Disclaimer 1: Song lyrics, countries, famous corporation names, and DB, DBZ, and GT characters and their outlooks don't belong to me. Else, I'd be rich and this story would be reaching your local theatres soon.

Disclaimer 2: I am not responsible for readers who'd inflict emotional/physical damage to themselves from memories triggered by reading the war scenes in this story. The scenes are purely fictional.

Things to keep note of:

- All characters are human, unless stated otherwise.

- Name explanations in the bottom A/N.

- xxxx before and after italicised passages indicates the start and end of a flashback.

- Italicised passage indicates a dream or thought.

- Picture Vegeta's military hair from his GT version.

- Gokan is Raditz.

- Many thanks to preciousjade and KimiruMai.

The sun peeked over the horizon, silently greeting the planet with another brand new day. Birds chirped in the distant and sang the tune of its kind while landed creatures scurried around hunting for breakfast within the Northern Forest. The heat of the steep-sided canyons subdued to the coldness of the night, but their stones begin to crack and harden as they prepared to be smothered by the warmth of the rising sun.

Lush fields spanned across the meadows and valleys, and hilly breezes whistled in the air as they blew against the mountain trees. Those who were awake marvelled at the beauty of another dawn, and those who weren't simply slept away, oblivious to it yet another morning.

But not all who are awake could cherish such a stunning vista unfolding. In the midst of these mountains an unapparent cave hid away in the deep, shrouded behind the shadows of taller mountains and trees. And within this cave lay dormant a highly-secured double doors made of heavy steel. Behind these doors lay an opening towards a winding walkway that led down to an underground science and engineering laboratory.

The basement lab was a huge room of grey and white, where thick wires attached to computers were connected to pods and tubes of all kinds. Little lights of sorts blinked from these pods while beeps resounded off from large screens and untouched tubes.

In the corner of the lab, an old scientist with shocking, white hair that fell just at the arc of his waist was dressed in a white, tattered lab coat. He was hunched over an operating table, tinkering with his latest prototype that was lying sprawled and unmoving across the cold metal surface. The old man muttered incoherently and furiously to the walls, reciting numerous formulas, calculations, and vulgar insults in uncontrollable tics.

He then straightened up and dull blue eyes twinkled. He released a throaty breath as his wrinkly hands caressed the body of the specimen he was working on. A sense of pride filled him and his lips curled into a malicious leer beneath his bushy, white moustache. Glazed-over eyes gleamed excitedly; he has done it. After 30 years of agonising wait and failures, he has finally solved the last piece to an extremely powerful and provocative puzzle to successfully genetically alter a full grown human.

Now all that he needed was a band of strong soldiers and fighters. Then slowly, he'd expand his army into a significant number to wreck havoc against the cities. And finally, he'd transform the entire human race and the world. Revenge against mankind would be sweet, if only to watch his arch enemy topple over and acknowledge him as the superior scientist. Soon, he would dominate and rule, and have them all at his feet as the population revamp into a whole new generation; a whole new species and breed with a new name. All who'd kneel before him, altered from human into a lethal species, will be known as… the Saiyans.

"It is time."

Meanwhile, in the outskirts of South City…

The afternoon sun shone through parted clouds, glaring down the terrains with full force heat and light. Down below, large crowds swamped the Martial Arts Temple with excitement, struggling for a closer spot to watch a band of fighters fight in the 23rd World Martial Arts Tournament's final round. Cheers and boos resonated across the arena as two brothers faced one another in a sudden death showdown.

Son Goku, 23, and Son Gokan, 28, smirked and sneered at each other as they stood firmly still in the fighting ring. Stares and insults were exchanged as they prepared themselves to defeat the other, and to be the one to bring back the winning prize of 500,000 Zeni. The two orphaned brothers weren't in this for the money, but they shared a deep love for fighting. And even though they loved fighting more than anything, no broken bones or shattered noses could break the bond the two siblings shared, except when it came to food.

On the sidelines and in the shade sat their beacon of guide and hope, whose attention and interest for the final match was questionable. Master Roshi was said to be over three centuries old and, albeit frail-looking, was noted as the strongest fighter in the world. The crowd's cheers boomed and echoed throughout the arena as the camera zoomed in on the old man's face, reminding them that the next and final fight would be out of this world as it'd be led by the students of the ancient martial artist.

"Put him in the ground, Goku!" hollered a 20-year-old Mao Chi Chi, who was standing by her grandfather's, Master Roshi, side as she cheered in biased enthusiasm for her obvious romantic interest.

"Now, now, simmer down, sweetheart. Goku may not even win," said the old man as he watched his students behind the shade of his black sunglasses, causing his granddaughter to scoff at his remark.

"You're saying that just because you don't like Goku, Grandpa," Chi Chi retorted and folded her arms, "Besides, why do you care? Either one wins and you'd still get your 500,000 Zeni!"

The old man chuckled deviously, "I don't care, and this is the smartest idea yet. Eye on the prize, eye on the prize," his lack of enthusiasm for the match was proof of the assured confidence he has in either one of his pupils.

"Yea, I'm eyeing on my prize alright. Goku promised to take me out to dinner when he wins."

"If he wins."

"When he wins!" she corrected angrily. In that moment, the bell sounded to indicate the start of the match and Chi Chi shouted another lewd cheer to her beloved fighter, showing childish contempt to her least favourite martial arts sibling, "Kick his ass, Goku, till he can't sit for a month!"

"Your little girlfriend is so vulgar I bet she's got a really good mouth," Gokan taunted as he glanced once at Chi Chi and shrewdly back at his brother, smirking.

Goku frowned disapprovingly and lowered himself into his signature fighting stance, "Chi Chi's not like that. She's pure."

"Yea, I'll bet she is," Gokan replied as he resumed his own fighting stance, "Why don't we just cut the bullshit and I'll take her out to dinner since the only thing you'd be eating is my dust!" Then he pounced forward with his powerful right leg and Goku followed suit.

"Don't bet on this one," Goku said, shielding his face with a forearm as he took the brunt of Gokan's first punch and quipped, "She'd rather eat dust with me than dine with you," he jumped backwards, causing Gokan to grunt and charge towards him again.

"How sure are you, little brother?" Gokan asked as they exchanged a series of blows, "Maybe she'd prefer a real man over a whiney baby like you!" he goaded as he did a low, spinning sweep kick, openly enjoying teasing his kid brother.

"Pfft! Coming from the guy whose social calendar is practically non-existent," Goku dodged and shot back with a smirk of his own as he managed to land a punch on Gokan's jaw, "No wonder you only have dust to offer me!"

Gokan flipped backwards and landed on his feet, and then he pounced forward once more with a cry, "Aarrgh, mock me, will you?! I'll kill you, you little shit!" and Goku squealed with sick delight as he danced away.

As the fight played out nicely, the hot air shifted as tiny mechanical particles rigged with powerful explosives descended from the sky, and flew over and into the Martial Arts Temple in the form of fireflies. Inaudible buzzing of mechanical wings took flight towards the arena and honed in on the on-going match. Slowly, they lowered nearer and hovered in between the two strong fighters. The cheering crowds were oblivious to the mini intruders but a sharp Goku caught a glimpse of a bug with the corner of his eye. It was oddly shining like metal reflecting off the sun before it charged up and burned a bright red. Goku leapt away, but he didn't get far.

Explosion after explosion went off in the temple and chaos ensued. People in the stadium were caught in the shockwaves and the panicking crowd began to scatter in all directions in attempts to escape the blast. Master Roshi and Chi Chi themselves were pushed back to the far end of the building by the sheer force of the explosions.

Goku lied on the grass motionlessly and he felt numb, nearly paralysed. His eyes glazed over as he tried to regain consciousness and focus. The close proximity of the blasts hindered his hearing, and screams were heard but muffled as they drowned faintly in the back of his mind. He turned his head weakly to the side and saw Gokan's unconscious bloody body lying not too far from him. His hand shakily reached out to his brother, his torn lips mouthing his name before darkness consumed him.

The dust soon settled, revealing a ruined temple. Most people had already evacuated the area but those who stayed back were desperately tending to injured spectators and participants. The fighting ring was completely destroyed, leaving only broken boulders in its wake. Master Roshi and Chi Chi managed to come to and recover just minutes after the blast, and frantically went searching for Goku and Gokan within the wreckage.

A panicking Chi Chi buried her hands in the rubbles and wailed desperately for Goku while Master Roshi did the same to search for Gokan.

When you're gone, the pieces of my heart are missing you
When you're gone, the face I came to know is missing too
When you're gone, the words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it okay
I miss you

When You're Gone - Avril Lavigne

Somewhere in the Middle East…

Lt. Col. Vegeta Drosera, 28, sat amidst the testosterone-filled mess hall as he quietly ate his dinner with his trusted companion of ten years and possibly closest friend, 32-year-old Captain Nappa Brassica. The men had been stationed in the outskirts of Baghdad for nearly a year now, living off the remainder of their days in the military facility. The invasion was successful; they've won the war, and Baghdad fell. One week more to go and they could all finally return home.

"Lemme guess," the captain spoke with his mouth full, ignoring the disgusted sneer Vegeta was sending him, "She bought you another sports car to add to your collection."


"Another sniper?"


"I know!" the ruffian, towering soldier exclaimed excitedly and slowly said with a lecherous leer, "… head."

Vegeta lifted a brow and eyed Nappa cautiously, briefly wondering if the man was serious. Then he smirked and quipped, "Well, at least I'd be getting some, and more than that; unlike you who is going to return home to an empty bachelor pad in all your pathetic lonesome."

Knowing when he'd been beaten, Nappa simply frowned, rolled his eyes, and kept to himself. He finished his dinner quickly, not in the least amused. Vegeta merely enjoyed the silence, feeling triumphant once again as Nappa took his tray, grumbled under his breath, "I don't know what Bulma sees in you," and left.

Vegeta retreated back to his designated quarters after dinner and prepared for bed, not caring for another bout of celebration. That seemed to be the only thing his men ever thought of doing since home was just a week away.

He stood in the small bathroom by the tiny sink, splashing water to his face and toying with his boring, dull military haircut. He stared at his face, noticing the lines that were appearing beneath his eyes, and frowned. His gaze then lowered to his pectorals and mildly studied the distinctive lines of his dragon tattoo. The detailed scales patched against the swirly body of the reptile where its tail wound all the way back to his shoulder blades. He loved this piece of ink work.

The tap squeaked as he turned it off. He yanked a towel off the hook on the side wall and wiped his hands and face dry. As he patted his cheek and chin, he lowered his gaze to the rim of the sink and stared at his flat-band silver mixed with shimmering gold wedding ring. He hung the towel back on its hook, swiped the ring off the porcelain surface, and walked out of the bathroom.

Once in the room, he plunged into the edge of his single-bedding cot, pulling out the drawer of the night table and fished out a vidchip. He proceeded to lie on the bed, one hand turning the vidchip on while the other fingering his wedding band out of habit.

The device in his hand beeped and a pre-recorded visual came on, displaying a picture of a woman with wavy cerulean hair adjusting a fussy chubby baby with lavender hair on her lap. Vegeta smiled as he glued his eyes to the handheld monitor.

["Say hello to daddy, Trunks!" Bulma Leigh Briefs, 26, chirped through the screen with her hand holding their infant son's to give Vegeta a wave before flashing him a brilliant smile.

"How's my other baby? I'm sure you're writhing in agony without my exalted aura constantly gracing you," she remarked smugly and winked at her husband, "I'm doing fine, too. Trunks almost flipped over on his stomach today. He's growing up so fast, my gosh! Oh, I'm beginning to sound like my mother."]

Vegeta raised a brow at this, his lips curled up in a small smirk as he listened on to his wife's mindless ramblings. Oh, how he missed even that!

["Anyway, daddy and I managed to seal the 20 million Zeni project with Microsoft the other day. We threw a small celebration after that, you know, with CC employees and some of my old friends. They got along well with little Vegeta here. It was fun and the food was great as usual, but I wished you were here with us..." she trailed off with a sad smile, "... with me."]

Vegeta watched her sagged sadly and the urge to touch her grew. He took in a staggering breath and exhaled, attempting to crush the ever-growing longing but failing miserably when his infant son's chubby fingers reached out and grabbed the webcam. All Vegeta saw and heard were Trunks' slobbery toothless mouth as the boy gnawed on the device and Bulma's disgusted protests. He snorted and grinned at the spectacle his wife and son gave him.

Though he has watched this latest pre-recorded message millions of times, he still wished that he was actually there with them; to crush and mould his wife's little frame to his and to hold his son for the first time.


"Lieutenant, sir!" one of the soldiers approached and saluted Vegeta who was discussing battle strategies with his captain and squad in the meeting room.

"Not right now, soldier. I'm busy."

"Phone call for you, sir?"

"Tell whoever it is that I'm no longer alive," Vegeta replied nonchalantly, not in the least bit interested as he continued to discuss battle plans. The men surrounding the table snickered under their hands.

But the rookie was adamant, though slightly annoyed for being ignored twice. He pressed his lips into a straight and tried one last time, because if this didn't work, nothing else would.

"Sir, I believe your father-in-law is on the line – something about you having a baby."

Vegeta, who was hunched over the table, straightened up very slowly and eyed the soldier in eerie silence. His face was expressionless, not revealing a single emotion though he knew better; inside he was swirling with explosive joy and apprehension. Then, he reacted in the most unexpected way. He stared at all of his comrades in the room one by one like he was in a trance, his stoic expression lost on him until Nappa spoke up.

"Well, what are you waiting for, squirt? Go answer the phone!"

Vegeta blinked, snapped out of his stupor, and ran.

Nappa snorted amusedly, "He's having a baby," and everyone else laughed out loud.


"Vegeta, my boy! I've been trying to get through for a few hours now. Bulma went into labour and she's still in labour-"

"How is she?!"

"Well, she's trying really hard, though I think the whole floor now knows what kind of a bastard you are – 12 out of 10, and not a dime's worth."

Vegeta snorted and rolled his eyes, though a smirk was apparent on his face, "My guess? She's doing fine."

"I don't know, son, she seemed to be really drained, though I don't see many women giving birth on a daily basis, but of course, there was only Bunny and-" Dr. Briefs drifted off.

"Dad!" Vegeta chided, cutting the doctor off, "We're talking about Bulma."

"Ah, yes, Bulma, well, she's been in there for nine hours now and- oh my God, I think I hear it!"

Vegeta pressed the phone against his ear till it hurt, his face scrunched up with determination as he strained to hear what he hoped to hear. But his father-in-law's excitement drowned all sounds out, "I can hear his cries! She did it, Vegeta!"

Upon hearing that, Vegeta released the breath he didn't know he was holding and leaned against the plaster wall, a sense of relief washed over him.

"How is she?" he asked weakly as his heart thumped in his rib cage. He was afraid for Bulma, and ultimately afraid of receiving bad news.

"She's fine," the doctor assured.

"Are you sure?" Vegeta pressed worriedly.

"Yes, I can see her through the porthole. They're putting the baby in her arms as we speak," Dr. Briefs reassured in a bubbly, light manner. No doubt, this was a happy day.

Vegeta released another breath, closed his eyes, and nodded his head, "Good."

"What are you gonna name him, son? So I can let Bulma know."

The soldier paused as he mentally pieced the name he came up with to his son's face. And though he had no idea how the boy looked like at the moment, and judging from his gene pool, Vegeta was certain his son wouldn't be bad-looking.

Once, when he'd complained that most nights were boring at the base, Bulma had given him the privilege to think up a name for their baby. He had been thinking and choosing long and hard for one ever since, and his final selection would no doubt fit his son's face perfectly.

"Trunks," he murmured to himself, cleared his throat, and then firmly repeated, "His name is Trunks Sage Briefs-Drosera."

"Excellent choice of name!" Dr. Briefs commented proudly, mainly because the allusion of the boy's first name resembled his lineage.

Vegeta nodded absent-mindedly as pride swirled within him for different reasons. At this point, his comrade caught his attention and signalled to him that there were duties waiting, "I gotta go. Tell Bulma that she did well."

"Of course. Anything else you want me to tell her, hmm?" his sentimental father-in-law subtly prompted.

The young soldier did an eye-roll, but otherwise smirked, "Yes. Tell her that she can stop stuffing her face now that the baby is out."

"Brilliant," the doctor said knowingly.

Then he added softly, "… and that I love her."


["- and so you see, it was a close call, we could have lost the contract because the guy just wouldn't give up. He was intimidating but we pulled through and counter-attacked him because I am a genius like that, aren't you just proud?!" Bulma humoured herself and Trunks began to whine and squirm like a worm in her lap. She very quietly hushed the boy and turned back to the screen. "I gotta run, baby. The lab needs my help these days, seems like they can't function without me," she stated and laughed lightly.

"But, you're coming home soon and we're so excited!" she beamed, one arm wounded around Trunks' chubby torso while the other reached out for the webcam. Very gently, her slender finger brushed longingly against the screen.

"I love you, Vegeta," she said adoringly and whispered, "Have a save journey home. We're waiting for you," her eyes lingered for a moment longer on the screen, somehow knowingly where to look as she stared deep into his eyes. Then she brought the camera to her lips and gave it a customary kiss. She brought it back up, smiled beautifully at her husband, winked, and the screen went black.]

There was no goodbye, for they would meet again.

Vegeta ran a finger slowly across the monitor the same time his wife kissed it. Watching the video was something that he did every night just to hear her voice before he went to bed. He took in a deep breath and returned the vidchip into the drawer, along with his wedding ring. It was habit that he didn't wear the band to sleep. Once the drawer was locked and secured, he turned the nightlight off and let sleep claim him.

The night air was warm and still; desert sands shifted and settled very subtly. Tower guards and surveillance spotlights combed the area within and beyond the base fences, catching nothing but dead weeds and distant barking of wandering stray dogs. Tiny mechanical bugs similar to the ones from the World Martial Arts Tournament buzzed inaudibly and flew through those fences, preset to head straight for the front yard of the installation.

Patrols on duty were oblivious to the midnight intruders as the rigged bugs hovered over the yard in a pattern pretty much similar to the World Martial Arts Tournament blast. The ring leader of the explosive troop beeped a bright red and the first of a string of explosions began, and all hell broke loose.

The siren blared throughout the base. Vegeta's eyes flew open and he shot out of bed, quickly reacting on reflex where years of hard training prepared him for sudden attacks. He slid his camo pants on and wore his combat boots, then snatched his rifle off the working desk and burst out of the room. Thick, heavy smoke greeted him as he dashed through the front yard and pushed against soldiers who were running amok in the field. He cocked his gun and aimed for the skies first, immediately targeting enemy bomber or attack aircrafts to shoot on sight.

Another explosion happened in the left far corner behind him, and he whipped around to analyse the situation. Something was wrong for there were no aircrafts. This was not an enemy intrusion but there were explosions everywhere. The blasts, they were being set off on the premise. This whole damned area was rigged. Those who were caught in the blast, got incinerated in them; and those who were near the blasts, were severely wounded.

Vegeta spun around and gripped the arm of the nearest soldier, "Captain Brassica, where is he?!"

The rookie turned to his left and the lieutenant followed his gaze. They located the captain barking orders around and Vegeta moved to approach him. Just as he did, another explosion went off several metres from Nappa. Time stood still as Vegeta watched his friend fell to his knees as the blast seared and burned off the side of the towering man's stomach.

Nappa turned to Vegeta and gave him one final, pleading look before he dropped to the ground. Vegeta yelled and ran towards him, throwing all precautions out the window. All he wanted to do at that moment was to drag Nappa to safety. But in that split second, another mechanical bug set off another blast not too far from him, and this time Vegeta got caught in it. He dodged and spun around pushing the rookie flat down to the ground as he took the brunt of the blow. The shockwaves were so great that the lieutenant and everyone within his vicinity were pushed back by its sheer impact.

Vegeta crashed into the nearest building, his head and back colliding violently with the walls within. He collapsed face down to the cold, concrete floor, his body already suffering from the blunt force. His rib bones were shattered and they punctured his lungs, and his limbs were twisted in inconceivable angles. He felt numb and paralysed all over; his focus blurred and foggy. He blinked several times and forced himself to reclaim consciousness, but the pain was too great and he groaned weakly.

His eyelids felt heavy and his breathing gradually became shallow. Incoherent and muffled shouting played in the background, sounding more and more distant as the seconds ticked. The room was spinning and he closed his eyes, welcoming the sudden coldness. He was getting sleepy.

Flashes of blue and lavender and a faint voice saying 'we're waiting for you' were the last things on his mind before he finally succumbed to his injuries and seeped into the realm of darkness.

On Master Roshi's island…

The bodies of Son Goku and Son Gokan were never found. People speculated that they were blown to pieces and the vicious fire incinerated their corpses in the process. That was the only explanation the police and media could provide to the grieving family.

Two small, dark brown Chinese altars for the passing were laid down facing the ocean and metres away from the soft, crashing waves on the sandy shore. Chi Chi knelt solemnly and mourned behind them, her swollen, crying eyes fixated deeply on the one inscribed with a 'Son Goku' in gold paint.

Master Roshi stood on the far end of the island and stared out into the horizon, the grief in his eyes shielded only by the sheer layer of his sunglasses. Chi Chi's whimpers and sobs travelled through the waters, further breaking the old man's fragile heart. He loved the boys, really. In fact, out of all the students he's had under his wings, Goku had been his favourite.

Though the afternoon sun warmed his face, his heart has frozen on this devastating day. He glanced at his granddaughter and sighed heavily, shaking his head sadly before turning back to the sea. They were both so young, not reaching even the smallest fraction of his age.

Many students came to him, some left with hope, and many left with nothing. None of which he was particularly fond of. But Goku and Gokan came to him with hope, and they trained hard, nothing like his past students. It was truly a pity. There were many regrets in his 328 years of life and perhaps, not being able to tell Goku that he was proud of him was one of them.

I didn't get around to kiss you goodbye on the hand
I wish that I could see you again
I know that I can't

Slipped Away - Avril Lavigne

At Capsule Corporation…

The Briefs' household was a hurricane waiting to unfurl. Servant bots were being frenziedly demanded back and forth, phones were ringing off the hook, and paper and laptops were strewn on every table and surface they could find. Lawyers, investigators, and even psychotherapists were called forth to the house to calm the brewing storm.

It has been three days since the bombings and Bulma had been glued to the television ever since, anxiously watching news from all channels and refusing to eat. She tried contacting the military base and Vegeta's comrades, all of whom she knew, but failed to reach them each time. No one was answering; it was as if the telephone lines over there were cut off. Of course, they were stationed in the middle of nowhere. She even went as far as to use her powerful influence to scoop out something, though it wasn't much.

They speculated that there were 125 casualties and at least 87 deaths caused by the explosions, but no names were confirmed or revealed yet as the sweeping and search for survivors commenced. She was forced to wait; and every second was agonising.

By the fourth day, Bulma has had enough with the people in her house. She shooed them all away, including her parents and Trunks. So, in the quietness of the evening in a huge empty house, she found herself roaming through the hallways like a zombie, drowned in a dull, big t-shirt and three-quarter denim shorts. Her hair was loosely tied up in a messy ponytail, obvious dark circles formed beneath her eyes, and with no make-up on. In other words, she looked like hell. She was glad her parents had been so compliant in relieving her of Trunks and kept him away in their house until she was certain of Vegeta's safety.

The front doorbell rang and Bulma trudged towards it. She opened the door and gasped, her eyes widened at the sight of two of Vegeta's men. Her heart pounded in her rib cage as they stood by the door, removing their hats in greeting. Tears quickly formed in her eyes and she cupped her trembling lips to fight down the wail that threatened to escape. She could tell from the solemn expression on their faces that they were here to break the bad news that she had been dreading.

It was a wordless exchange as none were needed, save for a soft mutter of scripted commiseration. The first soldier handed her a dark olive green eight-point hat, which clearly belonged to Vegeta, and Bulma released a strangled sob as she numbly received it. Then, the second soldier took out a palm-sized envelope from his chest pocket and stepped forward. He eyed her sympathetically before lowering his gaze and sombrely passed it to her.

She took the package and crushed it in her palm, afraid to see what hid inside. But the need to know overpowered her fear and she opened it with trembling hands. Her fingers fished out a silver and gold wedding ring and she held it shakily. Her face scrunched up in wordless anguish and pain, and suddenly breathing was the hardest thing to do as she read the engraving on the inside loop that said, 'Remember Me'. She clutched her aching chest, the envelope in her hand slipped through her fingers and fell to the ground, forgotten. It was clear as day that the wedding ring she held belonged to Vegeta.

Her husband was dead. Gone, and he wasn't going to come home, ever.

Bulma burst into tears and could no longer suppress her pain. She collapsed against the door frame and slid down hard upon her knees. She cried her heart out and wailed, unable to stop the burning pain that was crashing through her viciously like an incontrollable train wreck.

He was supposed to come home; supposed to be here with her in less than three short days to sweep her up into his strong arms and hold their baby for the first time. Now, he would never experience all that has been waiting dearly for him. How would she survive another day without him, knowing that she would never hear his voice whispering sweet words into her ears, feel his touch caressing her lovingly, or see him smiling back at her ever again?

Her eyes clenched tightly as she wailed uncontrollably, praying for the excruciating pain in her heart to just take her away to wherever Vegeta was, if only to see him one last time.

Wishing I could hear your voice again
Knowing that I never would
Dreaming of you won't help me to do
All that you dreamed I could

Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again - Andrew Lloyd Webber

A separate military funeral honours was held by the week's end, paying tribute to the young and fallen Lt. Col. Vegeta Drosera. The marching band played a solemn note as the casket draped with a flag was heaved out of hearse. It was then placed onto the back of a horse carriage to be brought to the burial site. A volley salute was fired in the far end of the area and soft drum rolls filled the air.

The sky was gloomy after releasing a fleeting rain shower, a weather that perfectly reflected the sombre event. It was a sad, sad day for the Droseras, Briefs, and friends. Bulma stood on the side, donning a sleek black dress and matching black hat which veil covered her face and shielding her swollen eyes and sorrow from prying eyes. She numbly watched the procession as they lowered her husband's casket to the ground. Throughout the entire ceremony, she did not shed a single tear.

The service ended, and the young widow found herself standing before Vegeta's headstone, staring sightlessly at it while cradling her infant son protectively in her arms.






1975 – 2003

The tombstone was made of sleek, black marble that separated itself from the rest by rank and social status. It was only fitting for a soldier and individual like Vegeta. But the haunting words of 'loving husband, eager father' repeated in Bulma's mind over and over again like a broken record. They meant nothing to her.

Crisp, cold wind blew past mother and son, and Trunks made a noise. Bulma shushed the babe as gently she could; the once vibrant sparks in her eyes were now reduced to a sputtering flame.

She gazed at her child as if she had never noticed the strong resemblance between father and son before. Her heart sank and she laid her baby's head against her shoulders, patting his back in a tender motion to soothe him. Her eyes lingered listlessly at her husband's carved name, sweet memories of them and all the what-ifs and could-haves playing in her head.

Then someone decided to approach the mourning widow and child. Feet shuffled through the wet, manicured grass and stopped a little to the left behind her. Although Bulma felt that her moment of silence has been rudely invaded, she made no sound of it. Trunks merely watched the intruder over his mother's shoulder with curious eyes, gurgling and making spit bubbles at the man.

That's when the man decided to speak up and in a sympathetic tone, he said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Drosera."

A minute passed in silence, and Bulma spoke up for the first time in two days, her voice raspy and hoarse from crying too much, "This is an empty grave."

The man didn't know what to respond to that, so he wisely kept to himself. If it wasn't for the baby's distracting antics, the sight of the widow mourning her dead husband in a haunting manner in the cemetery would have made him cringe with fear.

"Do you think he's still alive?" she suddenly asked him, snapping him out of his ghastly reverie.

He fought to spit out an answer, "There were... explosions everywhere, ma'am. The men, most of them, they were incinerated. S-so, I think... I t-think no."

And if he thought the woman was haunting before, she was frighteningly angry now. Bulma whipped around and glared at him, causing him to take a step back. She pierced through him with eyes filled with blazing blue rage and spat, "You were there by his side, weren't you? That's why you're here. He saved you, didn't he?"

Shocked and speechless, the soldier did nothing but lowered his head and nodded solemnly. How did she know he was there, anyway? And what was she getting at? Oh, what did it matter? He was alive, and it was because of her husband.

"You shouldn't even be here," Bulma hissed, though her face softened as she turned to face the headstone again, "You should have been incinerated along with him," she stated hollowly. Then she turned back to him, this time with an unexplainable glint in her eyes, "But you're alive…"

"Whu-what?" the soldier stammered. Though he was clueless, he didn't miss the gears working in the woman's head.

Bulma turned around fully to give him a logical explanation, "Something happened in there, something sinister. They said there were no airplanes; none were recorded flying over the facility. But the explosions… the explosions happened on the inside, you should know. You admitted that you were there next to him, and you're alive because you were caught in the shockwaves, too, not the blast. If they couldn't find Vegeta, they shouldn't be able to find you. But you're alive," she repeated, "... and that means Vegeta is, too."

The man stammered, his eyes darting from side to side as he began to understand her theory. It seemed plausible, but how did one explain his superior's disappearance?

"I have to find him," was all she said as she determinedly stormed away, leaving the man alone to register and contemplate all that she said.

"Mrs. Drosera, wait! Please, wait!" he ran after her, catching her just as soon as she stepped foot in her waiting car.

Bulma adjusted Trunks in her arms, and looked at the man expectantly.

"What are you going to do?" he asked as the need to understand and help this woman gnawed at his conscience. But Bulma, thinking that he was here to stop her from finding her husband, took offence and refuted.

"I don't care who you are, but you don't know who you're dealing with. I am going to find my husband, and no one is going to stop me, certainly not you. I don't need your opinions on this and I do not need your sympathy. So go on home, live your life, and move on," then she turned to her chauffeur to tell him to drive home. She boarded the vehicle but the stubborn man stopped her before she could close the door.

"Ma,am, I was there beside the lieutenant," he stammered as his lips trembled. He looked as if he was about to break down, "He saved me, and if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be standing here. I could have lost a limb or lying down in a coma right now, or worse, I could have died. It should have been me in that ground, not him," he shook as he pointed to Vegeta's grave, "So, please…" he pleaded weakly through clenched teeth, his eyes now blurry with tears of suppressed anger, "Let me help you."

Bulma stared at the broken man with a tinge of gratitude and remorse in her eyes. She understood why he felt compelled to help, and regretted accusing him of trying to stop her. She turned away from him to place Trunks in his car seat and the man lowered his head dejectedly, thinking that she had refused him. She turned back to the man and saw his face scrunched up with guilt and disappointment. If he was willing to help her, who was she to deny a man's need for redemption? Her features then softened and she asked him softly, "What is your name, soldier?"

The rookie looked up at her, a tinge of hope radiating off him, "Krillin... My name is Krillin."

3 years later, in a homely apartment unit within the Gero Underground Science and Engineering Laboratory (GUSEL)…

Sweat and soft moans filled the air, licking his skin like a second layer as he rocked his hips passionately into the blue-haired beauty beneath him. Her slender fingers grasped the back of his flame hairdo and brought his face down to hers, pulling his hot, inviting lips into a deep kiss. He thrust forward, riding her for as long as he could to build up the flames that were begging to be set ablaze. His release was nearing, and so was hers. A rough hand found her frail fingers and he clutched them tightly. He shut his eyes, thrust into her one last time and spilled his seeds deep into her core.

"Vegeta," she moaned breathlessly. He opened his eyes and though the rest of her face was shrouded in the shadows like always, he didn't miss her sweet, brilliant smile. It was a smile that was meant for him, and his heart swelled with emotions that only she could instil.

His eyes flew open to the sight of white ceilings. He inhaled sharply, beads of sweat rolled down his temples and disappeared into the pillow under his head. There was that recurring dream again. He shut his eyes and steadied his breathing. Once again he tried to remember the face of the woman who only appeared in his subconscious realm, but each time he did, he failed.

Every night he thought he'd seen her face but darkness would always come and wash her features away before he could get a glimpse. And each time, she would call out for this Vegeta guy and he would feel a surge of warmth and a pleasant emotion burst within him. Somehow, he felt strongly for this faceless woman, even though she called him by another man's name. But… who is this Vegeta, anyway?, he always wondered.

He frowned and reopened his eyes, then turned to his left as he watched the back of his wife sleeping soundly next to him. She has blonde hair but the woman in his dream has blue, a disturbingly stark contrast; he was always fond of the colour blue. His wife has a flat, steely voice but the woman in his dream has a voice so soft and silvery; just like honey and he could almost taste it every time she spoke. What's more, his wife wouldn't touch him like how the blue-haired woman did in his dream. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time that happened, maybe never as far as he could remember; maybe once upon a lifetime ago.

He snorted lightly at that thought, thinking that it was plausible judging by how cold his wife portrayed herself to be. He ran his fingers through his flame-like hair and breathed deeply. Then he turned to his side with his back facing hers and shut his eyes as he prepared to go back to sleep. Every night, the woman would come to him in his dream; every night, he'd wake up in perspiration and wanting more of that dream, of her; and every night, he looked forward to seeing that faceless, blue-haired woman again.

I know what you're thinking, but don't let the last scene squash all of your hopes for a good BV story. I don't disappoint.

- Vegeta Drosera: Drosera capensis – a carnivorous plant.

- Nappa Brassica: Nappa cabbage (Brassica rapa subspecies of pekinensis) – celery cabbage

- Trunks Sage: Salvia officinalis – an evergreen sub-shrub with woody stems, greyish leaves, and blue to purplish flowers.

I tried to follow the military funeral procession as closely as I could. I mean no disrespect if the steps wrongly portrayed.

Sorry if you spotted mistakes, it's 2am here and I'm tired. This is the first human Vegeta I wrote and I hope you enjoyed it. But do tell me what you think! Reviewsss!

Btw, the name 'Vegeta Drosera' as a whole, belongs to me. And I'm proud to call it mine *sniff*. T_T