Dandelion Coffee

A romance by Unknown Darkness and Serina

Part 2: Floating

Bulma rushed to Vejita and knelt beside him. He seemed covered in blood and was overcome by pain. His ribs stabbed into his lungs, so breathing was extreme agony. Bulma tried not to imagine how it would feel to have every breath taken hurt so much.

Vejita opened his left eye, which was glazed and bloodshot. “B… Bulma…” he stammered in a faint whisper, “You’re so beautiful.” Then he went unconscious.

Bulma knew there was little she could do for him here, but she remembered the cabin. It was about three miles away.

It was merciful of fate to allow Vejita to be unconscious during the journey, for the movement would have made the pain enough to drive anyone insane, had he been awake to it. Bulma soon stood with Vejita’s head behind her neck, and his arms draped over her shoulders. Ignoring the sensation of her husband’s blood soaking through her clothing, she began her three-mile struggle with strength she never knew she had.

Although Vejita was about Bulma’s size, his muscling made him much heavier. But Bulma’s love for him gave her the power to do the otherwise impossible.

* * *

After lying an old blanket and pillow on the floor of the cabin, Bulma, smeared in the bio-mech’s and Vejita’s blood as well as mud and dead leaves, lay Vejita gently on the makeshift bed. This would be the only way she could care for him from all sides. Plus, he hated beds, and she wanted to respect his wishes.

She knelt beside her mate for a while, trying to find which injuries to treat first. Then finally, after all the hard things she did, the shock of it all sank in. She watched Vejita struggling to breathe, heard his gurgling gasps which came shallow and uneven as blood ran from his partly opened mouth from which he was breathing.

Her prince, the strong Vejita who never let himself be kept down, was now reduced to this helpless, suffering man. She had just dragged him three damn miles. She had just killed a humanoid with her bare hands. She had crashed her hover-car. All this flooded her brain in an overwhelming wave…

And he had called her beautiful.

Bulma let out a choked sob, then buried her face in her hands, crying as she had never done since she was a child. Her body shook with sobs and tears ran between her fingers. It was all just too much for her to take. Then she lowered her hands but kept her eyes shut, trying to stop the tears, sniffling, sobs still quivering through her frame. This went on for about a minute, then she felt something on her cheek. She opened her eyes in surprise.

It was Vejita’s hand.

His glove was shredded and sticky with blood, and it took most of his strength just to breathe, yet he had somehow found enough energy to gently caress his mate’s cheek, something he had only done about three or four times before.

Their eyes met, hers filmed with tears, his fogged with pain and still bloodshot. For once they were no longer filled with anger and annoyance, but now they held a pleading and weak emotion, pain, and even a hint of sympathy for Bulma.

His hand began to tremble weakly and fall away, but Bulma held it back against her cheek gently, continuing to lock her eyes on Vejita’s.

“Vejita, I love you,” she whispered, “I only told you a few times but I love you always.” Her voice quivered with emotion as she said this.

“Wanted to…*gasp*…tell you,” he whispered faintly, eyes going out of focus, “…would do…*gasp*… anything…” His fingers stroked her hair. “…So beautiful…” He closed his eyes, but continued stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Bulma was now more determined than ever to save Vejita. She gently laid his hand on the blanket and went into the bathroom, the only separate room in the cabin, which had a water-pump shower and sink, both supplied by the well, and a dug-in toilet. She got a washcloth, a bowl of water, and an old first-aid kit from a cabinet. Then she stood at her husband’s feet, looking at his numerous visible injuries with surprising calm.

There was little she could do about his broken ribs, which was what made them so serious. The deep bite he had received in the side was what she knew she would have to treat first.

She reached for the antiseptic, the needle, and the cat-gut thread, choking back the queasy feeling that rose when she realized she would have to sew more than skin.

Bulma didn’t know where she got the nerve as she cleansed and began stitching. She wished she had pain-killers when she saw Vejita flinch every time she drew the needle through. Each time, she found herself muttering apologies to him, but she wouldn’t allow herself to quit until she had closed and again cleansed the wounds. Finally, she rose shakily to her feet and wiped sweat from her forehead with shaking hands. She closed her eyes to control the dizziness… then she lost it.

She ran to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet, then washed her face in the cold pump water. She didn’t know how much more she could take, though she had only started. At least the stitching that remained would only be to close wounds, not repair internal damage like the one she had just done.

Bulma resolutely began stitching all the largest and deepest wounds. She spoke not a word as she worked, until the only wound that needed stitches left was a long bleeding slice down the middle of his tail.

“Vejita,” she sighed, sure that he was unconscious and couldn’t hear anyway, “Looks like I’m gonna have to trim some of the hair off your tail.”

Vejita’s eyes opened. “Not my tail,” he whispered almost pleadingly.

“It’s the only way I can sew it up,” Bulma said, hand on her hip, “If I don’t, it’ll get infected.”

She picked up precision scissors from the first-aid kit and reached for Vejita’s tail, but he swung it away from her hand. Annoyed, she reached for it again, and again it slithered evasively away. She tried bringing her hand out more quickly, but he still avoided her grip.

“Don’t be an ass!” she yelled.

Vejita’s bloodied mouth curved into a hint of a smile for a few seconds. Then Bulma instead grabbed the part of his tail closer to his body, careful not to squeeze it. “As sensitive as your tail is,” she warned him, “the stitching will hurt quite a bit.”

Vejita already knew this, and waited as Bulma carefully cut the hair short around the wound. Then she readied the needle. As it entered, his tail twitched wildly and his face tightened, a hiss escaping his lips. She tried to finish quickly to minimize his pain.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed afterward, “I know you Saiya-jin value your tails. Maybe I would if I had one.”

Bulma knelt beside Vejita’s head and wrung water from the wet washcloth into the bowl. She gently swabbed away the blood from around his mouth as he continued watching her face with one open eye. They looked at each other silently, then she rinsed the cloth, wrung it again, and began to bathe the rest of his wounds, unvelcro-ing and removing the top half of his skin-suit to do so properly. There were few bandages, so she only wrapped the more serious wounds.

Sighing when she was finished, she sat on the floor, surveying her work. She wanted so badly to do more for Vejita, but she could think of nothing more to do after she had splinted his knee.

“Take a shower, Woman,” she heard his weakened voice whisper, “You look like shit.”

“You don’t look so hot either,” Bulma answered with a sad smile. She was glad there was some extra clothing in the closet so she could shower.

The cool water pouring over her body seemed to cleanse her mind of despair as well as her skin of dirt and dried blood. Even after she was clean she stood under the spray for several minutes, letting the pressure massage her sore neck and shoulders, before she dried and put on an old blue button-down t-shirt and white jeans. Right now, she worried little about how she was dressed.

She brushed her hair with difficulty; it was very tangled. She put it up in a braid to keep it out of the way. Then she went back into the main room.

Vejita tried to glance at her as she came in, but the eye toward her was swollen shut. She went around to his other side and knelt beside him. Even with her treatment he would very probably die, and there were so many things she wanted to say to him… but she just couldn’t put them into the right words.

“I can’t get you to a hospital,” she sighed, “and I really can’t get help.”

“What’s stopping you?” Vejita rasped, a new rivulet of blood running from his mouth.

“I can’t leave you,” she answered, swabbing the blood away with the washcloth, “I know Saiya-jin can heal more quickly than us Humans, but you might not be able to…” She swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Vejita closed his eye and sighed, wincing at the effect it had on his lungs and coughing. Bulma wiped his lips again as Vejita groaned. She then stroked his hair near his head, causing him to open his eyes again.

“Vejita,” she said softly, searching for the right words, “I…take back all the bad things I’ve said…” She scrunched her face and mouthed the word “damn” when she heard how corny that sounded. “What… what I mean to say is…” She nervously picked up his hand and laid it on her lap, tracing a scar on his wrist with her fingers. “I never really… tried to be good to you, hardly… I just… don’t know how to make you happy… Oh, jeez, I mean… I didn’t realize how much I cared for you… until…” She drew in a breath that quivered, and she paused, determined not to go into tears again. “I’ve been so mean to you… now…” Her voice cracked, then she saw more blood trickling from Vejita’s mouth and, desperate for something to do with her hands, she reached for the washcloth while she continued speaking, “I don’t care if you hate me—“

“Just leave it,” Vejita interrupted in a choked whisper, referring to the blood, as the cloth was almost to his face, “More will come.”

Bulma couldn’t stand it anymore. She dropped the cloth and sobbed loudly, laying her head on Vejita’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to die,” she cried sadly in a burst, “I love you and I’m sorry! I’m just so sorry!” She was so overcome by tears that she couldn’t say another word.

After a time, she felt his arm on her back, then on the back of her neck. She quieted a bit and lay on her stomach beside him, still pillowing her face on his shoulder, his arm still around her.

“I was the cruel one,” he suddenly whispered. He swallowed hard to clear his throat of coagulating blood. “Didn’t know how to.. * gasp*.. how to say what..* gasp*.. what I need to…” He stopped, eye staring at the ceiling as if searching for suggestions. Bulma looked at his face, shocked that his problem was the same as hers, and that he was being so open about it. She began crying again, softly now.

Bulma felt him pull her closer. “But… it’ll hurt you…” she protested, sniffling.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, his arm tenderly around his mate. She relaxed against his side and gently put her own arm over him, careful not to touch the bite or his ribs. She felt his tail rest gently on her waist, and they both stayed this way for a long time.

They no longer had to say anything to each other; all was understood and forgiven now.

* * *

Bulma awoke with a start; she had dozed off. Immediately she glanced at Vejita, afraid he was dead. But he was just asleep and still breathing, if his shallow and uneven wheezing could be called breathing. Careful not to wake him up, she gently moved his arm and tail and got up, stretching. It was early nighttime now.

She lit an oil lamp and looked at Vejita, feeling sorry for his suffering and wishing she could take it away. Fresh blood still came from his mouth, a bad sign. At least his wounds no longer bled.

There was a bed in the corner, and she sat on it, but knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep for the worry of Vejita dying during the night. She felt closer to him than ever in this difficult time, and a lump rose in her throat every time she heard Vejita groan in agony or suffer a bloody bout of coughing. She also knew that what probably also hurt him was his pride; he was helpless now, something anyone would hate, a fighter most of all. Bulma was determined to help him through it.

She hoped his spirit wouldn’t be broken from his ordeal if he survived. She knew they would both be changed by this experience, for better or for worse, but she prayed to God that he wouldn’t break.

It was his spirit that she so loved about him. But first of all he had to live, and she wanted to do all she could to make this possible.

She stayed up all night, watching over Vejita and trying to think of any more ways to help him.

When the sun rose, she went to the window and looked out at the forest around the cabin. Dandelions grew throughout the clearing, among other summer flowers. The leaves were green and the early sunlight filtered through the trees. It was a beautiful sight.

She stared out the window for a long time, taking in the beauty and letting the sun warm her skin. She watched two parent birds teaching their young how to fly. She saw two small dinosaurs, their tiny heads holding large shining eyes and their limbs delicate, hopping about playfully. Bulma began to relax as all the worries temporarily left her mind.

Behind her, Vejita opened his eye slowly and immediately became alert to his surroundings. Usually, he wouldn’t need sleep for days, and even then a few hours’ nap and some meditating would take care of his needs for rest. But blood-loss and the difficulty in breathing had left him so weak.

He was angry at himself for allowing himself to sink to such a low, and he felt stupid for going on his own. Before, he would have been majorly upset at having to be saved by a Human, a woman besides! But he was a changed man, and instead he was grateful.

He looked at his mate, who still stood looking out the window. Her face held a dreamy look he seldom saw, and the sunlight filtered through her lilac hair. Normally, he’d never just looked at something and realized that everything possessed beauty in its own respect; each thing everywhere was a miracle in itself. Now he had not only noticed that his mate was beautiful, but that everything was.

Perhaps that was why she was watching everything. Perhaps that was why it was so wrong to purge planets of all lives as he had in the past.

Before, whenever he had begun to think over such issues, he had shaken it off as meaningless because it seemed to oppose fighting. But now he realized that fighting was no longer the only thing that mattered in his life.

His mate, Bulma, mattered.

He noticed how distraught she looked, and he knew it was over him. The realization that she cared for him filled an emptiness in his soul, but also made him feel in debt to her. For once, he felt bad for putting her through all this trouble.

He closed his eye once more, knowing that if she noticed him awake she would work feverishly over him again. He felt she deserved a break.

The Saiya-jin swallowed hard a few times to shed his throat of half-dried blood so he wouldn’t have to cough so often, then he curled his tail closer and found himself falling asleep once again. He welcomed this release from his pain with a weak and careful sigh.

* * *

Throughout the day, Bulma kept vigil over Vejita, cleaning his lips of blood until it finally stopped toward the afternoon hours. Swabbing sweat from his forehead. Cleansing and redressing his wounds. Through the whole day he still stayed asleep. Every now and then she left him briefly to drink from the sink or seek release by gazing through the window, but most of the time she sat beside him, willing him to heal. Although there was instant food in the cabinets, she didn’t eat a bite; she felt little hunger in her worry over Vejita.

Finally, as the sun was beginning to set, Vejita awoke. Bulma sighed with relief and held his hand gently. “Do you want some water?” she asked him. Although Saiya-jin could go weeks without water at times of battle and months without it at times of rest, she knew his mouth would be dry since he had to breathe through it; his broken nose was too clogged with dried blood and didn’t let in enough air for his injured lungs.

He nodded, to her surprise, and she got a glass of water for him and helped him raise his head to drink. Then he lay back, panting from the exertion.

After a moment, he looked at Bulma, concerned, an emotion he seldom made apparent. She hadn’t bothered to fix her now frazzled hair, and her eyes had bags of weariness under them. Vejita felt guilty for causing her so much stress. Guilt was, again, an emotion seldom felt by a Saiya-jin warrior.

“Haven’t you..*gasp *.. eaten yet?” he asked when he saw no signs of the food cabinets being opened.

“Why?” she queried.

Vejita was long used to the fact that Humans had to eat quite often (compared to Saiya-jin) to stay healthy.

“Why not?” he returned.

“What, do you want some?” she asked.

“If I..*gasp*..want food..*gasp*.. I’ll ask for it,” he grumbled.

“Then why bring it up?” she asked, ignoring his blatant remark.

“Can’t have you..*gasp*..starving on..*gasp*..on my account,” he answered, closing his eyes.

Bulma knew this was a subtle sign that he truly cared for her, and it was only by his wishes that she ate a tiny bit of food, which she didn’t even taste. She just couldn’t stomach any more than that.

“Get some sleep,” he urged her quietly after a while.

She tried, but only lay awake on the bed, watching Vejita’s uneasy sleep, which was often interrupted by coughs which were painful and brought up blood again. Bulma went to him to clean his face and try to comfort him until he went to sleep again.

For a week, Vejita stayed unconscious almost constantly, and Bulma ate only a few skimpy bites a day, and only slept a total of ten hours.

At the close of the eighth day since Vejita was injured, he insisted that she get a good night’s sleep, once he woke up. “You can’t..*gasp*..go on like this, Bulma..*gasp*..You have to rest,” he told her.

She sighed, knowing he was right. “You have to promise you won’t go dying on me,” she said after some thought.

“I promise,” he answered. Although his breathing had improved, he was still in serious condition. Yet he was only concerned about Bulma. He patted her hand weakly. “I’ll be fine,” he assured her.

Bulma slept all that night, and didn’t wake up until the evening of the next day. When she awoke, she drowsed for several minutes, not wanting to wake up.

Then she remembered. “Vejita?” she said, jumping out of bed.

“Still here,” he whispered with a weak smile.

He stayed quite alert throughout the day, and he seemed to be in slightly less pain than usual. Bulma was convinced that he would survive. She ate ravenously and when night came again she slept well.

The next day, she went outside for a badly needed break. She sat for two hours just looking at the beauty of the forest. There was a huge amount of dandelions growing in this region for some reason, and she watched the fuzzy bees pollinating the flowers.

In the back of her mind, she had been constantly longing for a good, hot cup of coffee. She was practically addicted to cappuccino, and she wished she had brought coffee grounds when she had put food in the cabin; there was a percolator, but no coffee.

She sighed and picked a dandelion, looking at the bright yellow blossom. Then she remembered something she had learned as a teenager in biology class.

She picked up a sharp stick and began digging up the roots of several of the flowers, then she set them on a flat rock in the sun to dry, where she’d soon light a contained fire to bake them.

“In a few days,” Bulma said to herself, “I’ll find out if Mr. Murphy was right.” She went back into the cabin.

“Do you think you can eat a little?” she asked Vejita after a while. He nodded, so Bulma made him an instant beef dinner. She helped him sit up to eat, and he seemed much more content with food in his stomach as he lay back down.

The meal would boost his healing process, Bulma knew. In four more days she noticed definite improvements in Vejita’s health. His breathing was less labored, his wounds were healing, and his pain was more bearable.

Bulma brought in a load of dried, baked dandelion roots in the bottom of her shirt, as she had been doing for several days. She put them in a few bowls and used a wooden mallet’s head to grind them into smaller pieces, figuring she had enough now. She dumped them into the perculator basket and added water to the tank in the back. She then set it in the sun so the solar-powered machine could run.

“What are you doing?” Vejita asked her, puzzled.

“I’m making coffee,” she answered.

When it was finished, she poured herself a cup and added powdered milk and sugar. It was weak and had a slightly bitter aftertaste, but her biology teacher had been right; its taste was very much like coffee. Because it lacked caffeine she knew it wouldn’t be a complete substitute, but she did feel much better when she was done.

“You’ve got to try this,” she said to Vejita.

“What roots were those?” he asked.

“Dandelion. It’s weak, but it made me feel more at home.”

Vejita sat up on his own, grimacing painfully and carefully supporting himself with one arm as he drank with the other.

“Not bad,” he admitted, lying back down carefully, wincing.

* * *

More days passed. Each day, Bulma harvested dandelion roots and kept them in sets so while one set was ready for coffee, another would be ready the next day, and so forth. Each day she and Vejita would sit and have some coffee and talk to each other. Not only did the flowery beverage bring them together, but it soothed them, and it even seemed to speed Vejita’s healing astoundingly.

“Something in you Saiya-jin must have a special reaction to dandelions,” Bulma observed, “You’re getting better so fast!”

“I had a good nurse,” Vejita added, smiling mildly, holding his cup, “At least you sewed my gut right..*pant*.. otherwise I could pour myself a cup for later..*pant*..right from my side.”

They both laughed. Bulma stopped, surprised.

“You laughed without beating up someone?!” she exclaimed, “Well, I’ll be darned.”

“Watch it Woman,” he chuckled.

* * *

That night, Bulma woke up in the middle of a deep sleep. Her mind had been replaying the scenes of Vejita’s battle, and her hands were shaking. She pitied Vejita for possessing the worst side of the memory.

She glanced at Vejita, who was framed by the subtle light of the stars. She admired his muscular frame. “Even if he does have bad hair,” she thought, “he is one handsome devil.”

As she began to relax again, she thought she saw an unusual movement next to Vejita. Encircled by the pale light of the night sky was a slithering form.

A snake!

It coiled and uncoiled, then it moved onto Vejita’s leg, then back to the floor, as if it couldn’t decide where to strike.

Bulma smoothly and quietly got out of bed and reached for the knife on one of the short cabinets. Now she was glad she had bought the one with the intimidating 8-inch blade.

She tip-toed slowly toward the snake, eyes narrowed, blade held ready. This snake wasn’t going to bite her husband!

She raised the knife high when the snake sat almost motionless on the floor. She didn’t notice Vejita open his eyes, nor did she notice them turn huge.

The blade swung downward.

“STOP!!!” Vejita yelled, grabbing the snake and pulling it away.

The knife blade stuck in the floorboards for almost its whole length. Bulma, in shock, ran and turned on the gas lamp, and went back to the scene.

Around the knife lay board splinters… and clipped brown hair!

Vejita was holding his tail, examining the tip. The tail itself had been missed by the width of a dime, and the hair on the end had been chopped into a flat-top. “Shit!” Vejita burst, panting in surprise, “Dammit! What was that for?!”

“I… I thought it was a snake,” Bulma stammered, pulling the knife from the floor.

“Jeez,” Vejita exclaimed, “Who cares if it was a damned snake! It would have just curled up on me for warmth..*pant pant*..” He lay back down, hand on his forehead, his other hand holding his tail. “Damn, Woman, you’re the only thing that scares me!”

“I’m sorry,” Bulma muttered, still shocked.

“Well, my tail looks like shit now, anyways.” Vejita fussed. Then he calmed down and said “Eh.. it already did though. Not your fault. Hey, that was a good, fast swing.” He pointed to the slit in the floor from the blade. “Even I barely covered it.”

Bulma put the knife in the sink. “Well,” she said, “At least you know what I can do if you piss me off!”

“Don’t even go there,” Vejita said, smirking, “Oh, and if you do see a snake, let me have it. Snake tastes good.”

“Bulma rolled her eyes and shook her head as she told Vejita “Goodnight.” They both went back to bed after she turned off the gas lamp.

* * *

More days passed, and Vejita’s health continued to improve. Bulma explored the woods with a special purpose in mind, and she soon found a strong stick with a large knot on the top for Vejita to use as a walking stick; he was getting very bored lying around.

“Take it slow,” she told him as he helped him to his feet, “You can sit on the porch as long as you like; fresh air and sunshine is good for you.”

“Yes, mother,” he said sarcastically as he leaned on both the cane and Bulma.

His slashed leg was nearly healed, but he couldn’t walk on his broken knee, obviously. Also, he was using all of his strength to heal, so he was still very weak, which was why Bulma was helping him.

Once Vejita was sitting on the steps to the porch, he recovered from the movement and then gazed about. Now that he had realized how precious life was, he noticed how beautiful nature was for the first time. He and Bulma sat together for hours, neither saying a word. Then, as the sun began to set with a bright red glow, Bulma rested her head on Vejita’s shoulder. A moment later, his arm wrapped around her shoulders and his tail gently encircled her waist. She put her own hand over his wide shoulders to return the embrace, and she gently held his other hand which rested in his lap. They remained like this even after the sky went dark.

Finally, Bulma yawned. “Do you want to go in now?” she asked him.

Vejita shook his head. “I’d like to see the night,” he whispered. His voice held awe at the natural wonders around him.

“I’ll leave the door open for you,” she said, starting to get up. But Vejita caught her arm gently with his tail. Their eyes met. His held love once more. Deep and sincere, sparked by the beauty he had seen and was seeing.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, kissing her lips gently.

For a moment, Bulma was surprised, then she kissed back. The kiss continued, gentle yet passionate. When their lips parted, both of them had their eyes closed savoringly, then they opened them at the same time. Their eyes locked on each other for a moment.

“Goodnight, my prince,” Bulma whispered to him. This time she almost wished he would stop her with his tail again, but it wasn’t so. She went to bed, but instead of going to sleep she lay and watched Vejita through the open door as he gazed at the sky, the darkened trees, the creatures of the night.

“Tomorrow,” she thought as she began to doze off, “I’m going to impress him somehow. I’ll think of something.” But she didn’t think long before she fell asleep, so deeply she didn’t even hear Vejita limp in, closing the door quietly.

He stood for a few minutes in the dark, his Saiya-jin eyes able to magnify what little light there was, watching Bulma. He felt no regret for showing his affection for her. He had just broken one of the final chains of his evil origin.

“Father,” he thought, “You may have risen victoriously from many battles. You may have been the ruler of our entire race. But you have never known true love, and to me it’s more important than any of those values. Feel all the shame you’d like. I have none for this emotion. None.”

He took one more admiring look at Bulma, then went to his bed on the floor, going to sleep.

* * *

The next day, both Bulma and Vejita sat on the porch and sipped their dandelion coffee, watching the morning animals, the clouds, the grass wet with dew.

“I can’t wait to go hunting again,” Vejita sighed, “I miss raw meat.”

“What is it with you Saiya-jin and raw meat?” Bulma asked, slightly annoyed, “Is there something in your systems that needs it?”

“Could be,” he answered, “But I miss the taste, that’s all.”

They sat for a while longer, in silence. Then Bulma got up and went into the cabin. She put on full cammo, even a hat. Then she put on hiking boots and got the hunting knife off from the peg on the wall. It was a Bowie knife that had been used for decoration, but now she was going to use it.

She put it in a loop on the lower leg of her pants, then headed out the back door so Vejita wouldn’t see her. She went deeply into the woods, with silence that surprised even her. Although she had never hunted before, she was about to try something even professional hunters didn’t have the guts to do.

Soon, she heard the sound of a deer browsing casually as it went along. She saw its tracks, and calculated where the deer was heading. Then, she arced around it, far enough away not to startle it, staying down-wind of it. Then she was ahead of it. She climbed a tree with several large, splaying branches. She drew her knife as she crouched against the tree trunk, twelve feet above the ground, waiting for her prey.

Soon, the deer began browsing in sight. At least Bulma’s expertise in calculation had brought her to the right place, as well as the fact that the grass was greener and thicker here.

It was a large, muscular buck with 10-point antlers. “I should have tracked a doe,” Bulma thought, gulping. If she landed on those antlers…

The buck was nearing the tree, preoccupied by eating. Bulma couldn’t believe she was doing this.

“It’s for Vejita,” she told herself, gripping the knife so hard her knuckles turned white, “If I can kill a monster for him, I can kill a deer for him.” Her confidence grew, and she waited for the deer to move closer.

It was now or never.

She dropped from the tree, landing in a kneeling position on the buck’s back and grabbing an antler, twisting the deer’s head so it would fall to the left. She then planted her feet firmly on the ground and swiftly slashed the deer’s throat.

She sat down, panting. She felt a bit bad for killing the deer, but she also felt proud that she had brought it down without a gun.

She didn’t know anything about gutting or cutting the glands out of bucks, so she decided that she had done enough; Vejita could do it. But as fast as he ate, he really wouldn’t have to anyway. She got out some rope from her pocket and cut it short. She tied each end to an antler and left the middle section tight. She grabbed this and began to drag the buck back to the cabin. It was very heavy, but imagining Vejita’s reaction fueled her on.

Finally she stepped into the clearing, panting and sweaty, dragging the deer. Vejita looked up, eyes growing huge, jaw dropping.

Bulma dropped the deer at Vejita’s feet.

“There’s..*pant*..your..*pant*..raw meat..*pant*..your highness! ..*pant pant*..Need anything..*pant*.. else?”

Vejita speechlessly shook his head, staring at Bulma, then at the deer, then back at Bulma. She dropped the bloodied knife on the buck’s side. “Enjoy..*pant*..your meal..*pant*..I’ll be taking a shower..*pant*.. then a nap..*pant*.. That ok with you?

Vejita again nodded, jaw slackened.

“Good,” she said, going into the cabin.

Vejita stared at the buck, then at the knife.

“I’d better be a good boy,” he observed, picking up the knife and cutting into the deer’s hide.

* * *

More days passed. Vejita could make it to and from the porch aided only by his cane now. Each morning, he and Bulma sat on the porch, sipping their dandelion coffee. His pains had diminished to dull aches, and his breathing was almost normal.

Finally, after one month and one day spent in the cabin, they both decided it was time to go back home. Vejita insisted on flying and carrying Bulma. He had to stop to rest a few times, but by evening they both entered their large home. Vejita remained on the porch, gazing about, though it had been more interesting looking at the forest. Bulma hung the 10-point rack on the living-room wall. At first, she thought she should call Trunks and Bra to tell them what had happened, but she decided that they could call her if they wanted to talk.

She grabbed a frozen TV dinner (after a month of being away, she wasn’t very eager to open up the refrigerator), micro-waved it, and watched TV. There was really nothing interesting on, but she watched anyway; she had missed the damned thing pretty badly. She watched until around midnight.

Finally, her eyelids began to feel heavy, and she yawned. She turned off the TV, glanced out and saw Vejita still deep in thought, and went into the bedroom. There, she undressed and put on a pink robe and climbed into bed. Just as she was almost asleep, she felt the bed move slightly. She opened her eyes and saw Vejita sitting on the edge of the mattress, watching her. The subtle light of the stars framed both of them, and each of them knew they couldn’t live without each other.

Vejita lay beside her, staying above the blankets as he always did. The two said nothing as they continued to look at each other longingly. Finally, Bulma leaned toward Vejita and kissed him. To her surprise, he kissed back. It was a short, gentle kiss, and as soon as it was done Vejita closed his eyes and settled to sleep. Bulma sighed happily and did the same.

“It seems this has changed us for the better,” she thought as she was drifting off, “But if he never fights again, that can only mean… I don’t want him to change that much. If he’s no longer whole, I never will be, either.”

When Bulma awoke the next morning, Vejita was gone. She got out of bed and went to the kitchen. She was about to check out the window to see if Vejita was on the porch, when something on the table caught her eye.

There was a note. Sitting next to it was a cup of steaming coffee and a rough bouquet of dandelions. Bulma sat down and read the note, and her eyes almost brimmed with tears of joy. Vejita’s spirit was intact, yet even at the prospect of a fight, he had still remembered his mate.

The note read:

Go back to Part 1: Sinking

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