THE PRINCE OF ASH AND SNOW

PART TWO

by The Not-So-Super Saiyan

based off the web comic by Stupidoomdoodles

and inspired by the works of LadyVegeets

EPILOGUE

OCTOBER 3rd

ChiChi smoothed the delicate black silk of her qipao with one hand as she anxiously fiddled with a white envelope she held in the other. She took a shallow, shaky breath as she approached the lab door.

Deep breath.

She bolstered herself and knocked confidently.

Nothing.

She knocked louder and longer, nearly jumping when the automatic lock of the door clicked open. Forcing a smile she pushed it open and stepped confidently inside.

"Bulma?" she searched around the room. It was an utter wreck. The whole room smelled overwhelmingly of burnt rubber and chemicals. A stack of old, used dishes and empty pizza and take-out boxes sat precariously on the edge of one of the metal tables. Tools were scattered across the room and clothes hung off the backs of chairs and the edges of tables as if cast aside carelessly and never retrieved. A movie played on one of the computer monitors quietly while stacks of papers threatened to blow over as they fluttered in the gentle breeze of a table fan. There was no doubt about it, Bulma had been living in the lab since they had returned from Nepal. ChiChi had tried to reach out to her and offer her condolences but Bulma hadn't answered her phone for anyone or anything and she had accepted no visitors.

She found Bulma, head down in the corner of the lab, disheveled and crumpled over her desk. She reached out and gently tapped her on the shoulder, Bulma sighed but did not lift her head.

"Bulma?" she continued gently, "It's almost time to go."

Bulma inhaled stiffly and sat up, running her fingers through her disheveled, dirty hair.

"I did it ChiChi."

"Hmm?"

"I did it. I pieced together the information from the journals. It wasn't much but it was enough." She paused thoughtfully, trying to blink the exhaustion from her eyes. "The experiment is a success. The bases have been activated and the nanites are viable and stable."

She flicked a toggle switch on her desk and gestured to a vial of orange liquid that began to glow. It was mesmerizing. ChiChi reached forward, but stopped as Bulma sniffled and spoke.

"You don't want to touch that." She rubbed her eyes and pushed the hair from her face. "It won't harm you but...every subject has exhibited violent reactions, it would seem to cause excruciating pain as it attaches to the blood cells and travels through the nerve endings. It-," she looked off dizzily, "it was an incredibly expensive and taxing process to create such a small amount but it works, it really does. After initial contact they no longer need their own power source to function, taking energy from the host. The nanites read the DNA and they function like artificial stem cells. Damaged tissue can be recreated at incredible speeds, even to the extent of regeneration of lost limbs." Again she stopped, lost somewhere in between her mind and the lab as she flipped the toggle switch on and off, eventually leaving it on. "They are really incredible, they can even get synapses firing again. They work their way out of the body slowly. Only further experiments will tell me the actual life span of the nanites, but it's always long enough to repair even extensive damage to the host."

ChiChi tucked the long strand of hair that fell lose from her bun behind her ear.

"That's...that's great Bulma. Congratulations." ChiChi tried to sound as excited as possible.

"No. It's not." She turned around stiffly and knit her hands together between her knees. "They're useless because…because they have to be administered to the host before clinical death."

Bulma choked on her words but blinked away the tears. She didn't have the energy to fall apart right now.

"We...we can't bring him back and we...w-we can't even give him a proper funeral. He is going to disappear like he...like he was never even here in the first place." ChiChi swooped Bulma up in her arms and held her tight, running her fingers through Bulma's hair and stroking her back.

Krillin had warned ChiChi about this prior to her arrival at Capsule Corp that afternoon. Because the Ice Men were alive and well in West City, Krillin was concerned about the risk of holding a true funeral service. So it was decided they would gather at the morgue and say their goodbyes before cremation.

ChiChi had painstakingly prepared jinzhi for the service that never would be. She had closed the restaurant for the day, filling The Golden Dragon with white flowers and draping white silks over the table where his body would never lay. The jinzhi would be burned at The Golden Dragon afterwards for him. ChiChi may have been told there would be no service held but that wasn't going to stop her from holding one. She would not allow his spirit to wander as a hungry ghost, lost and alone. She would give him a proper service the only way she knew how.

ChiChi let her dear friend fall to pieces and with her thin, strong arms she held them together. Turning her head searching for the clock she had seen on her way in she tried not to jump as blood erupted from the chest of the man in the movie still playing on the computer, her face a mix of surprise and disgust. Clearing her throat she pulled Bulma up to face her and with her thumbs she wiped the tears from Bulma's cheeks.

"Bulma. It's time."

She nodded, wiping her tears on her sleeve and for the first time since she had come home she left the lab, flicking the lights off as she went. Only the faint light of the monitors remained and the soft, pulsing glow of the orange liquid.

A cacophony of heavy steps echoed down the cold hallway as the group followed behind the man in the lab coat. Krillin skipped forward anxiously to catch up with Bulma.

"Are you...uh….are you sure you want to do this?" Krillin asked nervously tugging on the collar of his dress uniform, it suddenly felt stiff and heavy. He had seen Vegeta's body, identified him for the police records, and been there for the autopsy per special request of the Police Chief, much to his dismay.

Krillin had seen death before, many times in fact, but it had never been like this. He didn't have the stomach for it, or the nose for that matter. He had tried to talk Bulma out of it more than once. He was still trying as they walked down the dry, dimly-lit hallway. She ignored him completely, as if no one had spoken in the first place.

The assistant set his clipboard down and turned to face the group. His deep chocolate eyes darted from face to face, nearly concealed by a wild mop of dark hair. He was tall and gangly and his back hunched over himself as if he were constantly waiting for someone to smack him upside the head. Smoothing his coat, he fiddled with the name tag clipped to his chest pocket. It read Hunter T. Brumley. Krillin felt sorry for him. He looked more nervous than Krillin felt. After what felt like a lifetime he cleared his throat and muttered something to himself before looking at the group.

"If you are positive that you would like to do this, then...we can proceed." Brumley looked at Krillin with large, fearful eyes. He waited for a nod of approval as he absentmindedly rubbed his sweaty palms on his scrubs. Krillin pinched the bridge of his nose in reluctant anticipation and nodded. Brumley turned once again to face the small crowd. "But...please understand that, many times after death...I mean, it's interesting, especially following severe physical trauma such as this. Whether related or not we have yet to conclude but oddly enough we did find present in the bloodstream a foreign solute. Tests were ran, but they came up inconclusive. It didn't seem to affect the pH or the concentration of the various substances that make up blood, so it, most likely, is some sort of a fluke….could be a causation of the hypopigmentation we are seeing present on the torso and arms of the caradaver. But that being said, it didn't seem to make a bit of difference, it appears to be completely inert though, so….no need to worry…" he trailed off and let the awkward silence hang as he drummed his fingers and rocked back and forth on his heels, "this was quite the specimen in all aspects to be perfectly honest ...in fact, it's rare to see a cadaver that so perfectly exemplifies post mortem blood extravasation...and….the post mortem fractures…" he trailed off, thinking better than to finish when he saw them. He had rambled, he was rambling, he could see it on their faces.

Gosh dang it.

Brumley cleared his dry throat and proceeded, "uh...after death a...a cada- a person's appearance can...change."

Though he tried to sound as composed as possible his mumbling and fidgeting did nothing to help him. He was ready for the gruesome sight that awaited them inside the locker and he was fairly certain they were not. Hunter Thomas Brumley got along well with the dead, whereas the living….hmmm...not so much. And if he knew one thing it was that he was not equipped to deal all of...this.

Bulma looked him dead in the eyes, pinning him down with her gaze and making his insides squirm. Her voice was strong. "Yes, thank you. We are sure."

He nodded, muttering apologies under his breath and chewing vigorously on the inside of his bottom lip. He pulled the latch up to the locker and it did not budge. He turned to the group, laughed a sheepish, nervous laugh and tried again. He shot up straight and began frantically patting his body like he was swatting at invisible mosquitoes.

"Oh...I uh..must have left the key in my other pants pocket. Excuse me." he ducked down low and scurried out of the room.

Awkward silence hung in the air. Moments later he walked back in the room.

"Sorry about that, everyone." he laughed to himself muttering apologies under his breath.

Standing once again in front of the locker, he grasped the metal bar that rested underneath the bed. Without turning around he patted around frantically for his clipboard, flipping the papers back and forth as if they would suddenly reveal some great truth. Looking back at the locker and moaning weakly under his breath, he closed it gingerly and swiftly, patting the door.

"If you will excuse me, I will be right back." he held up one finger close to his face and with that he tripped over his feet and scurried down the hallway, slamming his keycard into the pad, and forcing the automatic doors open faster.

The group began to mutter amongst themselves but Bulma ignored them. She stepped forward, hands twitching to the heavy thumping of her heart. She grabbed the door to the locker and pulled it open.

It was empty.

There was no body, no sheet, no tag. There was no evidence than anyone or anything had ever been there in the first place.

"What?" The word barely audible as she choked on it. ChiChi glanced over her shoulder.

"Oh shit." Krillin yelped. "I...uh...I'm sure there is some explanation, Bulma." he laughed nervously and no one believed his lie.

Bulma's heart sank so fast she felt it prickle down her spine and flip her stomach over on the way down.

"Let's not be too hasty now. I'm sure they just...misplaced him or something." Krillin cut in. He was trying to make things better but he decided it was best to quit while he was ahead.

"They've...taken him. The Ice Men must've taken him." ChiChi whispered to herself in horror.

Goku struggled to keep his composure. "Why? Why would they do that?" he slammed his fist against the locker behind him causing a rattle to echo through the room and bounce off the concrete floors.

The chaos fizzled out as the doors swung open once more, and all heads turned with anticipation to Brumley who scrambled behind the mortician.

She was a short, confident woman who wasted no time with pleasantries. She held out her hand to Krillin.

"Officer, pleasure to see you again." She said, her voice smooth and soft. He shook her hand and nodded.

"Likewise Dr. Russell. How can I assist you?"

"I need to speak with you in private."

Krillin stepped forward confidently and with a sweeping gesture of his arm he said, "Of course. Lead the way."

Gone. He was simply gone. No sign of anyone entering, no sign of anyone leaving. After a thorough police investigation the only thing that was discovered was a missing pair of scrubs. Nothing more, nothing less.

Bulma had gone home. She simply couldn't participate in the exchange of pleasantries, conspiracy theories, or conversation right now and everyone understood. The cold, dry, conditioned air cooled her damp skin. It was a stark contrast to the humid, warm rain outside. Her feet felt like rubber as they skidded across the ground, running into each other and slapping the ground roughly. She couldn't cry, she couldn't scream, though she wanted to, needed to. Numb. She was just numb.

She ran her hand across the wall, letting her fingertips tingle as they traced the patterns all the way up the winding stairs and to her door. She hesitated. The room that had always been hers, had become theirs and now it was hers alone once more. She hadn't returned to it since Nepal. She simply could not stomach the idea of curling up into a bed that would never know his warmth again. But tonight, in the midst of the hot October storm she desperately needed it. Needed to bury her face in the sheets and breathe in the faintest scent that he had left behind before it faded away forever.

The rain pelted down on the roof. It was almost as heavy as that night in Nepal, the last time she had seen him alive. She hated the rain, hated this storm, hated the memories it threatened to surface. But Vegeta...he would've loved it. During those brief months of relative peace whenever it would rain she would find him on the balcony or the roof, quiet and pensive breathing in the storm and letting it's electricity crackle through his veins.

She kicked off her soggy shoes and rolled off her socks letting her cold, damp feet stick to the wood floors. The thunder reverberated in her chest and shook the doors. She opened them up and breathed in the storm. Standing towards the window she watched the lace curtains dance in the wind. Peeling off her shirt, she carelessly dropped it. She thought for a moment about putting on a dry shirt but instead she took a step outside and let the rain hammer down on her bare skin as she collapsed and folded herself up. She held her knees close to her chest and rested her head sideways on her shoulder.

She was tired. She was tired of being tired. The rain drops beat down on the thin glass of her facade and ran through her. It kicked up the things she didn't have the energy to feel, the things she didn't have the energy to run from any longer. She let them catch her, let them wrap their arms around her and tug her this way and that pulling her taut sinews apart. The last threads of Bulma's composure snapped and she let herself crash into heavy sobs.

Her tears melted into the rain as Bulma wailed into the storm. She wept until her chest felt like it would collapse and her throat ached as her muscles tried to rip her apart. It hurt. She heard the door creak open behind her but she didn't care.

Bare feet padded softly across the wooden floor as they made their way to the balcony.

She didn't want them to, she just wanted to be left alone, but she couldn't pull herself away from her storm long enough to tell them to leave.

She screwed her eyes shut as she heard the footsteps splash in the rain and stop in front of her. A soft hand, softer than any she had ever felt before, and wet with the rain slid itself across the side of her face, pulling the hair from her eyes and wrapping the loose, wet strands around the back of her ear. The touch deliberate and slow, careful. It was familiar.

A harsh voice cut through the darkness.

"Shhh. Hey now...Blue, don't cry."

AN: It's bittersweet to end this fic. I am so happy with how it turned out and so grateful to all who took the time to read it and of course to Stupidoomdoodles for letting me play in her sandbox and to LadyVegeets for inspiring it as well.

Thanks to my army of copy editors, I could not do this without you.

Until Next time.

xoxo, Mo