So here's the sequel to Just a Smile, a Bulma and Vegeta story. The chapters for this will be posted at longer intervals (3-4 weeks) because, unlike Just a Smile, it was not ready at the time, but is only being created now.
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Have fun while reading. I'm looking forward for comments!
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You are mine
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Part 1
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The granite-gray winter clouds hung low over the city. The first white flakes let the gusty winds carry them over the houses, which seemed to duck before the coming storm. The air was cold and damp and the few figures who struggled across the cleared sidewalks had wooly scarves wrapped around their red, frozen noses.
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Vegeta stood at the window of Bulma's former room and looked out into the hustle and bustle. A white blanket had covered the garden and hid that the rose bed was completely overgrown with weeds and that no one had raked the gravel for a long time.<br />
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It was now six months since his life had changed. Six months. How many nights of that had he lain awake and listened to the muffled sobs that came from Trunk's room? He hadn't allowed himself to cry. Not at the funeral, where they placed the memorial stone on the edge of the cliff and their parents could barely stand up because of the crying fits. Not the night before, when they all said goodbye to Bulma and Krilin had to be bent over like an old man to be supported by his still beautiful and much younger-looking wife while he bowed to Bulma's photo. Nobody, not the Lord of the Turtles, not Tenshinhan, Videl, Goten, Gohan, Piccolo, Dende or Lunch, had dared to speak to Vegeta. They had all bowed to his pain, tried to comfort his children and said a few sympathetic words to Bulma's parents. Only Chichi and Goku weren't there.Nobody knew exactly where Oob was at home and therefore nobody had been able to notify him. The beef devil had been excused because his health was getting worse and worse and so Chichi couldn't be persuaded to leave his side.
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Not that Vegeta was upset about it or anything.
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It hadn't touched him.
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Nothing had touched him anymore.
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Not since she was gone.
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"Father?", Trunks stuck his head in the door. "Do you think they're done now?"
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Vegeta turned and looked at the alarm clock on Bulma's bedside table. "Yes, but don't forget that the cookbook said something about being put off. Otherwise they'll lose their color."
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If someone had prophesied to him a year ago that he would ever look closely at a cookbook, he would have just laughed contemptuously.
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A year ago so much had been different.
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She was there.
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“You shouldn't brood so much, father.” Trunks wiped his hands on his white apron. "Bra called again earlier. She seemed quite satisfied. Apparently it is good for her that she lives with her grandparents. Grandpa's new house by the sea is also a great shed."
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"Do you miss her?" Asked Vegeta.
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“The little pain in the ass?” Trunks pulled a face. "I have too much to do for that."
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His father's gaze never let go of him.
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"Okay, maybe a little. But only a little." Trunks turned to the door. "I'll see if the noodles haven't overcooked in the meantime."
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"Do that. I'll work out another round."
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"But don't forget the time, otherwise the casserole will become charcoal."
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Trunks stopped in front of the kitchen door and let his father pass, who was walking back to his training room. His body was still as fit as it was a year ago.Still, somehow he had lost strength and momentum.
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Trunks remembered how angry he had been for so long.
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Angry with his father for not preventing it.
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And because he wasn't crying.
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Not a single time.
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Angry with his mother for failing him.
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Because she had only thought of herself.
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Not those she left behind.
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Angry with his sister because it was so easy for her to be comforted.
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Most of all, angry with himself for feeling guilty.
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Because he hadn't suspected anything, hadn't seen the signs.
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Because he still saw his mother standing at the door.
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Disappointed and hurt.
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Hurt by him.
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He took a deep breath. It had gotten better now. At least a little. For a few weeks he had been roaming the city with Goths again, trying to hit on girls.It was weird. When he told them about his loss and showed his feelings in the process, they all became very warm and friendly. Even those who had turned him off earlier. It felt good for a while. But then Marron caught him and taped him one that his cheek was bright red.
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"Your mother would turn in her grave if she knew that you were using her death to tear up girls with a pitying ploy. You are the last!" She had yelled in his perplexed face and left. She hadn't spoken to him at school since then. He would have liked to explain to her that he understood. But no sooner did he get close to her than she looked at him as if he were a disgusting insect and turned away. He never thought that this would affect him. But Marron was different from the girls he was after. She had never been impressed by his strength and not by his cool sayings.<br />
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A hiss from the kitchen tore him from his thoughts. The noodles!
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Trunks shot to the stove. Just in time.
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Meanwhile Vegeta continued with his exercises. Step by step, like a thousand times before. That routine saved him.
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He had clung to her all those empty days.
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Her and his pride.
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He had survived without Bulma, the many years before his arrival on Earth. There was no reason why he shouldn't keep making it.
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He had his honor as a warrior
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his pride as a prince,
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his strength as a Saiyan.
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And above all, he had the children.
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That's how he survived. By the hour. From day to day.
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He remembered Trunks storming through the house after the initial shock, looking for the Dragonball radar. But he hadn't found it.How downcast he had been. He had plagued his grandfather to build a new one. But he just shook his head and buried Trunks hope with wet eyes and a trembling voice. "She died voluntarily, didn't she? It wasn't an evil influence from outside, not a murder. That's why the dragon won't be able to do anything. You can ask Dende if you don't believe me."
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Trunks had raged first. Then he flew to the palace of God. Vegeta had let him go, although he did not doubt the immovability of the bitter words. Unfortunately, rightly so. Trunks had returned and disappeared into his room without a word. He had locked himself in and was crying. For hours. Bra had been horrified and Vegeta had called Videl to help explain it to Bra. He hadn't wanted to say it. Not loud, not in front of the little one. He couldn't have held back his tears if he had said, "She's dead. Definitely.We will not see you again. Never again."
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When he finished his practice sequence, he quickly jumped into the shower before stepping into the kitchen, where Trunks was taking the casserole off the stove. He didn't smell bad and Vegeta nodded to his son.
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Trunks had matured in those six months. He worked harder at school, he even trained now and then.
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They weren't happy, but they managed. Somehow.
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…………………… ..
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The snowstorm had become more violent. A taxi stopped in front of the garden gate and a slim figure, heavily wrapped in a coat, hat and scarf got out. The driver got out too and opened the trunk.
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"You really have a lot of luggage, Miss!" He gasped and dragged the trunk outside. A second and a bulging travel bag followed. The three pieces of luggage landed on the snow-covered sidewalk and the driver briefly took off the cap to wipe the sweat from his forehead.<br />
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The person addressed turned to him briefly and pressed a large note into his hand. "Thanks for the effort," she said.
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The driver whistled through his tobacco-yellow teeth. "I can hardly give that out, miss."
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"No need. The rest is for you."
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"Thank you, thank you very much," he took off his hat and bowed, "should I perhaps carry the suitcases in?"
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She shook her head. "I think I'll be sure to be helped. Don't worry about me."
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Still in doubt, the driver closed the trunk, got in and drove off. In the rearview mirror he saw the slim figure unbuttoning her coat and pulling out something flat.
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Trunks had just distributed the portions on the two plates when the bell rang.
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Sighing, Trunks took off his apron and went to the door.
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"We do not buy anything!"he said gruffly as he tore it open.
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"That's a shame," replied a bright voice.
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Trunks narrowed his eyes at the figure in front of him.
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She pulled back the hood and a mane of red curls spilled over her narrow shoulders. Big green eyes looked at him from a pale face and a small hand held out an envelope that he knew only too well.
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"Hello, I'm Lumia. You must be Trunks, don't you? Can you speak to your mother?"
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Trunks winced and a big lump formed in his throat. "My mother?"
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