise.

Bulma blinked, the tension in her body slowly ebbing away. She swallowed nervously. "I don’t know," she muttered, trying to sound unimpressed despite the flutter in her chest. "For the record, I still think my airplane’s better than this. Way less barbaric."

Goku grinned. "Do you trust me?"

Bulma stared at him, the weight of the question hanging in the air. Trust? Goku? The boy who once couldn’t tell a girl from a boy? The same guy who just kidnapped her from her own balcony?

“I… I do.”

“Good!” Goku’s grin widened, eyes lighting up with excitement. “Then hang on tight!”

With that, he held her closer, his grip secure but gentle, and rocketed forward through the sky. Bulma let out a yelp as the wind whipped through her hair, but the terror from before was already beginning to melt away, replaced by something else — something she hadn’t expected.

Her heart was still racing, but it wasn’t from fear anymore. She could feel the thrill of the moment buzzing under her skin, sending goosebumps along her arms. The city below them blurred into a smear of lights, the urban sprawl giving way to the wild, untamed landscape beyond. The cold air rushed past them, crisp and exhilarating.

"Where are we even going?!" she yelled over her shoulder, her voice carrying through the wind as her anxiety transformed into pure excitement.

Goku laughed — a bright, carefree sound that made her feel like a kid again. He twirled her lightly in the air, and this time, Bulma shrieked, but it was with pure delight.

"I don’t know!" Goku shouted back. "We’re just going!"

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They were soaring.

The cool air rushed through Bulma's hair, filling her with fierce joy as she turned her head slightly to meet Goku's gaze, which mirrored her elation. Below them, mountains rolled into view, followed by small clusters of lights as they flew over villages. The wind roared in their ears, and slowly but surely, the sky cleared, revealing tiny trails of silver stars—an exquisite sight.

Bulma lost all sense of time. She didn’t know how long or how far they had been carried away by Goku and the wind when she realized they were starting to descend, the trees and trails growing larger as they approached the ground. She spotted something shimmering through the darkness. They landed softly, with a gentle thud. Goku’s arms steadied her as she regained her bearings.

“Here we are,” he said, releasing her. Bulma looked around and gasped in surprise. They had landed in the most exquisite place she had ever seen. The clearing, though not very large, was encircled by lush vegetation—ancient trees, vines, and bushes adorned with small, sweet-smelling white flowers—forming a near-perfect semicircle. The grass felt as thick and plush as the most expensive carpet.

“Oh…”

She jogged to the water's edge, drawn to the shimmering circle she had noticed from above — a beautiful lake of dark sparkling water, glimmering silver under the blanket of the star-studded sky.

“Goku…” she breathed, eyes wide with admiration as they drank in the stunning scenery. She could feel Goku’s gaze on her, and she turned to him. “It’s beautiful!”

Suddenly, something flitted by her left shoulder, and Goku’s eyes shifted to it — a tiny firefly glowing brightly against the night. She barely registered it before she turned back to Goku, her face breaking into a smile.

“Sooo…” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Are we going to swim?”

Goku waggled his eyebrows and, with two quick steps, approached her by the edge. He bent slightly to examine the water before standing upright and shrugging his shoulders. “Nah,” he said.

That was not the reaction she had expected. Surprised, Bulma turned to get a better look at his face, but before she could, she felt herself being shoved backward — her arms flailing at the air…

“EEEK!”

She fell in a perfect arc and hit the water like a stone, creating a loud, graceless splash.

Bulma burst out of the water, sputtering and coughing, her soaked hair sticking to her face. Through her water-filled ears, she quickly caught Goku's laughter and glowered at him furiously.

“You big fat jerk!” she shouted.

Goku crouched by the edge, grinning ear to ear. “You asked for it!” he said.

“Hmpf,” Bulma snorted, swiping her hair away from her eyes to glare at him more effectively. Goku offered an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. You okay?”

Bulma kicked her legs through the water, moving closer to the bank, then grasped the dark aquatic vegetation that grew near the shore before changing her mind.

“Ew! Give me a hand, will you?”

Goku grinned and reached for her extended arm, but he completely missed the mischievous glint in her eyes. When he took her hand, she smirked and yelled,

“Gotcha!”

and tugged at him with all her might, making him topple forward and into the water.

They sank together in a whirl of intertwined limbs. As they swirled in upward circles, the water made every movement feel slow and languid. Bulma kept her eyes open; it burned a little, but she didn’t mind. It was cool. Peaceful. Every sound muffled — everything quieted. Tiny bubbles escaped from Goku’s nose, and they exchanged the briefest glance before breaking the surface together.

A beat passed, filled only with their heavy breathing, before Goku stuck out his tongue, and she splashed water in his face.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, wiping the droplets away with a laugh.

Not one to back down, she splashed him again, sending a wave of water over him. “Serves you right!” she taunted.

Goku’s grin widened. “You realize this means war?” he challenged, leaning forward, ready to strike.

“Don't you even try it!” she shot back, dodging just as he lunged at her.

“Ready or not!” he called out.

“I said no!” she protested, laughter bubbling up as she retreated with a splash.

“Here I come!” Goku shouted, swinging his arms through the water, sending a giant wave her way.

Their laughter echoed through the night, bright and carefree. Above them, fireflies gathered, twinkling, uncountable. 

An hour later, they lay side by side by a crackling fire. They had left the water after Bulma had waved her palms in front of Goku’s face, so close that his eyes crossed in confusion.

“Look!” she had screeched, pointing out the wrinkles caused by the water, and Goku had rolled his eyes before leading the way out of the lake.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth slowly seeping into their damp clothes. Bulma leaned back, a quiet contentment washing over her. The unease from earlier had melted away, replaced by a calm, unspoken connection. She felt... good. Just good.

It didn’t make sense. If anyone had asked her where she belonged at night, she’d have said under the covers of her own bed. But here, beneath a sky filled with stars, with Goku beside her, everything felt right.

“Look at that,” Bulma breathed, her gaze fixed on the sky. “Ever seen anything like it?”

Goku crossed his arms behind his head. “Yeah, but – this is… wow.” His breath caught as he pointed, his finger tracing an arc in the sky against a fine, bright spray of stars. “What’s that?”

“That’s the Milky Way,” she said softly. “Our galaxy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this clear before. Not outside of books.”

“It’s pretty cool, huh?”

Bulma grinned at Goku’s childlike awe. “Yeah. And we’re only at the edge of it. Can you imagine?”

Goku whistled. “Makes you feel kinda small, huh?”

“Hey, speak for yourself.”

He chuckled, and Bulma closed her eyes, letting his soft laughter fill the space around them. She took a deep breath, savoring the moment, the fire’s warmth, and the steady presence beside her. It felt better than she remembered—better than anything.

“You know,” she murmured, exhaling softly. “I missed this.”

“Huh?”

With a sigh, Bulma shifted her gaze to the stars, her voice softening as she spoke. “All this time,” she explained, “I really missed this.” She wrinkled her nose, hesitating before adding, “I mean... did you - did you miss me at all?”

She wasn’t sure why, but the question came out smaller than she intended. She glanced over at him, lying in the grass beside her, arms folded behind his head, eyes wandering the sky. His expression remained thoughtful, and for a moment, she wondered if he would even answer.

“Nah, not really,” he said after a pause.

Bulma scowled, feeling her face heat up. “Well, thank you very much!” she huffed, sitting up abruptly as though the grass had stung her.

Goku, oblivious, continued. “No, I mean, I didn’t have to miss you.”

Her irritation wavered, and she froze, her frown slowly softening. “What do you mean?”

“Training with Kami was tough,” Goku explained, his voice calm and steady. “Kept me pretty busy. But sometimes, before going to sleep, I thought about you guys, wondering what you were up to. You kind of were always with me. That's why I didn't miss you.”

Bulma stared, mouth slightly open, at a loss for words. She silently absorbed what Goku had said, the words swirling in her mind, twisting and untwisting until they blurred. She stared at him, something tightening in her throat that she didn’t fully understand. Goku’s profile, peaceful in the firelight, suddenly seemed different—like she was seeing him clearly for the first time. They’d known each other for years, but had they ever really talked like this?

Overwhelmed, she did the only thing she felt was safe: she leaned forward to toss a few small twigs into the fire, changing the subject. “This fire’s amazing,” she said, her voice a bit too loud. “You’re pretty good at this.”

Goku didn’t seem to notice the shift in her tone. He gazed at the fire, his eyes reflecting the flickering flames. Bulma watched him, squinting slightly. Was it just the light, or was there something deeper in his expression? She swallowed hard.

“My grandpa taught me,” Goku said, his voice as simple as ever. “To keep warm. And for the animals.”

“The animals?”

“Yeah,” Goku nodded. “To keep them away.”

A thick silence fell between them. After a moment, Bulma reclined back onto the grass, resting her head on her arm as she studied Goku’s face.

“Can I ask you something?” she ventured.

“Sure,” Goku said without hesitation.

Bulma hesitated, then blurted, “Are you ever afraid?”

He turned his head toward her, his expression puzzled. “Huh?”

“You know,” she clarified, “like living alone after your grandpa died. Or when you fought Piccolo. Do you ever get scared? Even just a little?”

Goku frowned in thought, and Bulma found herself grinning at the seriousness etched on his face. To be fair, it was a hard question. But how could someone who’d been raised alone in the wilderness, who’d fought monsters and saved the world, not feel fear? But then again, Goku wasn’t like anyone else.

“Sometimes,” he said after a long pause. “I guess you have to know your limits, right? If you don’t, you could get hurt. And you can’t push past them if you don’t know where they are.” He gave her a playful wink.

Bulma nodded, feeling a strange warmth settle over her. “That’s… actually really smart, Son-kun,” she said, nudging him lightly. He snorted, and their eyes met for a brief moment before both burst into quiet, silly laughter, the weight of their conversation lifting in the night air. Still snickering, Bulma stretched back, the Milky Way entering her line of sight once again. She didn’t notice his laughter fade.

“Bulma?” His voice was low and somber, causing her to pause.

“Yeah?”

She sensed his uncharacteristic hesitation. “What do you think will happen tomorrow?” he asked.

Bulma blinked. Right. Tomorrow. She had forgotten about it in the night's excitement, where nothing outside of this clearing seemed real. For hours, she’d felt like they existed in their own world, one where worries didn’t exist, where her best friend was just… Son-kun, and not someone getting married to a girl they barely knew. She glanced at him. Had he felt the same? Probably not. He seemed distracted, his mind elsewhere.

“Hey, Krillin, what’s a bride?”

Bulma suppressed a laugh as she remembered Goku’s dumbfounded expression when Krillin and Yamcha had to explain that no, a bride wasn’t some kind of mysterious food.

“What do you think will happen tomorrow?” she echoed.

Goku shrugged. “No idea. I don’t really know what I’m doing. Just keeping my promise.”

Bulma shook her head. “Well, then… you’re doing the right thing by honoring your word, I guess,” she said. “You’ll be fine,” she added as an afterthought. “You’re pretty resourceful, after all.”

She tried a reassuring smile. Goku’s black eyes lingered on her face for a moment before he replied.

“If you say so.”

Bulma nodded, a little too eagerly. “I do! And obviously, I know more about this stuff than you do!" she said, tossing her hair over her shoulders. "Just trust me, Son-kun.”

She shot him a daring look through the grass, her eyes narrowing as if challenging him to disagree. He didn’t.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Alright.”

“Good,” she muttered, turning her gaze back to the stars. Silence fell between them for a beat, until she suddenly burst into laughter.

Goku glanced at her, startled. “What? What’s so funny?”

“I can just picture it!” Bulma giggled, trying to compose herself. “Chi-Chi! Is dinner ready?” she boomed, in a bad imitation Goku impression. “I’m starving!”

Goku quirked an eyebrow and scooted closer, sitting up. “I don’t sound like that at all!”

Bulma only laughed harder, but before she could dodge, Goku’s fingers found her sides, tickling her relentlessly. She shrieked, squirming in a breathless fit of giggles.

“No! Stop! Help!” she yelped, her eyes squeezed shut.

Goku’s grin widened. “Can’t hear you!”

“Goku! I'll end you!”

“Oh, yeah? Just give up already!”

Bulma opened her eyes. She had managed to grab hold of both his wrists. How long had he been this close? Their noses were nearly touching, his breath warm against her skin. A shiver ran down her spine. His black eyes held hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw fire flickering in them. Her heart thudded in her chest, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. There was definitely something in his eyes—a fierce intensity. Yet, beneath that, she could still see it: the wide-eyed innocence she had always known.

Time seemed to slow. The world around them - the stars, the fire, the whisper of the wind - faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in the quiet night. Her breath hitched as her gaze dipped to his lips for the briefest second. A wave of uncertainty washed over her, mixed with curiosity, and something else - something that made her pulse quicken.

She swallowed. Were they just too close?

A beat passed before she could speak, but when she did, only a hushed whisper escaped. “...You’ll have to kiss Chi-Chi eventually.”

Goku blinked, his face blank. “Kiss?” he echoed.

Bulma rolled her eyes, the moment already slipping away. She sat up, releasing his wrists. “Yes, you dummy,” she said, a little sharper than intended. "Kiss!"

Goku leaned back, thinking. Then his face brightened. Bulma narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“You mean...” he leaned forward and touched his lips to her cheek. Bulma froze, her eyes widening as he lingered for a brief second before pulling back, looking at her expectantly. “Like this?”

She stared at him, stunned. After what felt like an eternity, she arched an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Wow. Chi-Chi’s one lucky girl.”

Goku shrugged, unfazed. “Well, then, you show me!”

“What? No way!”

“See?” he said, grinning. “You don’t know what a kiss is either!”

Bulma crossed her arms, glaring. “Are you serious right now? I know exactly what a kiss is!”

Goku leaned forward, eyes bright with mischief. “No, you don’t.”

“Do too!”

“Nuh-uh!”

Bulma huffed, exasperation bubbling up inside her. "Alright, enough!" she snapped, moving to her knees in front of him. “Watch and learn,” she said primly. She thought about how to explain it. She was an expert, of course. She and Yamcha had kissed like a hundred times. Whatever.

Clearing her throat, Bulma began, “I guess, for a real kiss…” She tried to sound serious, but Goku laughed right in her face.

“I guess,” she repeated, giving him a pointed look. He fell silent. “You have to get really close to, um, whatever you’re kissing, and then you just…”

Bulma paused, biting her lower lip. Without warning, she stuck out her tongue, crossing her eyes and wiggling her tongue left and right. “Blah blah blah blah!”

Goku burst into laughter.

“What, really?” he asked, then leaned forward and mimicked her, tongue flopping around. “Blah blah blah blah!”

Bulma laughed. “I know, right? So dumb!” She rolled her eyes and kept going. “Blah blah blah!”

But then something shifted. Maybe they were really too close.

Because before either of them knew it, Goku’s arms were around her waist, pulling her close — her hands found his face, pulling him in—and in one seamless motion, their mouths met. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Just raw, visceral instinct.

Chapter Text

Oh my god
Take me back the way that I was
Oh my god
You know I'm inside, I'm in between
What you want, I can't compete
You cross the line and I repeat
You've always had it easy…

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It all happened too fast to think.

Bulma wasn’t sure who moved first – maybe it was her, maybe it was Goku. It didn’t matter. Their lips met in the middle, without a moment of hesitation. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him, while her fingers pressed against his cheeks, drawing him in closer.

The kiss was messy at first—a clumsy clash of lips, a bumping of noses. But then they pulled apart just for a second and when their eyes met, a charge passed between them, like an electric current. And they crashed together again, harder this time, more sure. Hungry for more. Bulma parted her lips, capturing his lower one between hers, and that was it.

A real kiss.

Bulma’s breath hitched as Goku’s grip tightened around her waist, pulling her so close she nearly lost her balance. A soft, startled laugh escaped her, muffled between their lips, and when her tongue nudged deeper, Goku’s reaction was instant—surprised, but eager. His tongue met hers, curious and insistent, their movements frantic and uncoordinated until they finally found their rhythm. She tasted the heat of him, the unexpected sweetness of his breath. Her fingers tangled in his wild hair, tugging lightly, and Goku let out a soft sound from deep in his throat, something low and soft, and it sent a jolt through her.

They tumbled onto the grass, his body pressing flush against hers as they landed, and a small giggle escaped her at the contact, his weight solid and warm against her. Her skin tingled, every nerve alight, and she clutched at him, desperate to pull him closer, like she needed to crawl into his skin, but it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t help it—her leg wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

Am I really doing this? The thought flickered through her mind, but her body had already made the decision. She kissed him harder, her hands roaming over the hard lines of his back, feeling the unyielding strength beneath his skin. And yet, something in him softened, as if he was melting into her touch, giving in.

What’s happening to me? Bulma could almost hear the question in the way he kissed her back, a bit uncertain but earnest, like he wanted to understand, to give everything he could. She felt a low moan escape him, only to have her tongue catch it, pushing deeper, tasting him. He was warm and sweet, and she wanted more—so much more.

When Goku broke the kiss, just enough to look down at her, his wide eyes shimmering in the moonlight, Bulma’s heart skipped.

“What?” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

His lips parted as if to say something, but instead, he just swallowed.

“Nothing,” he said.

Bulma eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Goku just inches from her face. Son-kun, eyes all innocent and shining, silly smile, impossible hair. The strange monkey kid, the childhood friend. And yet, right now, his face was flushed, his eyes wide and dark, and all she wanted was to pull him on top of her, like a blanket – something to keep her warm. She would have given him anything in that moment, if it meant they could do that now.

They both let out a soft breath at the same time, their breaths mingling in the cool air.

Goku’s thumb brushed against her lips, slow and careful, like he was discovering something precious for the first time. Her breath hitched as he leaned in again, pressing his lips to hers with a deliberate slowness that sent shivers down her spine.

Bulma’s hands slid down his back, finding the edge of his belt. She tugged lightly, and his breathing hitched—heavy, uneven.

“Bulma, I—” Goku’s voice was rough, unfamiliar.

“Shh,” she whispered, cutting him off. “I know.” She searched his face, her heart swelling with emotions she didn’t fully understand. "Just… trust me."

She took his hand, guiding it down her stomach, then lower. When his fingers reached the hem of her shirt, her favorite oversized nightgown, he hesitated for only a second before instinct took over. He grabbed the fabric and pulled it up, discarding it in the grass without a second thought.

Goku froze for a moment, staring at her like he had never seen her before. His gaze swept over her skin, taking in every curve, every inch of her, and for the first time, Bulma saw something in him she never thought she’d see on his face: desire.

His head dipped to her neck, and she gasped as his warm breath fanned across her skin. The sensation sent a wave of want rushing through her, making her arch into him, needing more.

The air was motionless around them. The cool night wind blowing from over the surrounding mountains had been still for the last minutes or so, as if it were holding its breath watching as Goku and Bulma gave themselves over entirely, drowning in bliss, blown away, lost in each other completely.

.

.

.

Bulma woke to the distant rumble of thunder. She furrowed her brow, keeping her eyes closed, and breathed softly through her nose. Just five more minutes, please. She felt too good—too warm, too relaxed. The waking world could wait. She was still caught in a strange, freakish dream, and she wanted to know how it ended.

Another rumble, closer this time. Ignore it, she thought drowsily. A cool breeze brushed her skin, crisp but not unpleasant. That was odd. Had she left the window open?

A soft snore came from somewhere nearby, and Bulma’s eyes fluttered open, blinking sluggishly as her surroundings sharpened. It didn’t take long for her to realize two things.

One: she was completely naked.

Two: she was pressed against something warm and solid, the main reason she hadn’t felt the cold while lying on the grass beside a small lake. Wait a minute.

She sat up, heart skipping a beat.

Oh no. It all rushed back in a single wave.

The clearing.

The lake.

“Goku!”

Her scream startled Goku awake. He sat bolt upright before he was even conscious, so fast their heads collided with a solid thud.

Bulma saw stars. "OUCH!"

"What? Where?" Goku slurred, completely unfazed by the collision. His eyelids drooped as he blinked. "Is it breakfast time?"

"Watch it, you idiot!" Bulma wailed, clutching her head as pain radiated through her skull. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "Damn it, Goku, your thick skull nearly gave me a concussion!"

Goku blinked, and then his face lit with concern. "Whoa, sorry, Bulma! Did I hurt you?"

Bulma shot him a glare that said what do you think? but lowered her hands, allowing him to inspect the damage. "You think it’s gonna swell?" she whined.

Goku leaned closer, his fingers brushing through her hair as he prodded the sore spot gingerly.

"Nah, you’ll be fine," he said with a reassuring poke, but Bulma only glowered at him.

"Do you even know how invaluable my head is?" she shrieked.

Goku scratched his head. "Uh, I guess?"

He smiled that warm, guileless smile, and Bulma felt something inside her crack, shattering like glass. The full realization hit her—they had done it. She had slept with Goku. Worse! She'd done it before the concussion.

What is wrong with me?

Bulma turned pale. Suddenly feeling exposed, she folded her legs to her chest, hugging them tightly, wishing she could hide away and undo what had already been done.

"Damn," she hissed under her breath.

"Bulma?"

Bulma looked up, swallowing hard. "We should get dressed," she said, her voice flat. She spotted a shirt on the ground beside her and pulled it over her head.

"That’s my gi," Goku said lightly.

She glanced down at the familiar orange fabric. It smelled like him.

"Right." She yanked it off quickly and tossed it at his face, hoping to buy a few precious seconds to dress without his eyes on her. He caught it effortlessly, his gaze following her every move.

Scowling, Bulma got to her feet. Her legs felt shaky, weak. She stumbled slightly as she reached for her discarded panties and pulled them on. Once she slipped into her pink nightshirt, she exhaled, her body regaining some sense of normalcy. Thank god.

She glanced down at Goku, still sitting on the ground, still undressed. He was staring at her in a way she didn’t like—not in the light of day, not ever.

"Can you put your clothes on?" she snapped.

Goku blinked at her, confused. "Everything okay?"

Bulma closed her eyes, fighting the urge to scream. "Yes," she muttered, impatient. "But we should head back before the storm hits."

As if on cue, another crack of thunder rolled across the sky.

"Okay," Goku agreed, reaching for his pants at last.

The early morning was clouded, the air thick and gray. Even the lake beside them had turned a steely shade. Everything felt dull, lifeless—except the growing panic in Bulma's chest. She wanted to run, to bolt and never look back. But she had no idea where they were, and the only way back was to endure another flight in Goku’s arms.

How on earth am I going to survive that? she thought, the idea of being that close to him again making her heart pound.

She squinted at the dark blur of trees, briefly considering the odds of becoming some wild animal's breakfast whilst making a break for it, trying to spare herself the embarrassment of the flight. She was weighing her options when she felt Goku approach from behind. His hand landed on her shoulder, and the heat of it burned through her shirt, making her breath catch.

"Ready?" he asked.

No.

"Yes. Let’s go."

She closed her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting them both into the air. The rain had started, soft but insistent, and soon they were soaked. Bulma felt the cold droplets sting her skin, but she welcomed the discomfort. Let it wash everything away, she thought. Maybe the rain could erase her mistakes.

Before she knew it, they were descending, the familiar skyline of West City coming into view. They approached Capsule Corp., drenched to the bone, and her legs were stiff and weak when they touched the wet pavement of her balcony.

The rain wasn't letting up. Goku’s arm slipped away from her, and she knew he was stalling. She didn’t bother to look up. Her eyes fell on the french window she had left ajar the night before, the white curtains fluttering softly inside her bedroom. It all looked so familiar, so normal, that for a moment she thought everything could go back to the way it was. That she could go back to what she was before—before she lost her mind and slept with Son-Kun. Maybe her normal life was waiting behind those curtains.

"I'm going to take a shower," she mumbled, head down, ready to bolt inside. She lunged for the door, but a strong hand grabbed her arm, halting her mid-step.

"Hey," he said. "Wait a minute."

Oh, please, no.

Reluctantly, she turned to face him, making sure not to meet his eyes. "What is it?"

Goku's hand dropped from her arm. "I don’t get it. What’s going on?”

Bulma forced herself to look at him, summoning whatever courage she had left. His expression was so confused, almost childlike, and she might have found it funny in any other situation. A bitter laugh slipped out instead, dry and sharp. Of course, Goku doesn’t even know how or why he screwed up.

A nasty thought crossed her mind—I took advantage of him. His heart was pure. He was marrying someone he didn’t know because of a promise he had made without understanding, for god’s sake. He was innocent, and she had tried to take that from him. They had fallen into each other’s arms, recklessly, carelessly. And now, everything was ruined.

She swallowed hard, her throat impossibly dry. She wanted to apologize, to tell him how sorry she was, to admit she’d been a fool. But the words wouldn't come. All she wanted, absurdly, was to kiss him again. It was crazy. Everything felt hazy, blurred around the edges. Bulma hoped it was all a fever dream, that she would wake up and be herself again, not this version she didn’t recognize.

But Goku reached for her again, his hands finding her shoulders.

"Let's just..." Goku swallowed hard, searching for words that wouldn't come. "Let's go somewhere. Right now."

Bulma froze, staring at him, completely stunned. "What?"

His grip tightened slightly, not threatening but almost desperate. Like he was trying to anchor himself. His dark eyes were fixed on hers, confused but unwavering. "Let's - I don't know," he said. "Just come away with me."

What?

Bulma’s last shred of levelheadedness snapped like a popped cork. She lost it.

"And who do you think you are?" she snarled, her voice rising. "Telling me something like that?"

Goku's hands tightened further on her shoulders, not harder but more urgent. She flinched, even though his grip was gentle. It was like he needed to touch her to understand.

"Why not?" he insisted, his brow furrowing like he genuinely didn't get why this was complicated. "We could just..." He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration. "I don't know. Jump on Nimbus. Fly somewhere. Find the dragon balls - "

"I can't ride on Nimbus," she interrupted, her voice flat.

Goku blinked, then shrugged like that was the easiest thing in the world to fix. "Then I'll carry you."

Bulma scoffed, shaking her head. "Pfft. Yeah."

He let his hands fall from her shoulders. "You're acting weird," he said. "Why are you afraid?"

"I’m not afraid!" she snapped, though her voice cracked under the pressure. His eyes were burning through her, and she felt trapped, unable to think, unable to breathe. She wanted to run, flee, get as far away as possible. But this was Goku—Goku, who meant more to her than she had ever realized—and he was making it impossible to walk away.

"Then what is it?" he said, his brow furrowing deeper.

Bulma threw her arms up in frustration. "What do you want from me, Goku?" 

He stared at her for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to find words that wouldn't come. "Just... I think... you."

Her breath caught in her throat. "You’re crazy."

Goku's face scrunched up in confusion. "And you’re not?" 

Bulma laughed, but it was hollow. "Very funny."

She needed to end this before it spiraled any further. She was the only one who could stop it from getting worse. She closed her eyes, the rain still hammering down around them, trying to clear her thoughts.

"Goku... this is wrong," she said at last, her voice shaky but steady enough. "Don’t you see?"

With that admission, she felt a release, like the weight of all her confusion and guilt had finally lifted. She knew what was right, and now she had to follow through.

"Think!” she said. “Think about Chi-Chi. Think about the promise you made." She shook her head. "You two are supposed to be husband and wife in a few hours. And what about Yamcha? He’s your friend, isn’t he? What do you think he’d say?"

Goku blinked, his expression crumbling. Somehow, standing there in the rain, he seemed smaller, his hair drooping under the weight of the downpour. He looked… forlorn, sagging under the weight of her words.

"But… why did you do it then?" he asked.

Because I wanted to.

Bulma shook her head again. "I have to go," she said, turning away before the weight of his gaze crushed her. She ran inside, not looking back, not even when she heard Goku call out for her.

"Bulma, hey, wait—"

But she was already across her bedroom and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She turned the shower on full blast, letting the water run as she slid down against the door, her shoulders shaking as sobs wracked through her. She cried like a child, for the first time in years.

.

.

.

“Bulma?” Yamcha tapped his knuckles on the open door of Bulma’s bedroom and stepped inside. “You here?”

Bulma stood at the mirror, scrutinizing her reflection with a critical eye. Her long blue hair fell loose, framing her face and draping over her bare shoulders. She smoothed the lines of her pale pink dress, her expression pensive.

Well, here goes, she thought. She glanced at Yamcha through the mirror, locking eyes with him for a brief moment.

She could handle this. She had spent the last three hours in the bathroom, trying to regain her composure. The shower had helped a bit—wrapped in her fluffy white robe, she’d felt almost like herself again. Almost being the operative word. For a fleeting moment, she had considered crawling into bed and skipping the whole day. She had no real obligation to show up to the wedding. The thought of facing Goku again made her stomach twist. She had even started slipping into fresh pajamas when the anxiety hit. What if Goku had told someone? What if Krillin knew? Or worse—Master Roshi?

Her face had turned green at the thought. What the hell! She cursed under her breath. What the goddamn hell!

Now she had a reason—more than that, a mission. She needed to talk to Goku and not because she wanted to, but because she had to make sure he kept his mouth shut. No misunderstandings, no loose ends. Her relationship with Yamcha, no, her whole life, depended on it. This slip-up? It was a one-time thing and she’d handle it like an adult. She had to.

Determined, she adjusted the straps of her dress, slapped on her best game face, and mentally prepared to tackle Goku’s naïveté head-on.

“Puar’s waiting outside,” Yamcha was saying, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He grinned at their reflection. “You ready?”

Bulma forced a smile. “Almost,” she replied, gently slipping out of his embrace. She rummaged through her small clutch on the armchair, retrieving her lipstick. Yamcha sighed, flopping down on her bed, the springs creaking under his weight.

“I just heard from Krillin,” he said with a chuckle. “He’s already over there and already losing it. Master Roshi’s his plus one, so you can imagine.”

Bulma snorted, applying her lipstick carefully. “I can, but I don’t want to.”

Yamcha laughed. “That’s probably for the best.”

She focused on her lipstick, but a sudden memory interrupted her concentration.

Bulma, what happened? It looks like your lips are bleeding! The feel of Goku’s thumb brushing against her lower lip flashed through her mind.

She shut her eyes and shook her head, as if trying to erase the thought. Turning her back to the mirror, she forced a smile. “Done. What do you think?”

Yamcha jumped up. “You look beautiful,” he said sincerely, and Bulma returned his smile, but something twisted painfully in her chest as her gaze fell away from his face. Yamcha grinned, oblivious.

“Come on, it’s getting late,” he said, already pulling her toward the door. “Let’s go rescue Krillin!”

Bulma forced a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she replied, following him down the stairs, her mind still reeling.

The flight to Ox-King’s castle wasn’t long, thankfully, but for Bulma, it felt like an eternity. Sharing such a confined space with Yamcha after the previous night’s chaos made her restless and she cranked up the music to the max, drowning her thoughts in the blaring noise. Soon, she was singing off-key just to make Yamcha laugh while Puar covered his ears in mock agony and, somehow, it helped. Things felt a little lighter, but just as she started to relax, the aircar touched down in a vast, green field.

Mount Frypan loomed tall and majestic in the distance. Bulma looked around, her mind drifting back to the last time she had been here. It was so different then—nothing but flames and ashes. She had only been sixteen, standing in awe as Goku unleashed his very first Kamehameha. That had been a sight to see—if only he hadn’t totaled their car with it. Typical, she thought with a snort.

They made their way to the castle, where the Ox-King stood at the gates, waiting to greet the guests. With a booming laugh, he crushed them all in a bone-crunching hug, tears streaming down his face as he babbled on about his precious daughter, but Bulma barely registered his words. Her mind was elsewhere, locked on her mission.

She followed Yamcha into the bustling reception hall, where whimsical white flowers decorated every surface. It was almost nauseatingly pretty, though she had to admit it looked nice.

"Hohoho, look who's here!"

Bulma rolled her eyes at the familiar voice. Master Roshi, glass in hand, came barreling toward them, with Krillin, Oolong, and Launch in tow.

“Ooooh, hello!” Puar squeaked.

“Hey, guys!” Yamcha grinned. “How’s it going?”

As Krillin made a silent throat-slashing gesture behind Roshi, Bulma braced herself.

“Hoho, Bulma! Looking good!” Roshi started, with a gleam in his eyes, but before he could even think about trying anything, Bulma whacked him on the head with all her might.

“Don’t even think about it, you old creep!” she barked, drawing snickers from the others.

“But I didn’t do anything!” Roshi whined, rubbing his swelling head.

“Consider yourself warned,” Bulma said.

Yamcha, grabbing a drink from a passing waiter, looked around at the increasingly crowded room. “Who are all these people?” he asked, taking a sip.

“No clue,” Oolong shrugged. “Think Goku knows any of them?”

Yamcha snorted. “Goku probably doesn’t even know where he is.”

Everyone laughed, except for Bulma. She crossed her arms, keeping her expression neutral.

“And where is he?” she asked as casually as possible.

Krillin shrugged. “I talked to him earlier. He seemed fine—just quieter than usual, I guess? But I think that’s just cause Chi-Chi can scare a guy speechless.” He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

They all laughed again, giving Bulma the perfect opportunity to slip away. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered, disappearing into the crowd before anyone noticed.

She wandered through the chatting guests, finally reaching a quiet, cool hallway. Her nerves hummed with tension. Goku hadn’t spilled the beans yet, but she needed to be sure.

And he’s fine, apparently, she thought bitterly, remembering the way she’d sobbed on the bathroom floor, utterly wrecked.

She absentmindedly pushed open a small iron gate, stepping into a secluded courtyard. Her steps faltered as she came to an abrupt stop.

Oh, god.

There, just a few feet away, stood Goku. He was dressed in a white tuxedo, struggling with the collar of his shirt. His brow was furrowed in frustration as he fought to make the stiff fabric cooperate.

Bulma’s heart skipped a beat.

This was a terrible idea, she thought, backpedaling the way she came. So what if Goku told someone? Who would believe him? She didn’t need to face him, didn’t need to talk to him. Just a quick “congratulations, Son-Kun,” and that would be it. No need to torture herself. She turned, ready to bolt when—

“Hey, Bulma.”

Damn.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, spinning around, trying to sound casual and cool, but she knew she was failing miserably.

Stay calm. Act normal, she reminded herself.

“Hey, Son-Kun!” she squeaked. Literally squeaked. So much for coolness. Goku was eyeing her with a perplexed look, as if trying to figure her out. Was he thinking she was crazy? Some kind of psycho stalker? No way. She had to regain control fast. She lightly punched his arm.

“Ha! Did you use that weird ki-sensing trick to sneak up on me?” she said, her voice louder than it needed to be.

“No, actually I just saw you running away.”

“Oh.” Bulma blushed, heat rising in her cheeks. Great. Another entry in the list of mortifying things she’d done in the last 24 hours. Exhaustion washed over her, and she felt her body deflate, shoulders hunching as she buried her face in her hands.

Alarmed, Goku stepped closer. “Bulma!” he exclaimed, eyes wide with concern.

Her shoulders shook with small hiccups, her breathing uneven. Goku stood frozen, completely out of his depth. He reached for her hands, trying to pull them away from her face, but she wouldn’t budge.

“Hey… why are you crying?” he asked carefully. Like he was talking to some crazy person, or a skittish animal.

A few moments passed, each one feeling like an eternity for Goku. Then, as if a dam broke, Bulma let her hands slide down, revealing her face—her expression contorted, but not with tears.

“What?!” Goku yelped, utterly bewildered.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Bulma hiccupped between uncontrollable fits of laughter.

Her entire frame shook with giggles, and Goku stood dumbfounded. “Were… were you laughing?”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Bulma wheezed, barely able to catch her breath. “You look so dumb!” She pointed at him, eyes gleaming. “You’re wearing a bowtie!” she howled, unable to contain her amusement.

Goku blinked, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t even know what that is!”

That only made her laugh harder, and before she knew it, they were both cracking up. Goku’s bright laughter joined hers, and for a moment, everything was lighter. It was as if all the tension, all the confusion, melted away in those shared laughs, leaving only relief – Bulma hadn’t believed she’d ever be able to laugh with him like this again.

As the laughter died down, Bulma shook her head, smiling to herself. Goku, still chuckling, reached out, gently tilting her chin up so she could meet his gaze. For someone so unused to physical affection, Goku moved with surprising tenderness and control. He pulled her into a soft embrace, one that felt unexpectedly delicate.

Bulma sighed, resting her head against his chest. She could hear his steady heartbeat. “This is good, Son-Kun,” she said quietly. “This is the right thing.”

“Yeah?” Goku murmured into her hair.

She nodded. “Yeah. You’re doing the right thing. It means I’m not wrong about you.”

Goku didn’t ask what she meant by that. He simply squeezed her a little tighter for a moment before letting go.

“Bulma?”

“Yeah?”

He hesitated. “I’m…”

She cut him off. “Can we just… not talk about it? Ever again? To anyone?”

Goku stared at her for a moment, then sighed, like he was deciding against something. “Okay,” he finally said.

Bulma exhaled in relief. “Okay,” she echoed with a small nod. Goku’s eyes lingered on her, making her nervous. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fidgeting.

“So,” she said, her voice pitching higher. “We good?”

Goku’s smile seemed a bit tense, but he nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“GOKU!”

Both Goku and Bulma jumped at Baba’s sudden appearance. The fortune teller, as usual, floated on her crystal ball, her stern expression unwavering.

“What are you doing out here? They’re all waiting for you!” she snapped.

Goku chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Hehe, sorry, Baba! I got lost. This place is huge!”

Baba raised a skeptical eyebrow but said nothing, simply turning and floating back towards the entrance. “Let’s go!” she demanded.

With a sigh of relief, Goku turned to Bulma. Without hesitation, he took her hand and squeezed it firmly.

“See you later, Bulma,” he said. Then he hurried after Baba.

Bulma stood there, watching him walk away. She had thought this moment would bring relief, that she would welcome the separation with joy. But instead, an overwhelming sense of emptiness washed over her. She felt hollow. And so very, incredibly sad.

“See you,” she whispered under her breath, even though he was already gone.

After a few moments, she pulled herself together and followed them inside. The room was packed with guests, and her eyes scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Launch waved to her from the third row.

“Over here!” Launch called out.

Bulma managed a small smile and walked over on autopilot, slipping into her seat between Launch and Yamcha. She barely registered Goku at the altar in her peripheral vision, standing tall as Baba whispered something to him. He nodded in that distracted way of his, blinking his wide eyes—his usual sign that he was listening, but probably not really processing anything.

“Thanks,” Bulma muttered as she sat down, her gaze still elsewhere. She noted, with some satisfaction, that Master Roshi was seated at a safe distance in the row ahead.

Yamcha leaned over, winking at her. “This ought to be good,” he whispered, but Bulma could only muster a hollow smile in return. He didn’t notice her lack of enthusiasm because, by then, everyone had risen to honor the entrance of the bride.

“Oh, I thought a bride was something to eat!”

Bulma shook her head, stifling a snort at the memory of Goku’s cluelessness. Then her smirk fell.

Her mind drifted back to that fateful night. The look they’d shared underwater—a perfect moment of weightlessness, a space where nothing could touch them.

Suddenly, a deeper realization settled in. As she watched Goku take his vows, she knew, with unsettling clarity, that she would spend the rest of her life chasing that feeling—the purity, the surrender of that moment they’d shared.

Her eyes widened.

Well, she thought. Shit.

Chapter Text

Oh, nothing's going to change my love for you
I wanna spend my life with you
So we make love on the grass under the moon
No one can tell, damned if I do
Forever journey on golden avenues
I drift in your eyes since I love you
I got that beat in my veins for only rule
Love is to share, mine is for you…

five years after the wedding

Bulma held Gohan tightly against her chest, her arms instinctively protective. It surprised her; she’d never thought of herself as the motherly type, but right now, with everything collapsing around them, this felt like the only thing she could do.

“Oh my god” she murmured into the fabric of Gohan’s tunic, voice barely a whisper.

Nearby, Krillin’s desperate cries filled the air. She could hear him calling Goku’s name, his voice raw with disbelief and sorrow. Bulma’s chest tightened. She wished she could cry like that, just throw it all out there, scream the ache away. But instead, she felt muted, hollow, like her emotions were caught somewhere she couldn’t reach.

“Goku? GOKU!” Krillin’s voice broke as he shook his friend’s shoulders. “Come on buddy, you can’t be dead! Wake up!”

“He’s gone.” The words came out rough and choked, surprising her by how they sounded—how she sounded. She hadn’t realized she was crying until the tears blurred her vision, slipping down her face unchecked. “I can’t believe he’s actually gone.”

Krillin knelt over Goku’s body, shoulders shaking, as Master Roshi stood behind him, silent and grave. Goku’s body lay motionless in the grass, his face unnaturally slack, still bearing the faintest hint of his lopsided grin. She hadn’t seen him in five years but she could barely recognize him in this silence. And then, right before their eyes, he began to fade, his form dissolving into nothing.

The stain on the grass was all that remained.

Bulma looked at the dark spot, her mind reeling. It felt like a bad dream, one they’d all wake from to find Goku alive and grinning. But the blood was there, soaking into the grass, and the reality of it settled over her, heavy and undeniable. The wind picked up, scattering leaves.

She looked down at the four-star Dragon Ball perched on Gohan’s hat—the one that had started everything, bringing her to him so many years ago. The glow of it seemed almost mocking. She saw her own reflection on its glassy surface, tear-streaked and lost, and something in her hardened.

Goku had given everything to save his little boy (the son she hadn’t even known he’d had until he introduced them, a spiteful voice said in her head).

She didn’t know what to think of it – of any of it. Four-year-old sons, murderous alien brothers, space mercenaries – it almost seemed like a big cosmic prank, if not for the metallic stench of blood filling her nostrils – but she knew one thing: she wasn’t about to just sit here helpless. She owed it to him to be stronger than this. She’d be the one to bring him back.

She wiped the tears from her face, squaring her jaw.

“We’ll see you soon,” she murmured to the open sky. The breeze swept around her, ruffling her hair, and she liked to think that maybe, somewhere, he could hear her.

.

.

.

five years + one

Goku gritted his teeth, caught between the urge to pass out and a stubborn gratitude for still being able to feel anything at all. Every nerve screamed, every muscle burned. But the pain meant he was still here. Still hanging on.

And that wasn't nothing.

Not even a day ago, he’d been dead—halo and all. Now he was just mostly dead. Progress, right? Still, everything felt weirdly distant. Dim. Like his soul hadn’t fully caught up with his body yet.

The plane was dark and hushed. Most of the others were sleeping, or pretending to, and Yajirobe had been left at the controls, with Korin having convinced him to turn off the cabin lights so people could rest. As if he could rest – Goku thought. His mind was still reeling from everything that had happened.

He winced, trying to pull in a deeper breath. His chest felt like it had been caved in and half-glued back together—which, honestly, wasn’t far from the truth. He had, for all intents and purposes, been beaten — not just outmatched, but overwhelmed. By that incredible guy, Vegeta, the so-called “Prince of all Saiyans”. Goku might’ve laughed, if laughing didn’t feel like it would rip something vital. He closed his eyes, eyelids suddenly too heavy to keep open. The Saiyans. The word sent an odd pang through his chest every time.

The truth was, Vegeta had been the most powerful, relentless opponent he’d ever faced. A force that didn’t quit, somebody who simply wouldn’t stay down.

And in the end, the Saiyans had cost them everything.

Yamcha. Tien. Chiaotzu. Even Piccolo.

The ache in Goku’s ribs was nothing compared to the weight twisting in his gut. They were gone. They’d given everything to protect the Earth and here he was, barely hanging on, saved only because others had come through for him—Krillin, Yajirobe… even Gohan. Gohan, who a year ago was just a kid chasing butterflies, and now he’d been on a battlefield. Piccolo had taught him well, but still—there was a strange mix of pride and regret swirling in Goku’s chest, even though he knew there was no point in dwelling on it. Regret wasn’t really his style and, besides, Piccolo did what needed to be done with Gohan. In fact, maybe even saved the world.

Goku just hoped he hadn’t doomed them all by letting Vegeta live.

He exhaled slowly. Oh, well…

A soft footfall – cautious, almost reluctant – pulled Goku from his thoughts, his eyes fluttering open. In the semi-darkness, he caught sight of a familiar silhouette moving against the bulkhead.

He wet his lips before attempting to speak, though his voice still came out as a rough rasp.

“Bulma?”

She hesitated, then dropped to all fours and crawled toward him across the wooden floorboards of the aircraft, the sound of fabric against wood whispering through the quiet cabin.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Not the animated, high-pitched bursts of excitement or irritation he remembered. Something lower, softer. And strange, how that difference hit him harder than any blow Vegeta had landed. Then again, Goku thought, the memory of Bulma’s voice were from what felt like another lifetime. A gulf had opened between them, widening with each passing year, each choice made separately, each moment of growth spent apart. Five years – no, six now – had slipped by without him ever questioning that absence. He’d been too busy living his life to notice, but now, with her warmth suddenly so close, it felt impossible not to feel the weight of all that distance.

She settled beside him, and for a moment, the years melted away and everything familiar rushed back. Her scent—warm, citrusy, inexplicably her—stirred something long-buried. And her eyes, catching the dim light, still held that unreadable complexity that used to make him uneasy… or curious. Or both. She looked at him in a way that made him want to squirm despite himself.

“Are you okay?” he asked, surprised by the warmth in his own voice, by how much he wanted to hear hers.

Bulma let out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” she said quickly, then grimaced. “No,” she admitted. Her voice broke. “Yamcha’s dead,” she croaked, the words thick with the weight of fresh grief. “And I don’t… I don’t know.”

Goku didn’t know what to say. Fighting past the pain, he shakily extended his arm until his hand found hers. She startled at the contact, but something softened in her expression. She didn’t pull away.

"But there's still hope,” she said, her gaze searching. “Right?”

“You bet,” he replied firmly, meaning it. Hope was waiting on Namek—a chance to undo the worst of it, to bring back Yamcha, Piccolo, Tien, and Chiaotzu. To make things right.

Bulma nodded, her eyes sweeping over him, catching on every bruise and cut on his face in a way that made his breath hitch. The plane’s steady vibration thrummed through the floorboards, but he could swear he heard her heartbeat, quick and unsteady, matching his own.

Slowly, she reached out, her fingers hovering just above his jaw.

The moment stretched, electric, and Goku found himself caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to lean into her touch. Then her fingertips grazed his face, feather-light, and he hissed at the contact, more from surprise than pain. She drew back, startled, and he realized he didn’t want her to go. Not back across that gulf of years and distance between them.

She seemed to understand. Or maybe she felt that way too. Either way, instead of retreating, she reached again, brushing his bangs from his forehead. The gesture was light, but her eyes said something else, they held something that made his face heat. He recognized that look—had even seen it, if only once before – everything he shouldn’t want and shouldn’t remember.

"For a moment," she whispered, so quietly he almost missed it, "I thought I was never going to see you again."

He tried for a light chuckle. "What, me, die?” He smiled. “Never!"

"Stop," she breathed. And he did.

The practiced smile fell from his face. Everything shifted, his heartbeat thundering in his chest. He became acutely aware of every point where they almost touched—her knee against his leg, her hand still hovering near his face –

CLUNK!

The sound crashed through the cabin like a thunderbolt. Bulma jerked back as if burned, scrambling to her feet just as the plane's lights flickered on. The moment slipped – or maybe he was just imagining things, Goku thought. His head was really spinning —

"MY SWORD!" Yajirobe's bellow filled the cabin. "You dropped my precious sword, you bald idiot!"

"I was just looking at it!" Krillin protested, scrambling backwards. "The craftsmanship is really—"

"I'll show you craftsmanship!"

Chi-Chi's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "If you two wake my Gohan, I swear—"

Too late. Gohan stirred in her arms, rubbing his eyes. "Mom?” he said. “What's going on?"

In his haste to reclaim his katana, Yajirobe lunged for Krillin, abandoning the controls and the plane took a sudden, sickening dive that had everyone grabbing for something solid. Goku bit back a groan as his broken bones protested the stomach-dropping plummet.

"INCOMING!" Oolong squealed, tumbling past.

“NOBODY’S FLYING THE PLANE!” Master Roshi screamed.

"Somebody grab the controls!" Korin yowled, his fur standing on end, but Bulma was already moving. She sprinted to the cockpit, vaulted over a startled Krillin and seized the wheel, yanking the plane level with practiced ease.

"I swear to god," she snapped, "I am surrounded by COMPLETE MORONS!"

"Hey!" Yajirobe and Krillin chorused in unison, freezing mid-wrestle.

From his spot on the floor, Goku couldn't help it. He laughed, and immediately regretted it when his ribs screamed in protest. “Ugh, don’t make me laugh—"

"Daddy?" Gohan crawled over, eyes wide in concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, son,” Goku said, trying to grin. “Don’t worry." He winked at Gohan and was rewarded with a beaming smile. But when he glanced sideways, he caught Krillin watching him with an odd look while he disentangled himself from Yajirobe. He quickly turned his attention to the ceiling. “I’m starving though,” he announced. “Anyone else? Because I could really eat right now."

The collective groan from the cabin almost drowned out Bulma's muttered "Unbelievable."

Almost.

.

.

.

“You’ve been quiet.”

Chi-Chi’s voice cut through the hospital room—sharp and direct, brisk in a way that made Goku flinch instinctively. It wasn’t much different from her usual tone, sure, but in his current state it felt like someone had jabbed a fork into his brain. Painkillers were swimming through his system, thick and syrupy, making everything feel cotton-soft and sideways, and he could feel the nausea bubbling under his ribs like a pot left on low. His whole body ached, but distant and wrong, like it belonged to someone else – but Chi-Chi’s voice when she was this close to be pissed off? That came through clear as a bell.

Funny, that. They were alone in a room for the first time in—well, he couldn’t actually remember. That might’ve been the drugs. Or the concussion. Or the fact that time tended to go all weird once you’d experienced death and resurrection: it stretched out and folded in on itself like a wacky dream. It was nice, though. Being here with her. Sort of. He hadn’t figured that out yet – whether it was nice or not. Had they talked yet, since he got back? He couldn’t remember. Maybe not – maybe this was the first time.

What he did remember was that he’d better stay alert, because with Chi-Chi, you never knew. There might be a frying pan hidden behind the get-well-soon flowers perched on the bedside table.

He shifted carefully against the scratchy sheets, trying not to aggravate the bandages. The movement made his head swim, but the wrappings itched like crazy – they were better than that full-body cast from before, sure, but only barely. He couldn’t stand hospitals. Couldn’t stand the food that tasted like plastic. And he hated needles.

“Goku?” Chi-Chi prompted. She was sitting in the chair beside the bed; her arms were folded, and her eyes were on him, sharp and waiting. Her mouth was tight, like she was trying not to scold—but failing.

“Hm? Oh—sorry, Chi-Chi,” he said finally, voice thick. His tongue felt slow in his mouth. “I was… just thinkin’.”

She gave him the look—the one with the narrowed eyes that made him wish he could sit up straighter, never mind that his spine was in tatters.

“About what?” she asked, skeptical.

Goku opened his mouth, trying to remember what he’d been thinking. Images looping, sharp and scattered. Vegeta? His grandpa? Then—

“Do you honestly think that’s a good idea?” Chi-Chi snapped suddenly.

He blinked slowly, processing. “What’s… what’s a good idea?”

Chi-Chi glared. She opened and closed her mouth, staring at him like he’d grown a second head, then let out a growl, equal parts frustration and disbelief.

“I’ll tell you what’s a good idea,” she said, voice rising. “Letting my baby boy – our five-year-old son – go to another planet. How about that?”

“Oh.” Goku winced. “That.”

He shrank a little into the pillows. If he’d been in better shape, he might’ve tried to make a break for it — door or window, anything would have done, because Chi-Chi was wound tight, arms crossed, fire in her eyes, and just enough outrage to make him wonder if the hospital staff should maybe evacuate. He had half a mind to call for a nurse, but he knew there was no escaping this.

“I thought… we’ve already talked about it…?” he offered, voice drifting into a question halfway through.

“No, Goku,” Chi-Chi snapped. “We did not talk about it. Gohan shouted at me in front of everyone, you nodded along like we’re all just okay with letting a child get launched across the galaxy, and I just stood there, taking it like an idiot!” She scowled. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?”

Goku squirmed. He gave her what he thought was his most harmless, hopeful smile. “Aw, come on, Chi-Chi,” he said. “Gohan’s strong. He’s got this.”

Chi-Chi’s jaw tightened. “He’s five,” she hissed.

“Yeah, but he’s not going alone. Krillin’s goin’. And… and Bulma.” He blinked slowly, trying to keep his thoughts from drifting off too much. Just for a second, the haze in his brain cleared like a breeze had passed through it. Her name had landed in his mouth before he’d consciously reached for it. Bulma. He could see her—too clearly—standing on a launch pad, barking orders, hands on her hips like she owned the planet.

It startled him a little, how easily she’d surfaced.

“Oh, sure. Krillin and Bulma,” Chi-Chichi said flatly. “That’s a relief.”

Goku winced again. Okay, so maybe she didn’t have the highest opinion of Krillin, but she didn’t know him as he did. He trusted him with his life. And Bulma… well. That was complicated. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it just felt complicated now, with nothing to do but lie there and think about, well, stuff. Either way, they’d be fine. Chi-Chi just had to see it—to see how amazing Gohan was. 

“Look,” Goku said, letting the smile fall away. “I know you’re scared. But we should be proud of him. He’s doing something huge to help our friends. That’s something, right?”

“You mean your friends,” Chi-Chi said sharply. “Gohan barely even knows them!”

“Piccolo gave his life for him. You know that.”

“After kidnapping him!” Chi-Chi exclaimed, trembling and furious. “I didn’t get to hold my own son for a year!” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know if he was eating, or sleeping, or—” She cut herself off, breath shaking. Her lower lip was quivering. “Or alive!”

“Chi-Chi…”

“You don’t know what it was like.”

Goku sighed, quiet and hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

Chi-Chi closed her eyes for a second. When she reopened them, they were shining with tears. “Is it really so wrong to want what’s best for him?” She swallowed hard. “To keep him safe?”

Goku looked at her, really looked. For the first time since coming back, he tried to imagine it: the house without Gohan’s laugh or his footsteps. Just Chi-Chi, alone, day after day in silence. He opened his mouth, but no words came right away. His head was starting to pound, and he couldn’t very well reach for her hand, but he had to try and offer something comforting.

“No,” he said. “No, it’s not. But… this is something Gohan wants to do. Isn’t that kind of amazing? Wanting to help people?”

Chi-Chi’s gaze dropped, and she bit her lip hard. “He’s growing up without me.”

“Come on.” He summoned a smile. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

Silence stretched between them, long and fragile. Goku watched her shoulders ease, just slightly, the sharp lines softening, just a little, and the argument dissolved into something like quiet acceptance.

“I’ll… pack his science books,” she said at last, softer now, straightening and turning toward the door.  “He’ll want those during the trip.”

“Yeah,” Goku said quietly. “He’ll like that.”

“Yes, there’s even a new edition of Biochemistry: Concepts and Connections.”

Goku scrunched his face. “Bio—what-tree now?”

Chi-Chi huffed a quiet laugh and shook her head as she left. The door clicked behind her, and Goku exhaled, long and slow, sinking deeper into the bed. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling. The silence pressed in on him like a weight. Not the bad kind. Just heavy.

He exhaled through his nose.

“…Man,” he muttered. He shifted again, trying to get comfortable—and winced sharply. “Ow!”

.

.

.

“Ow! Damn it!”

Bulma yelped, recoiling and shaking her hand to dispel the sting of the burn. Dropping the overheated screwdriver to the floor, she resisted the urge to kick it across the hangar—it was just her luck that something would short-circuit at the last second. She was supposed to be finishing up the last adjustments to Kami’s spaceship, but, no—she had to get nearly electrocuted instead.

“Bulma, my dear, is everything alright?”

Her father’s gray head popped up from the seat at the controls, where he was running a last-minute check on the panels. Bulma shook her head. It was late, and she was tired.

“I’m fine, dad. Come take a look at this mess when you’re done over there,” she muttered. She sighed, brushing soot from her hands. “I’m taking a break. Want anything while I’m out?”

“Coffee would be nice. And a donut, maybe. Or that chocolate cake your mother always gets from that place at the corner?” He took a lazy puff on his cigarette.

Bulma snorted. “Anything else?”

“No, sweetheart, that should do it.”

She rolled her eyes and left him to his tests. The hangar doors slid open, and she welcomed the cool night air as she stepped outside. Capsule Corporation’s grounds stretched out in the artificial light of the lampposts, and beyond that, the bright lights of West City glowed, the skyline buzzing with life even this late.

She lit a cigarette, exhaled, and set off for a stroll away from the compound, no real direction in mind. Tomorrow, she’d be out there in space, hurtling toward Namek.

“Damn it, Yamcha,” she muttered. She loved him dearly, but what had he been thinking, getting himself killed and leaving her to clean up the mess? She tugged her hair in frustration. Every part of her buzzed with a jittery anxiety, too much even for her, and it was making her a touch crazy. Sure, she’d always loved the thrill of a new adventure, but this? This was over the top. This was too much for an on-and-off-and-on again boyfriend—

And to top it all off, Goku was back.

Well, of course he was; she’d been the one to gather the Dragon Balls to bring him back to life. That was never even up for debate! Except he was supposed to save the day and then vanish back to whatever life he’d built over the past five years—far, far away from her. That was the plan.

But no, he was back back.

She felt like she could burst into tiny little fireballs. Who knew what might have happened on that plane if Krillin hadn’t been such a klutz or— wait a minute, he didn’t do that on purpose, did he…? No, not a chance… right? Right?  She shivered, horrified.

Goku was married—she’d made sure of that herself, all those years ago, when he’d shown up looking for… what? Guidance? (in his own deranged, let’s fly away in the middle of the night way) And, because she was just that kind of good friend, she’d slept with him and still pushed him to follow through with the wedding. Good job, Bulma! Nicely played.

And Chi-Chi! God, Bulma couldn’t bring herself to hate Chi-Chi. Sure, she had a nagging streak that could wear anyone down, but she was a mom, and Bulma had seen what it took out of her. No one deserved what she’d gone through. She couldn’t fault Chi-Chi for being… intense? Fiercely protective? Sure, let’s go with that.

If anything, she could only resent him! She could totally resent him – for his inviting smile, the raw strength, the way his eyes sparkled when he was excited about something… the way he made her want to be close to him.

All it took was just one look. That night on the airplane, before being so rudely interrupted by Krillin’s divine intervention. He’d looked—

No, no, no, and no. She wanted nothing to do with that feeling. And she had absolutely no desire to talk to him. Which, of course, must have been exactly why she found herself in full-on stealth mode, walking down the hospital hallway, well past visiting hours.

Guess dad’ll have to fetch his donuts by himself, she thought, peeking around the corner. The hallway was dim and eerie as she crept forward, the kind of silent you only find in hospitals at night.

She glanced at her wristwatch and snorted. 2 AM. Figures.

The hospital room was empty save for one patient.

Bulma lingered in the doorway, heart doing that stupid flutter thing it had been doing since the plane ride. Goku lay still, the bandages less mummy-like now, thank god, his chest rising and falling in the soft rhythm of sleep.

She allowed herself to look at him. Just for a moment. It was safer this way—when he couldn’t look back.

She should leave. She should definitely leave. But her feet carried her a few steps into the room, just to check on him. Just to make sure he was okay. Just to—

“Your hair’s different.”

Bulma froze. His eyes were open now—clouded with sleep and whatever they’d pumped him full of, but unmistakably focused on her. He squinted like the world wasn’t quite in the right shape and tried to sit up, wincing as he moved. His hair was even more ridiculous than usual, wild where it poked between the bandages.

“That’s all you have to say?” Her voice spiked sharper than she meant it to. “When a girl cuts her hair, you’re supposed to say she looks pretty, you absolute—” She caught herself, eyeing the IV in his arm, remembering where they were. “Well. Whatever. You’re lucky your legs are already broken,” she said in a harsh, haughty whisper.

Goku’s eyes went wide, almost cartoonishly so. “Sure! You look great! Really! Super great.” 

“Hmph.” She dropped into the chair beside his bed, crossing her legs with deliberate calm. A safe distance. Not that any distance felt safe enough, lately.

Something shifted in Goku's expression, the hazy look giving way to something deeper, more focused. He was studying her with that startling intensity he sometimes got. "Something's bothering you," he said at last.

Damn him. It wasn’t even a question.

“I’m fine,” she said, immediately cracking under the weight of that gaze. “It’s just—You’re sending me to another planet with Krillin and your kid. Who does that?”

His laugh bubbled up, loose and warm, filling the air with ridiculous ease. “Could be worse! Master Roshi wanted to come.”

“Ugh, don’t even joke about that!” But the tension in her shoulders softened, damn it, and she felt herself smiling anyway.

“You’ll have fun,” he said. His voice dipped—gentle, almost wistful. “Searching for the dragon balls... I wish I could go too. Wanna trade places?”

"Oh sure, easy for you to say." She waved a dismissive hand. "You're... you know. Strong. Built like a tank. A complete barbarian," she added quickly, before he could get the wrong idea and mistake any of that for a compliment. He stuck his tongue out at her like a child, and she grinned, feeling ridiculously proud of navigating that particular minefield.

Their laughter softened, and silence settled between them.

“Bulma?” Goku’s voice had a serious note now.

Bulma's heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?”

"Can you do something for me?"

She raised a brow, wary. "What is it?"

"Watch out for Gohan?"

Something in his voice made her throat tight. "I..." She blinked hard. "Yeah," she managed, the word inadequate but all she could offer. "Of course."

He nodded, and there it was—that steadiness in his eyes that always made her feel like she was put on the spot. "Good. Stay strong out there."

Something in her chest cracked just a little, and maybe it was the late hour or the way the dim artificial light played across his face, but she heard herself ask, "Will you… will you be with me?"

The silence stretched between them, heavy with things unsaid. Goku blinked slowly, like the question had traveled farther than she'd meant it to. Then he smiled—not his usual bright grin, but something softer, more genuine.

"Always."

She had to look away. “So,” she said, too loudly, “tell me something good about this afterlife business. Is this King Kai person as weird as he sounds?”

Goku’s face lit up. “No way! If you think he’s, like, a catfish or something, he’s actually pretty great. His jokes though—”

Bulma blinked. “King Kai’s a catfish?”

“Yeah-huh!” Goku grinned. “And he has a pet monkey.”

“Is that right?”

“Sure. Bubbles. Real fast. Sneaky little guy—kept leaving me in the dust.”

“And let me guess—you loved it.”

“Oh, yeah. It was awesome.”

They laughed again, lighter this time. The hours slipped through their fingers unnoticed while they talked, until the first hints of dawn crept through the window—soft and pale.

Not that they’d been keeping track, of course.

.

.

.

ten days later

Gohan's gasp pulled Bulma from her calculations. She looked up to find him pressed against the viewport of the ship, his small hands splayed across the glass.

"Guys!" he breathed, wonder making his voice tremble. "Look!"

She moved to join him, Krillin already scrambling to the boy's other side. The sight beyond the window stole her breath.

A vast nebula stretched across the void, painted in the deepest violet she'd ever seen. It moved like slow currents, ribbons of light twisting between countless stars. At its heart, the colors shifted—violet bleeding into purple, then deepening to blue—a slow, mesmerizing spiral that made her chest ache with its beauty.

“Makes you feel kinda small.”

You were right, she thought, remembering Goku’s words from so long ago. And maybe he was right about this trip being something magnificent rather than frightening. Even now, separated by light years and whatever else lay between them, she could almost hear the warmth in his voice: “Pretty cool, huh?”

Without thinking, she slipped an arm around Gohan’s shoulders. He leaned into her touch, reaching out to pull Krillin into their impromptu huddle. The three of them stood transfixed, watching cosmic winds paint masterpieces across the darkness.

We’re ready, she thought fiercely, tightening her hold on Goku’s son. Whatever waited for them out here on Namek, they’d face it together. After showing them something this beautiful, surely the universe had to be on their side.

Right?

.

.

.

and one month later

Each punch sliced through the air with deadly precision, Goku's muscles screaming under the crushing weight of 100x gravity. Sweat poured down his face, stung his eyes, plastered his gi to his skin, but he didn't slow down.

Left hook, pivot, block. His kiai split the dense atmosphere of the ship, raw power echoing off the metal walls. No time to catch his breath—he was already moving, palm-heel strike cutting through resistance that would've flattened him a week ago.

His thoughts raced with each motion. Rising kick (Gohan out there somewhere), elbow strike (Krillin facing who knows what), knife-hand block—and suddenly she was there in his mind's eye, that familiar something burning in her gaze. The same look she'd given him in the hospital, promising to watch over his son.

The gravity pressed down, trying to drive him to his knees, but he pushed back harder. His friends needed him. Gohan needed him. And she —

Goku's lips curled into a fierce grin as he launched into another combination. Let Vegeta and his goons try to stop him. He could feel his power growing with every movement, every breath, every heartbeat. And this Frieza guy everyone seemed so scared of? Something in Goku's blood tingled at the thought. If he was really as powerful as King Kai claimed... well, that just meant he would have to push himself even further beyond his limits.

The ship's engine thrummed beneath his feet, counting down the hours until Namek. Another smile tugged at his lips as he settled into his stance, breathing deeply, ready for more.

Hold on, he thought. I’m coming.

Chapter Text

There's something inside you
It's hard to explain
They're talking about you boy
But you're still the same…

.

.

.

The air burned his lungs.

His legs felt like lead, but Goku kept running. Frieza's ship had been a bust – completely fried. Namek was coming apart around him, the ground beneath his feet cracking and splitting with terrifying speed. Lava erupted from the fissures, turning the green sky a hellish orange. The heat was so intense it felt like his skin was melting.

"Man, this isn't good," he panted, wiping blood from his eye. The planet was going to blow any second now. He could feel it in his bones, like the whole world was screaming. The rumbling grew louder, deeper – the kind of sound that made his teeth rattle and his chest vibrate.

That's when he spotted them - the Ginyu Force pods, half-buried in rubble. His heart leaped.

"Yes!" He darted forward, ignoring the way his muscles protested. Another explosion rocked the planet, and a massive fissure split the earth between him and the pods, the heat from the lava singing his gi. "Come on, come on..."

He practically dove into the first pod he reached. The inside of the pod felt like an oven, sweat already running down his face and his heart pounding so hard he could hear it over the rumbling of the dying planet as he took in the alien controls, buttons and lights covering every surface, all of them completely foreign.

"Okay, which one starts this thing?" He squinted, head still ringing. "Uh... this one looks important!"

He jabbed at a big red button. Nothing happened. Outside, a massive chunk of ground tore away, the pod tilting precariously over a river of lava.

"Come on!" Another button. Still nothing. The heat was becoming unbearable, the metal walls of the pod starting to creak ominously. Through the viewport, he could see waves of lava rushing toward him, consuming everything in their path. The roar was deafening now, like a thousand thunderstorms at once.

Well, when in doubt...

Goku started hitting every button he could reach, his fingers leaving bloody smears on the controls. "Work-work-work-work!"

The hatch slammed shut with a pneumatic hiss that made his ears pop. "Yes!" He barely had time to grin before the ship shot upward with enough force to slam him back into the seat.

“Whoa!”

His vision tunneled, black spots dancing at the edges as the g-forces threatened to knock him out. Each second felt like an eternity as the pod punched through layers of atmosphere, the entire structure rattling like it might shake apart at any moment. The temperature dropped so fast his teeth started chattering, frost forming on the viewport.

"Whew," he exhaled, watching the green sky fade to black. His body felt like one giant bruise, but he forced himself to focus. Just a little longer, just until he was far enough away –

The explosion lit up the viewport like a second sun – a massive wall of light and fire so bright his eyes burned even after he squeezed them shut. He forced them open. For a heartbeat, there was total silence – an eerie, impossible quiet that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up – and Namek disappeared in the blinding flash of light.

Then the shockwave hit.

The pod spun violently, throwing him against the metal wall with a sickening crunch. "Ow!" He barely got his arms up to protect his head before another impact sent him crashing into the opposite side. His ribs screamed in protest – okay, now they’re broken –

"This isn't good!" The pod tumbled end over end, completely out of control. Stars, darkness, and fragments of the exploding planet whirled past the viewport in a nauseating blur. His stomach lurched. Fighting that piece of scum Frieza? Piece of cake in hindsight. But this...

"Oh man," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm gonna be sick."

Another violent jolt slammed his head against the control panel. The pod spun faster, and there was nothing he could do about it. Him - Son Goku - who could fly through the air like it was nothing, who could move faster than most people could see, was completely helpless inside this tiny metal ball hurtling through the void.

Warning lights flashed. Alarms blared. The pod's interior became a chaos of sound and light as it tumbled through space. His lungs burned, struggling to pull in enough air as the pressure squeezed his chest. Just when he thought he couldn't take anymore – when the edges of his vision were starting to go dark –  the pod's stabilizers finally kicked in.

The spinning slowed, then stopped. The sudden silence was almost as disorienting as the chaos had been. Goku slumped in relief, his whole body trembling from leftover adrenaline.

"That," he managed between ragged breaths, "was not fun."

Through the viewport, he could see nothing but stars now. Where Namek had been, there was only empty space and scattered debris. Gone. It was really gone.

“Wow.”

His ragged breathing echoed in the sudden quiet. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen – the planet exploding, the dragon balls used to evacuate everyone – well, at least Gohan, Bulma and the others had made it to Earth safely. But –

But Krillin…

He briefly closed his eyes and breathed hard. The adrenaline began to fade, and a strange glow caught his attention. At first, he thought it was another warning light, but something in the viewport's reflection made him freeze.

A stranger was staring back at him.

Goku leaned forward and squinted at his own reflection.

Cold eyes blazed back at him, wild and almost feral. His hair stood up in golden spikes, crackling with energy that filled the small pod with an eerie light.

So this was what a Super Saiyan looked like.

He hardly recognized himself. The face in the reflection looked... dangerous. The power still hummed through his body, raw and electric, like lightning trapped under his skin. But the fight was over now. Frieza was gone. Namek was gone. And he was so, so tired.

Goku closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The energy that had sustained him through the battle ebbed away like a retreating tide, leaving nothing but bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. When he opened his eyes again, his familiar reflection stared back – dark eyes, black hair, and a face that looked about as beaten up as he felt.

He slumped lower in the seat, every part of him aching. His stomach growled loudly in the quiet pod, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since... when? Before landing on Namek? That couldn’t be right –

"Man, I'm hungry," he mumbled, his eyelids growing heavier by the second. The pod's quiet hum was oddly soothing as it carried him deeper into space.

Wait - 

As consciousness started to slip away, he had one last fleeting thought:

Where’s this thing going again?

.

.

.

The first alarm jolted him awake.

Red lights flashed through the pod's interior, bathing everything in a pulsing crimson glow. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and it took him several confused seconds to realize where he was and what was happening. The pod was shaking violently, the metal walls creaking with a sound that made his teeth hurt.

"What..." he mumbled, trying to focus on the control panel through bleary eyes. The symbols were still meaningless, but now they were flashing urgently. That couldn't be good.

Another alarm joined the first, their shrill wails cutting through the fog in his brain. The shaking intensified, rattling his bones. Through the viewport, he could see... something. A planet? The surface rushed up to meet him at terrifying speed, and his heart jumped in his throat as the pod began to spin.

"Oh no," he groaned. "Not again..."

The pod hit the atmosphere like a brick wall. The impact slammed him forward, then back, heat blooming across the viewport as friction turned the air to fire. The control panel sparked, smoke curling from beneath the buttons.

Everything happened at once.

The viewport cracked. A piece of the hull tore away with a horrific shriek of metal. Warning lights strobed faster, the pod's interior becoming a chaos of sound and heat and motion. He could barely breathe, the g-forces crushing his chest as the pod spun wildly out of control.

KRA-KOOM!

The first hit knocked what little air he had from his lungs. The pod bounced, cartwheeling across whatever surface it had found. Each impact was worse than the last, metal shrieking as the pod broke apart around him. His head snapped forward, then back, stars exploding behind his eyes.

The final, deafening crash drove him into darkness.

Awareness returned in fits and starts.

Something was burning. The air felt... wrong. Heavy. He could taste blood in his mouth, and every breath sent daggers through his chest.

Goku forced his eyes open. The viewport was gone, torn away in the crash. Above him, a yellow sky stretched endlessly, three moons hanging impossibly large on the horizon. He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

That's when he felt them.

Ki signatures. Strange, controlled ones, all similar to one another, unlike anything he'd encountered before. They were approaching fast. He tried to turn his head to look, but his body wouldn't cooperate. The edges of his vision were going dark.

The last thing he saw were small figures silhouetted against that bizarre yellow sky. One of them reached toward him, saying something he didn't understand.

And then finally the darkness took him.

.

.

.

Floating.

The world blurred at the edges, soft and strange. Stars scattered across his vision like droplets of light, and he was moving through them, or maybe they were moving through him. Everything felt weightless.

There was water. He could hear it, feel it – cool ripples against his skin. The stars reflected on its surface, dancing like fireflies. Someone laughed – a familiar sound that made his chest tighten with recognition.

"Hey..." He tried to turn toward the voice, but the stars kept spinning, faster now. "Wait—"

Blue. It was everywhere – in the water, in the air, slipping through his fingers. He reached for it, but it kept shifting, changing, never quite solid enough to grasp.

The stars were falling now, or maybe he was the one falling, tumbling through space and time. Something waited below – or above? - just out of reach. If he could only...

Then the voice again, closer now, soft with relief. He knew that voice. Knew it like he knew how to fight, or how to breathe.

"You found me.”

.

.

.

“…Bulma...?”

The name slipped out before he was fully awake, fragments of his dream still clinging like cobwebs. Stars and water and something blue, already fading, and a familiar laugh echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

His body felt heavy, like he was swimming through syrup, and sounds filtered in slowly: soft beeps and whirs of unfamiliar machinery, and a gentle hum that seemed to come from the walls themselves. He tried to focus, but his thoughts kept slipping away, loose and slippery. But there was something important, something he had to tell her –

"...I..." he mumbled, his voice rough and foreign in his ears. His mouth felt like he had swallowed sand. "...I think I broke the ship..." he whined. "Wasn't on purpose..."

His eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each, but he forced them open anyway. The light was all weird – not the harsh white of a hospital or the warm glow of sunlight, but something softer, almost pearlescent. The ceiling above him kept splitting into two, then three, then melting back together in a way that made his head spin.

A shadow fell across his face. Something – no, someone – moved into view, blocking the strange light. Not the person he'd been expecting. Not even...

Goku blinked hard, trying to clear his blurry vision. "Oh, wow," he croaked, his dry throat making the words scratch. "You're... blue."

The creature – small, with smooth pale blue skin and black beady eyes in a perfectly round face – made a series of soft clicking sounds and shook its head.

“No,” they said. “I’m Pybara.”

"Huh." Goku stared. His mind wobbled, stalled, reset. "Okay." His breath caught in his dry throat. "And I’m… alive?"

The creature's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. It reached out, pressing something cool and wet against his forehead. Goku flinched at the touch, but the room stopped spinning quite so hard.

He tried to offer a smile. “Thank you,” he sighed, feeling a little less like he had been hit by a planet. Pybara made a soft clicking sound that somehow managed to sound pleased.

“You?” Pybara asked, tilting their head and pointing to Goku’s chest.

“Mmhm... me?” Goku mumbled, his words dragging a little. “My name’s…" He wetted his lips. "...'s Goku. I think.”

"Well, hello, Goku,” Pybara chirped. “You fell from the sky and thoroughly redesigned our landscape.”

Goku snorted weakly, then coughed. “Yeah?” He glanced around the strange room, where walls and ceiling seemed to curve and flow in seamless ways that made it hard to tell where one surface ended and another began. “Sorry about that. Where…?”

He tried to sit up but immediately regretted it as pain shot through his entire body. Fire raced down his spine, and stars burst behind his eyes. "Ow. Oh - ouwwchh."

Pybara gently pressed him back down, making more of those musical clicking sounds. “You’re on planet Yardrat,” they said calmly.

"Yard-what-rat now?"

Goku forced his foggy mind to work. Through the viewport of the pod, he remembered stars – endless stars stretching into infinity and… Aw, man! The severity of his situation hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Are we... far from Earth? Or Namek?" He paused, another sudden flood of images going through his head. The battle, the transformation, the explosion, the violent tumble through space -– "Well, I guess everything's far from Namek now..."

“What is Earth?”

Goku blinked, caught off guard. The idea that someone wouldn't know about Earth had honestly never occurred to him. The universe was way bigger than he thought.

Makes you feel kinda small.

Hey. Speak for yourself.

He shook his head, and a sharp pain lanced through his head and neck, making him gasp. “It’s... where I'm from,” he croaked. A strange heavy feeling settled in his chest and he tried to take a deeper breath. "How long was I..." His jaw cracked in a long yawn. "...sleepin'?"

Pybara responded with a series of musical clicks and trills that might as well have been a birdsong - or the the wind - for all Goku understood. Pybara seemed to realize this and held up three fingers.

"Three?" Goku said. "Three what? Hours? Days?" His eyes widened. "Three years?! Please don't say years – Chi-Chi is going to kill me!"

Pybara's mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "Three days," they clarified. "We have been healing you."

"Oh! Whew." Goku let out a breath, sagging back into the bed. Then he shifted—and winced immediately. "Ow. Okay. Everything still hurts, though."

"Your condition was..." Pybara paused, visibly searching for the word. "Blah. The healing is not complete."

“Blah?” Goku repeated blankly.

"Utmost blah."

Despite everything, Goku laughed. “Yeah, no kidding -”

The rumble hit like a sonic boom, making the curved walls vibrate. Pybara leapt nearly a foot in the air, their tiny black eyes darting around the room.

"Emergency protocol!" they boomed, suddenly doubling in size and bounding over toward some kind of control panel. Their hands flew over the controls. "Seismic activity on Yardrat is highly irregular. The geological composition of our planet's core makes such disturbances nearly impossible unless—"

Another rumble, this one loud enough to rattle what looked like medical equipment. Goku's face went red as he pressed a hand to his stomach.

"Ah... oops!" he said, laughing sheepishly. "That's just me! Sorry!" He attempted to sit up again, more carefully this time. "I get kind of hungry after big fights. And, you know. Exploding stuff."

Pybara stood frozen, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and horrified fascination.

"That earthquake..." they said slowly, "came from inside you?"

"Yep!" Goku said, grinning with barely concealed desperation. "So, uh... got anything to eat?"

.

.

.

"For the last time," Bulma growled at the empty lab, "get out of my head!"

The wrench hit her workbench with a satisfying clang!, scattering blueprints and making her coffee mug wobble dangerously. She grabbed it before it could spill - the last thing she needed was caffeine all over her schematics. Not that she was getting any actual work done anyway.

She slumped in her chair, running her fingers through her hair. Growing out her Namek bob was not fun. She pushed the bangs out of her face and glanced the clock on the opposite wall.

2 AM again. But of-freaking-course.

The night was unnaturally still, the kind of quiet that made her skin prickle. The compound was packed with Namekians, but somehow it felt emptier than ever. They were an exceedingly peaceful race, no kidding.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, pushing away from her desk. Her footsteps echoed as she paced the length of the lab. "He's not here. He's probably..." She waved her hand vaguely at the ceiling, at the sky beyond. "...out there somewhere, being a selfish idiot."

But that was the problem, wasn't it? She knew he was still alive. Knew it like she knew the atomic weight of uranium or how to calibrate a gravitational wave detector.  

Sometimes she swore she could feel him. Like now, when the late hour made everything feel slightly unreal, she'd catch herself turning, expecting to find him floating outside her window with that ridiculous grin of his.

"I did not sign up for this," she informed the empty room. "This is embarrassing! You said you'd be with me, not... haunt me like some annoying freak of a ghost!"

The lab equipment offered no response. Typical.

A distant boom rattled the floor – probably Vegeta in the gravity room again. She rolled her eyes. Speaking of obsessed idiots...

"Temporary accommodation for our Namekian friends – oh, and hey, why not throw in the goddamned guy who tried to destroy the Earth?" She muttered, mimicking her own chipper tone from that day. "Brilliant plan, Bulma. Really stellar decision-making there."

Sure, Vegeta had come up with the idea to solve their little resurrection problem: they merely had to wish Krillin’s and – allegedly – Goku’s souls to Earth since, you know, the location of their death was currently scattered across space. Which, by the way, should have been obvious to her from the start. She was supposed to be the genius here! She shook her head, remembering Gohan’s gratitude and his endearing but misguided attempt to shake Vegeta’s hand. Yep, he was Goku’s son alright. But anyway! Since when did one semi-decent suggestion earn someone a free pass to abuse her technology and their food supplies at all hours of the night?

Maybe she'd thought keeping him close was safer than letting him loose on the world. Or maybe it was just her mouth running ahead of her brain again, like it always did at the worst possible moments.

She grabbed her coffee mug, grimacing at the cold dregs at the bottom. As she reached for the pot to pour a fresh cup, her hand froze. The coffee's surface rippled with each impact from the gravity room, creating tiny concentric circles that caught the fluorescent light.

Just like the lake that night.

"Oh, come ON," she groaned, rubbing her temples. "Really, brain? Coffee ripples remind me of that night? What's next – is the microwave timer going to make me nostalgic about his stupid gi? Am I going to start seeing his face in my toast?"

This was getting way out of hand.

And now it was too late. The memory rushed back – the cool water, the stars above, his laugh echoing across the clearing. His hands on her waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all...

"UGH!" She threw her hands up in frustration. "Fine! You win! Is that what you want to hear? Bulma Briefs, certified genius, can't stop thinking about some..." she trailed off, her hands clenching into fists, "...big lug who's probably having the time of his life out there in space while we're all stuck here waiting!"

Another crash from the gravity chamber made her jump. She checked her watch –  2:30 AM. The impacts were getting more violent, each one making the lab equipment rattle.

"Oh, for god’s sake," she muttered, gathering her blueprints in the crook of her elbow. That gravity room wasn't built to handle this kind of abuse, and especially it was not meant to be used at these hours. And since she was already awake and irritated...

She grabbed her coffee and flicked off the lights, leaving the lab to its shadows. Might as well go yell at someone who was actually here to take it.

She stomped to the door of the gravity room and jabbed the intercom button with more force than necessary. "Hey, you dumbass! Mind keeping it down? Some of us are trying to work!"

No response except another boom that made her coffee ripple again.

"Fine, have it your way." Three quick keystrokes, and the gravity room's emergency override kicked in. Bulma smirked, picturing Vegeta’s reaction as she reset the gravity settings to one-sixth, and wider as she imagined Vegeta's reaction to suddenly floating like a balloon.

"Three... two... one..."

The intercom crackled to life with a burst of static and murderous rage. "WOMAN! What do you think you're doing?"

"Saving my technology from your tantrum," she shot back, leaning into the speaker. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Time is irrelevant. Turn the gravity back on." A thud, followed by muffled cursing. "Why the hell am I floating?"

She fought back a laugh. "Oh, that? I set it to one-sixth Earth’s gravity. I thought you’d enjoy a change of pace."

"Fix it,” Vegeta’s voice came deadly quiet, the kind that reminded her this man had destroyed entire civilizations on a whim. “Now."

"Or what? You'll float menacingly at the camera?" she shot back, ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat. Maybe antagonizing a murderous alien wasn't her smartest move, but hey – sleep deprivation made everyone a little reckless.

A string of alien expletives crackled through the speaker. "I demand you not only restore it but enhance it! Three hundred times Earth's gravity!"

"Three hun—" Bulma barked out a laugh. "Are you actually insane? The structural integrity of the chamber can't handle that kind of pressure! You'd be crushed like a bug!"

"That's not your concern."

Bulma shook her head. Through the monitor, she could see him trying to maintain his dignity while drifting upside down. The sight should have been funny – the Prince of all Saiyans, floating around like a lost balloon. Who was she kidding, it was hilarious. But there was something else about it, something almost pathetic. Here was a man who'd lost everything – his planet, his birthright, his pride – and reduced to training himself half to death in the middle of the night.

Whatever. If his royal highness wanted to get himself flattened like a pancake, who was she to stand in his way?

It might just save them a lot of trouble.

"Your funeral," she said with a shrug, fingers flying over the controls. The gravity normalized with a low hum. Through the screen, she watched Vegeta drop unceremoniously to his feet. "I'll have the upgrades ready in three days."

"Make it two."

"Make it 'thank you, Bulma, you're the best.'"

The only response was the violent smash of a fist against the intercom button, cutting the connection. The gravity room resumed its steady rhythm, each impact slightly more aggressive than before. She wondered if he ever slept, or if he just trained and trained until he passed out. Not that she cared – let him destroy himself if that's what he wanted. She just wished he'd do it at a reasonable hour.

Bulma rolled her eyes and gathered her scattered blueprints. She had work to do, and if it happened to involve looking for ways to harness potentially lethal amounts of gravity, well... that was Vegeta's problem, not hers.

The chamber's hum followed her down the corridor, steady and relentless in the night.

.

.

.

Goku squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position in the Yardrat clothing, unfamiliar even after several weeks. The fabric was soft and lightweight, but it clung to him in odd places and though he didn’t really have an opinion on clothes, even he thought the puffed sleeves were honestly a bit of an overkill.

"How do you guys move in these things?" he grumbled, tugging at the high collar that kept riding up his neck.

Pybara, who was meditating nearby, cracked an eye open. By now, they were used to this complaint. "Stop whining," they said, a hint of amusement in their voice. "Besides, your old clothes were hardly more than rags when we found you."

Goku sighed. He couldn't argue with that. Still, he missed the familiar feel of the sturdy fabric of his gi and the ease of movement it allowed.

Pybara, who had been observing quietly, chuckled. "In time, you will learn that true comfort comes from within, not from what you wear."

Goku’s eyebrows shot up. The Yardrats – and especially Pybara the Elder – were always saying stuff like that; cryptic wisdom that sounded profound but didn't really help him when he was trying not to trip over his own pants.

"Now," Pybara said, floating to their feet with that weird grace all Yardrats seemed to have, "shall we continue?"

Goku nodded eagerly, momentarily forgetting his wardrobe malfunction. This was the part he loved and understood – training, pushing himself, learning new things. Even if the Yardrats' methods were... different.

"Remember," Pybara continued, their rounded face serious, "conquering the Super Saiyan transformation and mastering the Instant Transmission technique are two sides of the same coin. It is not about power. It is about balance."

"Right, balance," Goku repeated, though honestly, balance was the last thing that came to mind when that golden energy surged through him. It was more like trying to ride a lightning bolt, or grab onto a live wire – wild, unstable, overwhelming.

He planted his feet, closed his eyes and took a deep breath – trying to focus like Pybara wanted, drawing from all the teachings about ki control from Kami, Mr Popo, King Kai. He reached for the core of power within him. The transformation was there, waiting, crackling just beneath his skin, but his grasp on it kept slipping – frustration crept in, clawing at the edges of his concentration, and the power surged and faltered, golden light flickering uncertainly around him, surging and fading in irregular pulses.

He could see something just behind his eyelids. Stars, and water, and something blue. His eyes snapped open.

"Your energy is blah today," Pybara said, tilting their head, black eyes studying him intently. "Scattered. Like ripples in still water."

“Huh?”

“You’re distracted, Goku!”

"What? No way!" Goku protested, gesturing the dusty, barren mesa of Yardrat. "There's only you, me, and the rocks out here! What's there to be distracted about?”

"What is a Bulma?"

Goku's head snapped up so fast he nearly fell over. "What?"

"You mentioned this word in your sleep. More than once."

"Whaaat?"

"Is it a food?” Pybara asked. “Like those 'belly buster burgers' you keep muttering about?"

"No, Bulma's not a food," Goku said, laughing despite the strange flutter in his chest. "She's a person. She's..." He trailed off. "She's Bulma."

"Ah." Pybara made that musical clicking sound that could mean anything, from deep understanding to complete confusion. "And this person... she pulls at your ki like a tide?"

"I don't..." Goku started, then stopped, frowning. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"On Yardrat,” Pybara said, “when two beings share such an energy connection, they typically participate in the ritual of eternal spirit binding." Pybara's face brightened. "Like my third cousin twice removed, who merged their consciousness with a sentient crystal formation. Very romantic."

“That’s like– huuuh – a good thing?”

“Very!”

“Um, okay?”

“So, is Bulma like your partner in the consciousness-merging ritual?”

Goku blinked dumbly. “Can we go back to training now?”

"On Yardrat,” Pybara began again, ignoring Goku’s groan, “we believe that when someone changes the subject so abruptly, it means they're either hiding something very important, or they've swallowed a nai’mak-saori."

“Whassat?”

“A moth.”

"I haven't swallowed anything!" Goku protested. Then, seeing Pybara's skeptical expression, added, "And I'm not hiding anything either! I just wanna learn this technique!"

"Of course," Pybara hummed, floating cross-legged in the air. "And usually, your enthusiasm for training is admirable. But today your ki feels like..." They paused, searching for the right words. "Like a river trying to flow in two directions at once."

"That's impossible," Goku said. At the very least he knew that. "Rivers only go one way."

"Exactly."

Goku's face scrunched up. "I don't get it."

"No," Pybara agreed cheerfully. "You don't."

.

.

.

One hundred and thirty days since Namek shattered into stardust. It was the span of a Namekian year and the precise time required for the namekian dragon balls to awaken.

Bulma had spent every single one of them pretending not to count, pretending she wasn't tracking the dragon balls’ dormant energy, pretending she couldn't still feel him somehow, somewhere – out there. Her mother had started giving her odd looks whenever she caught her down in the lab in the dead of night, scribbling equations on every surface or pouring over increasingly obscure academic papers (Unveiling the Emergent Physics of Quantum Spin Liquids, anyone?) when sleep turned out to be impossible.

Dawn had barely broken over Capsule Corp as Bulma arranged the gleaming namekian dragon balls on the front lawn, her hands trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep them steady.

The others had gathered around her – Gohan practically vibrating with anticipation, Chi-Chi keeping a firm grip on his shoulder; Piccolo was looming at the edge of the group like a particularly green shadow, and even Vegeta, in all his Super Jackass glory (still as close to becoming a super Saiyan as Dr Brief’s cat was) was lurking around somewhere close. Their namekian guests stood nearby, Dende at the front, ready to speak the words that would summon their dragon.

"Everyone ready?" Bulma asked, stepping back. The dragon balls’ golden glow pulsed in the early morning light, like seven tiny hearts beating in sync. Her own heart was going, seemingly determined to match their rhythm.

Dende nodded and stepped forward, tiny arms spread out.

"Takkaraput pop porunga pupiritt paro!"

The dragon balls flashed, and darkness swept over West City like a rising tide. The wind picked up as Porunga's massive form burst forth, the air around them swirling with sudden intensity. Bulma's hair whipped across her face, and she raised a hand to shield her eyes. Porunga was huge! Power rolled off him in palpable waves, ancient and immense, and Bulma briefly wondered how this spectacle would look like for an oblivious early-morning passerby.

Oh, well –

Porunga's booming voice cut through the howling wind. "I am the eternal dragon. I shall grant you three wishes."

Bulma's heart leapt into her throat. This was it. The moment she'd been simultaneously anticipating and dreading for the past one hundred and thirty days. Her mind raced with all the things she wanted to say and probably wouldn’t, all the questions she had, but she forced herself to focus.

“First,” she shouted, sticking to the plan, her voice shaking only slightly, “summon the souls of Son Goku and Krillin, who died on planet Namek!"

Dende translated, his young voice carrying clearly through the unnatural darkness. Bulma held her breath, fingers curling into fists at her sides as the dragon’s eyes flared crimson.

"I have summoned the soul of the one called Krillin," Porunga's voice thundered. "But I cannot summon the soul of the other."

"Oh?” Gohan's voice trembled, smaller than she’d ever heard it. “Wh-why?"

"I cannot summon the soul of one who is yet alive."

Bulma's knees nearly buckled. There it was – confirmation of what she'd known all along, what she'd felt humming in her blood like a second pulse these past four months. She’d been right! He was alive. Actually, definitely alive. Not just alive in that nebulous way she'd felt deep in her bones, but confirmed-by-an-eternal-dragon alive. Then again, she'd never really doubted it, had she?

“He… he’s alive?” Chi-Chi stammered in disbelief, her hold on Gohan’s shoulder tightening – and then the celebration erupted like a wave, Oolong and Puar bouncing around in circles, their voices rising above the otherworldly darkness Porunga had brought.

"Yay!"

"Woo-hoo! Literally nothing can keep him down!" Oolong whooped, but Gohan's small voice cut through the jubilation.

"But if he's alive, why hasn't he come back...?" he said, turning to look at his mom in confusion. Chi-Chi shook her head, at loss.

"Maybe his spaceship is broken," Dende offered, his young face brightening with the simple solution.

One of the many namekian elders stepped forward, his weathered features serene in Porunga's flashing glow. "Then just ask Porunga to summon him," he said and Gohan’s face lit up all over again.

“Oh, right!”

"Alright!" Bulma called out, her voice stronger than she felt. She clapped her hands once. "Let’s not keep Krillin’s soul hanging! For the second wish, bring Krillin back to life!"

The air crackled with energy as Dende translated. A flash of light, and suddenly Krillin stood among them, blinking in confusion and patting himself down as if he couldn't quite believe he was back and in one piece – and then Gohan crashed into him with enough force to knock most people over, Oolong and Puar piling on until they were all a tangle of limbs and laughter in the grass.

"Guys, guys!" Krillin wheezed, though his grin threatened to split his face. "Watch the merchandise! I just got this body back!"

Bulma turned to Porunga with a determined smile. "And now… last, but not least" – her voice carried stronger now, riding on the wave of their success –  "bring Son Goku here on Earth!"

She held her breath while Dende translated the wish. She closed her eyes.

Come on. I just – let me just look at you.

The silence stretched, longer than before, Porunga's red eyes flaring eerily in the unnatural darkness. The air was crackling, and swelling, and thrumming, filling with possibilities –

"This I cannot do." The dragon's voice roared. "He refuses."

The words rippled over Capsule Corp. and the celebration died instantly. Chi-Chi was the first to recover.

“What do you mean he refuses?” she yelled. Gohan’s arms fell away from Krillin.

“But why?” he asked again, his voice cracking slightly. Porunga looked at him, impassively.

“Son Goku says he will return on his own, in his own time.”

Bulma stared at the dragon, almost slack-jawed. She wanted to laugh until she cried. Goku, refusing a magical dragon's offer of instant teleportation because he wanted to do things his way – it was so absolutely, infuriatingly, stubbornly on brand that she could have screamed.

Master Roshi's laugh cut through the tension like a knife. "I know!" he cackled, adjusting his sunglasses with a knowing smirk. "Goku won’t come home because he's afraid of his wife!"

Someone actually had the guts to snicker at that. Probably Oolong. Bulma might have too, if her pulse wasn't hammering so hard she could feel it in her teeth. Chi-Chi's face had gone pale, then red, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as she rounded on the old man.

“What did you just say?”

“It’s a joke!” Master Roshi yelped. “An innocent joke!”

"Good things come to those who wait." Piccolo’s rumbling voice put an end to the brawl before it could start. Bulma’s head snapped up. He was talking to Gohan, obviously – Gohan, who stood with his shoulders slumped, trying so hard to understand why his dad wasn’t rushing home to him. She was really losing her mind, finding comfort in the fluffy and half-baked wisdom of someone who had once tried to kill them all.

Add that to the list.

Right below ‘can't feel proper sympathy for a woman whose husband won't come home to her’ and ‘actually thinking about laughing at Master Roshi's jokes.’ What kind of person was she becoming? Bulma’s stomach turned, but she couldn't deny the dark relief curling through her chest at his refusal to return. Okay then, let him stay away for as long as he wanted. If she couldn't see his face and couldn’t touch him, if she couldn’t talk to him – then why should anyone else?

"SPEAK YOUR FINAL WISH OR DISMISS ME," Porunga boomed suddenly, making them all jump. "I HAVE OTHER ETERNAL DRAGON THINGS TO DO."

Bulma glanced up. Porunga was looming over them, his massive arms crossed over his chest and looking pissed. Riiight, the third wish! What did it say about her that she'd been so lost in her own madness that she hadn't even thought about –

"Let’s use it to bring Yamcha back,” Krillin said, with a small grin. “That was kind of the whole point on our fieldtrip on Namek, remember?”

“THANK YOU,” Porunga rumbled pointedly. His eyes flash red for the last time. “YOUR WISH HAS BEEN GRANTED. BYE!”

The dragon disappeared in a blinding flash of light. Bulma could have sworn she had heard a distinctive ‘never call me again’ note in his voice – too bad they were going to do this all over again in another one hundred and thirty days.

The dragon balls scattered and the darkness lifted –

– and a splash erupted from the ornamental pond, followed immediately by spluttering and thrashing. Everyone turned just in time to see Yamcha surface, spitting out water and lily pads in equal measure.

"If you're gonna bring someone back to life," he sputtered, pushing wet hair from his face, "maybe pick somewhere that isn't underwater!" A frog, displaced from its pad, croaked indignantly from the top of his head. The sight was so absurd that Bulma felt her face relax into something of a real smile – her first genuine one in... she couldn't remember how long. Well, she could, but she didn’t want to think about that.

"Oh, Yamcha..." she said, her voice broken in the middle by the hint of a laugh. Her heart settled into a steadier rhythm as he dragged himself out of the pond, grumbling about eternal dragons and their lousy aim and so Bulma dared to believe –

This was good. This was how things were supposed to be and maybe now she could go back to normal. Maybe now the spell would break. Maybe now she could be free –

But even as she thought it, even as she let Yamcha hug her, she could still feel that pull – that gentle tug in her chest from somewhere across the universe – from some place where Goku was, as always, doing whatever the hell he pleased.

Chapter Text

In my dreams I'm dying all the time
Then I wake, it's kaleidoscopic mind
I never meant to hurt you
I never meant to lie
So this is goodbye?
This is goodbye

.

.

.

Bulma stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way the bed creaked under Yamcha's shifting weight. They'd just had sex, but it felt like a box to check, a validation they needed to perform. Apparently, coming back from the dead didn't magically fix everything.

At first, she'd thought they could slip right back into their old patterns. She had wanted to. Holding hands, movie dates, chocolate strawberries to make up after a petty argument, the whole shebang. But at night, as they lay tangled together, Bulma found her mind wandering. Yamcha's touch was familiar, but it didn't send sparks racing down her spine anymore. She closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in the sensation, but the nagging emptiness persisted.

“Hey,” Yamcha asked, tracing lazy patterns on her arm. “You okay?”

Bulma forced a smile. “Yeah.”

They went through the motions, smiling at each other in the bathroom mirror while brushing teeth, pretending. Fights, make-ups, and occasional bright moments – Yamcha was her stupid clutching teenage first love. She couldn’t just let that go.

A year later (and still no sign of Goku) the cracks were getting harder to ignore. Bulma knew Yamcha could sense it too – the distance, the piece of herself she couldn't give. But admitting it meant facing the truth, and that was a whole can of worms she wasn't ready to open.

She would do anything in her power to postpone the inevitable. Literally anything.

So, when Vegeta finally came back from his impromptu interstellar wild-goose chase for Goku (like, what were the odds?), Bulma gladly welcomed it – him – everything. The fuss. The distraction.

It was just what she needed, she thought, gleefully tossing him some clothes to change into – a hideous pink "Badman" shirt and yellow pants – and she and Yamcha actually snickered together at the ridiculous sight of him. For a second, it felt like old times.

And the universe wasn’t even done showering her with gifts!

“Kakarot, that coward!” Vegeta suddenly growled. Bulma’s eyes widened – Goku’s Saiyan name in Vegeta’s mouth made her flinch.

“What’s going on?” she asked, looking between Yamcha and Vegeta.

Yamcha shook his head. “There’s a massive ki signature heading straight towards Earth,” he said. He swallowed. “And it’s getting closer.”

“It’s Frieza!” Vegeta snarled. “Kakarot… that idiot… didn’t finish him off!”

Bulma startled. “What?”

She'd never seen Frieza in person, but she remembered the terror in Gohan's voice when he spoke of him. The way Krillin's hands shook. The nightmares that had plagued them all after Namek.

“A-are you sure that’s Frieza’s ki?” Yamcha asked and Vegeta only sneered.

“You don’t believe me?” he said. “Come see for yourself!” And with that, he darted away.

“Oh, dammit!” Yamcha said, taking off after him.

Bulma and Puar were left staring at each other blankly.

“Bulma, don’t…” Puar started.

“Let’s go!” Bulma said, already running towards her airplane, her heart racing with adrenaline and anticipation, something she had thought she had buried forever.

“Bulma, this is crazy!” Puar squeaked, even though he was already piling in the passenger seat. “We should stay back and wait!”

“No, way!” Bulma shot back, her hand ready on the throttle. "If something big is about to happen, I need to be there!"

And maybe – the thought slipped in before she could stop it. Maybe he’d be there too.

.

.

.

"Look, I just want to see Frieza!" The woman's shrill voice cut through his concentration. "All that time on Namek and I never even saw him!"

Vegeta’s lips curled. Her ignorance was almost amusing. Almost. She had no concept of true power, no understanding of what Frieza was capable of, never watched him methodically dismember someone while maintaining that same pleasant smile, and yet here she stood, eager to witness it firsthand, as if it were some kind of show.

"You just want – are you out of your mind, Bulma?" The scarred weakling – Yamcha, was it? The one who'd fallen to a mere Saibaman, Vegeta recalled with a smirk – was practically squeaking with fear. "Do you know how dangerous he is?"

The woman had the audacity to grin. "So what? It doesn't matter where I am if he can blow up the entire planet!"

Vegeta’s teeth ground together. The woman had a point, loathe as he was to admit it. He'd destroyed enough worlds himself to know that.

Two more power levels descended from above – more of Earth's pathetic defenders joining their little welcome party. The three-eyed freak and his pale puppet of a friend – completely worthless.

"Oh, Tien! Chiaozu!" Yamcha's relief was palpable, and embarrassing to witness – as if these insects could make any difference against what was coming.

"Vegeta.” The three-eyed one fixed Vegeta with a hard stare. “You decided to show your face on Earth again.”

Vegeta felt his power surge instinctively, old habits dying hard. He smirked, though. Now this was amusing. “Got anything to say to me?” he sneered, letting the threat hang in the air, satisfaction curling in his chest as the humans tensed.

"I've always thought actions can speak louder than words." The three-eyed freak turned to Yamcha. "How can you stand aside of him, Yamcha?"

Vegeta laughed. That was just precious! As if he needed their acceptance! As if he weren't leagues above their pathetic power levels! Too bad there was no time to properly remind these ridiculous weaklings of their place.

"C-come on, Tien,” Yamcha said. “Now is not the time."

Tien stare hardened even further, but he dropped it. "This doesn't look good,” he said. “Is it really Frieza?"

"That’s what he says," Yamcha said, jerking his chin towards Vegeta.

Vegeta fought the urge to blast them all where they stood. These fools! That energy signature – he'd know it anywhere. That cold, slithering feel of it that made his hands clench into fists every time. Somehow that lizard had survived Namek, he was sure of it – which meant Kakarot, that third-class clown with his pathetic soft heart, had failed. The thought twisted in Vegeta's gut like a knife. After all the fanfare of becoming the first legendary Super Saiyan, after achieving what should have been his birthright, Kakarot couldn't even finish the job properly.

“If you morons are done with the small talk,” Vegeta roared, “do yourself a favor and suppress your power levels! Or have you already forgotten about the scouters?”

“Oh, right!”

The humans scrambled to comply like the amateurs they were. Had they learned nothing from their own deaths? Vegeta looked around. “Pathetic,” he growled. “The namekian has already done it.”

And sure enough, Piccolo silently walked up to them, is ki already masked. At least someone here had half-decent tactical sense. Not that it would matter against what was coming.

“Oh, hey, Piccolo!” the woman said, as if they were not waiting for their slaughter. “When did you get here?”

Piccolo merely grunted in response, his eyes fixed on the horizon and, a moment later, Kakarot's brat and the bald one dropped from the sky, kicking up a cloud of dust as they landed. The boy's power had grown since Namek, Vegeta noted with a mix of irritation and interest. Still nowhere near an acceptable level, but perhaps not entirely worthless.

“You all felt it,” Krillin said, as a way of greeting. He looked around at the assembled group, seeking confirmation in their faces.

“Felt the enormous ki threatening to smother the goddamn atmosphere?” Piccolo growled. “Kind of hard to miss.”

Yamcha laughed nervously. “So, um, Gohan… I take it Goku still hasn’t come back?”

The question hung in the air. Vegeta watched the woman’s gaze sharpening, her eyes darting quickly between Yamcha and Kakarot’s spawn, and then back again.

"No," the boy said quietly. "Still nothing."

Vegeta clenched his fists, a familiar rage bubbling up inside him. Kakarot had stripped him of everything – his pride, his birthright, his very purpose – and now, to top it all off, he was nowhere to be found and he, Vegeta, was stuck with his pathetic fan club. If only these fools knew just how much he wanted to squeeze the life out of Kakarot to make him pay for his insolence – sooner or later –

Piccolo’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “He’s here!” he yelled.

The ship pierced through Earth's atmosphere like a meteor, carrying an energy signature that made the air thick and heavy. Vegeta felt bile rise in his throat as that familiar power washed over him – heinous, suffocating, poisonous.

The ground trembled as the massive vessel touched down in the distance, kicking up clouds of dust that bloomed across the desertic landscape. He caught the gleam of white and golden metal through the haze, the ship's design unmistakably that of Frieza's empire.

"There's no doubt about it." Leave it to Kakarot’s brat to state the obvious. "It's Frieza.”

Krillin nodded grimly. "There's someone else with him," he said. "That's... even more powerful."

Vegeta's blood was boiling. "Listen up!" he shouted, taking command because these earthling weaklings clearly needed someone who understood real combat. "Nobody is allowed to fly! We're going on foot so we can keep our power levels hidden!"

It wasn’t a request or a suggestion. If they wanted to survive this – and Vegeta had no intention of dying by Frieza's hand again – they needed to use actual tactical thinking. Their only hope was a surprise attack, assuming these fools even knew what that was.

"Let's go!" he ordered, not waiting for a response as he darted away toward Frieza's landing site, and keeping his ki close to himself, like a glove. He didn't bother checking if the others followed – he knew their fear would ensure compliance. From his peripheral vision, he saw the three-eyed freak catch up, maintaining a wary distance.

They had to climb up a rocky cliff face, which was almost insulting in its tedium. At least the others had enough sense to keep quiet as they scaled the wall, power levels suppressed – all except the woman. Every grunt, whine, and complaint that escaped her as Kakarot's brat helped her climb set Vegeta's teeth on edge. On Planet Vegeta, such weakness would have meant immediate abandonment – the thought of his destroyed homeworld only fueled his rage.

When they finally reached a decent vantage point, Vegeta assessed the situation below. The ship was clearly visible, along with at least twelve of Frieza's worthless minions. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Frieza himself, and something cold slithered down his spine.

“That’s… that’s…” Krillin stammered.

“He’s turned himself into some kind of cyborg!” Gohan said, keeping his voice barely above a whisper.

Vegeta crouched down. The kid was right; Frieza's new mechanical parts gleamed in the sunlight, a perversion of his already monstrous form.

“How…” Yamcha shifted nervously. “How bad is that?”

“On a scale of one to ten?” Krillin voice was funereal.

“Bad.” The woman's sharp voice cut through their whispers. "If he's half mechanical, his pain threshold will be exponentially higher."

“Not helping, Bulma,” Yamcha hissed.

“I’m a scientist. Objective analysis is kind of my thing,” she shot back, but Vegeta noted the slight tremor in her voice. Her words sparked something in his mind, though.

“Woman,” he demanded, keeping his voice low. “Could there be vulnerabilities in the mechanical components?”

“How the hell should I know?”

Vegeta’s admittedly thin patience snapped. “So much for your analysis,” he snarled.

The woman’s eyes flashed. “Why don’t you go down there and analyze for yourself?”

"Be quiet!" The namekian’s harsh whisper silenced them both. "Unless you want to announce our presence."

“Vegeta.” Gohan pointed toward the larger figure beside Frieza. "Who's that?"

"That’s King Cold," Vegeta spat. "Frieza's father."

“Whoa,” Gohan said.

Vegeta almost snorted, watching the kid’s face pale with grim satisfaction. “That’s right. Two abominations for the price of one.”

The namekian's eyes narrowed. "What's the plan?" he asked.

"Are you serious, Piccolo?" Tien cut in. "You’re trusting him?"

Vegeta ignored the insult, his mind already mapping out attack vectors. "You weaklings take the right flank together," he ordered. "I'll take the left. We clear out the subordinates first."

"And if they escape?" Gohan asked.

"Then I'll blast them to hell."

Krillin laughed shakily. "Basic enough to remember at least.”

"NOW!" Vegeta launched himself down the cliff, channeling his rage into focused power. Behind him, he sensed the others scrambling to follow his lead.

The woman's shrill protest faded into the wind: "Wait, you're leaving me here alone? I HATE ALL OF YOU!"

Vegeta's first blast caught a red-haired soldier square in the chest, the impact bowling over two more. Without pausing, he dodged a retaliatory laser, countering with precise ki blasts. His body moved on autopilot, years of combat experience taking over. Each strike found its mark. Each target fell.

When the dust settled, Frieza's soldiers lay scattered like broken dolls. Surprisingly, the earthlings had managed their part adequately enough. They now stood in formation around Frieza and King Cold, and for a brief moment, Vegeta allowed himself to imagine victory.

Then Frieza laughed – a hollow, mechanical sound that made Vegeta's insides scream.

"Well, well, well," Frieza's artificial voice grated. "My little old friend Vegeta, as I live and breathe. Still scurrying about like a cockroach.”

Vegeta met those cold red eyes, hatred burning in his chest. The condescending bastard! "Look who's talking," he snarled, dropping into a fighting stance.

Frieza merely laughed. "It seems the party came to us, Father."

King Cold's eyes swept over them with casual disdain. "Indeed."

“Unfortunately, I see we’re still missing the guest of honor,” Frieza sneered. “Shall we have some fun while we wait?”

Vegeta's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. Of course – this whole display wasn't even about him. Frieza was just killing time, waiting for Kakarot like everyone else in this godforsaken mudball. The thought made him see red. Even now, after everything, he was still being overshadowed by that low-class castoff.

“Enough games, Frieza!” Vegeta's power crackled around him. “I’m your fight! I’m going to finish what that third-class trash couldn’t!”

Frieza’s ugly smile widened. “Now, Vegeta, don’t be rude,” he tutted. “You've already had the honor of dying by my hand. I say, let’s give a turn to someone else.”

Vegeta’s eyes widened. Purple energy crackled in Frieza's palm as he slowly surveyed their group. “Let's see... I think I'll start with...” His arm stopped, pointing at Gohan.

“You.”

“NO!”

Piccolo's shout merged with the death beam’s roar – the energy erupting in a blinding flash – and then the explosion came and then the ground shook – when Vegeta's vision cleared, Kakarot's brat lay sprawled backward in the dirt, eyes wide with shock.

Petrified, Vegeta followed the kid’s line of sight.

Gohan’s gasp echoed across the sudden silence.

.

.

.

The energy released by the smirkish against Frieza’s soldiers was making the winds rise and the mountains around her crumble dangerously – Bulma tried to stay on her two feet, but the earth shook mightily and she was knocked down.

She felt her body being hurled to the side, painfully, rolling between the dust and the rocks. She was acutely aware of the fact that dying today wasn't that far-fetched anymore and, as she covered her head with her arms trying to protect it, she let out a snort at her expenses.

She had been looking for a teeny tiny distraction! Not for – whatever this was!

She managed to get her feet beneath her and started to run. She couldn't see where she was going through the dust and the smoke and the dirt, but she pressed on – any place was better than those collapsing cliffs. She tumbled down a steep slope of dirt and when it became vertical she lost her footing, falling down hard for – a moment.

“Ow! Ouuuch!”, she shrieked when her backside slammed onto the ground. She shook her head to recollect herself and glanced around.

“Oh, good,” she mumbled to herself. “More rocks.”

“Bulma!”

She looked up to see Puar zooming toward her through the haze. Relief flooded through her, and she snatched the little cat from the air, hugging him tight against her chest.

“Oh, thank god!” she gasped. “At least someone didn't abandon me up there!”

“Are you okay?” Puar squeaked, squirming in her grip. “Where's Yamcha?”

“Ha! Yamcha, that jerk!” Bulma released Puar, anger swiftly replacing relief. “They all took off to fight Frieza's goons and left me behind like I’m some kind of liability!”

“I’m sure they were trying to protect – “

“I don't need protection!” she snapped. “But I didn’t come here to meet death by lapidation either!”

“Bulma, there's a battle going –”

“Ssh!” She held up a hand. The sudden silence hit her like a physical thing. No explosions, no energy blasts, no earth-shaking power. Nothing.

She met Puar's worried gaze. “Listen!”

“I don’t hear anything,” Puar whined.

Bulma nodded, her eyes so wide they were about to pop out the orbits. “Exactly.”

Her heart pounded as she peered around a boulder. “Come on,” she whispered, already moving before Puar could protest. "Let's get closer."

“Bulma, that's a terrible –“

But she was already gone, picking her way down the slope.

.

.

.

Frieza’s deflected death beam had barely dispersed into a shower of purple sparks, that a flash of movement caught Vegeta's eye – something hurtling from above faster than thought.

Kakarot straightened from his landing crouch between Frieza and his son, and something in the air shifted.

“I thought we talked about this, Frieza,” he said, and even Vegeta had to bristle at that peculiar mix of light and menace. “I remember telling you I didn’t want to see your face ever again.”

Purple energy crackled around Frieza's cybernetic form, his smug composure wavering for just a moment before his face twisted with hatred.

“Monkey,” he spat.

Vegeta's fists clenched until his knuckles cracked. Of course Kakarot would choose this moment to make his grand entrance, dropping from the sky like some divine savior. His moment of revenge, stolen by a low-class warrior yet again.

“G-Goku?” Krillin said. “I’m not seeing things, am I?”

“I can’t believe it!” Yamcha exclaimed. “Alright! Alright!”

The chorus of relieved voices made Vegeta's teeth grind.

“D-Dad?” Gohan slowly got to his feet. Kakarot gave him a quick once-over before his attention locked back on Frieza.

“Everybody,” he said, his voice carrying with infuriating confidence. “Grab Bulma and get clear. I’ve got this.”

“Like hell, Kakarot!” The words tore from Vegeta's throat. This was his fight, his vengeance.

Frieza's mechanical laugh cut through the air. “My, my, my. Bold words from a monkey who kept running away.”

“I gave you a chance,” Kakarot said, his stance shifting almost imperceptibly. “You should've taken it.”

“A chance?” Frieza's fixed smiled vanished. “Perhaps,” his smooth tone erupted into thunder, “you need a reminder of your place! I AM LORD FRIEZA!” Purple energy crackled across his cybernetic frame. "The universe bows to ME!"

Kakarot tilted his head to one side. “Are we really doing this again?”

The casual dismissal hung in the air for a heartbeat. Then movement flickered at the edge of Vegeta's vision – one of Frieza's soldiers, barely alive, raising a weapon behind Kakarot. Without conscious thought, Vegeta's blast sailed narrowly past Kakarot’s ear and caught the fool square in the chest.

“Good shot!” Kakarot called over his shoulder, that insufferable grin in his voice.

“Tch,” Vegeta spat. “I missed,” he snarled, and Kakarot actually chuckled.

“LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU, MONKEY!”

Frieza's beam caught Kakarot mid-turn, whipping across his face with savage force.

“No, dad!” Gohan screamed –

Blood trickled from the corner of Kakarot's mouth as he slowly faced Frieza again. Something had changed in his eyes.

“Stop playing with your food, son,” King Cold drawled from the sidelines. “I want to be done with these weaklings within the hour.”

Frieza's eyes narrowed. “Oh, father,” he droned. “I’m sorry, but I intend to savor every moment of this.”

Kakarot wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, and Vegeta felt the air grow heavy. That familiar power began to rise – the one that haunted his dreams and burned in his gut.

“You really never learn, do you?” Kakarot said.

Frieza’s face was livid. “Time to die, Saiyan!”

“Everyone move,” the namekian ordered. “Now.”

“But Piccolo –” Kakarot’s son started.

“Trust me, Gohan. Your father doesn't need us in his hair.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Vegeta snarled, even as he recognized what was coming. Kakarot stepped forward, his hair began to wave in an invisible wind. Vegeta's hatred crystallized into something pure and sharp. Once again, he would be forced to watch from the sidelines as a low-class warrior claimed his birthright.

.

.

.

Bulma crept closer to the ship, ducking behind rock formations with Puar trailing nervously behind her.

“Maybe we should stop here?” Puar whispered, but Bulma was already peering around the next boulder, drawn forward by the sounds of confrontation ahead.

Then she saw him.

Her heart stuttered. She'd know that silhouette anywhere – the way he stood, the sizzling confidence in his stance. Even in those strange clothes, he was unmistakable. Something inside her chest cracked open, spilling warmth through her veins. The world always seemed brighter when he—

The ground heaved beneath her feet.

“Oh no, not again!” she yelped, grabbing the rock to steady herself. But this tremor felt different – less like the earth breaking apart and more like power building, growing, about to –

.

.

.

"Be careful, dad!" Gohan's voice rang bright with trepidation as he retreated with the others to a nearby cliff. Vegeta followed last, growling under his breath.

Goku took a step forward.

“Very well, monkey.” Frieza's mechanical voice promised death. “Time to finish what we started on Namek.”

“Yeah,” Goku said. “It is.”

The transformation came like a storm. Golden energy erupted from his core, each wave more powerful than the last until the air itself burned. When he opened his eyes, the world had taken on that familiar crystalline clarity that came with ascending.

The wind howled, whipping his aura into fierce spirals. Frieza stood frozen, purple energy crackling around his mechanical form. Even King Cold had abandoned his façade of indifference.

“So this is the power of a Super Saiyan…” he murmured.

Frieza's mechanical body was rigid. His cybernetic eyes widened ever so slightly, the golden light reflected off his metallic parts – then his face twisted, artificial features contorting into a sneer. “Is this supposed to frighten me?” he spat. “I've been remade. This time, your little light show won't be enough.”

Goku's response was simple. He took another step forward.

Frieza moved first – a blur of metal and hatred. His fist cut through the air where Goku's head had been a heartbeat before. Another strike, another miss. Each attack more desperate than the last.

“Stand still!” Frieza's mechanical voice crackled with rage. His tail whipped around, its metal surface gleaming – but Goku caught it with one hand.

“New parts,” Goku said, “same mistakes, huh?”

Purple energy exploded from Frieza's body as he wrenched free. The ground beneath them cracked, rocks lifting into the air as his power surged. “You dare mock me? ME?”

The death beam erupted from his finger – a lance of violet light that would have pierced any other warrior's heart. But Goku simply tilted his head, letting it pass close enough to feel its heat.

“Is that all?” he asked.

Frieza's scream split the air. Energy beams rained down like deadly stars, each one powerful enough to level a city. They struck nothing but afterimages as Goku weaved between them, his movements fluid and unhurried.

“Impossible!” Metal fingers clenched until they sparked. “I am Lord Frieza! I've been rebuilt! I am perfect!”

“Or maybe,” Goku said, suddenly behind him. "You’re just a sore loser, Frieza.”

Frieza spun, unleashing a shockwave that shattered the remaining rocks around them. "LOSER? I'll show you a loser!"

The air grew heavy, charged with malevolent energy as Frieza rose into the darkening sky. His mechanical body crackled with power, circuits glowing an angry red beneath metal plating.

“Watch closely, monkey!” Each word dripped venom as he raised one finger. “I've improved this attack just for you!”

The energy that gathered was different this time – not just destructive, but wrong somehow. Like a star going supernova in reverse, pulling in light instead of releasing it. The sphere grew steadily, its core so dense it began warping the air around it.

“Frieza!” King Cold's voice held genuine alarm. “The planet's crust won't survive that level of –”

“SILENCE!” The sphere swelled larger, casting twisted shadows. “If this worthless rock has to burn with him – SO BE IT!”

From below, Goku watched the death ball grow. His expression remained unchanged, even as the wind whipped his golden hair and the ground trembled beneath his feet.

“Dad, move!” Gohan's distant shout barely carried over the roaring energy.

“This is what true power looks like!” Frieza screamed. “Now DIE WITH YOUR PRECIOUS PLANET!”

The massive sphere descended like a falling sun, its heat already scorching the earth. Goku stood motionless, watching it come.

“What's wrong, monkey?” Frieza's voice shook with manic glee. “No clever words now?”

The sphere was close enough that the air itself began to warp. Still, Goku waited, feet planted shoulder-width apart. The death ball was meters away when he finally moved – a single arm raised, index finger extended. The massive sphere connected with his fingertip and stopped, its momentum arrested instantly.

Silence fell.

“No,” Frieza snarled. “No, no, NO!”

Goku's finger pushed upward slightly. The sphere began to rise, its rotation reversing direction. What had been a descending sun was now a controlled satellite, spinning lazily above his finger. Goku's eyes met Frieza's, and that was enough.

Frieza's mechanical body shook. “This isn't possible!” His hand shot forward, unleashing a desperate blast at his own attack. “DIE!”

The impact triggered a chain reaction. The death ball's surface fractured, lines of light spreading like cracks through its core until the sphere detonated, its energy exploding outward in all directions, obliterating everything in its path.

When the light faded, Frieza's laugh echoed across the wasteland. "Finally! FINALLY! I've done it! I've-"

"Done what?"

Frieza's head snapped around. Goku hovered at eye level, not a mark on him, gold aura pulsing steadily.

“I tried giving you a chance,” Goku said, bringing his hands to his side. Blue light gathered between his palms, small at first, then growing. “But you just wouldn’t take it!”

The Kamehameha built quickly, feeding off his transformed state. Each syllable of the attack carried raw power:

"KA... ME..."

Frieza raised both hands, purple energy crackling.

"HA... ME..."

"You wouldn't dare! You'll destroy everything!"

"HAAAAAA!"

The beam erupted forward, perfect and controlled. Frieza barely had time to scream before it engulfed him, carrying him up into the atmosphere. Goku's hands guided the blast, ensuring its path cleared the planet.

The sky split. When it finally cleared, nothing remained of Lord Frieza but scattered debris falling like metal rain. Goku just hovered there, breathing deeply, watching, each piece a reminder – Krillin's death scream, Gohan's tears, a whole planet dying for nothing.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Goku touched down, scanning the area. King Cold's ki had vanished, but that didn't mean he was gone.

“Take what's left of your ship and leave!” Goku said, his voice carrying easily across the wasteland. “Now!”

Movement caught his eye and he spun, muscles tensing – but it wasn't Cold. Far across the rocky terrain, a familiar figure was running towards him and waving, blue hair shining like a beacon under the sun.

“Goku!” Bulma’s voice barely reached him. “We won! We really won, right?”

He straightened. “Bulma, what – ”

Time slowed. The white-hot beam materialized from behind a rock formation, aimed straight for her. Too far to reach her normally – without thinking, Goku locked onto her ki, a ki he would know anywhere. The world blurred, space folded – and he reappeared just as the beam closed in. His shoulder erupted in pain as he slammed into Bulma, the momentum sending them both crashing into the rocks.

Her head struck stone with a sickening crack.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. The beam had caught him clean in the shoulder – he could feel the burn eating through muscle, smell his own scorched flesh. Then he became aware of Bulma’s shallow breathing beneath him, the warmth of her body, his arm wrapped around her waist –

“Bulma!” He pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her and saw the blood in her hair. “Bulma!” He cradled her head, heart thundering against his ribs. “Hey, talk to me!”

Bulma's eyelids fluttered open. She blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“You're blonde,” she croaked.

Goku's eyebrows shot up, a startled laugh bursting from him. “I guess?”

“Impressive reflexes, monkey.”

The cold voice slices through the air. Goku felt Bulma tense beneath him.

“Stay down,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off her. Then he stood, turning to face Cold's ki signature – the same energy still burning in his shoulder.

“My son always did have a weakness for dramatic displays,” Cold said, stepping out from behind the rocks. “I prefer... efficiency.”

Cold's hand shot up, purple energy crackling – but Goku was already moving. His fist went through Cold's chest before the tyrant could release his attack. Cold’s eyes widened in shock, meeting burning teal eyes.

“You… filthy mo –”

Goku fired. The blast obliterated Cold's body from the inside out, leaving nothing but ash on the wind.

He was already turning back to Bulma before the remains hit the ground.

“Bulma,” he said urgently, dropping to his knees beside her, while she was trying to sit up. He helped her with a firm hold on her arm and another hand on her back. He searched her face, taking in the slight furrow of her brow, the way her eyes struggled to focus. “Are you okay?”

Bulma dazedly reached with her hand and brushed her fingertips on his cheek. “I think so,” she murmured. Goku felt a nearly blinding wave of relief watching Bulma’s gaze clearing, her eyes focusing as she traced the contours of his face. He remained perfectly still, letting her touch ground him, the rush of adrenaline fading, the Super Saiyan transformation slowly receding.

“It’s you,” Bulma breathed, once his hair and eyes were back to black.

Goku gulped. "Can you stand?" he asked, offering his hand. Bulma took it, and he pulled her up, steadying her when she swayed. They held onto each other for balance – at least, that's what he told himself. His eyes travelled all over Bulma’s face – he knew head wounds usually looked worse than they were, what with all that blood, but still –

“You almost cracked my head open,” Bulma croaked.

Goku grinned. He couldn’t help it. “And you got me shot.”

He held Bulma steady, his hand lingering on her arm even after she'd found her balance. The dread that had seized him when he saw that beam heading straight for her was fading, replaced by a warm, tingling feeling, a warmth buzzing under his skin that he couldn't quite name.

"DAD!"

The shout was his only warning before Gohan crashed into his legs, almost throwing him off balance. Joy surged through him, pushing everything else aside.

“Gohan!” he laughed, wrapping his arms around his son. “Look at you! You're a giant!”

“Dad, you're back! You're really back!”

The others descended in a rush of movement and voices, the air thick with excitement.

“Goku!” Krillin landed first, beaming. “Man, it's so good to see you!”

“Yeah, buddy, you were amazing!” Yamcha added. “You took out Frieza like it was nothing!”

“Mh,” Piccolo grunted. “How did you even get here?”

Goku's grin widened. “Hehehe, that's a long story…”

“Kakarot, what the hell are you wearing?”

Goku blinked, turning toward the harsh voice. Vegeta stood apart from the others, arms crossed, scowling. Huh. 

“Oh, Vegeta!” Goku laughed, looking down at himself. “Yeah, I know, the Yardrats are really into shoulder pads.”

“Yardrat?” Vegeta's scowl deepened. “Is that where you've been hiding all this time?”

“Hey, I wasn't hiding! I was learning this new technique–”

“Oh, don't mind me! It's not like I almost died or anything!”

Goku's attention snapped back to Bulma at her voice. She looked indignant but even paler now, the blood in her hair darkening as it dried.

“Bulma, are you okay?” Yamcha rushed to her side. “Are you hurt?”

“Stop shouting, Yamcha!” She winced, pressing a hand to her temple. "I'm concussed, not deaf!"

“Oh, right! Here, let me see!”

“Ow!”

Goku winced as Yamcha prodded at the wound. His own shoulder throbbed where Cold's beam had caught him – man, they'd really cut it close. Too close.

“That's what you get for walking into a battlefield!” Krillin said. “What were you thinking? You two could have been killed – you single handedly almost doomed as all!”

“Oh, shut up, Krillin!” Bulma snapped. “We’re alive, aren’t we? Ow! Yamcha, stop poking or so help me –”

“Well, I've always thought you were worse than Frieza,” Krillin shook his head, his face softening as he held up something small and green. "Senzu bean before we go? Korin only had one.”

Goku brightened at the sight of the bean. His shoulder was really starting to hurt.

“Split it,” he said quickly, maybe too quickly. “Bulma needs some too.”

Krillin nodded, breaking the bean in half. “Here,” he said, tossing them each a piece. “You two look rough.”

Goku popped his half in his mouth, feeling the familiar rush of energy as the burning in his shoulder faded. He rolled his arm – good as new.

“Much better,” Bulma said, gingerly touching the back of her head where the wound had been. Her eyes met his for a moment before darting away.

“So,” Piccolo said, his voice gruff as he crossed his arms over his chest. “About this new technique.”

“Huh?” Goku said. “Oh, yeah! Well, the Yardrats know all sorts of really cool moves, but I only had time to learn one.”

“And that would be…”

“Instant Transmission!” Goku said with a wink.

Krillin's eyebrows shot up. “You mean, like, teleportation?”

“Yeah-huh! That’s how I got here just like that!” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

“Wow,” Yamcha said, his eyes wide. “That is cool.”

“Right?” Goku grinned. “Though the first thing the Yardrats actually taught me was how to stop hitting my head on their really low doors.”

Gohan and Krillin laughed. “Of course it was,” Krillin said.

“That’s not a challenge you’ve ever had to face, am I right, Krillin?” Yamcha chuckled.

“Hey, now that’s just mean!”

Vegeta, who had been standing apart from the group, scoffed loudly. “Enjoy your little jokes while you can, Kakarot,” he snarled. “They won't save you next time.”

Goku turned to him, meeting his glare with a calm smile. He shrugged. “…Okay.”

For a moment, Vegeta looked like he might say something else, but then he just huffed and took off in a blur of blue energy. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he launched himself skyward, his aura trailing behind him like an angry fire, rocks and dust exploded outward from the force of his departure. Everyone threw up their arms against the debris cloud.

"Man," Krillin coughed, waving away the dust. "I got the feeling someone needs to teach him how to use a door."

Goku shielded his eyes and watched Vegeta become a tiny dot.  Their rematch could wait; they had won, and that was what mattered. Frieza was gone. Everyone was alive and well and he was back home. Things were good.

And yet...

He caught Bulma's expression shift, something flickering across her face too quick to read. His chest tightened – but then Gohan was right there, solid and real beside him.

"Come on, everyone!" Goku called out, throwing his arm around his son's shoulders and ruffling his hair until Gohan laughed and squirmed. "Let's go home!"

Chapter Text

Won't you take me
As I'm meant to be:
Wild, wild
Don't mistake me
For the wind when she
Howls, howls
Away, away...

.

.

.

The ceiling didn't look right.

Goku lay motionless in his bed, watching shadows dance across wood grain patterns he had forgotten. Everything in the house felt both completely normal and utterly wrong at once, like someone had shifted all the furniture two inches to the left while he was gone.

Two years. Two whole years? That couldn't be right. Time on Yardrat had felt... different. Stretchy, somehow. The days had blurred together in that strange place with its three moons and yellow sky, and endless hours spent training with Pybara – getting used to their speaking in riddles and gentle teasing, even finding comfort in it – until his new insane power didn't feel like it would tear him and everything around him apart.

But here, in this bed, everything felt solid again. Real. And just… off. Like trying to land after flying too high too fast.

Chi-Chi's steady breathing filled the darkness beside him. He could feel her warmth, the slight dip in the mattress where she lay. Her scent – soap and fresh cotton – was exactly as he remembered, but somehow that just made everything feel weirder. Like his memories had been waiting here for him, frozen in time, while he'd been... elsewhere.

He shifted carefully, trying not to wake her. The sheets rustled, too loud in the quiet mountain night. Through the window, he could see stars scattered across the sky. Different stars than the ones he'd gotten used to. Closer. Safer.

That’s the Milky way. Our galaxy.

Somewhere in the distance, a night bird called. The sound jerked through him – so earthly, so familiar it hurt. He had missed Mount Paozu's noises, he was realizing it only now. The way wind sounded rushing through trees instead of across the metal buildings of Yardrat’s larger settlements. The creaking of wooden beams settling. Cricket songs rising and falling like waves.

Gohan had grown so much. The thought came unbidden, bringing with it an image of his son's face – older, sharper, those big eyes looking up at him with a mix of joy and uncertainty. Seven years old now. Walking a bit taller, speaking with a bit more confidence than he remembered.

“Does this mean we can finally go fishing together?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, dad, remember? Before the battle with Vegeta… you promised you’d take me.”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, sure! First thing tomorrow. Right, Chi-Chi?”

“…I guess he can afford to take one morning off his studies. But just this once, you hear me, Gohan?”

“Yay! Yes!”

Goku sighed, his lower lip jutting out. He thought of the way Gohan had pumped his fist earlier during dinner, and the way Chi-Chi had rolled her eyes even though she was smiling. He had not realized he’d missed so much. Even though – yes, alright – sometimes, in those endless Yardrat days, under Pybara’s scrutiny and increasingly weird analogies (“Your ki feels like stuffing a jellyfish in a suitcase made of fog, hoping it never rains”), he'd found himself wondering if there had been other reasons for staying away. Reasons that had nothing to do with broken spaceships or Super Saiyans or Instant Transmission. Reasons he didn’t understand and that made his heart race even now, lying next to his sleeping wife.

Stop, he told himself firmly. But his thoughts were already drifting to earlier that day, to that moment when everything had slowed down – the ground warm beneath them, the sun harsh and bright overhead. Blue hair splayed across dirt, blood trickling down. The flutter of a pulse beneath his fingers; and her breathing – shallow, and close.

Chi-Chi shifted beside him, and a strange feeling clawed its way up his throat. He forced his eyes shut, but that only made the memory sharper. He caught himself reaching out with his senses again, automatically finding that bright signature thrumming in the distance, fizzy and warm – tugging at him from across the continent, soothing and electric all at once.

.

.

.

2:00 AM.

Bulma stared at her laptop screen until the numbers began to blur.

She shifted against the headboard of her bed, adjusting the laptop on her knees. Lines that should have made perfect sense kept dissolving into meaningless strings – she'd been at this for hours, telling herself that if she could just focus on pure logic, everything else would fade away. But she’d been staring at the same function for twenty minutes.

Her brain kept circling back to that moment – the impact of his body against hers, the almost unbearable heat of him, that fraction of a second stretching into infinity. And his arms around her waist –  she would have known them anywhere, just the way he felt, the way he moved – it was like muscle memory, like her body remembering something her mind had been trying so hard to forget.

Or maybe that had been just the concussion talking. Trust Son-kun’s heroic rescue to include nearly cracking her skull open on some stupid rock.

"Get it together," she muttered, jabbing aggressively at her keyboard. The syntax wasn’t adding up. Again. She deleted an entire line of code with more force than necessary, watching the cursor blink accusingly.

It was fine. Everything was fine. So what if he was back? So what if seeing him transform had been like watching a star explode, if watching him fight had been like watching a force of nature unleashed? So what if for one heart-stopping moment, touching his face, she'd felt...

She slammed her laptop shut.

Her room felt too small suddenly, too still. She raked her fingers through her hair, still damp from her second shower of the night. Yamcha had called earlier, but she'd let it go to voicemail. Something about dinner plans tomorrow. She should call him back. She should try to sleep. She should –

Her hand drifted to the back of her head, where the wound had been. The senzu bean had erased all trace of injury, but she could still feel the phantom warmth of his fingers there, cradling her skull. Still see that flash of teal in his eyes before they faded back to black.

She shoved the laptop aside and pulled her knees to her chest.

The closed glass doors to her balcony reflected her hunched form. Beyond them, the city lights blurred like distant stars. Somewhere in the compound, she could hear the distant hum of the gravity room – Vegeta, still training at this ungodly hour. Still chasing that golden light she'd seen today.

Still obsessing over Son-kun, she thought with a bitter laugh. At least she wasn't alone in that particular brand of madness. Though she doubted Vegeta's fixation had anything to do with the way Goku's eyes had lingered on her face before turning away to fly home with Gohan.

.

.

.

The decision wasn't a decision at all.

One moment he was lying there, and the next he was carefully slipping out of bed, reaching for his gi. The fabric whispered as he pulled it on. Stealth wasn’t usually his thing – Chi-Chi stirred slightly but didn't wake, her breathing steady and deep.

Outside, the night air hit his face like a splash of cold water. He took a deep breath, let it fill his lungs until the strange tightness in his chest loosened a bit.

Just going for a flight, he told himself. To clear my head. That made sense – he'd been cooped up in that pod for so long before finally using Instant Transmission, and then there was the fight with Frieza, and Chi-Chi crying and hugging him and yelling at him when he'd finally made it home – and anyways, that was normal, right? He used to do this all the time before – before Raditz, before Namek, before everything got so complicated.

He rose into the sky, letting the wind rush past him. His body hummed with the simple joy of it. The stars were bright overhead, and Mount Paozu stretched out dark and peaceful below him. He should probably check the old hunting grounds, maybe scope out some good fishing spots for tomorrow with Gohan...

He went higher, and sped up. The mountains gave way to plains, then to the scattered lights of smaller towns. His path curved westward, as natural as falling, and he kept going, the wind whistling in his ears, until the lights of West City spread out beneath him and Capsule Corp.’s compound came into view.

The domed buildings were gleaming under the artificial city lights. He slowed down – and he dropped his ki to zero almost automatically when he sensed Vegeta’s presence, awake and unsettled, and pulsing with sharp spikes of power – combat instincts kicking in without him really thinking about it.

He drifted lower, moving carefully now, and he circled the residential wing until he found himself hovering outside her balcony. He touched down softly. Through the glass doors, he caught a glimpse of her pulling a shirt over her head, blue hair catching the soft light of the bedside lamp as it fell loose around her shoulders. He quickly looked away, face heating up – which was weird, because that kind of thing had never bothered him before, and now –

It hit like a Spirit Bomb to the face.

His knuckles rapped against the glass before he could think about it. Bulma’s head snapped around.

He watched her eyes widen as they found him in the muted light, watched her lips form his name silently through the glass.

.

.

.

She had just pulled on her pajama top when something tapped against the window.

Her head snapped around – and her heart slammed against her ribs as she stared at the glass doors, at the familiar silhouette painted just beyond them. For a moment she thought she'd finally cracked, that all those hours of not-thinking about him had backfired spectacularly.

“Goku?” she called, and he flashed a smile and waved. His hair was moving softly in the night breeze. She – she wasn’t seeing things! He was standing on her balcony in the middle of the night like that was a perfectly normal thing to do. Like he’d done already, many many many years ago.

She should ignore him. She should absolutely, definitely ignore him and go to bed and pull the covers over her head and – she found herself moving toward the glass doors, bare feet silent on the plush carpet.

She reached for the handle, hesitated. His dark eyes met hers through the glass, and something inside her chest jumped.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered as she slid the door open, the night air rushing in. Her voice came out steadier than she felt, which was something at least.

“I, huh… I couldn’t sleep.” He shifted his weight, and that small and unusual (for him) movement drew her attention like a magnet. Something about seeing him in the soft darkness made him seem more real than he had all day. He looked different from the warrior who, just hours ago, had destroyed Frieza for good.

“So you thought you'd come wake me up instead?” She kept her voice low for some reason. Not that she was doing anything wrong. This was fine. Everything was fine. Goku was standing just outside the threshold, not quite in her room but not quite outside either. Her hand was still on the latch, knuckles white.

He shrugged. “You weren’t sleeping either,” he pointed out, and Bulma’s eyebrows shot up.

“What, you can sense that too now?”

Goku shook his head. His smile quirked a bit. “Your light was on.”

“Yeah, well.” Bulma crossed her arms over her chest. She tried to ignore how aware she suddenly was of wearing just an old t-shirt and pajama shorts. “I was working.”

She stepped back from the doorway, a silent invitation – and immediately regretted it as he followed. The moment he crossed the threshold, something in her stomach tightened with the realization of what she'd just done.

"I wanted to..." He gestured vaguely toward her head. "You know..."

Bulma arched an eyebrow. “The senzu bean fixed it,” she said, the underlying ‘as you well know’ floating between them for a moment. She flopped onto the bed, scooting back until she was nestled against the headboard, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. “I'm fine.”

“Oh, yeah,” Goku said, with a sheepish laugh, a hand shooting up to scratch the back of his head. “That’s right.”

Bulma studied him for a moment. Something in his face was different – softer maybe, without that fierce intensity from earlier. Standing there in her bedroom, looking unfairly handsome in the soft lamplight, he seemed almost bashful. Which was ridiculous, because Son-kun and bashful didn't even belong in the same sentence. She scowled.

“And you?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

He gave a funny little laugh. “Yeah!” he said. “I’m good. It’s good to be back.”

“Well, you’ve been gone for almost two years.” She couldn't quite keep the edge out of her voice. “By the way, nice of you to drop by just in time to prevent Earth’s annihilation.”

Goku laughed. “And to save your neck.”

“You call that a save?”

“Hey, it worked!”

“Shut up,” Bulma scoffed. Though her heart did more than a little flip when she saw that crooked grin unfurled like a flag. “Did you… did you even realize you were gone that long?”

Goku shrugged. “It just kind of happened,” he said, stretching both arms over his head and then plopping at the foot of her bed, the king size mattress dipping a little under his weight. “When I crashed over there my spaceship was like a pancake. So I had to wait for them to fix it and then I dunno… time on Yardrat was weird. The days there were super long. And everything was sort of...” He wrinkled his nose. “Yellow all the time?”

Despite herself, Bulma felt a smile tugging at her lips. “Yellow all the time?”

Goku nodded. “Yep. The sky was yellow. So yeah, that freaked me out for a while. But it was a cool place!” he said, brightening, bouncing a little on the bed. “You would've loved it! They had this weird technology – everything was like, curved and glowy. Even their buildings were alive, kind of?”

“Alive?” she repeated. “What do you mean alive?”

“Well,” Goku scratched the back of his head, “their buildings could, like, grow and change shape. And they had these floating lights that followed you around and knew what you needed before you did.”

“Sentient architecture and predictive artificial intelligence?” Bulma leaned forward without meaning to, her eyes lighting up. “Goku, that's incredible! Did you see their power source? Their computational systems?”

“Uh…” Goku scratched his cheek. “I mostly just tried not to break stuff.”

Bulma smirked. “Tried and failed?”

“Mostly.” Goku grinned back. She couldn’t stop watching him – the slide of his lips, the slight tilt of his head. “Pybara kept saying I had to trust the lights, but it was easier said than done.”

“Pybara?”

“My teacher.” Goku’s face softened into a fond smile. “Really small and blue, but they could get huge when they wanted to! And they were always saying these weird things that didn't make sense until way later...”

“Like what?”

“Um, they were always going on about rivers. Tides… and their cousin?” Goku furrowed his brow. “Who got married to a rock or something? I can’t remember now.”

That was absolutely it; Bulma burst out laughing, half a moment before Goku did. The sound of their combined laughter filled the quiet room, and she shook her head. “Are you making that up?”

“No, it’s true!” Goku’s grin got worse. The mattress shifted as he turned to face her more fully. “It sounds weird, but I think they were just trying to teach me Instant Transmission!”

“And what’s your new magic trick got to do with your master’s cousin?”

“Beats me. And it’s not a magic trick! It's like...” He frowned, searching for words. “It’s like using your energy to fold space around you.” His face lit up. “Oh! Like your capsules! But with people!”

Bulma narrowed her eyes. “Since when do you understand capsule technology?”

“Hey, I pay attention sometimes.”

“Sure you do,” Bulma said. Her voice came out softer than she intended. She caught herself tracking the way the lamp light played across his features, and quickly drew her knees closer to her chest, resting her chin on them. “So you can go anywhere now? Just – poof, just like that?”

“Well, not anywhere,” Goku said. “I have to think of a person, not a place. And then I have to lock onto their ki, like a focal point, you know? The stronger it is, the better. I can’t go where there isn’t anyone I know.”

Bulma ran her tongue quickly over her lips. Her throat had suddenly gone dry – thinking about how he’d appeared out of nowhere, materializing between her and certain death like it was nothing. She swallowed hard.

“And you used it with me.”

It wasn’t a question, but Goku answered anyway. “Yeah.”

Bulma’s breath hitched. As always, on the receiving end of Goku’s strange blend of unnervingly raw, if unwavering, candor, she felt the urge to look away.

“My ki isn’t even that strong,” she said quietly.

Goku chuckled. “It's strong enough.”

Bulma risked a glance up and immediately regretted it. Goku’s eyes were enormous; something about his expression made her stomach drop with recognition.

“You should go now,”  she croaked. Her face was burning.

“Huh?”

Bulma sprang up from the bed like she'd been shocked. “I said go!”

“What... are you crazy?” He stared at her like she'd lost her mind, which only made the heat in her chest flare hotter.

“Am I crazy? Look who's talking!” Bulma hissed, running her fingers through her hair in agitation. “You're the one who shows up at my window in the middle of the night like some – some – ” She gestured wildly at him, at his ridiculous hair and his stupid gi and his concerned face that was doing things to her insides.

“Like what?” He stood too, and suddenly he seemed to fill the whole room. “I was just checking if you were okay!”

“Oh, right!” The laugh that burst out of her was sharp enough to cut. “That’s so–” She caught herself, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. “That’s so kind of you, Son-kun. Thank you so much.”

“I don't get why you're so mad!” He actually looked frustrated now, and it was too much, and not enough, and she had no idea why she’d let him in. “You were fine talking to me a minute ago!” he said, and Bulma felt something in her brain short-circuiting. She pressed her hands to her eyes until she saw stars.

“No, no, no,” she muttered. “I’m not doing this. I don’t – get out of my house!”

“Bulma…”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she yelled. “Get out! I hate this! I hate you!”

Goku’s eyebrows were turning mutinous. “You don't mean that.”

“Don't tell me what I mean!” Her hands were shaking. She needed him gone – needed him out of her room, out of her space, needed to stop seeing that stupid expression on his face. “Now go!”

Goku stared at her. He seemed to be grappling with something, his jaw working as if he were chewing over words he couldn't quite form. Then he nodded and drew a long breath. “Okay.”

Bulma threw her hands in the air. “Oh, finally!”

He turned away without another word and moved toward the balcony. For a moment, his silhouette was framed there against the city lights, sharp and familiar and impossible, the night air ruffling his hair. For a heartbeat, Bulma thought he might turn back. But then he was gone, just like that – no goodbye, no last look, nothing. Just the whisper of displaced air and the curtains shifting in his wake.

Bulma stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. She waited for the relief to come, for the tightness in her chest to ease.

It didn't.

She screamed and slammed the windows so hard that the glass rattled in its frame.

Chapter Text

I think I got insomnia and she's a queen
She likes to go out dancing under the sheets
She might be out to kill me, and I'm afraid
I might be pushing daisies…

.

.

.

The wind rushed past him as he flew, faster than he needed to, as if he could somehow outrun the weird thing in his chest, a feeling as powerful as any transformation but completely different. Like energy fizzing in his blood with nowhere to go, just building and building under his skin, making his fingers tingle with the need to – what? He didn’t know.

He didn't get it. He didn't get her. One minute they were talking and laughing like always, and the next... I hate you.

He didn’t think that was true. He wasn't always great at reading people, but the way she'd looked at him when he'd mentioned her ki – that hadn't been hate. Bulma's flushed face, her parted lips, her blue eyes wide and wild, shining in the orange lamplight – that had been something else. Something that made his heart race even now, remembering it.

He slowed down, realizing he'd overshot Mount Paozu by several miles. The stars overhead were exactly the same ones they'd been watching together that night when she'd explained about galaxies. He didn’t have a good memory for many many things – Chi-Chi, Krillin, Gohan and everybody, really, never failed to point that out – but somehow he remembered Bulma’s finger tracing the white spray of stars against the black sky like it was yesterday. Everything had been simpler back then. Except maybe it hadn't been. Perhaps he just hadn't noticed until now, which was bad – like missing an opponent's tell in a fight until it was too late bad.

He circled back toward Mount Paozu, flying slower now. The horizon was starting to lighten, that weird gray color that wasn't quite night anymore but wasn't morning either. Like being caught between two things.

Chi-Chi was stirring when he slipped back through the window. He felt her breathing change as she rolled over, heard the soft rustle of sheets.

“Goku?” Her voice was thick with sleep, but there was an edge to it. “Where were you?”

“Just went for a fly,” he said, and it wasn't even a lie. He pulled off his gi, stripping down to his boxers. “I wasn’t tired.”

“Mmm.” She didn't sound entirely convinced. In fact, tired or not tired, Goku was usually out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, sliding back into bed. After a long moment, Chi-Chi shifted closer, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. Her hair tickled his skin, and he had to fight the urge to pull away. “Just...” Goku looked to the side. He laughed softly. “Hehe, I guess the senzu bean I took earlier packed a real punch.”

That was also not a lie. He felt wired, battle-ready for some reason, or like he could sprint laps across the planet. And the bed felt different now too – smaller, maybe. Or he was just more aware than before. Through the window, he could see the first birds starting to move in the trees.

“You could’ve woken me,” Chi-Chi said. Her voice was quiet but firm. Her hand found his under the covers, her fingers lacing with his. The simple gesture felt oddly heavy. “You’re home now, Goku. You can’t just take off like that – ”

“Sorry, Chi-Chi.”

“ – not after being gone for so long.”

“’m sorry,” he repeated, because he didn’t know what else to say. But he meant it. He didn't like making Chi-Chi worry. That's why he couldn't figure out why he'd... His mind shied away from thinking about it too much, like dodging a blow he knew it would hurt.

Instead, he focused on the familiar sounds of his home – the creak of the old walls, the rustle of leaves outside, Chi-Chi's steady breathing beside him.

“Don’t forget about your fishing trip with Gohan today,” she murmured, her voice already slurring with sleep. “He’s been waiting for this.”

Goku shook his head against the pillow. “I won’t forget,” he said. “I’m excited too.”

But the weight on his chest didn't ease. If anything, it grew heavier, a physical thing he couldn't quite place.

Chi-Chi's breathing deepened, evening out into the steady rhythm of sleep. Goku lay awake, watching the sky slowly turn from gray to pale gold as the sun crept over the horizon.

.

.

.

She pushed her way up the steep, rocky path, each step a struggle against the uneven ground. The trail was rough and unwelcoming, but she recognized it, familiar in a strange way.

A yellow balloon drifted nearby, just out of reach, glowing with a warm, golden light that flickered like it was alive. It was beautiful – maybe the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen – and she felt a strong urge to grab it, stronger than she could explain.

She quickened her pace, stretching her hand out to snatch the string, but it floated up, just beyond her grasp. She watched as it bobbed away, wondering if the wind might change, if it might come back to her, even just once, but suddenly it –

BANG!

Bulma jerked awake when the balloon popped.

“Wha-huh?”

Or was it the sound of the lab door slamming open? The dream’s soft glow fractured into sharp and  unforgiving fluorescent light and her neck protested as she lifted her head from her keyboard, a string of gibberish code blinking accusingly on her screen and the keyboard’s imprint stinging angrily on her cheek, a physical reminder of falling asleep at her workstation after –

She blinked groggily, a stray memory surfacing as if the balloon’s pop in her dream had knocked it loose. Goku, suddenly tall and handsome and strange, grinning big and bright as he handed her a yellow balloon before the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai.

“You stupid woman!”

Bulma grimaced, the remnants of her dream slipping away like water through her fingers. Her mouth felt like cotton, her head was pounding and the last person she wanted to see after last night – or ever – was storming into her lab at... she squinted at her screen... 6 in the morning. Great.

“What now, Vegeta?” she huffed.

“The gravity room failed again!” Vegeta’s voice was tight with barely contained fury. “Three hundred times gravity for ten minutes and the whole system shuts down!”

Bulma’s fingers curled against the edges of her desk, the rough metal digging into her palms.

“Maybe that's because it's not meant to go that high.” She didn't bother turning around. “We've been over this. Repeatedly.”

“Kakarot trained at one hundred times gravity in space,” something metallic crashed against the wall behind her, probably another prototype adding itself to the growing pile of Vegeta's casualties, “and you expect me to believe you can't push it further on Earth?”

Bulma swiveled her chair around slowly. Vegeta stood rigid with anger, his training suit singed and torn. The sight of him, practically vibrating with frustrated energy – so consumed by something more than fury – made her skin crawl.

“You're going to kill yourself,” she said flatly.

Vegeta's face contorted. “What’s it to you?”

“Pfft. Nothing.”

“Then you should know what I do with my training is none of your concern!”

“It is when you're using my equipment to do it!” She stood up. “And you must be as stupid as I am if you think I would ever give you the means to hurt Goku.”  Her voice cracked slightly. “Or anyone else.”

Vegeta's eyes narrowed, and something shifted in his expression. “Is that why he was here last night? That low-class coward! Checking up on my progress instead of facing me directly?”

The words hit her like ice water. Her heart skipped, then started hammering double-time, but she kept her face carefully blank, years of board meetings and negotiations coming to her rescue.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” Vegeta's eyes gleamed with something almost triumphant. “Kakarot was here, skulking around, suppressing his ki. He’s worried. As he should be.”

Bulma stared. Then she let out a sharp laugh, even as her pulse thundered in her ears. “Have you always been this funny or is it because I haven’t had my coffee yet?”

“I’d know his energy signature anywhere.”

The raw certainty in Vegeta’s voice made Bulma’s stomach clench and, for one wild moment, she imagined telling him everything. The words bubbled up in her throat like acid: congratulations, you’re right. He was here. And he came for me. Not you. You never crossed his mind. She held Vegeta’s gaze, letting her lips curl into a mocking smile. That would shatter his ego more effectively than any taunt about his training, but the urge passed as quickly as it came, leaving her hollow, and she shook her head.

“I think you're seeing things, Vegeta.” She gave him a patronizing once-over and felt cold enjoyment watching his face darken at her tone. “Maybe you should take a walk. Get some air.”

“You think I'm a fool?” Vegeta snarled, the words erupting from him as his power flared violently, making the lights flicker and equipment rattle. The vein in his forehead pulsed dangerously as his electric blue aura crackled around him. Bulma flinched, but she lifted her chin. She knew it was dangerous, to play with him like this, to fuck with his head, but her blood was fizzing with just the sick satisfaction of being able to hurt someone else.

“I think maybe you should worry less about what Goku's doing and more about your own pathetic progress.”

“Watch yourself, woman.”

“Why?” she challenged, taking a step closer despite every instinct screaming at her to back down. “Because I’m right?”

“Because when I finally kill Kakarot,” he said, baring his teeth, “I'll remember every single person who stood in my way.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“It should." His lips curled into an ugly half-smirk. “After all, what use will I have for a malfunctioning gravity room... or its inventor... once I've achieved my goal?”

Bulma clenched her jaw. “Get out," she said quietly, turning back to her computer. “Some of us actually have work to do.”

The door slammed shut behind him, shaking the walls, and she stayed frozen, listening to the fading echo of his footsteps in the hallway. Only then did she let herself breathe. She crumpled into her chair.

“Damn it,” she whispered to her empty lab. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

She fumbled for her phone on the desk, trembling as she flipped it open. She scrolled to the missed calls, pressed the dial button and waited.

One ring. Two rings. Three—

“Bulma?” Yamcha's voice was rough with sleep. “Do you know what time it is?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly her throat felt too tight. What was she even doing? What could she possibly say?

“Rise and shine!” She managed. “I got your message. About dinner.”

A long pause. She could hear rustling on his end, probably sitting up in bed. “It's six in the morning.”

“Is it?” She let out a shaky laugh that sounded horrible even to her own ears. “I've been in the lab all night. Lost track of time.”

Another pause, longer this time. “Everything okay?” Yamcha said slowly.

“Yeah! Yeah, everything's...” She pressed her free hand against her eyes. “I just wanted to say yes. To dinner. Tonight.”

“Oh.” He sounded more awake now. “Great! But... you could've waited a few hours to tell me that,” he said, in a tone that seemed nervously light, and Bulma only just refrained from shouting at him.

“I’m sorry, are you complaining?”

“Bulma…”

“Pick me up at eight-thirty?”

“…sure. Hey, are you coming to the game toda – ”

She hung up before he could finish the sentence, phone clattering to the desk, next to an ancient paper her father had asked her to study. “Causal loops and Self-Consistency Principle: A Mathematical Framework”. The lab was now eerily quiet, and she lit a cigarette, reaching for the paper mechanically. Food for thought, her dad had told her, leaving the massive printout on her desk. You never know where the next breakthrough will come from!

Bulma snorted. Legend had it, the Capsule technology and all the empire her father had built over the years came from that one time a young and bright-eyed Dr Briefs was trying to fit three cats into one carrier for a vet visit. Got me thinking about compression algorithms and dimensional folding!

She took a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled, the smoke curling in front of the dense text of the abstract, but the words refused to resolve into meaning. Her eyes skated over the typed characters, but none of them registered.

She had to think this through logically. First of all, she needed to handle Vegeta. Keep him in check, keep him from doing anything truly destructive. She figured she had no choice but to fix the bug of the gravity room update properly and for good, not this pretense of patching it up she had been dragging on for months now. She had to give him enough progress to stay satisfied, but not enough to actually threaten...

Her mind skittered away from finishing that thought. Because thinking about protecting Goku was ridiculous. Goku, who could transform into something beautiful and terrifying that made the air itself crackle with power. Who had faced down Frieza twice and won.

Hmpf. On top of all that, she absolutely hated him now.

She blinked hard. The equations blurred, replaced by the memory of Goku's face in the amber lamplight of her bedroom. She’d wanted to reach out, fingers tingling with the need to – to what? She didn't know. Or rather she did, and that was the problem.

Her cigarette burned forgotten between her fingers. Vegeta knew Goku had been here. It was upsetting, to say the least, but that wasn’t what was really giving her pause now, as she replayed Vegeta’s words in her head.

He was skulking around, suppressing his ki.

Fat lot of good that did – but still. The idea sent an unexpected zing through her chest, a nascent thrill buzzing through her blood. She'd seen him, no, she’d seen all of them do it in battle, of course – tactically hiding their presence from enemies. But this was different. This felt... almost deliberate. Like maybe, on some level, Goku had known as well as she did what he was doing, what it would mean to come to her.

She scowled. As if she needed another reason to be sure she’d done the right thing, giving him the boot – stupid kicked puppy eyes and all.

The ash from her cigarette dropped onto the paper, leaving a gray smear across the Schrödinger Equation. She stared at it, something tickling the back of her mind, but the thought slipped away before she could catch it.

She pushed back from her desk, the chair's wheels squeaking in protest. She was going crossed-eyed. She needed caffeine. And a shower. Maybe to build something explosive, a Doomsday device or something, just to blow off some steam. And maybe to scream into a pillow for about ten minutes.

Not necessarily in that order.

.

.

.

The kitchen was warm with morning sun and the smell of breakfast – rice steaming, fish grilling, miso bubbling on the stove. Chi-Chi hummed softly as she cooked, her movements quick and practiced, while Goku demolished bowl after bowl at the table. After months of those glowing Yardrat meals that changed flavors depending on your mood (not that he was picky but boy, that had been confusing) the mouthwatering scents of Chi-Chi's cooking made his stomach growl even though he'd already eaten enough for ten people.

“More?” Chi-Chi asked, already reaching for his empty bowl.

“Mm-mm!” He swallowed in an impressive feat of Saiyan anatomy and grinned up at her. “Man, I really missed your cooking, Chi-Chi!”

She smiled as she filled his bowl again, even though something flickered across her face, too quick to read. Goku shrugged and shoved more rice into his mouth. Mount Paozu's morning air drifted through the window, crisp and clean, sunlight spilling in, warming the wooden floors and catching dust motes that danced in the air – in broad daylight, everything from last night felt kind of far away, almost like waking up from an involved half-dream. Almost. If not for the tiny flutter under his ribs every time his mind conjured Bulma’s sharp voice telling him to scram. He glanced at the window, his chopstick hovering over his rice –

“Dad!” Gohan burst into the kitchen. Goku started, inhaling sharply – and promptly choked on his mouthful of rice. He coughed and sputtered, pounding his chest with his fist.

Chi-Chi spun around, her wooden spoon brandished like a weapon. “Goku!”

“Dad!” Gohan rushed over, patting his back. “Easy!”

“I'm- cough -fine!” Goku croaked between coughs, waving them off with a smile. His eyes were watering. “Just went down the wrong way!”

Chi-Chi shook her head. “This is what happens when you inhale your food instead of eating properly.”

Goku took a deep breath. “Phew.” He cleared his throat. “Hehe, I guess.”

Gohan studied his father's face for a moment, then seemed satisfied he was okay. "Are you ready?” he said. “Can we go?"

“Almost!” Goku grinned. “Just one more bowl!”

Gohan arched an eyebrow. “That's what you said three bowls ago, dad.”

“Sorry, Gohan,” Goku laughed, then reached for another piece of grilled fish. “Your mom’s cooking’s just too good to pass up!”

“Mom’s cooking is the best,” Gohan agreed, hopping onto a chair. Chi-Chi smiled at that, turning back to the stove where she was stirring something that smelled amazing.

Goku nodded enthusiastically. “Mphf mphh mphfff!”

Gohan dissolved into giggles. “Dad, I can't understand a word you're saying!”

“Honestly, Goku!” Chi-Chi turned from the stove, hands on her hips, her face twitching like she wanted to scowl but couldn’t quite manage it. “Haven’t you learned your lesson? And what kind of example are you setting for Gohan?”

“Mom, I kind of know we don’t talk and chew at the same time –”

“Oh, hush, you!”

Goku gulped dramatically. “Sorry!” he said with a sheepish grin. “I was just saying Gohan's right!”

Chi-Chi shook her head, but her lips were curled in a smirk. Goku watched her turn back to the stove, the morning light catching in her dark hair, and something uncomfortable squirmed in his stomach that had nothing to do with breakfast.

“Hey, um, Chi-Chi...” he found himself saying. “Why don't you come with us?”

"Hmm?" She kept stirring, but her rhythm faltered slightly.

“Fishing!” Goku gestured with his chopsticks. “Could be fun, right? Like a... what's it called? When people eat outside?”

“A picnic?” Gohan helpfully supplied.

Goku snapped his fingers. “Picnic!” He turned to Chi-Chi. “What do you say?”

“I don’t know, Goku,” Chi-Chi said. She glanced down at the dishes in the sink, at the rice cooker still steaming on the counter. “I’ve got too much to do here. The house won't clean itself.”

“Aww, come on Chi-Chi!” Goku leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “When’s the last time we all did something together?”

The wooden spoon stopped mid-stir. “Really, Goku?” Chi-Chi snapped.

The kitchen fell silent except for the soft bubbling of the pot. Gohan glanced between his parents, and Goku felt his smile fade.

“I...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Whoops. Right. Sorry. Sorry!”

He grinned, uncertain, unnerved by the way Chi-Chi was looking at him. Then, like a curtain falling, she turned away.

“Oh, never mind.” Chi-Chi resumed stirring, swift and energetic. “It’s fine. You two go ahead and have fun and I’ll see you later.”

“But – ” Goku started.

“It's okay, dad,” Gohan tugged at his sleeve. “Mom's right, she's got lots to do. And I want to show you this awesome spot I found while you were gone!"

“Yeah,” Goku said, pushing back from the table. He glanced at Chi-Chi's back. “Thanks for breakfast?”

“Just be careful,” Chi-Chi said without turning around. “And don't stay out too late. I’m talking to you, Gohan!”

“We won't!” Gohan called back, already halfway to the door. “Come on, dad!”

.

.

.

The restaurant was too fancy, the kind of place that Bulma normally would have loved but that left her cold after the couple of days she’d had and the way the universe was out to ruin her life. All white tablecloths, crystal chandeliers that caught the light just so and string quartet music, and the air buzzing with quiet conversations and the clink of expensive silverware. Not Yamcha’s usual style at all. As a matter of fact…

“So there I was,” Yamcha was saying, his hands gesturing wildly, “standing on the pitcher's mound, and I swear, this seagull had it out for me. It kept dive-bombing the field every time I wound up for a pitch!”

Bulma stabbed her salmon with unnecessary force, sending it sliding into the saffron beurre blanc. “And what did you do?”

“Well, I thought to myself, 'Yamcha, you've faced down alien invaders and world-ending threats. You're not going to let some overgrown pigeon get the better of you!'”

Bulma raised an eyebrow. She refrained from pointing out that said alien invasion had literally resulted in Yamcha’s death. She could be nasty and cruel, but her heart had to be in it. Besides, she was exhausted, utterly and totally wrecked – so, she merely reached for her wine glass.

“Let me guess,” she said dryly, “it got the better of you?”

“Oh, you better believe it did,” Yamcha laughed. “On my next pitch, the seagull swooped down and… SPLAT! Right on my cap!” Yamcha grinned, reaching for his wine glass with a flourish. “The crowd went wild. Coach had to call a timeout just so I could clean up.”

“Wow.” Bulma grimaced. Yamcha always did have a weird sense of humor. “That’s something.”

“You know what they say!” Yamcha waved his fork. “It’s good luck!”

“Is it?”

“Oh, sure! We wiped the field with the other team.”

Bulma made a non-committal sound and took a large gulp of wine. They lapsed into silence, punctuated only by the soft scraping of silverware against fine china and the melancholic swell of the string quartet. A nearby waiter glided past and Yamcha nodded at him with unneeded enthusiasm. Bulma shoved a forkful of salmon into her mouth and then another, casting her eyes firmly to the ceiling. Whatever dreadful conversation they had yet to endure would have to wait until she swallowed and, at this rate, that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Then Yamcha cleared his throat. Once. Twice.

On the third attempt, Bulma finally looked over at him and Yamcha laughed faintly, a pink blush making its appearance high on his cheeks.

“So, anyway,” he said. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“Fshould I be wovvied?” Bulma mumbled around a mouthful of fish, covering her lips with a hand, her cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk.

“Ha-ha.” Yamcha deadpanned. “No, listen.” He grinned and leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking about us.”

Bulma’s chewing slowed. “Hmf?”

Yamcha shifted in his chair and fidgeted with his collar. Only then Bulma noticed, staring in blank horror, that Yamcha was wearing his abominable lucky tie.

Yamcha inhaled. “Why don’t we get married?”

Bulma choked on her wine, the expensive white spluttering across the pristine white tablecloth. Several heads turned at nearby tables as she coughed, her face crimson red and her eyes watering.

“Are you insane?” Bulma wheezed, once she could breathe again.

Yamcha’s face fell. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” Bulma sputtered, dabbing at her chin with her napkin. “Were you clobbered on the head during practice? You can't just –” she gestured wildly with the napkin, “spring that on someone! There are protocols! Procedures!”

“Spring it on – ” Yamcha’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Bulma, we've been dating for years!”

“On and off!”

“But mostly on since I came back to life!”

“Oh, my god.” Bulma pressed her fingers to her temples, wondering if this was what being hit by a Spirit Bomb felt like. “This is not happening.”

“What’s so crazy about it?” Yamcha said. “Frieza’s gone, everyone’s alive, Goku’s back –”

Bulma shrieked. The elderly couple seated closer to them dropped their silverware with a clatter and Yamcha flashed them his most dazzling smile before turning to Bulma with eyes wide in alarm. “Bulma, what the hell?” 

“What does Goku have to do with anything?”

Yamcha blinked. “Huh?”

“Why would you even – what a random thing to say!”

“I’m just saying, everything’s finally back to normal! I think it’s time!”

“Time?”

“Look.” Yamcha reached across the table for her hand. She let him take it, watching with a sort of detached fascination. Maybe – maybe – this was it. Maybe this was the solution to the gnawing restlessness she’d been carrying for months, for years. Maybe the answer for all the wrongs in the world lay in settling down, marrying Yamcha, forgetting all about aliens and monsters; and about balconies at night and big dark eyes in dim lamplight, and heat spreading deep from the bottom of her belly, melting and pooling  –

“We're not getting any younger.”

Bulma yanked her hand back like his touch burned. “Excuse me?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“So now I'm old?”

“No!” Yamcha held up his hands defensively. “What I’m trying to say is that I love you, that we’ve been together forever, and I think it’s time you and I got serious!”

“Serious!?” She let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “You don’t even have a ring!”

“I was gonna use the napkin ring for now.” He actually reached for it, the silver circle glinting ominously in the chandelier light.

Bulma blanched. “Stay away from me with that thing!” she yelped. “Do I look like the kind of woman that gets proposed to with tableware?”

“We can pick a ring tomorrow!”

“No! Oh, no!” Bulma squawked in indignation. “First of all, I can’t believe you! This is the worst proposal in the history of the universe! A napkin ring – ” Bulma broke off, realizing she was half-standing, hands planted on the table. She slowly sat back down. “A napkin ring and a seagull story?” she continued in a harsh whisper. “Really?”

Yamcha’s face went beet red. “Wait, the seagull story wasn’t part of the – ”

“Second,” she hissed, jabbing her fork at him, “marriage is… isn’t… marriage isn’t a band aid you can slap on a barely functioning relationship!”

The words hung in the air between them, sharp and truer than anything she’d ever said to him in the last year. She watched them land, saw the moment they hit home in the way Yamcha's mouth turned downward.

“Barely functioning?” Yamcha's voice held a note of hurt. “I thought we were doing better!”

“Better than what?” she asked. “Being dead?”

Yamcha slumped in his chair. “Aren’t you exaggerating?”

Bulma shook her head. “Come on, Yamcha!” she said. “This – this isn’t working! You must feel it too. We’re not – we're going through the motions. We're together because it's comfortable.”

Yamcha flinched. “Hey, come on,” he said, “that’s not true.”

The kneejerk reassurance was almost touching. Bulma looked at him, really looked at him, studying his face in the candlelight – the familiar scars, the downcast eyes. For a moment she saw him as he'd been fifteen years ago – young and shy and trying so hard to talk to a girl. She felt a wave of genuine affection for him, a feeling that had eluded her lately, a burst of tenderness. Something twisted painfully in her chest – panic or guilt, or maybe both. But now – now she’d started this.

“Isn’t it?” she pressed on, trying desperately to soften her voice. “When's the last time you were actually happy with me? Not just okay, not just getting by, but really happy?”

Yamcha’s mouth opened as if to answer, but no words came. Instead, he shook his head, his eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight between them.

“See?” Bulma said, leaning back into her chair and crossing her arms. “I’m right.”

Yamcha’s gaze was searching. Maybe it was all in her head, but he looked milliseconds away from asking the dreaded question – Is there someone else?

She took a deep breath, looking away with vague discomfort.

“I thought maybe… maybe getting married would fix things,” Yamcha said instead.

Bulma chuckled darkly. “It wouldn’t.”

They looked at each other across the table. Finally, Yamcha sat back, running a hand through his hair.

“I thought…” he started again, then sighed, then shook his head once more. “I just… I didn’t – I don’t want to lose you, Bulma.”

“You won’t,” Bulma said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. Her heart clenched. He was her first love, her safety net. Her best attempt at normal. One of the gifts of the dragon balls. They would never be rid of each other, not really.

“Your chocolate soufflé.”  The waiter appeared with impeccable timing, setting the chocolate dessert between them with a flourish. Steam rose from the perfectly puffed top, carrying the rich scent of dark chocolate. "Best enjoyed while hot."

Bulma stared at the soufflé, then at Yamcha, then back at the soufflé. Then Yamcha let out a strangled laugh.

“I can't believe I just got dumped over dessert,” he said.

Bulma snorted. “Technically we didn’t make it past seconds.”

The attempt at humor fell flat. “So this is it?” Yamcha said, his voice rough.

“Yeah,” Bulma said, her throat tight. “I think it is.”

They shared another look across the table, and something loosened in Bulma's chest, an inexplicable feeling humming under her skin – like she’d cut her last tie holding her to solid ground. She picked up her spoon with trembling fingers, just to have something to do with her hands, and broke through the soufflé's delicate surface. Steam escaped in a soft curl; she watched the soufflé slowly deflate, sinking in on itself.

Yamcha’s shoulders slumped. He reached for his own spoon. “I think I knew, you know? I just didn't want to see it.” He took a bite, then added, barely audible, “We had some good times, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” she croaked, her vision blurring slightly. “We did.”

The chocolate was bittersweet when it melted on her tongue. They shared the soufflé without speaking, and if both their eyes were a bit bright and red-rimmed, well – neither of them mentioned it.

Chapter Text

J'ai demandé à la lune
Si tu voulais encore de moi
Elle m'a dit "j'ai pas l'habitude"
"De m'occuper des cas comme ça"
Et toi et moi
On était tellement sûrs
Et on se disait quelquefois
Que c'était juste une aventure
Et que ça ne durerait pas…

.

.

.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows of Kame House, fracturing into dappled patterns across the worn wooden floor. The gentle island breeze carried the scent of salt and seaweed through the open windows, stirring the pages of discarded magazines strewn across the floor. Outside, waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, counting out another seemingly ordinary day on the tiny island.

Seemingly ordinary, if not for the fact that they were entering hour five of Krillin's post-breakup lamentations—hour thirty-six if you counted the previous seven days.

A sorrowful saxophone wailed from the old record player in the corner, the same melancholy tune that had been on repeat since sunrise. The coffee table had transformed into what could only be described as a shrine of heartbreak: half-eaten pizza slices curling at the edges like dying flowers, empty soda cans arranged in what appeared to be some kind of commemorative monument, and crumpled tissues scattered like snowdrifts across the surface.

“And then she said my head was too shiny!” Krillin was saying, sprawled dramatically across the armchair, his legs dangling off one armrest while his head hung upside down over the other. His face had turned an alarming shade of red from this position, but he seemed too consumed by misery to notice. “Can you believe that? How is that a dealbreaker?”

Master Roshi and Oolong looked up simultaneously from their card game, identical expressions of pure dismay etched on their faces. Oolong's ears twitched in irritation as he fanned his cards closer to his chest. He inhaled sharply, a scathing retort visibly forming—his snout already scrunching with anticipation—when Master Roshi delivered a swift kick to his shin under the table. The old master shook his head, sunglasses catching the light in a warning flash.

“Don't answer,” he murmured, barely moving his lips. “It'll only encourage him.”

He adjusted his sunglasses with exaggerated focus and hunched back over his cards. Oolong's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. He scowled and rearranged his hand with unnecessary vigor, the cards slapping against each other as his irritation mounted. The wasted opportunity for a perfectly good insult seemed to pain him physically; he squirmed in his chair, pointedly trying to ignore Krillin's mournful sigh.

“I mean, my head has been shiny the entire time we've been dating!” Krillin continued, gesturing wildly at his gleaming dome. A tissue that had been stuck to his elbow fluttered to the floor. “Why is it a problem now?”

“Maybe she needed time to process,” Oolong drawled without looking up. He shuffled his cards. “Women are complicated creatures.”

Krillin's brow furrowed, his upside-down expression momentarily pensive. “Maybe...”

Oolong's ears perked up—daring to hope for the first time in three days. His eyes darted toward Master Roshi, who had lowered his cards and was watching Krillin with similar anticipation. Could it be? Was Krillin finally about to let it go?

“But then when I told her I could grow my hair out, she told me it wasn't about the hair! It was about compatibility!” Krillin shot upright, the armchair emitting a pained squeak. “What does that even mean? We’re plenty compatible! We both like—” he paused, casting about for evidence, “I don’t know— food!”

Oolong rolled his eyes. “That's not being compatible, pal,” he said, and slapped down a card with finality. “That's being alive.”

“You don't understand anything,” Krillin said, flopped back, slumping back into the chair. He rolled up his sleeve. “What am I supposed to do with this now?”

There on Krillin's forearm, was an oddly mesmerizing tattoo. The sprawling cursive letters "MARON 4EVER" stretched across his skin, surrounded by several lopsided shapes that might have been hearts if one squinted and had a very generous imagination.

“Put that thing away!” Oolong yelped, shielding his eyes with his cards. “I've seen it enough times to have nightmares about it!”

"It was supposed to be romantic," Krillin said, his voice small as he traced the outline with his finger. "Show my commitment, you know?"

“Well,” Master Roshi cackled, “it certainly is permanent!”

Krillin scowled, pulling his sleeve down with a sharp tug. “Why did you let me do it?” he demanded, glaring at Oolong.

"Let you?" Oolong said, indignant. "All I said was 'by all means, if you don't think you can live without what’s-her-face name on your arm for the rest of your life, go for it!'"

“Exactly!”

The front door burst open with a bang that made all three inhabitants jump. Sunlight flooded the room as a small silhouette appeared in the doorway.

“Hello, everybody!” Gohan’s cheerful voice boomed through the house, cutting through the saxophone's mournful wail. “Krillin! Look who I've brought!” He bounded in, followed close by his dad, who ducked slightly to clear the doorframe.

“Oh, thank god,” Oolong said, tossing his cards over his shoulder.

"Gohan! Goku!” Master Roshi straightened, hastily kicking his magazines under the table. “What brings you here?”

Gohan stepped forward, his face bright with the innocent enthusiasm only a child could muster. “Well, we were flying around – plus, Oolong said Krillin needed cheering up!” His eyes flicked to the floor where a colorful corner of magazine peeked out from under Master Roshi's table, but he politely pretended not to notice. “Right, dad?”

“I might’ve also mentioned something about Krillin’s dignity,” Oolong muttered, waddling to the corner to turn off the record player.

“And I’m right here,” Krillin grumbled, standing up from the armchair.

Goku beamed at him. “Hey there, Krillin!” he said. “So, what happened? Why the long face?”

"He's been dumped," Oolong supplied helpfully, ignoring Krillin's glare.

"Oh!" Goku blinked, processing this. His brow furrowed briefly before his expression brightened. "Oh, well! It's not the end of the world..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting to Krillin's partially exposed arm, and he squinted, tilting his head, "…moron forever?"

The room went silent. Krillin’s eyes bulged.

"It says Maron!" he yelled, jabbing at the letters with his finger. "M-A-R-O-N!"

Goku tilted his head to the other side. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure!”

"Okay!" Goku held up his hands in surrender, then paused. "And who's Maron?"

“Dad!” Gohan elbowed him, shooting an apologetic look at Krillin. “Maron's Krillin's ex-girlfriend.”

“The one who dumped him,” Oolong added unnecessarily, a sly smile starting to form on his face.

“The love of my life!” Krillin said, clutching his tattooed arm to his chest.

“Oh, right!” Goku snapped his fingers, recognition dawning. "The one who said your head was too shiny. Sorry, buddy!" He clapped Krillin’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "You know I'm not good with names."

“Or at reading, apparently,” Krillin muttered darkly, flopping back onto the armchair.

Goku grinned and took Krillin's arm, pulling up the sleeve for another look. “Hey, these letters are really swirly,” he defended himself. “And these are... dolphins?”

“They're hearts!” Krillin snatched his arm away while Master Roshi spluttered, choking on his own laughter. “What is wrong with you?”

Oolong suddenly stood straighter. “Old man!” he said abruptly. “Help me with the snacks.”

Master Roshi pounded his chest several times with a fist, wheezing between guffaws. “The snacks?” he managed.

“In the kitchen,” Oolong said, his tone brooking no argument. “Now.”

As the old master and the shape-shifting pig made their hasty exit, Goku settled cross-legged on the floor next to the coffee table, helping himself to a slice of the forgotten pizza. He examined the congealed cheese with casual interest before taking an enormous bite. Gohan carefully perched on the arm of Krillin’s chair.

“Is that a real tattoo?” he asked gently.

Krillin sniffed. “Yeah.”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay, Krillin,” Gohan said, softly patting Krillin’s shoulder. “Maybe in time you’ll – “

“Please don’t say I’ll forget her!” Krillin interrupted, his voice cracking. “I’ll never forget Maron! She was my soul mate!”

“I was going to say ‘you’ll learn to live with the pain’,” Gohan finished, looking helplessly at his father, who sighed and scratched his head.

“I think what Gohan’s trying to say,” Goku said, reaching for a second slice, “is that you could always wear long sleeves.”

Krillin raised an eyebrow. “For the rest of my life?”

“Okay, fair – ” Goku conceded with a thoughtful nod. He brightened suddenly. “If it helps, the dolphins are kind of cute. I like them.”

“They're not dolphins,” Krillin muttered, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Sorry,” Goku said with genuine contrition. He looked down at his pizza slice, then held it out to Krillin. “Food?”

Krillin stared at the offering—the pizza was bent in half, with visible teeth marks and a dangling piece of cheese barely hanging on. Against all odds, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the first one in over a week.

“Thanks, buddy,” he said. “But I think I'll pass.”

“Your loss,” Goku shrugged good-naturedly, popping the rest into his mouth. He swallowed almost without chewing and grinned up at Krillin. “Stop worrying! We'll figure something out!”

From the kitchen doorway, Oolong watched the exchange, a calculating smile spreading across his face. In the shadows behind him, Master Roshi leaned against his staff.

“Oh yes,” Oolong murmured. “I think we will figure something out.”

He slammed the kitchen door behind him and turned around with a determined gleam in his eyes.

“What is it?” Master Roshi said. “If you dragged me in here just to actually make snacks, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

Oolong paced the small kitchen, his hooves clicking against the linoleum floor. He rubbed his hands together, an excited gleam in his eyes. “Goku is truly a genius,” he declared.

Master Roshi hummed. “Well, yes. Occasionally. Depending on the situation,” he conceded, though his tone suggested this was not one of those situations.

“No, no, no.” Oolong waved his short arms dismissively. “Have you heard what he said? 'Who's Maron?'” He mimicked Goku's innocent confusion with lethal accuracy, but Master Roshi's face remained blank.

“And?”

“And that's exactly what Krillin will be saying once we're done with him.” Oolong's face split into a devious grin.

“Done with him?” Master Roshi straightened, intrigued despite himself. “What are you saying exactly?”

Oolong glanced over his shoulder, then beckoned Master Roshi closer. The old martial artist bent down, his ear practically pressed to Oolong's snout.

“Easy,” Oolong whispered, his voice thrumming with the unique satisfaction of a truly transcendent idea. “We gather the dragon balls and wish for Krillin's memories of Maron to be erased.”

Master Roshi pulled back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “That's drastic,” he said slowly. “Immoral and illegal.” The kitchen light reflected off his sunglasses as he considered the implications. “We should do it.”

“Yes.” Oolong nodded eagerly. “We should. And maybe Shenron will take pity on him and also erase the tattoo. One dragon, two birds.” He tapped the side of his head knowingly, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Master Roshi nodded. “The boy won't know what hit him,” he mused. “One minute drowning in heartbreak, the next...” he snapped his fingers, “...blissfully oblivious! And no more of that infernal saxophone music! I haven't been able to watch my special exercise videos in peace for weeks!”

“And no more monologues,” Oolong added fervently. “If I have to hear one more 'her eyes were like the ocean at sunset' speech, I might just walk into that ocean myself.”

Master Roshi’s face hardened with resolve. “Then it’s settled,” he said. “No memories, no heartbreak, no saxophone solos.”

“Goodbye Maron, goodbye tattoo, goodbye endless whining!” Oolong added. “Now,” he mused, starting to pace again, “we’ll need Goku and Gohan’s help. With them on board, we could find them all in a few days, maybe less.”

“But how do we get them involved without telling them what we’re doing?” Master Roshi asked. “Gohan at least is too sensible for this kind of... idea.”

“We lie, of course!” Oolong said. “We tell them we need the dragon balls for something important. Something good.”

“Like what?”

Oolong froze, then snapped his fingers as inspiration struck. “The moon! We could say we want to restore the moon!"

“The moon?” Master Roshi repeated skeptically.

“Yes!” Oolong's voice rose with excitement, carrying through the thin kitchen walls. He quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, glancing nervously at the door before continuing in a stage whisper. “Remember? Piccolo destroyed it before the Saiyans arrived. It never got wished back! We could say we want to restore it for... for navigation! For the tides!” He gestured extravagantly. “For the coral reefs!”

“You know,” Master Roshi said thoughtfully. “That’s not half-bad. No one can argue with wanting to restore a celestial body.”

“Exactly!” Oolong said. “It’s practically charitable work!”

“Very well!” Master Roshi said. “Let’s not waste any more time!”

With identical expressions of determination, they pushed open the kitchen door. Master Roshi cleared his throat dramatically as he returned to the living room with a newfound spring in his step, Oolong waddling importantly at his heels.

“Hey, where are the snacks?” Goku asked around a mouthful of congealed pizza.

Master Roshi ignored him. His sunglasses glinted in the afternoon light.

“Good news!” he said, addressing the three figures huddled around the coffee table. “After much deliberation, I believe I’ve found the solution to all of our problems.”

“Really,” Krillin muttered. “All of them?” 

Master Roshi moved to the center of the room. “What you need, my boy, is a distraction! Not just any distraction, but a purpose! A mission!”

“Mission?” Gohan perked up.

“Something meaningful,” Oolong interjected. “Something challenging.”

“Something that would benefit not just you, but the entire world,” Master Roshi said.

“Like what, Master Roshi?” Gohan asked politely.

“You see, Gohan, Oolong and I have been thinking about a serious problem that affects us all,” Master Roshi said.

“And what’s that?” Krillin asked, arching an eyebrow.

“The planet’s broken moon!” Oolong exclaimed, pointing an arm toward the ceiling.

A beat of silence followed his proclamation. Krillin's brow furrowed in confusion, while Gohan sat up straighter, looking genuinely intrigued. Goku tilted his head to the side, absently scratching his cheek with one finger.

“The moon?” Krillin finally asked. “What about it?”

“What about it?” Oolong repeated, indignant. “If you haven’t noticed, the moon's been gone for years now, and frankly, it's becoming a real issue!”

“That’s true!” Gohan said. “Piccolo destroyed it when I was little!”

Master Roshi nodded grimly. “A wise tactical decision back then, but an ecological disaster in the long run,” he said. “Trust me, as a man who's lived on this island for centuries, I can tell you those tides are absolutely, positively... wrong.”

“Very wrong,” Oolong agreed solemnly. “Practically backwards.”

Gohan's brow furrowed slightly. “I hadn't thought about it that way,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned. “The tides do seem a bit weak. And the moon does affect a lot of Earth's systems. Without it, nocturnal animals must be completely disoriented! Not to mention the effect on coral reproductive cycles and –” He trailed off when Krillin raised a hand.

“Alright, we get it,” Krillin said. “The moon is important.” He looked between Oolong and Master Roshi suspiciously. “What’s your point?”

“The point is the moon needs to be restored and we’re just the team to do it!” Master Roshi said. “All we have to do is gather the dragon balls and wish it back.”

“The dragon balls!” Gohan exclaimed. “What do you think, Dad?” he asked, turning to his father with excitement building in his voice. “I've never been on a real dragon ball hunt before! Not one that wasn't, you know, life-or-death.”

“Sounds fun!” Goku said, reaching for the last slice of pizza. “Just…” he grimaced, and hesitated, “don’t phrase it like that when you ask your mom.”

“It would be an educational adventure for Gohan,” Oolong said slyly. “Geography, navigation, astronomy...”

Gohan’s eyes lit up. “Mom's always saying my studies need to have a practical application, so I can be more competitive in the job market,” he said eagerly. “And restoring a celestial body is definitely scientific!”

“That's the spirit!” Roshi clapped Gohan on the shoulder. “Are we all in agreement? For Krillin and the moon?”

“Hold on,” Krillin said, holding up a hand. “I appreciate what you guys are trying to do, but I'm not sure I'm in the mood for—”

“Nonsense!” Master Roshi interrupted, slapping Krillin on the back. “This is exactly what you need, Krillin! Adventure! Camaraderie! A higher purpose!”

“The greater good!” Oolong added. “A chance to right a cosmic wrong!”

Krillin hesitated, then sighed. “I guess it might be good to get out of the house.”

“Excellent!” Master Roshi clapped his hands together. “Now, first things first – we need the dragon radar.” He turned to Goku. "Goku, with your Instant Transmission technique, you could pop over to Capsule Corp and borrow it from Bulma in no time!”

Goku froze mid-chew, a string of cheese suspended between the pizza and his mouth. His eyes widened slightly, darting around the room, and he slowly lowered the slice, the cheese string finally breaking with a sad little snap.

“What, me?” he said. “Now?”

Oolong raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’re busy?”

“No, but, um…” Goku gestured vaguely. “See? I’m still eating this pizza.”

Gohan leaned forward. “The pizza is gone, dad,” he pointed out, peering into the empty box on the coffee table.

“Oh!” Goku looked down at the last bit of crust in his hand as if surprised to find it there. “Oh, okay.” He laughed nervously, a sound so uncharacteristic that even Krillin stopped examining his tattoo to stare. “I guess I’ll go then.”

He reluctantly abandoned the crust and stood up, brushing crumbs from his gi. With a deep breath, he raised two fingers to his forehead. The room fell into a hush of anticipation. After a moment, he lowered his arm.

“Is it urgent?” he asked.

Oolong narrowed his eyes. “Operation Restore the Moon starts at eight o’clock tomorrow,” he said. “It’s very urgent.”

“Is it though?” Goku said, scratching the back of his head. “The moon has been gone for a while now.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Krillin asked, momentarily distracted from his own problems.

“Nothing!” Goku said quickly. A flush crept up his neck into his cheeks. “I’m going!”

He raised his fingers to his forehead again, his brow furrowing in concentration. His jaw clenched, his eyes squeezed shut tight enough to create little wrinkles at the corners. Just as the air began to waver around him and the others expected him to vanish, he abruptly dropped his hand and exhaled loudly.

"On second thought," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush, "I think Oolong should go."

“Me?” Oolong drawled, his snout twitching in disbelief. “Why?”

“This is your idea,” Goku offered with a slight grin. “You can explain it better!”

Oolong's suspicious gaze narrowed further. “I can?” he repeated dubiously. He exchanged a bewildered glance with Master Roshi.

“Yep!” Goku nodded enthusiastically. “You’re… good at... talking!”

Oolong stared at him for a long moment, then threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine! I'll go to Capsule Corp! But you guys owe me." His expression soured further. “I heard Bulma's been extra evil ever since she and Yamcha broke up last month.”

Goku made a strangled sound halfway between a gulp and a hiccup. Four pair of eyes turned to stare at him.

“I just remembered something,” he blurted.

“You did?” Gohan asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Yes. Your mom.” Goku nodded vigorously. “Asked me to fix the roof.”

Gohan frowned. “The roof? The one you fixed last week after you accidentally landed too hard on it?”

“Yep! That one!” Goku said, already halfway to the door. “I have to check it. Double-check it!” He flashed them all a bright smile. “Can’t have it raining in your room, buddy.”

“Dad, we're in the middle of a heatwave," Gohan pointed out, his brow furrowing in confusion. "And you said the roof was perfectly fixed after you—"

“Better safe than sorry!” Goku cut in. He ruffled Gohan's hair with enough force to make the boy wince. “Heat expands... wood and... stuff.”

“Dad,” Gohan said, genuine concern now evident in his young face. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Never better!” Goku declared, his voice echoing as he practically phased to the door in his haste. “Great! See you tomorrow, don’t start without us! Gohan, you coming?”

Before anyone could question him further, he bolted outside. Through the window, they watched him blast off into the sky with great haste, leaving a crackling trail of energy.

“What,” Krillin said, turning to the others, “was that about?”

Gohan shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “He’s been a little weird ever since he got back. Mom says he’s adjusting.”

Oolong stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe the Yardrats have messed with his head.”

Gohan’s smile tightened. He looked between the window and the bemused expressions of everyone else in the room. “I should go after him,” he sighed. “See you tomorrow, everyone!”

As the door swung shut behind Gohan, the remaining occupants of Kame House exchanged confused glances.

“Well,” Master Roshi said, clapping Oolong on the back. “Looks like you're up, pig!”

“I hate you all," Oolong grumbled, trudging toward the door with the enthusiasm of a man approaching the gallows. “If I don't come back, tell everyone Krillin's tattoo was the last thing that made me laugh.”

.

.

.

Capsule Corporation loomed before Oolong like a fortress. He approached the main entrance, rehearsing his lines. Just get the radar. Don't mention any memory erasure. Simple.

The receptionist smiled politely. “May I help you?”

“I need to see Bulma,” Oolong said, attempting to sound confident. “Tell her it's an old friend.”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Bulma isn't taking visitors today. She's working on an important project.”

Oolong's shoulders straightened. “Look, it's important. Just tell her Oolong is here. She'll either let me in or threaten to turn me into bacon. Either way, you'll have your answer.”

The receptionist hesitated, then picked up the phone. After a brief, hushed conversation, she looked up with surprise. “Ms. Bulma says you can go up. Take the elevator to the floor -3, then follow the signs to Lab 3.”

“She actually agreed to see me?” Oolong muttered to himself. “That's... concerning.”

The receptionist nodded solemnly.

The elevator ride felt like descending to his doom. When the doors opened, he could already hear a crash from behind a door at the end of the hallway, followed by a string of colorful expletives that made even Oolong's ears burn.

“Sounds like Bulma's in a good mood,” he muttered to himself, approaching Lab 3 cautiously.

He raised a hand to knock but hesitated, considering his options. Maybe he should come back later. Or never. Never sounded good.

“I can hear you breathing!” Bulma's voice snapped from inside the lab. “Either come in or go away, but stop lurking outside my door like a creep!”

Oolong sighed and pushed the door open. “Hello?" he said, stepping inside.

The room looked like a tornado had hit it – blueprints and scientific journals scattered across every surface, half-assembled devices blinking with ominous lights, and in the center of it all, Bulma, looking like she hadn't slept in days. Her blue hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, smudges of grease marked her face, and she was wearing a denim overall that had seen better days.

“Oolong,” she said, looking at him through protective goggles. “What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I'd drop by,” he said casually, sidling further into the room. “See how you're doing. Nice place you've got here. Very... quaint.”

Bulma yanked off her goggles and fixed him with a piercing stare. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

Oolong gulped. This was going to be even worse than he'd anticipated.

“Well, you see, we're planning this little expedition,” he began, picking his way through the mechanical debris. “Nothing major, just a little dragon ball hunt to restore the moon Piccolo destroyed. For the tides, you know? Very important for... ecological... things.” He faltered under her increasingly skeptical glare. “So, we were wondering if we could maybe borrow the dragon radar?”

Bulma's eyes narrowed dangerously. “We?”

“It was Master Roshi’s idea.”

“You’re telling me,” Bulma said, settling her hands on her hips, “that Master Roshi suddenly developed an interest in marine ecology.”

“Um, sure?”

“The man whose environmental concern extends exactly as far as making sure the beach is clean enough for sunbathing women.”

Oolong shifted uncomfortably. “It's... a recent interest?”

“Spill it, pig. What’s this really about?”

Oolong squirmed under her gaze. "I don't know what you're—"

“Now, or I'll tell Vegeta you volunteered to be his new training dummy.”

Oolong deflated. "Fine! It's Krillin, okay? He's driving us insane. He got dumped and hasn't stopped crying for days. He even got a terrible tattoo—'Maron 4ever' with little hearts... or dolphins, I don’t even know anymore!”

Bulma's expression softened slightly. “That's rough.”

“Rough!? I’m tired of being his emotional support pig! He plays the same sad saxophone record all day! I haven't slept in a week!” Oolong threw up his hands in exasperation. “We just want him to forget her so we can have some peace and quiet at Kame House!”

Bulma stared at him, processing this information. “You're going to use the dragon balls to... erase Krillin's memories of his girlfriend?"

“Yes! All the Maron parts!” Oolong said. “And the tattoo. Definitely the tattoo. And he absolutely can’t know about it!”

“That's...” Bulma's voice trailed off, a strange look crossing her face. “That's even worse than I thought.”

“It’s not!” Oolong said. “It’s a kindness! For everyone involved!”

“A kindness,” Bulma said slowly, turning away to hide her expression. Oolong watched as she walked to a nearby cabinet and unlocked it with a complex series of keypresses. She reached inside and withdrew the familiar circular device, holding it in her hands for a long moment.

“So,” Oolong said, suddenly uneasy. “You’re going to lend us the radar?”

“I’ll do you one better,” she said finally, turning back to him with a manic gleam in her eye. “I’ll come with you.”

“You will?” Oolong squeaked in surprise.

“Yes,” Bulma said, tucking the dragon radar into her pocket. “I’ll bring the radar, but I’m part of this expedition.”

“But—" Oolong started to protest.

“Take it or leave it,” Bulma cut him off. “I invented the radar and I don’t trust you or Master Roshi with my technology. Besides...” Her voice took on a casual tone that didn't quite match the intensity in her eyes, "someone needs to make sure you idiots don't mess up the wish.”

“But what about your important project?” Oolong said.

Bulma stared down at him. “This became more important,” she said firmly. “For Krillin, right?”

Oolong stared at her, completely thrown off balance by this unexpected development. “Fine,” he finally conceded. “But don't blame me if he cries on your favorite shoes.”

“I'll bring waterproof ones,” Bulma replied with a tight smile. “Now, when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow. Eight o’clock. Kame House.”

“I'll be there,” she said, already turning back to her work. “You can see yourself out.”

Oolong hesitated at the door. “Um, Bulma, is everything okay?”

“Never better!” she replied without looking up. “See you tomorrow.”

As Oolong left, Bulma waited until his footsteps faded down the corridor. Then she sank into her chair, pulled out the dragon radar, and stared at it with an expression caught between hope and dread.

.

.

.

“I still can’t believe mom agreed to this!” Gohan said as they descended toward the small island. Kame House sat nestled among swaying palm trees under the bright morning sun. Gohan was carrying a backpack almost as big as he was, meticulously packed with supplies Chi-Chi had insisted were essential for any educational expedition: notebooks, pencils, a compass, and enough snacks to feed an army—or one half-Saiyan for about an hour. He adjusted the straps on his shoulders. “She made me promise to document the entire ecological impact of moon restoration though.”

Goku grinned. “Your mom is full of surprises,” he said. What he didn't mention was the three-hour negotiation that had preceded Chi-Chi's permission or the extensive list of chores awaiting his return. Some battles weren't worth rehashing.

They touched down on the golden sand just as the front door of Kame House swung open, revealing a disheveled Krillin clutching a travel mug of coffee like a lifeline. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, his whole demeanor suggesting poor sleep, but he had at least showered and changed his clothes and he was indeed wearing long sleeves.

“You guys are early,” he muttered, taking a long sip from his mug.

“Eight o'clock sharp!” Gohan replied brightly. “Just like Master Roshi said.”

“You know who was never early?” Krillin said mournfully.

Gohan smiled sympathetically. “Maron?”

Krillin sighed dejectedly. "Maron."

“Where’s the others?” Goku interjected.

As if on cue, Master Roshi emerged from the house, trademark staff in hand and a suspicious bulge in his beach shirt that looked suspiciously like concealed magazines. Oolong trailed behind him, muttering something under his breath that made the old master cackle.

“Good morning, adventurers!” Master Roshi called out. “Ready for a day of ecological conservation?”

"Absolutely!" Gohan beamed, already pulling a notebook from his backpack. "I've prepared a list of observations we should document regarding tidal patterns, before and after!”

“Great!” Goku clapped him on the back. “What are we waiting for? Oolong, you got the radar, right?”

Oolong's expression soured instantly. “Oh, about that.”

“What?” Goku said.

“There's been a slight... adjustment to our plans,” Master Roshi said.

Goku tilted his head. “Huh?”

Before Master Roshi could elaborate, a low humming sound filled the air, growing steadily louder. Everyone turned toward the ocean as a sleek Capsule Corp aircraft appeared on the horizon, its gleaming hull catching the morning sunlight as it approached the island.

Goku’s eyes widened slightly. “That’s…”

“That’s right!” Oolong shouted over the roar of the engines. “The radar is arriving!”

The aircraft circled once before descending toward the beach, kicking up a small sandstorm that sent everyone scrambling to shield their eyes. As the engines powered down and the dust settled, the door slid open with a pneumatic hiss.

Goku exhaled forcefully. Bulma stepped out, the ocean breeze catching her blue hair—longer since the last time he'd seen her a month ago. She wore cargo pants tucked into heavy boots, a fitted tank top, and a red jacket tied around her waist. A small backpack was slung over one shoulder, and oversized sunglasses concealed her eyes.

She stood there, frozen for a moment, before pushing her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head. Her eyes swept over everyone, lingering for just a fraction of a second longer on Goku before moving on.

“Morning everyone,” she said, descending the small staircase. “Hope I’m not late.”

“Bulma!” Gohan exclaimed, genuinely delighted. He ran forward to greet her. “You're coming too? That's awesome! Do you have the radar?”

Bulma smiled warmly at Gohan, ruffling his hair. “Of course! I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she said.

“Bulma is generously lending us her expertise and technology,” Oolong said. “For Krillin and the moon. Right, Bulma?”

Bulma slipped her sunglasses back onto her nose. “That’s right,” she said, then she turned to Krillin and her voice softened marginally. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” she said. “Tough luck.”

Krillin perked up. “Thanks. I really thought Maron was the—”

“Anyway!” Bulma said, abruptly turning away and addressing the group at large. “I’ve brought supplies. Equipment, emergency capsules, everything we might need. And I’ve upgraded the radar. Better range, clearer signals.”

Master Roshi nodded approvingly. “Very good! The sooner we restore the natural order, the better!”

Bulma nodded to her aircraft. “This baby can get us anywhere on the planet in under two hours.”

“Great!” Oolong said, already moving to the staircase. “Last aboard has to sit next to Krillin!”

Goku shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing briefly at Bulma before clearing his throat. “Actually, Gohan and I could just fly,”  he said, pointing vaguely skyward. “Or take Nimbus! We don't need to all squeeze in there. Right, Gohan?”

“That's fine by me," Bulma said quickly. She turned briskly toward the aircraft. “You two can follow us to the location of the first dragon ball.”

“Oh!” Gohan looked between his father and the aircraft, slightly confused. “I guess we could… but dad, I need consistent viewing conditions to record everything…”

Master Roshi tapped his staff. “Splitting up would be inefficient! Besides, this is about the adventure. We need to stick together as a team!”

"But—" Goku started.

“What if we need your help right away?” Oolong said.

“I can telep—”

“It’s settled then!” Master Roshi declared, already marching toward the aircraft. “All aboard!”

Krillin trudged up the stairs after him, muttering something about the day being too hot for long sleeves. Gohan followed, excitedly chattering about documenting wind patterns.

Goku stood rooted to the spot. With a deep breath that seemed to require all his willpower, he finally moved toward the aircraft.

As everyone filed in, Bulma hung back, casually reaching out to grab Oolong's ear as he passed. She yanked him behind one of the landing struts.

“You,” she hissed furiously, twisting just enough to make him wince, “are dead meat.”

"Ow!" Oolong yelped. "What did I do?"

"What did you do?" Bulma’s sunglasses slid down her nose, revealing eyes that flashed with fury. “You didn’t—”

“Bulma? Oolong? You coming?” Gohan called from the doorway.

Bulma straightened instantly. “Don’t talk to me,” she said to Oolong, shoving him toward the entry.

As they boarded the aircraft, Bulma caught sight of Goku already seated by a window, staring fixedly outside, sunlight playing across the clean angles of his face. She scowled and headed for the pilot's seat.

Thank god she had a plan.

Chapter Text

When the setting sun departs
The night begins in lovers’ hearts
Waiting for the moon to rise
Towards the stars they lift their eyes…

.

.

.

The aircraft hummed steadily through the morning sky, climbing above wisps of cloud that stretched across the horizon like strands of cotton candy. Bulma's fingers moved expertly over the controls, making minor adjustments to their course while consulting the dragon radar's blinking display mounted on the dashboard.

“So the closest dragon ball is about five hundred miles southeast,” Bulma announced, speaking to the cabin at large. “I’ve marked the coordinates, a fairly decent-sized island, easy landing. We’ll be there in thirty minutes tops.”

In the passenger section, Oolong and Master Roshi had claimed the seats right behind her and, weirdly, developed passionate opinions on the ecological impact of lunar restoration on marine life.

"You see, the tides control everything," Roshi insisted, thumping his staff against the floor for emphasis. "Without proper tidal patterns, certain species can't reproduce!"

“But of course,” Oolong said eagerly, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Like what species?" Krillin asked, half-slouched in his seat across the narrow aisle.

Roshi adjusted his sunglasses. “Plenty! The, uh... moon crab, for one!”

Krillin raised an eyebrow. "There's no such thing as a moon crab."

"Shows what you know!" Roshi huffed. “They were wiped out when the moon blew up!”

Oolong snorted. “Convenient.”

In the rearmost seat, Goku sat by the window with Gohan beside him, both peering out at the cloud formations below.

"Look at that one," Goku pointed, tapping the glass. "Doesn't it look like a giant octopus?"

Gohan squinted, tilting his head. "I think it looks more like a spaceship. The one we took to Namek."

"No way! See the tentacles?" Goku traced the shape with his finger. "And that's definitely a head. And hey, what about that one over there? The one that looks like Master Roshi doing his morning stretches?”

“What?” Gohan giggled, leaning forward to press his face against the window, breath fogging the glass. “How?”

“See the pointy bit? That’s his beard.”

Gohan laughed harder. “I guess I can see it now – Krillin, why are you sighing like that?”

Everyone turned to look at Krillin, who’d slumped further in his seat like a puppet with cut strings, staring morosely out the window.

"Maron loved flying," he said. "She used to press her face against the glass just like you’re doing. She'd point at clouds and make up names for them, like that time we –”

"We get it," Oolong interrupted. "You're sad. We're all sad for you. Very, very sad.”

"Are you though?" Krillin turned to him with bloodshot eyes. "Are you really sad, Oolong? Or are you just tired of me playing the same album on repeat?"

"Can't it be both?"

From the pilot's seat, Bulma adjusted their altitude, deliberately focusing on the instruments rather than on the noise behind her. Her posture was rigid, shoulders tight with tension, but she spoke in a casual tone.

“If you guys are done with this riveting conversation,” she said, speaking to no one in particular, “the signal is getting stronger. We’re approaching the coordinates, so prepare for landing.”

"Any idea what's in that area?" Master Roshi asked.

Bulma shook her head without turning around. "Not much on the maps. Just jungle. Dense vegetation. Probably some wildlife."

"Mosquitoes,” Master Roshi said. “Definitely mosquitoes.”

“Great,” Oolong grumbled. “Looking forward to it.”

"Don’t worry, Oolong, I packed some repellent spray!" Gohan smiled. "Mom was really thorough."

"Chi-Chi always thinks of everything," Bulma said through her teeth, immediately regretting it when she felt rather than saw Goku's attention snap to her. She quickly turned a dial on the control panel, though it controlled nothing. "We're beginning our descent!" she said, her voice suddenly overly bright. "Might get a little bumpy."

The landscape below gradually transformed from open sea to a dense emerald canopy. Massive trees stretched toward the sky, their crowns forming an unbroken sea of green that rippled in the morning breeze.

"I think I see a clearing up ahead," Gohan said, once again pressing his face against the window. "There's a break in the trees."

"Perfect," Bulma replied, adjusting their descent. "The radar shows the dragon ball is about a half mile from there, deeper in the jungle."

As Bulma guided the aircraft downward, Goku finally spoke directly to her for the first time since boarding. “I can go check if the landing spot is clear before you take us down."

Their eyes met briefly in the reflection of the windshield. Bulma's hands tensed on the controls, her knuckles whitening slightly.

"No need," she said. "The sensors show it's fine."

She landed the aircraft with perhaps more concentration than the maneuver required, while Goku returned his attention to the window, his expression completely blank.

.

.

.

The jungle air enveloped them the moment the hatch opened – thick and humid, pressing against their skin like a living thing. Birds called from unseen perches, insects buzzed in complex harmonies, and somewhere in the distance, water flowed over stones. Dappled sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, creating shifting patterns across the forest floor like a natural kaleidoscope.

"Whew! It's like breathing soup," Krillin complained, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Master Roshi emerged from the aircraft, inhaling deeply through his nose. "Ah! The wonderful essence of nature!" he declared, before immediately swatting at a mosquito that had landed on his arm.

Bulma checked the dragon radar, its steady beeping cutting through the jungle sounds. She turned slowly, watching the signal strength fluctuate until it peaked in a specific direction. "This way," she said with authority, plunging forward into the dense foliage without checking if anyone followed.

They forged ahead in loose formation, with Bulma leading. Vines draped across their path like natural curtains, roots threatened to trip them, and branches reached out with thorny fingers to snag clothing and skin. The humidity pressed down, transforming even the simple act of breathing into a conscious effort.

The radar's beeping grew more insistent with each step, the intervals between pulses shrinking until they almost merged into one continuous tone. Bulma stopped so suddenly that Krillin bumped into her from behind, nearly sending them both sprawling.

"Whoa," she breathed.

The jungle parted before them, revealing an enormous stone temple rising from the forest floor like a slumbering giant. Massive stone steps ascended toward a columned entrance, each worn smooth by millennia of rainfall. Intricate carvings adorned every available surface – animals with too many limbs, warriors with impossible weapons, and symbols in incomprehensible languages. Vines embraced the ancient stones, and trees had taken root atop crumbling walls, their gnarled roots reaching downward like searching fingers.

"Wow!" Gohan exclaimed, his voice hushed with wonder. "This is incredible! Check out the architecture – this has to be at least a thousand years old. Maybe older! I wonder who built it!"

“By ‘incredible’ you mean ‘definitely not haunted’, am I right?” Oolong retorted, backing up a step.

Bulma consulted the radar, its screen glowing bright in the filtered green light. “Well, the dragon ball is definitely inside."

"Of course it is," Oolong muttered.

"Don’t worry, Oolong." Master Roshi pushed his way to the front of the group, adjusting his sunglasses. "Sure, these ancient temples are notorious for their defense mechanisms. Booby traps, collapsing floors, curses that melt the flesh right off your face – but lucky for you kids, I've seen them all before!" He gestured grandly toward the entrance with his staff. "Ladies first."

"How chivalrous," Bulma deadpanned, pulling a tablet from her pack and deftly activating the 3D laser scanner. She positioned herself front and center before the temple, the device humming as it cast a grid of blue light across the ancient facade. "Now, the main entrance is the obvious route, but we should probably avoid it,” she said, examining the results, her index finger tracing a path across the screen. “My preliminary scans suggest there could be pressure plates on the stairs, possibly connected to –"

She looked up.

Goku was halfway up the steps, taking them two at a time with long, loping strides, the others dutifully hurrying behind him.

" – connected to a triggering mechanism for – HEY!"

"Come on!" Goku was calling over his shoulder. "The sooner we find the dragon ball, the sooner we can set camp for lunch!"

“GOKU!” 

Goku paused halfway up the steps, turning back against the ancient stone backdrop with dappled sunlight catching in his hair and an easy expression that somehow made her even more irritated. “Yeah?”

Bulma shoved the tablet back into her pack with more force than necessary and started up the steps. "I'm sorry,” she ground out. “Who put you in charge of this operation?"

Goku scratched the back of his head. “Uh, nobody, I guess?" he said. "But this is the front door – isn’t that where people are supposed to go in?”

"Did it occur to you," Bulma said, slightly breathless as she climbed, "that there might be a reason I was scanning the structure? Like, oh, I don't know, to identify potential death traps and find an alternative route? My scans showed a passage along the eastern wall. It's narrow, but it should bypass the worst of the central chamber's defenses –”

"Okay," Goku interrupted. "You go ahead."

Bulma stopped mid-stride. Stared. "What?"

"You're the expert!" He gave her a thumbs-up. "You should definitely take point."

Her eye twitched. "You bet I will!" She spun on her heel and started down the stairs. She was halfway down before realizing nobody had moved. She turned back, finding Goku still standing in the same spot. "Hey!” she yelled. “You said I should take point!"

"Well, sure!" Goku grinned in a way that made her blood boil. "Didn't say I would follow."

For a second, Bulma just stood there, mouth open, before throwing her hands up. “Fine!” she shouted. “When you all get crushed under a thousand tons of ancient masonry, don't come crying to me!"

"Oh, come on," Krillin interjected, his gaze darting curiously between them. "Let's not lose our cool. We’re supposed to be a team. Face-melting curses, remember?"

"Exactly," Bulma said, not taking her eyes off Goku. "That’s why I scientifically calculated the risk, and I say the eastern passage is safer.”

Goku crossed his arms behind his head. “And I’ve got a good feeling about the front door.”

“Oh, well, if you’ve got a feeling –”

Master Roshi stroked his beard, his expression suddenly sage-like. "In my hundreds of years of experience – "

"Oh, here we go," Oolong groaned.

"– the most dangerous path often holds the greatest rewards! Bulma's route may indeed be safer, but Goku's intuition cannot be dismissed lightly."

"So helpful," Oolong said, rolling his eyes. "Really narrowing it down there, old man."

Gohan shifted his backpack. "Maybe we could compromise? Some of us could try each route and see which works best?"

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while!” Bulma said, shooting Goku a triumphant look. "Gohan, you're with me since you’re obviously smart enough to appreciate a scientific approach. Oolong, you too."

"Wait, why me?!" Oolong protested, his eyes widening. Bulma was already striding toward the side of the structure, not waiting for agreement.

"Because if there are any tight spaces we need to squeeze through, you can transform,” she called back.

"What? I don't do tight spaces!"

"Too bad." Bulma turned to the others, a strange gleam in her eyes. "The rest of you can do whatever."

“Great! Gohan, you stay sharp,” Goku said. He waved. “See you inside!”

"Assuming your way doesn't lead to certain doom,” Bulma said breezily, and kept marching toward the eastern wall, Gohan and a reluctant Oolong trailing in her wake. She could feel eyes on her back – his eyes – but she kept walking, chin up, stride purposeful. Goku was watching them go, a slight frown starting to crease his brow.

"Women," Master Roshi sighed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Can't live without 'em, can't understand a word they're saying half the time!"

"Uh-huh," Goku replied absently, still staring after Bulma's retreating form.

Krillin glanced between the disappearing figures and Goku's face, opened his mouth like he might say something, then apparently thought better of it. "So," he said instead, "main entrance?"

“Yeah.” Goku turned towards the temple’s stone doors looming before them, that frown still in place until he shook his head vigorously. “Let’s go!”

.

.

.

.

.

"Here," Bulma said, stopping at a section of wall that looked no different from any other. Vines draped across the ancient surface like a curtain of green, thick enough that they had to push through in places. "This is it."

"This is what?" Oolong asked, seeing nothing but more vines and stone.

"The passage." Bulma was already pulling aside vegetation with impatient hands, revealing – barely – a narrow fissure in the stonework. Not a doorway. Not even a proper crack. Just a gap, dark and unpromising, that looked like it might swallow a person and never give them back.

Gohan helped clear away more vines. "I can see it now! Wow, your scanner is really something."

"Right? Thermal imaging also showed a temperature differential – means air flow, which means a passage." Bulma shone her flashlight into the opening, illuminating rough stone that disappeared into darkness after a few feet. "My scans indicate it widens out almost immediately. Should be perfectly safe."

"Should be," Oolong repeated slowly, eyeing the gap with deep suspicion. "That’s nice."

"It will be," Bulma corrected. She turned to him with an exceptionally bright smile. "Oolong, you first."

"Absolutely not!"

“You’re the perfect size for reconnaissance! It’s the logical choice!”

"The logical choice is not going into the creepy death crack at all!"

"Don't be dramatic." Bulma was already consulting her tablet, not looking at him. "If anything goes wrong, you can turn into a cockroach and escape. They survive everything."

Oolong stared at her. "That's the most horrible logic I've ever heard!”

"Oolong." Bulma's voice dropped into a tone that brooked no argument. Her eyes narrowed to slits. "The whole planet is counting on us to bring back the moon.”

“Oh, the moon,” Oolong drawled, risking a glance at Gohan, who nodded earnestly. “Right.”

“Exactly, so we’re doing this and you’re going first. That’s final.”

Oolong muttered something under his breath, but then he reluctantly edged toward the opening. “The things I do for you people,” he said, and he transformed into a very disgruntled snake. He slithered toward the opening with all the enthusiasm of someone heading to their own execution.

Bulma and Gohan waited, watching the tip of his tail disappear into darkness. Bulma counted seconds in her head while Gohan peered into the gap with open curiosity.

"It's dusty as hell in here!" Oolong's voice finally echoed back, sounding distorted and strange. "And there's something that smells like dead!”

"Does it open up?" Bulma called into the darkness.

"Yeah, it opens up! Did you hear me when I said it smells like something died in here?”

Bulma ignored him. "Perfect." She looked at Gohan. "You're next. Stay close to the wall, and if anything feels unstable, back out immediately."

"Got it!" Gohan squeezed through the gap with the easy flexibility of a seven-year-old, his small frame making the tight space look perfectly manageable.

Bulma tossed back her hair, shoved her tablet into her pack, and approached the opening. The gap was narrower than her scans had suggested – or maybe she was just broader in the shoulders than she'd accounted for. She had to turn sideways, had to hold her breath completely to fit, and then she was through, stumbling slightly into the wider passage beyond.

"See?" she croaked, dusting herself off. "Science always – cough – wins."

The passage beyond was exactly as she'd predicted – a corridor worn smooth by long-ago water that had carved its way through the temple's foundations before vanishing into some underground channel. Their flashlights played across stone that gleamed dully, revealing mineral deposits that sparkled like trapped stars.

"This is amazing," Gohan whispered, running his hand along the wall with careful reverence. "The water must have been flowing for centuries to create this!"

"Yeah, this must have been part of the temple's water system," Bulma said, looking around. "You see how the channel is sloping?”

Oolong, back in his usual form, was less impressed. "Yeah, really pretty. We're in an ancient toilet. Very prestigious."

"It's not a – " Bulma started, then stopped herself. "Ugh! Just – shut up, okay?” She squinted at the radar. “The signal is a bit further ahead – above – wait, it’s moving!”

“How?” Oolong drawled.

“Maybe dad found it?” Gohan offered.

“Already? I refuse to believe that!” Bulma snapped, clutching the radar tighter as she charged forward.

.

.

.

“That!… That… That…!”

The sound ricocheted through the stone corridors and into the hollow dark ahead, echoing so long it seemed to come back to itself – swallowed and returned by the vast chamber upstairs where dust motes swam in slanted beams of light that pierced through cracks in the ceiling.

Krillin glanced over his shoulder. “Whoa, was that Bulma?”

Master Roshi adjusted his sunglasses, peering into the gloom. “Heh. Girl’s got a good set of lungs on her, I’ll give her that.”

Goku said nothing. He’d already drifted deeper into the chamber, his attention caught by something overhead. He tilted his head, listening intently –

A click broke the silence.

Krillin froze mid-step. “Uh… please tell me that wasn’t one of those ‘ancient pressure plates’ Bulma was talking about.”

Goku blinked, glancing down at his feet. “Huh. I didn’t press anything.” He looked thoughtful for a second, then brightened when he noticed a floor tile sitting slightly lower than its neighbors, depressed beneath the sole of his boot. “Oh, wait. Yeah, maybe a little.”

The stone tile sank further with another ominous clack. Dust sifted down from the ceiling.

“Goku!”

“Relax, Krillin! Nothing’s happening!” Goku said – right before the floor yawned open under Roshi’s feet.

“Yipe!”

Roshi’s shout echoed up the chamber. In a flash, his staff jammed crosswise across the edge, arresting his fall. He hung there for a breath, legs kicking over the dark drop below. “I’m about to lose my sandals!” he announced.

“Master Roshi!” Krillin lunged forward, sliding on the dust-slick stone. He caught Roshi by the sleeve. “I’ve got you!”

“Much obliged!” Master Roshi wheezed, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “Now pull, before my sandals –”

Another click. Then a hiss.

Thin shafts of light sliced through the air as a volley of ancient arrows shot from the walls, whipping past their heads and splintering against the stone.

“Whoops! Sorry!” Goku called out, hopping back a step – and immediately triggering another pressure plate.

A spray of darts zipped by overhead.

“GOKU!” Krillin shouted, flattening himself against the floor. “Will you please stop stepping on every single trap?”

"Oh, alright." Goku floated effortlessly off the ground and drifted toward them. He caught Roshi by the back of his shirt, hauling him away from the pit with ease.

"Thank you," Krillin said emphatically. "For finally remembering you can fly."

"You're welcome!" Goku set Master Roshi down on solid ground, brushing dust from his hands like he'd just helped carry groceries. “This was pretty fun, though.”

"Fun," Krillin repeated flatly. "Sure." He straightened, dusted himself off, and looked around the cavernous chamber – shafts of light cutting through dust and shadow, massive columns disappearing into darkness overhead. The space seemed to swallow sound. “But here’s a thought – we’re still the team without the dragon radar. How exactly are we supposed to find the dragon ball in a place like this?”

Goku shrugged. "I don't know, I figured we'd just look around.”

"Look around," Krillin repeated.

"Yeah! I mean, it's orange. Pretty hard to miss."

Krillin opened his mouth to respond when a sound echoed through the chamber. High-pitched. Rapid. Distinctly organic.

Everyone froze.

“That’s definitely not Bulma,” Master Roshi said.

Krillin snorted despite himself. “That’s –”

"A monkey!" Goku finished, head swiveling toward the source of the sound.

The chittering came again, louder this time, bouncing off the ancient stones with an almost mocking quality. Goku's gaze tracked upward, following the sound to where the light beams converged near the top of the chamber.

"There!" he pointed.

Perched on a stone ledge, maybe twenty feet up, sat a small brown monkey, tail curled around the carved stonework for balance. And clutched in its tiny hands, catching the filtered sunlight and glowing like a miniature sun, was an unmistakable bright orange dragon ball.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Krillin said.

The monkey seemed to take their attention as encouragement, performing a little hop on its perch and holding the dragon ball higher.

"Hey there, little guy!" Goku called up, waving. "Nice ball you've got! Mind if we borrow it?"

The monkey tilted its head, considering this request with what appeared to be great seriousness. Then, it tossed the dragon ball from one hand to the other in a little juggling motion, as if to demonstrate its superior dexterity.

"Okay," Krillin said slowly. "New plan. Goku, you fly up there and –"

Before he could finish, Goku had already launched himself upward with a burst of energy, reaching for the ledge. The monkey watched his approach with keen interest, waiting until Goku was mere inches away before performing an acrobatic leap to another perch fifteen feet to the left.

Goku landed on the now-empty ledge, blinking in surprise. "Huh."

The monkey chittered triumphantly, bouncing the dragon ball once as if to say nice try.

"Oh, it's playing games," Master Roshi observed from below, stroking his beard. "That’s nice!”

"Or annoying," Krillin muttered. "Goku, just grab it!"

"On it!" Goku said. He launched himself at the monkey again.

Again, the creature waited until the last possible second before scampering away, this time scaling even higher up a crumbling column. It perched at the very top, silhouetted against a shaft of dusty light, and waved the dragon ball like a victory flag.

"This is ridiculous," Krillin said. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hey! Monkey! We need that! It's for the moon!"

The monkey tilted its head, apparently considering this argument. Then it stuck its tongue out.

"Did it just – " Krillin blinked. "That monkey just mocked me."

"Maybe it doesn’t like your tattoo," Master Roshi suggested.

“Oh, that’s very funny,” Krillin said, but he did pull his sleeve lower on his forearm.

Goku tried a different approach, floating up slowly with his hands extended in a peaceful gesture. "Come on, buddy. We're not gonna hurt you. We just need the shiny ball, okay? You can have... uh..." He patted his gi. "I've got half an energy bar?"

The monkey's eyes lit up. It leaned forward with interest.

"See?" Goku smiled, pulling out the somewhat squashed energy bar. "Look! It's got nuts and – "

The monkey snatched the bar with lightning speed, somehow covering the distance between them in a blur of brown fur. By the time Goku's hand closed on empty air, the creature was already three ledges away, stuffing the energy bar into its mouth while still clutching the dragon ball.

"– everything," Goku finished weakly.

"Great negotiating!" Krillin called up.

"I'm trying to be nice!" Goku protested. "I don't want to scare it!"

The monkey finished eating, smacked its lips contentedly, and then – adding insult to injury – used the dragon ball to scratch behind its ear.

Master Roshi chuckled. "I haven't seen anyone give Goku this much trouble since Frieza."

"It's not funny!" Goku said, though he was grinning. “Krillin, come up here and help me!”

Krillin sighed, but he lifted off, approaching slowly to not startle the monkey. “Okay, okay – no sudden moves,” he said. “We box it in, right? Easy does it. Nice and sl–”

A thunderous BOOM shook the entire chamber. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, and ancient stones groaned in protest. The monkey screeched and bolted, pinwheeling away – gone in a brown blur before the echo had faded.

"What was that?" Master Roshi yelped, staff raised defensively.

“Maybe the temple is settling?” Krillin offered.

"It’s Gohan!" Goku shot down to the far wall, where cracks were spider-webbing across the ancient stonework. Another impact, and chunks of stone exploded outward, creating a jagged hole about six feet across. Gohan emerged through the breach, looking apologetic, his small fists still glowing faintly with residual energy. "Sorry!” he said, looking genuinely contrite. “I didn’t mean to break anything!” He was covered head to toe in a fine layer of gray dust that made him look like a tiny ghost. “Oh, wow, we made it into the main chamber! This is pretty cool.”

Goku landed beside him. “You okay, son?”

“Well, yeah,” Gohan replied. “But the passage kind of... collapsed. We had to improvise."

"By 'improvise,' he means I almost died!" Oolong announced, fluttering through the opening as a bat, wings beating in an erratic and distinctly unprofessional pattern. Mid-air, he transformed back into his usual form with a poof and landed in a heap on the stone floor. He pointed accusingly at the hole. "The eastern passage was not a passage at all! It was a death trap pretending to be a shortcut! Also, a toilet!"

"Where's Bulma?" Goku asked immediately. The question came out sharper than he meant it to, and he was already moving toward the opening when Bulma emerged – dusty, coughing, and furious. He quickly stepped back to give her room.

“Right here,” she grunted, ducking through the breach with her tablet, which was cracked across the screen, tucked under one arm, and looking like she’d been in a washing machine full of rocks.

For a second he just looked at her and something in his chest loosened – her hair had escaped its ponytail and stuck out at wild angles, streaked with gray powder; dust coated her from head to toe in a gray film, a cobweb was hanging over her shoulders like a sad little cape and her face was smudged in abstract patterns – but still her gaze was sweeping over the space, taking in the chamber properly. She shot Goku a glare. “You’re still all in one piece, I take it?”

Goku hesitated. "Well," he said, his eyes snagging on the cobwebs on her shoulders, "there were some traps. But we handled them."

"Master Roshi almost fell into a pit," Krillin offered helpfully, like that made things better.

"Almost being the keyword!" Roshi added cheerfully.

“That’s a relief,” Bulma said dryly.

"The tunnel," Gohan interjected gently, "was actually structurally unsound. Some of the support stones had shifted over time, and when we put weight on them –"

"There's no need to tell the whole story, Gohan," Bulma cut him off. A piece of cobweb fell from her hair and drifted to the ground. She pretended not to notice.

"But Bulma," Oolong said with undisguised glee, "I think they should know about when the ceiling started to – "

"OOLONG."

" – and you had to army-crawl through that really narrow bit –"

"I swear to god –"

" – and then got stuck and we had to – "

"SHUT UP!" Bulma grabbed a pebble from her hair and threw it at him. He dodged it easily, cackling.

Krillin was trying very hard not to laugh. "So, science, huh?"

"I was right about the traps, wasn’t I?” Bulma shot back. She brushed at her clothes aggressively, sending up small clouds of dust. “Anyway. You got the dragon ball?”

“Oh, about that…” Krillin said. An amused chittering sound interrupted him. “Yeah, somebody got to it first.”

Bulma's head snapped up, following everyone's gaze to where the monkey sat on a high perch, still clutching the glowing orange sphere. It waved at her cheerfully.

Bulma stared for a moment. “A monkey had it the whole time?” she asked.

"Yep," Krillin said. "We've been trying to get it for a while now. We don’t want to scare the wildlife."

“You mean to tell me,” she said, a hint of triumph creeping into her voice, "that you got here first and STILL haven't managed to catch one tiny monkey?"

"It's a very clever monkey," Krillin said defensively.

The monkey, as if understanding it was being discussed, performed a little backflip on its perch. Gohan let out a delighted giggle. “Look at that! It is pretty clever!”

Bulma’s smile widened, taking on an almost manic quality. She started laughing – a bit too loudly, a bit too long. "Of course! A monkey! That's – that's perfect!"

Krillin eyed her nervously. “You okay, there, Bulma?”

Bulma’s laughter cut off abruptly. She pushed a lock of dusty hair out of her face, eyes glittering with manic purpose.

“Primate psychology,” she said, snapping her fingers. “It’s all about dominance displays, resource exchange, and social cues! If we demonstrate ownership of a higher-value object –”

“Oh, boy,” Oolong groaned.

“ – and avoid eye contact –”

“This is gonna take a while.”

“– then, theoretically, the subject will choose to relinquish its resource voluntarily. Classic primate behavior! I’ve studied it! Seen documentaries!”

“Oh, me too!” Gohan said. “Remember, dad? The one with the old lady scientist last week! She explained the key is to establish a non-threatening posture.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember!” Goku said. “I slept right through that. Best nap I had in years!” He ruffled Gohan’s hair. “Thank you for that.”

“As I was saying,” Bulma said, turning her attention back to the monkey, which was now grooming itself on its perch, still clutching the dragon ball, “we’ll just need to appeal to its basic behavioral motivators.”

“Bulma,” Oolong said. “The monkey is literally ignoring you.”

"It's observing," she corrected sharply. "Building behavioral rapport takes time and – what is happening?"

The monkey had stopped grooming. Its head had swiveled toward Gohan with sudden, focused interest. It chittered softly – not the mocking sound from before, but something different. Curious. Then, it began to climb down.

“Hey –” Bulma started, but Krillin quickly shushed her, and she closed her mouth with a snap.

The monkey descended ledge by ledge until it reached the floor. Gohan quietly stepped forward. He knelt. “Hey,” he said softly. “Hi there. You live here?”

The monkey tilted its head, studying him with those bright, intelligent eyes. It chittered again, softer this time.

"You're lucky you get to live somewhere so cool,” Gohan said. He didn't reach for the dragon ball. Didn't make any sudden moves. He smiled. "You've been taking good care of it," he said, nodding toward the orange sphere. "It's really important, you know. It can help us to bring back the moon.”

The monkey's head cocked to the other side, as if considering this.

“I know it sounds weird,” Gohan continued, smiling shyly, “but it’s true. And the moon is very important as well. It helps everyone. The animals, the tides, the seasons… plus, it’s really pretty. I bet you’d like it!”

His voice carried an earnest quality that made it impossible not to believe him. "We'd really appreciate your help," Gohan continued softly. "If you want to share it with us, I mean. It's your choice."

For a long moment, nothing happened. The monkey blinked, then looked down at the dragon ball cupped in its hands. Then, with slow deliberation, it held out the sphere.

"Really?" Gohan's face lit up. He carefully cupped his hands beneath it. "Thank you so much."

The monkey placed the sphere in his palms.

"Thank you," Gohan said again, his voice full of genuine gratitude. "I promise the moon will be worth it."

The monkey chittered one last time, a sound that almost seemed pleased, then scampered back up the column and disappeared through a crack in the ceiling, gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Gohan knelt there holding the dragon ball, looking slightly awed.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

"Well," Master Roshi said finally, leaning on his staff. "That was something."

"Gohan!" Goku was suddenly there. "That was amazing!"

Gohan smiled. “I think it actually understood!”

Bulma stood very still. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. “Does that monkey have any idea how many degrees I have?”

Krillin grinned. “Yeah, but none of them in mind-blowing innocence.”

Gohan turned the dragon ball over in his hands, examining it closely. His eyes suddenly widened. "Hey, dad! Look at this!" He held it up, the four red stars clearly visible. "It's Grandpa Gohan's!"

Gohan tossed it to his father – a gentle arc through the dusty air. Goku caught it instinctively, his fingers curling around the smooth surface, and for a moment he just stood there, staring down at the sphere in his palm. The orange glow was bright and warm. The four stars gazed back at him like familiar eyes, and in the curved surface, he could see his own reflection and the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Huh,” he said, running his thumb over one of the stars. “Been a while.” His smile widened. “Pretty lucky, huh?”

He caught Bulma staring, something soft flickering on her scowl – like she was remembering the same thing. A boy who'd never seen a girl before. His thumb stilled on the star.

She looked away first.

Goku tore his gaze away, focusing instead on the dragon ball in his hands. He tossed it back to Gohan. “You hold on to it, buddy.”

“You got it, dad!” Gohan beamed, carefully tucking the four-star ball into his backpack.

"Alright!" Master Roshi announced, already ambling toward the exit. "One down! I vote we find somewhere that doesn't smell like ancient death and centuries of bird droppings."

"Seconded," Oolong said, transforming into a bird and fluttering after him. "My lungs are filing a formal complaint."

"Let’s find somewhere nice," Krillin said. "We can set up camp, figure out where the next dragon ball is – "

“And eat lunch!” Gohan said. “Mom packed all the things, you’ll see!”

“Let’s go then!” Krillin said, lifting off the ground. “Race you back to the ship!”

“You’re on!” Gohan took off after him, his laughter echoing through the ancient chamber.

They filed out, their voices fading as they navigated back through the temple's entrance. Goku stayed behind, tilting his head back to look up at the crack in the ceiling where the monkey had disappeared. His hands found his hips. He looked at Bulma – she was examining her cracked tablet with a frown, standing in a shaft of dusty light, absolutely refusing to look up.

The chamber grew quiet around them. Just dust motes and distant dripping water. Goku cocked his head to one side.

"You have a spider in your hair," he said.

Bulma’s head snapped up fast enough to make her neck crack. “No, I don’t!” she snarled.

“Pretty big one too.”

“I’m not falling for – ” Her hand shot up anyway, fingers raking through her disheveled ponytail. She froze. "Oh god."

Then she shrieked.

Her hands flew through her hair in frantic swipes, dislodging not one but three spiders, which went scurrying across the stone floor in different directions.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god – " She was shaking her head violently now, fingers running through every strand. "Are there more? Tell me there aren't more!"

“I don’t know,” Goku said, watching with wide eyes, “maybe!”

"UGH!" She gave one final aggressive shake of her head. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

She stalked toward the exit without looking back, her boots striking the stone with sharp, irritated clicks.

Goku watched her disappear through the entrance. He stood there a moment longer, staring after her.

Then he followed.

.

.

.

The second dragon ball led them west, to the coast outside South City.

By the time they reached the beach, the sun was already sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that reflected off the water in shimmering bands. The ocean stretched endlessly before them, waves rolling in with steady, rhythmic crashes against golden sand. Everyone filed out onto the sand, the salt-laden breeze immediately whipping at their clothes and hair. Oolong took a deep breath and sighed contentedly.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “Now this is more like it! Way better than that dusty old ruin!”

Master Roshi was already scanning the beach with suspicious intensity. "No sunbathers?" he asked. "What kind of beach is this?"

"The kind without restraining orders," Bulma replied tartly, checking the radar. "Let's keep it that way."

The signal pulsed steadily on her screen. She adjusted the range, zooming in on the water. "There," she said, pointing. "According to this, the dragon ball's in the water.”

“How far out?” Gohan asked.

"Seems like open water,” Bulma said, swiftly zooming out on the screen. “One hundred feet offshore, maybe more.”

Krillin peered out at the darkening water. "We going in now?" he asked.

"Too late," Bulma said, glancing at the setting sun. "We'll have better visibility in the morning. Besides," she added, shuddering at the thought of her hair almost becoming a spider nest, "I don’t know about you weirdos, but I need a shower. With very hot water."

"Agreed," Oolong said. He was still picking temple dust out of the pockets of his overalls.

"Camp it is!" Goku said, stretching his arms over his head. He looked around briefly. "Gohan, you wanna help me gather firewood?"

“Yep!” Gohan said, dumping his backpack on the sand. “Then maybe we could swim?”

“You got it! Let’s go before it gets too dark to see!” Goku took off down the beach, Gohan's delighted whoops trailing behind him as he gave chase. Their laughter faded as they disappeared down the shoreline, two figures growing smaller against the sunset.

“Excellent,” Master Roshi said, settling comfortably on the sand. “I’ll supervise their work from here.”

Bulma was already pulling capsules from her pack. “Let's see... shelter, shelter, shower unit – yes." She tossed four capsules onto the sand in quick succession.

Four circular houses materialized with soft pops of smoke—small white domes, simple but comfortable, each with basic amenities. Bulma grabbed her bag and headed for the nearest one.

"You're welcome!" she called over her shoulder, already halfway through the door.

"Wait, how do we decide who gets which – " Krillin started.

The door slammed shut.

" – house," he finished weakly.

"Dibs on not sharing with Roshi!" Oolong shouted, making a break for the second house.

.

.

.

The shower was everything Bulma had hoped for and more. She stood under the spray for a solid twenty minutes, watching gray water circle the drain as she scrubbed temple dust, cobwebs, and general indignity from every inch of skin and hair. The hiss of water drowned out everything – conversation, laughter, even the stubborn pulse of adrenaline that had been drumming through her all day. By the time she finally emerged – skin pink, hair wrapped in a towel – she felt almost human again.

She wiped a circle in the fogged mirror and hesitated. She could just stay here. Pretend to be asleep, avoid the inevitable small talk around the fire. The thought lingered a moment too long before she exhaled, annoyed at herself. The idea of hiding felt pathetic.

She changed into clean clothes and stepped outside, barefoot in the sand. The air had cooled a bit – the sky was violet at the edges, the last of the sunset bleeding red at the horizon, and the ocean was turning into a sheet of dark glass. Oolong and Krillin were crouched near a small fire, something popping and sizzling in a pan that smelled surprisingly delicious. Master Roshi sat on a folding chair, cross-legged, one of his magazines angled discreetly in the firelight.

Her eyes swept around the camp once. Twice.

“Hey!” Krillin looked up as she approached. “We were starting to think you’d drowned in there.”

Oolong lifted the pan and fanned it with a plate. “Nothing – and I mean nothing – makes you appreciate the wonders of modern plumbing like getting ancient dust out of every crevice.”

Bulma stopped dead. “Oolong,” she said slowly. “I have a new rule. You’re not allowed to use the word ‘crevice’ when I’m within earshot.”

Krillin snorted. Roshi’s magazine lowered a millimeter; he looked like he might contribute something unforgivable to the conversation, then thought better of it and turned a page with exaggerated care.

“It’s a perfectly refined word!” Oolong protested.

“Rules are rules,” Bulma said firmly. “I’m going for a walk.” She stalked past the firelight toward the shoreline, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself.

“Dinner’s almost ready!” Krillin called after her. “See if you can find Goku and Gohan!”

Bulma waved a hand dismissively without turning, already halfway to the water's edge, her feet sinking into the cool sand with every step.

She walked along the surf with no particular destination, just following the curve of the beach, letting the sound of the ocean drown out the chatter in her mind. The water reached up in gentle fingers, brushing her ankles before sliding back again, catching what little light was left in that strange, weightless hour when everything seemed suspended – too late for day, too early for night. She followed the curve of the shoreline, the campfire’s glow shrinking behind her until it was just a flicker among the dunes. The air smelled of salt and driftwood. It was quiet except for the hush of waves and, faintly, the sound of voices carried on the wind.

She slowed.

A little farther ahead, she spotted them: Goku and Gohan, sitting side by side near the water’s edge. The fading light caught on their outlines – two silhouettes cut against the surf.

She should have turned around. Instead, she crept closer, the sound of her own heartbeat mixing with the waves.

“–was way older than you are now!” Goku was saying. “Twelve, or something like that.”

"Wow," Gohan replied, his voice bright with genuine fascination. "So that was the first time you ever saw the sea?"

"Oh, yeah," Goku said. "I didn't even know that much water could exist in one place! I thought the river by Grandpa's house was big, but this..." He nodded toward the darkening waves before them and chuckled. "Bulma had to explain it to me.”

Bulma froze. The sound of her name – spoken so casually, so fondly – rooted her to the spot, her breath catching as she realized what they were talking about. She should announce herself. Should walk up normally, join the conversation like a rational adult. Instead, she stepped behind a large piece of driftwood, half-buried in the sand, and listened despite herself.

"What happened?" Gohan asked, carefully examining a small crab that scuttled near his feet.

"Well, we were helping Turtle get back to the sea," Goku explained, and even from her hiding spot, Bulma could hear the smile in his voice.

"Turtle?" Gohan looked up from the crab. "Like Master Roshi's Turtle?"

"The very same," Goku confirmed. "We found him lost in the forest, trying to get home. He'd been wandering for a whole year."

"A whole year?"

"Yep. So we helped him. I carried him on my back all the way to the sea." Goku paused, then added with a soft laugh, "Bulma didn't want to help at first – she was always in such a hurry back then, I didn't get it. But eventually she agreed."

Behind the driftwood, Bulma suppressed a snort despite herself. She had been in a hurry – and so freaking annoyed by Goku’s ignorance and naiveté. Now...

Now she couldn't remember why it had seemed so important to rush.

"When we finally reached the ocean," Goku continued, "I couldn't believe it! It was like… like the whole world just opened up!” He gestured helplessly at the water, as if the inadequacy of his words frustrated him. “I didn't know something could be so big and so blue. Just going on forever."

Something in Bulma’s chest tightened painfully. The wonder in his voice was palpable, even now, after all these years and all the incredible things he'd seen since – other planets, gods, death, warriors who could destroy worlds.

"That must have been incredible," Gohan said thoughtfully, setting the crab gently back in the sand.

"It was." Goku's voice had gone soft at the edges. “I’d never left my home before that. It was pretty special.”

Bulma pressed her palm over the weathered driftwood, her throat suddenly tight. She needed to leave, immediately – she took a step back.

A twig snapped sharply under her foot.

Both Goku and Gohan turned at the sound, and Bulma found herself caught: mid-step, off-balance, exposed in the act of eavesdropping.

"Bulma!" Gohan's face lit up, waving enthusiastically. "We were just talking about you! Dad was telling me about the first time he saw the ocean – he said it was with you!"

"Was he?" Bulma managed, forcing her feet to carry her forward with studied casualness, as if she hadn't been hiding behind driftwood. "I hope he remembered to mention how he kept trying to drink the salt water even after I told him not to."

Goku's expression shifted slightly – surprise, maybe, or something softer – before he laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Oh yeah, that's true! Man, that was nasty! Why didn't you warn me it would be that bad?"

"I literally told you not to drink it."

"You said it was salty! Not that it was that salty!"

"What did you think 'don't drink the ocean' meant?" Bulma asked. She stopped a few feet away from where they sat, close enough to join the conversation but maintaining careful distance. "You also tried to pick a fight with the waves," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"They kept knocking me down!" Goku protested, his voice caught between defense and laughter. "It seemed like a challenge! They were testing me!"

"You can't fight the ocean, dad," Gohan giggled, delighted by this glimpse into his father's childhood.

"You say that, but I held my own," Goku insisted, grinning up at Bulma.

Bulma’s mouth twitched. “Right, she said dryly.

Their eyes met in the dim light and, for the first time in a long while, neither looked away.

"Guys!" Krillin's voice carried across the beach, making Bulma jump. "Food's ready! Get back here before Oolong eats it all!"

"Coming!" Gohan jumped up, brushing sand from his clothes. "Let’s go, dad!" He took off toward the distant campfire without waiting, his small form quickly disappearing into the gathering darkness.

Goku stood more slowly. They stood in shadow, caught between day and night, the first few stars starting to blink up above their heads and the surf breathing in and out at their feet.

Goku's hand twitched at his side, an aborted movement toward – something.

"Dad!" Gohan's voice called again, more distant now. Bulma took a step back. "Better go," she said.

Goku looked toward the dunes, then back at her, his expression unreadable in the growing darkness. Then he turned and jogged after his son. She stood there longer than she should have, watching him go, before she made herself follow.

.

.

.

That night, sleep, when it finally came, brought no rest.

Bulma tossed and turned through the small hours, tangling herself in sheets that felt suffocating despite the cool ocean breeze. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the way he'd looked at her in the gathering darkness, caught between day and night – or drifted in and out of dreams that left her heart racing, where the sea went on forever and a laughter she somehow knew by heart echoed across the waves.

She gave up before dawn.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when she sat up, rubbing her face. She needed coffee. She needed to stop this madness. Most of all, she needed to focus on gathering all seven dragon balls and to do it quickly. Wrapping herself in a light robe, she padded to the small kitchenette to make coffee. As the machine hummed to life, she glanced through the window at the beach beyond. The world outside was painted in gray and lavender, the ocean a vast expanse of silver in the pre-dawn light. She was about to turn away when movement caught her eye.

Near the water's edge, a solitary figure moved through the growing light.

Goku.

She should have turned away. She should have focused on her coffee, on recalibrating the radar, on literally anything else. Instead, she found herself moving closer to the window, drawn by a curiosity she refused to name.

He stood in the gentle surf, barefoot and shirtless, moving through forms she didn't recognize – something powerful but fluid, more like a dance than combat. His movements were slow, deliberate, each pose flowing into the next with mesmerizing precision – hands cutting through air, body pivoting with controlled power, feet shifting across the sand with impossible lightness. There was something almost meditative in the routine – a focus and discipline she'd only ever glimpsed in him.

Bulma's coffee sat forgotten as she watched, transfixed despite herself. Morning light began to break across the horizon, painting his skin in warm gold. Water splashed around his feet as he moved, catching the first ray of sunlight.

He looked beautiful out there. That was the terrible truth of it.

She scowled, tightening her jaw against the ache humming low in her belly. It was anger, yes – at him, at herself, at whatever twist of fate had put this feeling inside her chest where she couldn't cut it out on her own – but not really. It was something rawer than that. Want and frustration twisted together, the kind of longing that made her hands curl into fists against the windowsill.

As if sensing her gaze – as he always seemed to – Goku stopped mid-movement. He turned toward her window with that uncanny awareness, finding her across the distance as if pulled by invisible threads.

For a heartbeat, neither moved. The moment held, suspended. His expression was unreadable, but something in the way he stood there – utterly still in the moving water, looking at her – made her pulse hammer in her throat.

She stepped back sharply, yanking the curtain closed.

Her cheeks were burning. She pressed her back against the wall beside the window as if she'd been caught doing something forbidden.

Which, in a way, she had.

She drew a shaky breath. Soon, I’ll look at him and feel nothing.

Six more dragon balls. Then she'd make her wish, and this weakness, this pathetic longing, would be gone forever.

She just had to last that long.