CHAPTER 26

"There'll be no ties of time and space to bind us,

And no horizon we cannot pursue.

We'll leave the world's misfortunes far behind us,

And I will put my faith and trust in you."

-"Enchantment Passing Through (Reprise)," Aida

xxx

The time machine jolted to a halt, the inertia whipping Trunks' head forward and then swiftly back against the seat. Slightly disoriented, he blinked rapidly before focusing his sight on the city below. It took him several moments to adjust to the swath of destruction that lay before him.

Welcome home, he thought to himself grimly as he prepared to land. Before Trunks had time to process another thought, he was half-blinded by a massive burst of energy on the horizon. The time machine rattled from the force of the blast's soundwave several seconds later, and it shook still more when he landed it on the trembling ground.

All of the anxiety and excitement that Trunks had felt as he rose above the Capsule Corp. compound in the past had disappeared. Gritting his teeth, he punched a button on the console. The glass dome above him began to lift away, and Trunks looked off in the direction of the blast wave. It had become an inferno.

He wondered, briefly, that there was anything flammable remaining in the city. The charred iron beams and crumbling cement of the former capitol seemed only a skeleton, its flesh having melted away years ago.

Let's finish this.

The young warrior let out a roar as he took off toward the flames. This nightmare was over.

xxx

Ada's eyes flew open in alarm and confusion. There was a pounding in her head, and a sharp, stabbing pain coursed through one of her legs with each heartbeat. She turned her head to the side, squinting against the bright light of the room, and found herself looking at a small, brass alarm clock. The second hand ticked silently, once, twice, three times, four…

She squeezed her eyes shut again. The pain in her leg was almost unbearable. Ada felt as though someone had taken a bone saw to her thigh and was slowly slicing, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Ada swallowed a sob and tried to concentrate on something…anything else…

She had been in the warehouse. That's right. Training. Training in the warehouse.

Exhausted, but still training. Her muscles had screamed in resistance, and yet she had not stopped. She could not stop.

Ada recalled flashes of light, recalled beams, almost too swift for the human eye, flying from the droids that hung in the air around her.

She had been so tired. She was having trouble commanding her limbs to move, commanding her lungs to breathe, her heart to beat.

A moment earlier, Ada would not have thought it possible, but the pain in her leg somehow seemed to be worsening. She ground her teeth together. Tears had begun to leak from her eyes.

She couldn't recall what had happened. She remembered…a voice…and the cool of the concrete floor on her burning cheek. The feeling of blood drying on her hands. A man's voice – in the distance? No. A memory. In her head.

The young woman suddenly opened her eyes again. There was…a warmth…in her chest. And her stomach. Spreading throughout her entire body. In her soul.

Ada watched the blades of the overhead fan spin. That feeling…that presence…was so familiar. She wondered vaguely if she was feverish. Perhaps she had hit her head on the hard warehouse floor.

She suddenly drew her hand to her chest as though to still the beating – now rapid, erratic – of her heart. It felt as though a great flood of memory, feeling, and longing was coursing through her veins. Ada gathered her strength and, though she struggled, raised herself into a sitting position. Her hands shook as she threw the coverlet from her legs and began moving them toward the edge of the bed. It was no fever, this flame that was growing in her heart and mind.

It was him.

xxx

Finishing the monsters had been almost anticlimactic. It had taken Trunks so little effort that he had not even broken a sweat. When he knew that the machines had disintegrated entirely in the wake of his attack, he took no time to process the magnitude of what he had just accomplished. Instead, he began racing through the streets of the city, bounding over collapsed buildings and under crumbling overpasses. He was going home.

xxx

And just like that, there she was. She was standing near the entrance to the basement, holding onto a rusty iron bar that had once formed the frame of the main Capsule Corp. building. Her hair, unruly and unkempt, was blowing lightly in the day's breeze, obscuring part of her face.

She was wearing his clothes. An old sleeveless shirt and a faded pair of boxer shorts.

Trunks' face twisted in concern when he saw that a small but steady trickle of blood was running from her heavily-bandaged thigh to her ankle. Her feet were bare.

His gaze returned to her face, and, as Ada met his eyes, she began to weep. Her smile, though, did not diminish as the tears flowed down her cheeks.

She moved the foot of her uninjured leg forward, preparing herself to attempt to walk toward him. Alarmed, Trunks dashed over the rubble crowding the street.

Ada shifted forward onto her injured leg. She felt the gash in her thigh split open and felt herself begin to fall. When her leg gave way, collapsing under the strain of bearing weight, she reflexively threw out her arms in preparation for hitting the cracked asphalt.

But she never did. Rather than the abrasive street below, Ada felt the softness of Trunks' body against her. His arms were around her, and her head came to rest in the crook of his neck. She wrapped her arms about him, her hands brushing against the cold metal sheath of his sword.

The first thing that Ada noticed was his scent. His. It had disappeared from his bed sheets, from his pillows many months before when she had finally agreed to let Bulma wash them. She had thereafter found herself opening his closet doors, putting her face into the shirts hanging there, and, though she never would have admitted it, crying.

"I've got you," Trunks said hoarsely, his embrace as strong and unwavering as it had ever been.

He rested his cheek on her head and felt – for the first time in two years – peace. After several moments' silence, Trunks drew away so that he might look at her.

Tears continued to stream from her eyes, but her smile had not faltered. Still, her skin had lost some color, and he looked down at her leg. The blood was flowing more profusely now.

"We need to go in," he said, strain in his voice as he met her eyes again. Ada, still in shock at his sudden appearance, nodded vaguely. Trunks looked behind her. He had no idea how she'd managed to make it up the stairs, but she wasn't going to get back down them without help.

"I've got you," he repeated with a smile before, in one swift motion, picking her up. With one arm behind her back and the other gingerly supporting her legs, Trunks began walking toward the concealed door. Ada wound her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest.

She felt mildly embarrassed that she was unable to stop crying. Of course, she had not yet seen the tears filling Trunks' eyes as he made his way down the steps and into his basement home.

Home.

His mother was standing in the kitchen, angrily and unsuccessfully trying to pick up a radio signal. Indeed, the noise of the basement door opening and closing had fallen on deaf ears as the former heiress aggressively twisted the tuning dial on the receiver.

"Mom," Trunks said quietly, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. His mother looked up and immediately dropped the wireless. The radio's plastic casing shattered all over the kitchen floor.

"Trunks!" Bulma cried, mouth agape and hands trembling. "It's…it's you," she finished with a sob and a smile. "It's you!"

She took off toward him and then stopped short. Bulma's eyes traveled from her son's face – framed with concern and desperation – to the woman in his arms.

"I had an escapee," Bulma admitted, nodding at Ada and clasping her hands together anxiously. "I thought she'd left to try to…to fight them…" Bulma looked back up at her son. "But she must've known…it was you."

"I'm sorry," Trunks replied, unable to manage even a small smile to reassure Bulma. "She's bleeding. Badly."

"Right," she said, her tone again characteristically steady and determined. She turned toward the hallway and motioned for Trunks to follow. "I've had Ada in your bed. She's mostly been asleep since I found her yesterday, and no wonder. The poor girl's been destroying herself."

"That seems a little far-fetched," came Ada's amused, almost-incoherent voice.

The blue-haired woman stepped aside so that Trunks could enter his room. As gently as he could, he lay her down on the bed, then leaned over her, his eyes meeting hers, and smiled.

"Hey," he said, brushing her hair out of her face. Ada was deathly pale, but she managed a groggy smile. She was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Hey there, handsome," she whispered. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her head lolled to the side.

Trunks stood and looked over at his mother, who had gone to gather their much-used box of medical supplies. Bulma set the worn cardboard container at the foot of the bed and began pulling out gauze, alcohol, iodine, ointment, and bandages. "Go boil a pot of water, Trunks," she said firmly, her face all-business as she went to work cutting the soiled cloth from Ada's thigh.

"Right," he said, nodding and then looking back down at Ada's motionless face. Trunks bent and gently kissed her burning forehead, then walked into the kitchen. The tap sputtered when he turned it on, letting only a few drops of water escape. He twisted the knob left, and then to the right again.

"Come on," Trunks grumbled through gritted teeth. On the third try, water gushed out and into the stock pot he had taken from a neighboring cabinet. As it filled, he opened the drawer to his left, grabbed the box of matches kept there from time immemorial, and struck one. He said a silent prayer that the gas mains were undamaged – there wasn't any time to wrestle with the old kerosene stove right now – and held the match over a burner. A small, blue flame leapt to life, and Trunks transferred the now-brimming pot to the stove.

It felt to the young warrior like hours before the water boiled. When he saw great bubbles roll to the top of the pot, he quickly switched the burner off and carried his prize back to the bedroom.

Bulma was kneeling at the end of the bed and preparing her supplies. She had tied an old strip of cloth tightly around Ada's upper thigh, and Trunks was pleased to see that the blood coming from Ada's wound had slowed to a trickle. He had not, however, expected her injury to be as severe as it was. A gash – at least a half-inch deep – of about 6 inches stretched the width of Ada's thigh. The edges of the wound were charred, and a yellowish pus had begun to issue forth from it. The lesion looked like numerous – albeit less severe – wounds that he had suffered, both from his bouts with the androids and from the training bots.

But it didn't add up. Ada wouldn't have sought out the androids; not now, knowing herself not strong enough to defeat them, and certainly not in the few days since he had departed. It was possible that they had come looking for her and that she had been forced to defend herself. Yet, they had only just attacked – hence Trunks' being able to find and destroy them so quickly – and it wasn't their habit to hit the same location twice in such a short period of time. He furrowed his brow. Questions for later, perhaps.

Together, Bulma and Trunks cleaned, sterilized, and re-bandaged Ada's leg. It needed stitches, of course, and burn treatment – she would walk away with a sizeable souvenir, Bulma said grimly – but neither were to be had. Ada had been the last to attempt stitches, and it had not gone over well. Even with a swallow of whisky beforehand, Trunks had not summoned the courage to let her perform the minor surgery. Monsters bent on destroying humanity were one thing; a sewing needle going into one's shoulder was quite another.

"We'll just have to keep an eye on it," Bulma said tiredly, bundling the soiled bandages into a towel to be washed ("Waste not, want not, Trunks.") She stood and let out a great sigh before turning to her son. She smiled, then nodded toward the door. "How about some tea? And you can tell me everything about what happened."

Trunks gave her a small smile but turned to look at Ada.

"She's lost a lot of blood, sweetie. She'll probably be out for a while. And you'll only be a few feet away," Bulma said.

In truth, he had no wish to leave Ada's side. Not again. Not anymore. But he'd hardly spoken to his mother since returning, and there certainly was a great deal to tell. He had been away for two years, after all, even if his mother had seen him just hours, or perhaps a few days, before.

Trunks looked back at Bulma and nodded. "Tea sounds great," he said, rising to follow her. When Bulma had walked away, Trunks turned, squeezed Ada's limp hand softly, and then went into the kitchen.

xxx

"Two years," Bulma said, almost to herself, as she looked not quite at Trunks but just beyond him.

"Yeah," her son nodded, taking a sip of his tea.

Her gaze refocused on him. "And you…you really…died?" She nearly choked on the word.

"Yes," he said, setting his cup back down.

"Oh, Trunks," Bulma said, attempting to digest the shock of this news. "I'm so sorry." She put a hand to her mouth. It looked as though she might begin to cry – and twice in the same day was all but unheard of for Bulma Brief.

"Sorry?" he said, puzzled. "Mom, why are you apologizing?"

"It's just…" She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. "It's not what we planned. If I had thought it was even possible that you would lose two years of your life – and then your actual life – oh, Trunks, I never would have…"

"Would've what?" he asked, giving her a small smile. "It wasn't your choice, Mom. It was mine. And there's nothing I wouldn't have sacrificed to destroy the androids. You know that."

"I know, I know," Bulma said. "But I'm your mother, Trunks. And you can act as nonchalant about it as you like, but I know that it wasn't easy."

For a moment, Trunks felt a proverbial chink form in his armor. No, he longed to say, it wasn't. It wasn't easy. A year with my father, and then a year in solitude? It was hell. And I feel like a coward for thinking so. A child had defeated the monster that had killed him with a flick of its finger. A child, who had watched his beloved father choose to die for all their sakes, had summoned the courage to stand and fight. And he had won. And Trunks had done nothing but lie dead in the dust.

"But it's over," Trunks said, maintaining a calm smile.

"Yes," Bulma replied, beaming at him. "Yes, it is. I'm so proud of you."

Trunks reddened. "Thanks, Mom." He glanced back toward his bedroom for tenth time in as many minutes.

"Alright," Bulma said, still smiling. "You've satisfied my curiosity for now. Go on."

xxx

After an hour or so of lying next to Ada, Trunks dozed off. When he woke, he looked over at the clock on the nightstand. Evening. He sat up and leaned back against the headboard. He was almost ashamed that he had fallen asleep – what if she had woken up just to find him dozing during his watch? – but his own exhaustion, coupled with the inexplicable peace that he felt lying beside her once again, was justification enough.

He felt the bed shift and looked over to find Ada beginning to stir.

"Hey," she whispered, smiling tiredly at him and giving his hand a squeeze.

"Hey," he replied, returning the squeeze. He could feel tears building behind his eyes, could feel a lump in his throat.

"You came back," she said, her voice filled with simple confidence rather than surprise and her own eyes now brimming.

"I came back," Trunks said, unable to stop smiling at her. He pulled Ada's hand to his lips and kissed it.

Ada gave him a groggy but sly smile. "That's certainly not going to do," she said, drawing a chuckle from him. Trunks sat up, then planted one hand flat on the bed, just left of her head. He did the same with his right hand, then pushed himself up so that his face hovered just a few inches over hers.

"You're right," he whispered. He leaned down and gently kissed her lips, reluctantly pulling away after a time.

"You're not going to break me," Ada said to him, smiling as a tear spilled down to the pillow. She put a hand behind his head and pulled him back down to her. Trunks kissed her again, more fervently now. His lavender hair fell down onto Ada's cheeks, and he could feel her lips spread into a smile beneath his own.

When he ran out of breath, he pulled away and looked into her eyes. They gazed at one another for a time in comfortable silence.

"You're so strong," Ada finally said, confusion writ all over her face. She touched his cheek. "It's…uncanny. How?"

"It's a long story," Trunks responded. "Things in the past…weren't what they were supposed to be." He frowned. She was still very clearly exhausted, and he didn't want to worsen it with the entire account of his travels. "At the Lookout, there was a room. You could spend a year inside, but only a day would pass on the outside. And I…I had to get stronger. So I went in. For two…days." The muscles in his face tightened slightly.

"You mean…two years?" Ada whispered, mystified. "So…so you were gone for two years?"

He nodded somewhat grimly. She lightly ran a hand through his hair and shook her head in disbelief.

"That's…incredible," she said, a little unsure how else to respond.

Trunks suddenly felt distant from the woman lying below him. Her expression conveyed the intense shock of this news, and Trunks felt a wavering in her energy. Doubt, perhaps? Ada wouldn't disbelieve him, however ludicrous he sounded. Doubt, not of his story, then, but of him? He wanted suddenly to reassure her, to say that it sounded like a long time, but he had not forgotten her, that he had thought of her constantly, that he had hated every second of his absence. He wanted to tell her that nothing had changed, not really, and that everything was fine. They could pick up right where they had left off, right? Right?

But then Ada smiled at him, and tears again filled her eyes. "You defeated them, didn't you?" she whispered in a trembling voice.

Trunks' worry began to subside, and he nodded. "Yes," he said. "I did."

Ada placed both of her hands on the sides of Trunks' face, unable to stop either crying or smiling.

"Oh, Trunks," she managed, then pulled his face down to hers again. After another very long and very satisfying kiss, Trunks frowned at her.

"I wish I had gotten to them before they did this," he said, nodding down toward Ada's injured leg. "I'm sorry."

Confusion, and then, very gradually, realization stretched over Ada's face. She looked up at him in silence for a moment, then began to sit up.

"Whoa, not too fast, there," Trunks said, removing his hand from the left side of her head and propping himself on his right elbow. She struggled for a moment before ceasing her attempt, and she looked over at him. He could tell that she was struggling with what to say next.

"Trunks," Ada said slowly, "this wasn't your fault."

He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it, opting to let her finish.

"They didn't attack me," she said.

Brow knitted in concern, Trunks asked, "You mean…you went after them?"

"No," Ada said, shaking her head slightly. "I wasn't planning on doing that for a while."

"But you were…planning on fighting them? Intentionally?" he replied, flabbergasted. "But, Ada, why would you…no, that wasn't the plan. Why would you…you mean you weren't going to wait for me to come back?" Trunks' eyes betrayed a combination of despair, hurt, and confusion.

"I didn't know how long…" she trailed off and looked away from him, then sighed heavily. "I knew that you would come back. I just wanted there to be something for you to come back to. I was afraid that, given another year, or five, or ten, the androids might have finished everything off. And imagining you coming back to nothing…Trunks, I couldn't do it."

"What do you mean, 'given another year?'" he asked, his voice soft and quiet.

"Surely…you've already talked to your mom," Ada said.

"Yeah. While you were still out. What does that have to do with anything?"

"You mean, she didn't say anything about what's gone on here while you've been away?"

"No," Trunks said, shaking his head a little.

Ada held his gaze and bit her lip slightly. He's going to feel horrible. Like the miscalculations were his fault. She did not know how to tell him. She was so tired…so completely and utterly spent…

Trunks' eyes suddenly widened in comprehension – and fear.

"Ada," he asked seriously, "how long have I been gone?"

She smiled at Trunks sadly and put her hand in his.

"Fourteen months," Ada whispered, "and four days. Maybe five. I'm not sure how long I was unconscious."

"Fourteen…" he replied, trailing off. "A…a year? Over a year?"

Ada nodded and squeezed his hand.

"But it's not a whole lot compared with two," she said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Trunks frowned at her. "I…Ada, I did the calculations a thousand times…" He looked away, the wheels in his head spinning.

"Trunks," she said, silently willing him to meet her gaze again, "so did Bulma. And the numbers could have been perfect – they probably are – but you were trying to quantify something impossibly complex. No one has ever done this before. You traveled through time, Trunks. Time. Traveled." She emphasized each word, almost pleading with him.

"But I never thought…" He fumbled for words. "I never would have left you. Never should have left you. Anything could have happened. The androids–"

"Hey," Ada said in a soft but firm tone, using her hand to draw his face back toward her. "Look at me."

Trunks complied, albeit unwillingly. His face was full of anger, Ada saw, and shame.

"It isn't your fault."

He said nothing.

"It isn't your fault. It's not anyone's fault. Nothing went the way we planned. I know. You know, better than anyone," Ada said. "And that's okay."

Not how we planned. That's an understatement. Trunks closed his eyes.

"I'm not saying that we can make up for lost time." Her voice had dropped almost to a whisper. "But, Trunks…"

She waited until he met her eyes again, and she smiled.

"You did it. You finished it. Don't you understand? Don't you see?" Her eyes again began to fill with tears of joy. "This is the beginning of something new. We can make a new world – however we wish to. We are free."