Goodness, is this spoiling you? Regardless, I wouldn't say nothing uber MAJOR goes down in this chapter, but next chapter-hoo, boy-answers.

Thank you to all who reviewed!

Disclaimer: I do not own DB, DBZ, DBGT, or DBS.

"Quiet; I'm thinking!"

Vegeta growled in annoyance. "I never said anything."

Bulma's eyebrows twitched, and her scowl grew sour as she glared up at the apparition towering over her. "You're breathing so noisily!"

"I am not. You're just imagining things," he added, as an afterthought, "and I don't even need to breathe!" Snorting with derision, Bulma returned herself to her original position, bending her right elbow and mushing her pale cheek against the butt of her ivory hand, and her eyes flickered close once more, a deep sigh escaping through her flaring nostrils. Vegeta just rolled his eyes at such "immaturity", as he'd put it, and folded his arms over his chest, silently watching her brain work inside that hard head of hers.

The yellow blouse she wore kissed her skin teasingly when a light, autumn breeze did the same, trickling through her teal tresses softly and whispering in her ears. A pair of baby blue jeans hugged her long, tantalizing legs, creasing tightly as she had one strewn over the other in her concentration. Much to her "luck", the coolness of the stone beneath her bled through the fabric, so she had to shift uncomfortably a few times. Her blue hair had once been dizzied up in a curly bun, but now spilled to her shoulders in a dizzy of twirls and twists, shimmering like ocean waves. Vegeta decided to stare at her vibrant strands—boy, did they smell nice…

After work, and after her parents had run off to do some errands, Bulma and Vegeta had traversed into the Ouji's mirror sanctuary, sitting on the old time square fountain in the serene, early evening setting. Not many people were out at this time in his little mirage—she wondered if this was intentional, or if it truly reflected what it once was back then. Either possibility was open, the woman mused.

Bulma pursed her lips. This was all getting ridiculous. Investigators would be coming to her house on the murder anniversary, a day in which Vegeta had repeatedly told her, especially after she had told him that, that ghost and demon activity would be at an all-time high. He explained, however, that he wasn't even sure how bad it would be now, now that a 100 years had passed. Plus, he had been stuck in his mirror for all those years, so he had only seen demons crawling around in his room, mocking him.

"Wait a minute! So, you've been seeing demons crawling all over me for 11 years, and you didn't tell me?!"

"Bulma, I said their activity dwindled when you moved in! So, no, they were no 'demons crawling all over you'! Now, GET READY FOR WORK!"

Bulma sighed and opened her eyes. "Uuuuughhhhhhhh…"

"Tch, what is it?" Vegeta prompted, rolling his eyes.

"I dunno what to doooooo…"

"Well, you're a so called 'genius', I'm sure you can figure it out."

"What is there to figure out?" Bulma asked crossly, standing up. Vegeta opened his mouth to reply, but was instantly interrupted, "If we go back to the very beginning, there's this: I know your name, I know who you are, and who your family is, I know what happened in the house, I know who killed you…what else is there?!"

"You seem to be treating this like some mystery," the specter remarked.

"Well, it certainly feels like it!" groaned the azure heiress as she pushed back her bangs in frustration. "I don't know, it's just that—it feels that something's missing, like I'm still in the dark about something… I just don't know what! Maybe…"

"Bulma, you're overthinking this right now." Bulma felt his large hands clasp her shoulders gently, feeling the soothing warmth bleed through the thin fabric of her shirt, and she could sense him kneeling down in front of her. She sighed, leaning towards him. "Why don't we go take a walk? You haven't seen everything yet…"

"I haven't been in your mirror that much," Bulma replied.

Vegeta smirked. "Of course, this is the only place I get away from you."

"Hey. I'll have you know, I'm very pleasant have around!"

"Only when…" The ghost drew closer to her face and breathed deliberately on her lips, causing them to part automatically. His devilish smirk grew considerably as he finished with a whisper, "You're not being an insufferable wench."

A vicious fire ignited in the heiress's eyes instantaneously seconds after the words left his mouth. Vegeta pulled back just in time, before an onslaught of insults cascaded from the frazzled woman's lips like an avalanche, leaping from her perch on the fountain and lunging at him. Barking roughly with laughter, the phantom Ouji bolted from the scene with an enraged blue witch after him.

"VEGETA OUJI!"

…

Gohan observed his father slumped over the couch, prominent pout sculpting his youthful face almost comically—the boy had to restrain himself from laughing aloud, lest his mother scold him for being rude, making fun of people's misfortunes (even if said mother had inflicted this misfortune upon father). He cocked his head, pursing his lips, as he observed the gears in his head turn, puffing and wheezing as they tried to garner thought. His father was a weird one, that was for sure.

Fortunately, his mother had worried herself too much yesterday over his father and had got nothing done thusly. So, while she finished up the work left from yesterday, as well as the housework for today, Gohan was free from his studies for the whole day. He liked to learn, don't get him wrong, but sometimes, he enjoyed being a normal 4-year-old, for once. It broke from the consistent knowledge being presented from him daily. Numbers, on the downside, were not his forte, but Mother was patient, and Father had convinced the woman that playing kids' card games, like Go Fish!, would certainly help him figure out what those numbers were called. Gohan appreciated that.

The toddler leaned towards his pouty sire, abandoning his coloring book, and began to scoot closer, as sneakily as he could. He could hear his mother in the kitchen, clinking pots and pans as she cleaned.

"Daddy?" Gohan called out quietly, pulling himself up with support from his father's knee. He pushed at the joint to get the man's attention. "Daddy!"

"Eh?" Goku snapped out of his trance, looking to his only son, blinking. "Oh, Gohan. What's up?"

Gohan frowned, concerned. "You were lost in thought, Daddy." He paused, thinking, then added. "Again."

"Really?" The Son man yawned loudly, rubbing his eyes. "Mm, I guess I was, wasn't I?"

"Yeah. You don't do well grounded."

Goku laughed boisterously, and he scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, you're right, Gohan! Daddy doesn't do well inside for too long, eh?"

Gohan nodded in agreement. He hauled himself up onto the couch to sit next to him. "What were ya thinkin' 'bout?"

"Eh, just some things, y'know," Goku hummed, pitching back, arms folded around behind his head.

"Are they bad things?" the child questioned further. "Mommy said that if you have bad things in your head, you tell someone to make the bad things go away."

"I s'ppose, but it's nothing. Just thinking." Gohan didn't look convinced. "Aw, c'mon, Gohan, no need to worry so much about yer old man!" He ruffled the boy's hair, affectionately, smiling. "You're gonna turn into your mother at this rate!"

"Maybe…" Gohan looked to the kitchen.

While Gohan's gaze was averted, Goku's expression fell, and his own gaze drifted up to the ceiling. Currently, he was struggling to piece together what had transpired the other day, in which he had ended up on Bulma's front porch. As jovial as he had been, brushing off the matter as just forgetfulness, he now had time (due to his grounding) to reflect on the matter—and he was truly bothered by this. Why had he gone to Bulma's? He recalled when Tien had dropped him off, his friend also warding off his wife, the woman had berated him for going off without telling her where, reiterating that "carrots and vegetables" spiel he had muttered out.

Carrots and vegetables…

Right…that's right… Kakarot, sounded like carrot—and Kakarot was his great-grandfather's name. Grandpa Gohan spoke fondly of him. That's right—he had been in the attic when he remembered that at first. Something else had triggered his spell, caused him to hastily run from the attic and fall—he was surprised he had not broken a bone or too. If anything, he was just sore from the accident—strangely enough, he had barely noticed the soreness until he returned home yesterday.

And—

"ACHOO!"

"Daddy?!"

Sniffling, Goku chuckled lamely, "Eheh…whoopsie." He wiped his nose with his sleeve—Gohan's face screwed up a bit at that. "Sorry 'bout that."

"That's what you get from running out in the cold rain, mister!" came the angry voice from the kitchen.

"N'aww, Chi-Chi~!" Goku whined in protest, sniffing again. "It wasn't that bad—"

"Tell that to all those empty tissue boxes!"

She had him there.

Vegeta had triggered this trance.

Rubbing his nose again, Goku's brow furrowed, frustrated. "Right…" he mumbled out, "he was in that picture with Kakarot…" Vegeta had a distinct look to him, that was for sure, much like his own self. The ridiculous, wild hair that mirrored a flame colored midnight (as far as he knew, the picture was in black and white). His features were sharp, and Goku presumed that a glare from that man could shut a person up instantly. He then went on to assume that such a shocked expression he had in the picture had certainly irked him, despite being but a teenager. He had an air of pride and steadfastness to him—Goku could get that from a single photo.

And yet, it was strange—he didn't need that photo to tell that characteristic of his great-grandfather's best friend. He just…knew.

"Dad?"

His son's voice shook him from his thoughts once again. "Huh?"

Gohan's eyes were wide. "You looked weird—your eyes looked different."

Your eyes looked different. Something was different about your eyes.

He'd…He had heard similar phrases many times before—whenever he had these "moments". However, it was usually these "fortune cookie" moments, as he liked to call them, because they were usually cracks of wisdom that seemed uncharacteristic of him (should he be insulted by that? Nah…). Chi-Chi had noted that they were happening more frequently this time—even more so than they usually did this time of year.

How strange.

Goku had this sudden urge to get out of the house.

"Hey, y'know what, Gohan? Dad could use some fresh air."

The child reminded him, "You're grounded, though."

"Yeah, but…" Goku grinned, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes as he got up from the couch and strolled into the kitchen. "Chi-Chi~!" he called out, popping his head into the kitchen. He saw his wife at the sink, cleaning dishes. She didn't turn to look at him, and he assumed she was still peeved at his sudden, unexplained departure.

"What is it?" she responded, eerily calm, as she continued to scrub away.

"Hey, so, being that yer busy 'n' all…" he started coyly, waltzing up to her. "And we need more groceries…" Goku placed his chin delicately on Chi-Chi's small shoulder and made his best puppy dog eyes. "I was thinkin' I could head out and get them for you—with Gohan," he added briskly. "He wants to come along too."

There was no immediate answer, but Goku continued to smile dumbly, batting his eyelashes.

"You fell from the attic," began the ebony-haired woman plainly, a monotone to her voice. Goku's confidence waned. "And, you got several bruises because of that—not to mention you decided to run out on me in the chilly weather, rainin', no less. Some hours later, I get a call from Bulma sayin' you had ended up at her house, cold and wet. Tien brings ya home and explains to me that you were pacin' like a madman on the front porch, askin' for some 'vegetable' or whatever, and not only that—you're sneezin' and snifflin', almost catchin' your death out there. So, tell me…" The woman lifted her head from her dishes, scowling. "…What makes you think I'll let you go outside o' this house?"

Goku blanched. "Uh… But, Gohan—"

"Now, you'll use Gohan as an excuse?"

Oh, no. Goku pulled away, sensing his plan slipping down the drain like soap water.

A tired sigh followed soon after. "Huhh, fine. Go on and get groceries with Gohan. Just don't come cryin' to me if you get an awful cold."

"Yay!" Goku whooped, throwing his hands up in the air. "Thanks, Chi-Chi~!" He gave her a quick smooch on her cheek. He raced out of the kitchen, almost slipping on the hardwood floors, and hollered, "Gohan! Grab your coat! We're goin' grocery shopping!"

Chi-Chi sighed, but a faint smile turned up the corners of her lips.

…

Vegeta could not believe he was having such a good time with this—he thought being chased by a psychopathic female would be terrifying, at best. And yet, here in was running about his mirage, cackling with such insanity that it would worry the passersby (if, of course, these were real people…) while his little woman trailed after him, screaming like the banshee she was. He was surprised her stamina had lasted this long—it felt like they had been at this for hours.

"VEGETA, WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, I'M GOING TO STRANGLE YOU UNTIL YOUR SCRAWNY HEAD POPS OFF!" the banshee's wail echoed behind him. His response was a mere laugh as he glanced behind him. Her slender form was getting farther and farther behind—maybe, being a ghost gave you unlimited stamina?

He had reached the road near his house at his point, when it happened.

It felt like the ground vanished beneath him, his body dropping to the pavement as his breath was stolen from him like—

His face connected to the cold, hard ground, eliciting a strangled cry of pain from his mouth, and Vegeta's eyes glued shut as a sharp, staggering pain raked through his ghostly figure. When he shakily attempted to force his eyes open, his vision was blurred considerably, disarrayed colors and splotches in a crazed, dulled mess—it was if he was going blind—he couldn't see—he couldn't—he—

And of course, the woman leaped right on top of him, her dainty hands like vices when they tangled into his hair, pulling his head back—he released a short "ah!" of pain. "You…" she snarled, the sound low and gnarly in the back of her throat. "You lousy, good-for-nothing bastard…"

Vegeta groaned, his body on fire. "Wo…Wo-man…wait…"

"How dare you call me that…" she hissed in his ear, pulling his hair harder. "If you think I'll let you get away without repercussions…"

"B-Bulma, p-please, I—"

"Oh, you think begging will get you get you outta this one? Think again…"

"Li-L-Little One…" Vegeta whimpered in a small voice. "Please, I need to…"

Bulma noticed that the world they had taken sanctuary in was beginning to warp, and she watched in morbid fascination as the landscape began to wash away, dripping away like paint to reveal the deep purple obsidian walls of the mirror world. "Wha…?"

She felt the apparition squirm feebly beneath her, his breaths short and labored. "Vegeta…?" The living female was surprised when she was miraculously dumped off, landing on her rear. "Oof! Hey, what was—" Her rant was silenced when Bulma watched Vegeta crawl—rather oddly—towards a wall, obvious tremors wracking his muscular body. "…V…Vegeta?" she asked, worriedly.

The man eventually propped himself up, grunting and moaning in pain as he laid his head back, sweat beading and trickling down the side of his handsome face. A vein was popping from his forehead, visibly throbbing. Hissing, he forced his eyes open. "Guh…"

"Vegeta, what's wrong?!" Bulma cried, her concern blooming tenfold, and she crawled over to her phantom boyfriend frantically. "You look awful… Oh—oh, your head is throbbing—what's going on?!"

Vegeta squinted at her, her voice stabbing his eardrums ferociously, making him wince. Her form was blurry, but he could still see the swatch of blue… He squeezed his eyes shut, grunting. "N…Nothing—just—d…dizzy…"

"Dizzy?! Don't you tell me you're just dizzy!" Bulma snapped, cupping his tawny cheeks with her ivory hands. "You look like you're having a serious migraine—and that's just putting it lightly."

"I—It'll pass…" he gasped out in a breathless whisper, hoping she would just let the matter drop and leave—

"You're making it sound like this has happened before—wait, it has, hasn't it?!" Another realization dawned upon the heiress. "That—that morning…that was why you weren't in the living room, right?" Her voice had, thankfully, softened, lessening the piercing ache in his head. She had completely forgotten about that.

Vegeta swallowed thickly, searching for the strength to voice the words, but he only managed a weak nod.

"Oh, Vegeta…" the woman murmured, and she brought his head towards her bosom, pressing it close—but not tightly, so she wouldn't make his migraine worse. "You could've told me about this earlier—I wouldn't have…"

The ghost released a short, raspy laugh, simultaneously uncomfortable, yet comfortable at the close contact with the woman's breasts. "You…'re…perceptive when you…wanna be…huh? Said we would talk about it later that day…"

Bulma scoffed. "I just forgot. Normal thing to do."

"If you're old, maybe…"

"Are you suggesting I'm an old hag?"

"Never said 'hag' part—putting words…into my mouth…"

"Might as well have said that part!" Bulma whined, pouting. "Jerk."

He didn't reply "banshee" this time.

Exhaling, Bulma just simply stroked his hair, pressing her nose into his soft, charcoal mane, detecting the faint smell of spice. Her lips quirked up slightly. "It…just happens when it's closer to the murder. I just get—these 'dizzy' spells… I…I don't know why they happen," Vegeta explained, his voice quiet, but more stable—or, that might've been because his face was pressed into her boobs… Could be that… He shifted a bit.

"Really?" Bulma asked, looking incredulous. "Why…why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Never needed to bring it up."

"Why wouldn't you?! If you're going to have these spells more often, I deserve to know!" Bulma pushed him back to meet his eyes, noticing how there was still a glassy haze covering his midnight irises—she frowned at this. "…Is there anything else I should know?"

Vegeta's eyes widened slightly at her question, but he quickly regained his composure; however, his eyes flickered downwards once more. "Ah, well, I might be a bit sluggish on Thursday—I—I think…"

"You think?"

"I'm not 100% certain on this, but I've always felt a heaviness on that day—for obvious reasons, as you know. I almost feel sick. I'm not sure how being outside the mirror—if I will be—will affect me differently, or not…"

"Oh… Okay…" However, Bulma tapped his nose playfully, surprising him. "But, it's rude of you to keep secrets from me—I don't want to turn this into another hunt again like the first time we met." She winked, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

Vegeta forced himself to smile. "Y…Yeah. Sure." The smile fell. "You should go. You've been in here for too long—and if your parents are back by now, they'll certainly be worried as to where you are."

"They said they'd be back late; don't worry," Bulma cooed, puckering up her lips and pressing it against his forehead. Vegeta grunted. "Are…are you sure you'll be fine?"

"It goes away—I'll be fine."

Bulma gazed upon him sadly—he hated seeing the fire in her eyes dwindled to such a state—and the woman stood up slowly. Realizing something, she plainly chuckled. "Um, I don't mean to be a bother, but how do I leave?"

Vegeta blinked. "Oh, right…" Groaning softly, he hauled himself to his feet, hissing faintly at the pinch of pain in his temples—Bulma reached out to him. He gripped her shoulder, more so for support than anything else, and gingerly pushed her towards the glass door. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

He shoved her with more force, the woman feeling the odd sensation of passing from his world to hers. She stumbled towards her bed, like she had done last time. Bulma released a tired sigh, noticing that it was indeed getting pretty late—it was dark outside. "Vegeta?" She turned around, staring at the blood-stained mirror. "You'll be alright, won't you?"

"I'll be fine, Woman. Now go to bed."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "I expect you to be out here when you get better~!"

"Tch," came his distorted voice, "vulgar woman…"

The woman laughed and headed towards the bathroom to shower.

She didn't check her phone for a voicemail.

…

Earlier, Goku and Gohan were out and about, under the guise of getting groceries. Goku, much to his wife's supposed chagrin, was not just out to get produce and come right back. No, he would take this opportunity to talk a refreshing walk outside, before he would be locked up again indoors as per his grounding. It was cloudy out, however, and Goku was a bit worried it would rain again. Gohan had been the smart one and brought an umbrella—well, a kiddie umbrella.

"Daddy, why are we taking the long way to the grocery store?" the child asked, a little knowingly.

"Oh, y'know," Goku laughed innocently, "just to get some fresh air, is all. Better do it now 'fore it gets all cold 'n' stuff."

"I guess?"

"Hee~"

And so, the pair walked down the sidewalk, the little Son clutching his umbrella warily as his brown eyes glanced up at the cloudy sky, gray and darker gray specks moseying along as they cast deep shadows over the townsfolk. Gohan would then glance to his father suspiciously, a grocery list stuffed in his own pocket because the man forgot to grab it on his way out. Knowing the older Son, Gohan suspected that this was not a grocery call at all. He sighed inwardly. Oh, Dad…

"Hey, Goku!"

Surprised by the sound of his name, Goku's head jerked up from being lost in thought once again. "Uhn? Yamcha?"

"Hey, man," Yamcha greeted, trotting up to the two Sons casually, donning a pair of black sneakers, yellow windbreaker displaying TAITANS on the back in red letters, and gray sweats. "What brings you out here? I heard word that Chi-Chi had grounded you for running out on her."

"Eh?! You've heard about that?!" yelped the young man, bewildered. Gohan just shyly slipped behind his father's pants leg, as he did when seeing people outside his family. He hoped he would grow out of this, but he hadn't seen this man in—how long? He couldn't remember. "Aw, man! Who told?"

The elder man just shrugged, letting out a halfhearted chuckle. "At this point, who knows. Word just seems to get out and spread like the plague."

Goku's comedic surprise was abruptly snuffed out. "Y'know, that's kinda a problem…"

"Huh?" Yamcha didn't hear him.

The man shook his head. "Nevermind. So, you're out runnin' or somethin'?"

"That obvious, huh?"

"Well, you usually go out at this time. Chi-Chi sees you run by our house."

"Figures, she would. Your wife certainly has eyes like a hawk!"

"Yeah…"

The small talk continued for a bit—Gohan squeaking out "hello" when Yamcha acknowledged him. Goku laughed a bit at this. It was then, when the cheery conversation switched, when Yamcha remarked, "Hey, I don't suppose you know what Bulma's up to?"

Goku paused, looking surprised at his friend's question. "Eh? No. Why?" He hadn't seen her since yesterday, since, well, his wife happened. In fact, he had been seeing his friend less and less over the past week, the young woman holing herself up in her house, only going out for work—even then, sometimes she worked at home. It was strange, he thought, how distant she had been from her friends lately. That meeting with the paranormal investigation team probably didn't help the matter. Speaking of which…his hunch…

"Oh, it's nothing major," the other male insisted, almost a little too briskly, "but I gave her a call a while ago—you know, when she got off of work. She didn't answer. What's more, when I went to visit her at work to talk about…things…her secretary said that she didn't want to see anyone because, and I quote, 'she has a lot of work to catch up on and she doesn't want to be disturbed right now'." He sighed, clearly peeved about his situation. "I mean, she's always been okay with having me—any of us visit. Even when she's busy. What's got her in such a mood?"

"Yamcha, you called Chokore's Paranormal Investigation Team, didn't you?"

The deadpan of the usually warm tenor startled Yamcha, and he looked up from cradling his "aching" head with wide eyes. "Wha—huh?" Gohan's eyes swept up to his father as well, curious.

"Didn't you?" he asked again, a serious, stoic expression painting his normally happy-go-lucky face.

"I—" Yamcha stammered, still trying to take in this difference in behavior. "I… Yes, I did. But, what does that have to do with anything?"

"You think that might be why she doesn't want to see you or talk to you right now?"

"Goku, dude, what are you trying to say?"

Goku sighed, not noticing his newfound demeanor. "Yamcha. You didn't ask for her permission to call the team. You just went on the assumption—"

"Goku! You saw how she was acting that day!" Yamcha interrupted, throwing his hands out. "Didn't you hear what she was talking about? It made absolutely no sense!"

"He's been trapped in that godforsaken place for one hundred years and counting, all alone and afraid, and only now he's been able to leave! And he can't even move on! He's lost so much—his family, his friends, everything! I don't care if he's a lost cause or not, I'll help Vegeta even if it's the last thing I do."

"Trapped for a hundred years…" Yamcha continued, echoing what his ex had said at Turtle Diner some days ago. The tenacity blazing within her blue, illustrious orbs sent fearful shivers down his spine every time he recalled it. He had never seen such a fire—never seen her get this defensive. "Helping this Vegeta if it's that last thing she does? Do you see what's been happening to her?! She's obsessed with this little murder mystery of hers—and it is driving her crazy! Talking about this Vegeta like he's her…" The baseball player abruptly shook his head, teeth grit with frustration. "Doesn't this worry you? I have no idea who this 'Vegeta' guy is, but, mark my words, I've never hear his name around these parts—at least recently. This is not normal. Aren't you the least bit worried she might be dealing with something she doesn't understand?"

"…Are you sure you're not?"

That tone—that tone was icy and flat, emotionlessness that was alien to the man before Yamcha, and this turned his blood cold. The man in front at him stared at him with dark, otherworldly eyes that pierced into his soul and promised something sinister if he misspoke once again. "G…G-Goku?"

The one called Goku narrowed his eyes to mere slits. "Why do you say his name with such disdain?"

"Wha…?"

He didn't go further with that thought, merely saying, "I think you may also be the one who's dealing with things they don't understand." The Son shoved his way past the dumbfounded male, his son hastily scurrying after him, his own eyes round as saucers after the exchange.

Yamcha, mouth agape, just stood there, not noticing the few people who had stopped to watch were soon scuttling away back to their own business. "Wha…What is going on?"

...

I want answers.

Yamcha, no.

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