The Kakarotto Timeline

By Pareathe

(New A/N 10/18/2016): So by request via email, I'm reposting this forever-incomplete fanfic from 1999-2000 ish or thenabouts. So this is a very, very old fic. Needless to say it was both amazing and wonderful that anyone remembered it at all, let alone suggested it to someone else. But here it is, in all its aged and incomplete glory. :)

(Original A/N): Well, here's my first real attempt at an actual serious DBZ fanfic that'll be longer than one chapter... hope you like it! This is the general rundown for this fic (and will only appear once.)

Featured Couple: Goku (Kakarotto)/Bulma

Story Begins: Let's say about three months after the Cell Games

Summary: A project Bulma is working on goes wrong, and she is thrown into an alternate reality where the man she knew as Goku never fell into a ravine and hit his head as a child. Instead, Bulma comes face to face with the Saiyajin Kakarotto and learns startling truths about the future that would have been had that fateful incident never occurred, and what might have been.

Content Warning: This is rated NC-17 and will contain violence, graphic sexual situations, and other assorted goodies as I see fit. And this (obviously) will be mostly an A/U fic, so please don't flame me if you don't like A/U's, and some characters (Goku's and Bulma's children predominantly) just plain don't exist.

Disclaimer: In case anyone didn't know already, I don't own DBZ. Be thankful... very, very thankful.

Prologue

Bulma wiped the stray strands of aqua hair from her face with a huff and glaring at the offenders when they simply returned to plaster themselves against her sweat-soaked cheeks. She hated feeling... dirty, but she had no intention whatsoever of leaving now.

After weeks of deep thought, sweat and downright inhuman perseverance, she was almost finished.

That thought alone brought a small smile to the woman's red-stained lips, the makeup applied early that morning long ago smudged away over the past - she glanced at her watch - fifteen hours.

Oh God, have I really been in here that long?

Her stomach gave her the irrefutable answer, and she grimaced as the muscles clenched painfully. With a final sigh, she stood up, wincing as bones and muscles pulled and moved, albeit in dire protest of the action in general. She had been sitting in the exact same spot for hours now to work on one of the final vital components on the contraption. Her body apparently did not appreciate the lack of attention, she mused with a forced grin as she took several shaky steps to the tool table. With a final backwards glance, Bulma placed the items in her hands down onto it's rough surface before finally retreating from the confines of her lab to enter the land of the living once again.

Bulma took the steps carefully, almost paying too much attention to each one until she reached the soft pale carpet of the hallway leading to the front of the house.

One, two, three, four...

Then she was at the first doorway, and she leaned against it heavily, not bothering to look into the large room. She already knew he was there. He was always there, sitting in the sill of the window... sitting... and waiting... She wanted so badly sometimes to be able to go to him. After all, she felt the pain of the loss just as greatly as he. Maybe even more.

"Go in there and eat, woman. I won't have the mother of my brat starve herself," came the sound of finely chipped gravel from across the room.

Bulma smiled weakly despite herself. "I am. Have you eaten?"

"Of course I have."

"Liar."

Eyes of burning twilight turned to gaze at her from under heavily dipped eyebrows. "Don't concern yourself with me. I am not the one locking themselves in a laboratory for days at a time trying to deny that the one I loved died before I got the guts to admit it."

"And I'm not the one sitting wasting away in the window waiting for a dead man to come back to spar," she shot back irritably even as her stomach rumbled again, much more demanding than the last time. He didn't have to say anything. She could tell he heard it by the very obvious victorious smirk on his face. "Come with me."

He turned to the window one last time, taking in the setting sun before finally unfolding his legs and moving to the floor, making his way to her with purposeful strides. "Whatever," he quipped, passing by her and leading the way to the kitchen.

Bulma followed quietly, seating herself and laying her head on her arms as the sounds of plates shifting and pans shuffling caught her ears. Then there was an audible 'thunk' next to her arm that coaxed her head up with the smells of roast beef, fried potatoes, and fresh bread.

"Eat," came the firm command from Vegeta would placed his own heaping plate across from hers before going to the refrigerator, pulling out a case of sodas to place on the table. He opened two, placing one in front of her.

Bulma couldn't help the grin that spread over her face. "I wonder what people would think if they knew that you served me dinner," she questioned playfully.

"They would be too preoccupied by your very sudden and tragic death, woman."

"Bastard."

"Bitch."

"Monkey boy."

"Wrinkled old hag."

Bulma chuckled before eyeing her plate again. "I don't know if I have the strength to lift the fork," she admitted grimly.

"Use some of the endless energy that runs your mouth," Vegeta suggested flatly between forkfuls.

Eyes of blue crystal rolled sarcastically. "You know, Vegeta, your sensitivity never ceases to amaze me."

Vegeta shrugged once before giving a defeated sigh. Glaring daggers, he threw his fork down and put two fingers to her forehead, pushing it up. Still holding her head with one hand, he pushed her plate under it with the other. "Now, if I let go, you're going straight into that," he remarked, glancing at the steaming pile below her, "so I suggest you get up and eat the damned food. Believe me, you don't want me to have to force you." He couldn't help giving her a look that screamed 'But I'd love it if you did...'

"Fine." He removed his hand and sat back down, and she replaced it by resting her chin in her hand as she took her fork. She swirled the contents of the plate around for several minutes before taking her first bite. Then she was swirling again, watching as thick brown gravy patterned against the rough texture of the potatoes. Every so often, her fork would scrape the plate with a soft screech, and she could see the man in front of her visibly flinch each time it happened.

Another scratch. "Damn it, woman..." Vegeta growled warningly, his teeth clenched tightly together. "If you don't stop that horrid sound..."

"Alright, alright, don't be such a baby," Bulma scolded sarcastically, taking another bite. "See? I'm eating. Happy?"

Vegeta quirked an eyebrow at her, but said nothing, simply pushing his plate to the side and folding his arms across his chest.

"You don't have to stay, you know. I think I can handle it from here." When it became painfully obvious that he wasn't moving, she shook her head and ate without complaint, not even tasting the food.

Several minutes and half a plate later, the silence was broken. Bulma's head snapped up at the sound of Vegeta's voice. "What is it?"

"What is what?"

Vegeta gave an exasperated sigh. "Whatever the hell it is you're killing yourself building up there," he replied curtly, nodding towards the stairs. "What is it?"

This time it was Bulma's turn to cock an eyebrow up. "You want to know what I'm building?"

"Dummy, I asked, didn't I?" he remarked impatiently.

"Yeah, it's just..." she began, taking a swallow of her drink to buy a few seconds, "I'm surprised you even care enough to ask."

"I don't care, woman," he corrected quickly, "but I am curious. You parents won't shut up about how preoccupied you've been since you started, and you haven't been spending as much time as usual with the brat."

Bulma immediately felt her cheeks flush at the blunt observation. How dare he accuse her of neglecting her son! She opened her mouth, fully intending on giving him one of her famous tongue lashings before she was stopped cold by the look in his eyes.

Vegeta was worried.

Suddenly the sting fell out of the comment, and her shoulders fell. "I..." She shook her head, taking several deep breaths. "It's a replica... well, not a replica, exactly, but... well, it's..." Damn, I can't even say it!

"Spit it out, woman."

One last steadying breath. "It's a machine similar to the one that the Trunks from the future used to come back and tell us about the androids," she admitted finally.

Vegeta blinked several times before finding his voice. "You're building WHAT?!"

"It's a time machine... sort of."

"What in hell are you building one for?" Vegeta shot at her. "Unless..." Then his eyes got wide for a moment before his controlled scowl fell back into place. Bulma watched as he took several deep breaths, swallowing a few times and clenching and unclenching his fists on top of his arms. When his eyes opened, they fell on her somberly. "You can't do that."

"Why not?" Bulma questioned, her own voice suddenly scratchy as her throat constricted against the threat of her tears. "Why can't I? Goku never should have died fighting Cell, Vegeta, and if he knew about it... like he knew about the androids..."

Vegeta was already shaking his head. "You know that you can not do that. It was dangerous enough under the extreme circumstances of the other timeline. To go now and change what has happened could do irreparable damage." He leveled his gaze heavily onto hers, holding steady within it's grasp. "You know this. Do not do this to yourself. Kakarotto is dead, yes, but in nine more months, you may revive him with the Dragonballs. Until then... you must wait."

"But don't you understand?" Bulma screamed as she lept from her chair, sending it skidding behind her. "He won't come back! Even if I did try to wish him back, he won't do it! He'll refuse!"

"You know this?" Vegeta queried, honest surprised written on his face.

Bulma nodded. "He confided in me that he suspected he would die in the fight with Cell." Vegeta's eyes got even wider. "He knew, Vegeta. He knew he was no match for Cell in his perfect form. But he also knew that Gohan was, and he told me that he was prepared to die if that was what it took to unlock Gohan's power... and if he died, he planned on staying... so he could keep... tr... training!"

Vegeta and Bulma stared at each other for several minutes, Vegeta looking for any sign that Bulma was wrong or trying to deceive him, and Bulma to portray the seriousness of what happened that led her to such drastic measures to bring her life-long friend and secret love back to life. After a moment, Vegeta hissed between grating teeth. "Kakarotto, you fucking moron..."

"See? That's why I need to do this! If I could just warn him, then..."

"Then nothing, woman," Vegeta retorted sharply. "The stupid bastard would have done the same damn thing. He apparently knew what he was doing. And... if he does not wish to be brought back, then... that's Kakarotto's choice. As much as I desire the opportunity to face him again so that I can defeat him once and for all, it will not happen. We cannot make this choice for him. And you cannot tamper with the past."

"But..."

"But nothing!" Vegeta shouted, his face flushed. "You will go upstairs and destroy that damnable contraption. You will not entertain the idea of building another. Do you understand me?" Bulma simply stared, blank and uncaring. Vegeta sighed again, knowing that once Bulma hit this point, there was little anyone could do to get through to her. Still, thanks to their very unique relationship, he knew the button to push. "Do you wish to risk the well-being of Kakarotto's family, or your own for that matter, for the sake of resurrecting a man you do not even have claim to? Will you risk you son?"

Bulma's sharp intake of breath confirmed that it had worked. Then the tears began to fall. With an exasperated shake of the head, Vegeta got up and walked around the table, taking the small blue-haired woman who had given him a royal heir and had offered him her home and her friendship into his arms. "Would you prefer that I destroy it?"

Bulma shook her head against his chest, sniffling. "N... no. I'll do it. You destroy enough stuff around here."

He smirked before letting her go. Letting her go, so that she could destroy her dream with her own two hands.

"Oh God..."

Goku could only look on in sober wonderment at the predicament his friends and loved ones were in now. Gohan was being throttled constantly by Chichi in her emotional distress and anger so that the boy who had saved the planet "would not turn out like his father". He could only imagine what would happen when the new baby came. He prayed that part of her now frighteningly erratic, even for Chichi, behavior was due to her pregnancy. And then there was Vegeta... the man who had spent almost every waking and breathing moment since they met training to be better was no longer training at all. He was waiting for Kakarotto to come back. Whether it was for his rightful chance to challenge him again, or perhaps something else, Goku couldn't be sure. Goku had learned long ago that very little in life or death is more frightening than uncertainty.

Then there was Bulma...

Bulma...

Clarity was a supposed gift in the afterlife, and through that, Goku had been made aware of Bulma's feelings for him being more than friendly when he died the first time. Of course, he was already married, and her feelings for him were really just more or less a bit of a longing, a what-if at that time. He had not considered that those feelings would grow, and that they would turn into an almost desperate love had been impossible.

Goku sincerely hoped the person who decided granting clarity to the dead was a good idea was burning in hell right now, sharing a room with his heart.

"Oh Bulma," he whispered to no one and everyone, to the wind that gently caressed his face even as he threatened a cardinal rule his existence, "I'm sorry. I didn't know... God, I'm sorry..."

And then the tears of an angel fell to the floor of Heaven, as Goku had no choice but to watch even as Bulma tore her own heart to pieces, her hope demolished along with the machine in front of her.

Bulma wished with everything in her at that moment that she could throw ki blasts. The machine sat in front of her, taunting her with it's promises. She bit back bitter sobs as she finally lifted her modified drill and began working to take her machine, her hope, her love, apart. She cried freely then, letting her vision blur, yet getting angry that it did so, and the trembling of her fingers only added insult to injury. In a rational state of mind, she would have realized that it was a bad idea, but in her current grief-clouded state, she did the only thing she knew to do in such a situation. She screamed and she threw.

"God damn you!" she cried into the air, throwing the device in her hand as hard as she could against the offensive panel in front of her. Then she threw her head into her hands and let her sobs overtake her thin form. Had she watched one more second, she would have seen her tool crash through the panel. She would have seen the sudden sparks and the spiking fluctuations in the power and destination grids. And she would have seen the light.

Instead all she knew was sudden, unexplainable pain.

Downstairs, Vegeta's head jerked and within moments he was up the stairs and at the door of the room where Bulma should have been. Instead, there was only a small scuff on the floor, and the smell of electricity and burnt plastic in the air. Vegeta's eyes scanned first, then his mind before he cried out in rage... and maybe a little concern. Her ki was nowhere to be found.

"Damn it, woman! What have you done?"