I’m probably getting ahead of myself again; writing another Bulma/Vegeta fanfic while I have dozens of others to finish. But this idea popped into my head and I couldn’t ignore it. I have a few warnings with this one. #1. This story has graphic sex, so if that bothers you, then look somewhere else for a fanfic. #2. This story also has graphic language, violence, and other situations that a few of you may find offensive. I’m not trying to offend anyone; I just seem unable to write a story without adding my usual dosage of angst, as I am told it is my specialty. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy reading this, and…

I WOULD REALLY LOVE TO GET REVIEWS!

^_^ Thanks! Peace out.

~Jesa Jaisai

From the start of their relationship never once had he cried. Tears had never escaped his eyes all through their troubles; the tireless fights left him always angry but always dry. While Bulma would stalk off, so emotional, to bury her face in her pillow to cry, Yaumcha always fought to remain in her eyes the strong willed warrior who had no need for tears.

Now he had more than enough need for them, he supposed bitterly. And now he would shed them, because all who watched him had no quarrel with who he was and what he had done, as it was only the darkening evening sky that beheld his pain. He stared into and past the blinking specks of light and inhaled a huge, shaky breath. He had been so unfair to her, and now, as he had just beheld her sad smile, he realized there were not enough Dragonballs to wish for an erase of all the times he had hurt her. Kami, how he wished he could erase them all. But time was as time would be, and it was not about to be so kind as to grant him such a wish. Exhaling a cloud of suddenly frosty air, he rubbed his arms and prepared to head back inside where the rest of the family was gathered, but a thought stopped him. Everybody who knew Bulma was beside her bed as of now, everybody except that pompous asshole of a Sayajin, Vegeta. He wondered absently where he was right now. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered but Bulma. But soon even she would not matter, but instead would disappear from life and become nothing but a memory.

Yaumcha slid down the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest. He buried his face in them, and resorted back to the manner in which he had dealt with sadness when he was but a child…

He sobbed helplessly.

* * *

Finally, they had left the room. Finally, the choking cloud of the Z Fighters and her family and friends had lifted and drifted out of her bedroom to leave her with her thoughts. They were not happy ones, but she did not know how much longer she could have dealt with the mass of tears and sad words. Their pain was expected, but not well received.

Bulma pushed the thin bedsheet off of her legs and stared down at them. What had he called it? Fortricres? A terrible disease for which, the Doctor had informed her with a terrible finality, there was no known cure. And she, a woman of all her 21 years, was the first female to ever receive it.

Of course, the Dragonballs had been the first to defy the Doctors words. But Master Roshi had sadly shaken his head and informed them that the eternal Dragon Shenlong would not grant such a wish as to bring her back, as the disease was so powerful and relentless that it was beyond his power. To know that inside her body, millions of multiplying cells was forming a death that even the mysterious and awesome power of Dragon could not defeat, was complete and utter terror.

And Goku, her best friend in the entire world, had leapt to his feet and challenged the word of everyone who stood around the giant hospital bed that dwarfed her. Such was the innocence and determination in his eyes that tears had streaked Bulma’s pale cheeks, the first to grace her skin. And so sad was the look on his face when he realized that this was one battle he could not win for her, she had wanted to die. Right then, and right there. But she had exactly seven months of suffering before such a thing would grant her mercy, and no one was about to let her go before that, no matter what.

She did not know what was worse. Knowing she would never see any of her dearly loved friends again, or not knowing what death would feel like. Goku had tried to explain it to her before, but of course, the intelligence required to explain in detail such a terrible event was beyond him. How many people would come to her funeral? Where would she go, after they had lowered her body six feet into the earth? Would she lay forever, cold and helpless? Who would come, every Sunday, to put fresh flowers on her grave?

Yaumcha?

Would Yaumcha come? Would he pay the money and fly the distance to bring her roses? Her bottom lip trembled as she thought of the possibility that he wouldn’t. He said he loved her, but was the event of her sudden departure the only thing that had brought it out of him after six long weeks of ignoring her?

If he did love her, than love would keep him from going after the first pretty girl he saw. For at least…the first month. But Bulma would be forgotten, and pictures would be turned over and tucked hurriedly away under his bed. And Yaumcha would remember that she was gone forever, and would not allow his once faint flicker of love for her to hold him back from going on with his life.

The tears came again. Relentless, they coursed hot trails down her flushed cheeks. It wasn’t fair. All her life, she had helped others. With her inventions and her knowledge she had discovered countless numbers of Dragonballs, risked her life to help Goku, and constantly been there for him and his friends whenever they needed it. Now, she was dying, and they could do nothing. No miraculous wish would bring her back from death. The Dragon would not listen to her this time.

She thrashed her legs and slammed her fists against the table drawn across her lap. Sweet death would not come soon enough.

* * *

Vegeta wandered absently into the Capsule Corp. Building, a white towel around his neck. He tore his gloves off and tossed them negligently on the kitchen counter, opening the fridge to scout for his next meal. Only then did he notice the awful and unusual silence that blanketed the house. He frowned, and closed the fridge door. The absence of music and the overly cheerful squeals of Bulma’s mother seemed far too strange. He listened. Below, the faint humming of Dr.Briefs machines did not greet his ears. Something was definitely amiss.

He stepped out of the kitchen and rounded the corner into the living room where nearly everyone he knew stood, eyes downcast, most filled with tears. He stood awkwardly in front of them, looking terribly out of place, before folding his arms across his chest and placing himself against the far wall. To his left in the shadowed corner stood Piccolo, his grim visage strangely troubled. Vegeta frowned and looked to the loveseat, where Ms.Briefs sat sniffling and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Did I miss something?"

All of their heads snapped up, startled, as they just noticed the Sayajin Prince standing amongst them. Vegeta first noticed Kakarott, who had an arm draped across his Chi-Chi’s shoulders as she cried. His eyes met Vegeta’s and he could see a pain deeper than anything Vegeta had even seen in their depths.

"No Ouji." Piccolo said quietly. "Show some respect."

Vegeta straightened and scowled. "Why need I show respect? What happened here?"

Goku was the first to come forward. "Just this once, Vegeta, acknowledge that there are others here besides you, others that demand more attention than you do." He paused. "Something awful has happened."

"What?" Vegeta snapped.

Ms.Briefs looked up, her chin quivering. "Its Bulma…she…she…" the woman broke off in a fit of hysterics and leaned back into her husbands shoulder. Dr.Briefs glared silently across the room into Vegeta’s waiting eyes. "She’s dying, Vegeta. The Doctors discovered…today…she has a…disease. There is no cure." He paused in an attempt to hold back his own sorrow. "She has seven months to live."

Vegeta did not know why, but the words struck a raw nerve deep within himself that would not be ignored. Annoyed, he pushed it aside for the briefest of moments and spoke. "Your sorrow is pointless. You will simply wish her back with the Dragonballs, will you not?"

Silence hung thick within the room, save for the faint crying of the two women. "It’s not that simple, Vegeta." DrBriefs replied. "The eternal Dragon will not grant the wish. It is beyond his power to alter."

Now Vegeta sat, slowly, lowering himself into a crouch. He stared ahead at the floor, the words going through his mind all at once. Bulma was going to die? Annoying, loud, bossy Bulma? Insults failed him. She was truly going to depart and never return. Would she never again throw his dirty laundry at his face and tell him to wash it himself? Oddly, he felt a strange sadness swell in his chest. He looked back up again.

"What is the disease?" he asked quietly.

"It has a strange name. The Doctors said that there have only been known cases of it in space…which is why we don’t understand how in the world it got here…it is called Fortricres." He said softly, his voice hardly audible. "Its origin is unknown, and the Doctors know little more about it than the fact that is has no known cure. It slowly breaks down the immune system, and then attacks the brain with a series of…" he trailed off, unable to continue.

The name echoed deep in Vegeta’s mind. He had heard that word…somewhere…long ago. He frowned deeply as he tried to remember why the word sounded familiar to him. He noticed the odd looks he was getting from the others, his concern obviously a surprise. At last it struck him, in a burst of colorful memory. He saw a Planet, red in color. He was approaching it rapidly in a Sayajin space pod…

Vegeta stood. "I know the disease." He said. "There is a cure."