A/N: Ta-da! Le finale! :) As always, thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and favorited! This story was a blast. I'm considering a Trunks/Pan for my next fic but for now, I have a few to conclude.

Warnings: Mild lemon.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z or anything affiliated with it.

-MalRev

Rust & Stardust

:: Vingt-Quatre ::

"Since mom left you most of the shares in Capsule Corp., I'll let you take the rest, Gohan. I have a few friends in America who are starting up a new business and they invited me to come work with them. It's probably better for Bulla to see new places, anyway. It might help her cope."

Long blue locks slithered through my fingertips like snakes. If I had the capacity, I would have gladly sobbed for my lost nymphet; the decimation of an impossible dream. Our final tryst was impassioned to my hooded eyes and I deluded myself into believing the small female lying underneath me felt largely the same. She refused to look at me, averting her azure eyes to the ceiling of my bedroom, which she had visited upon the premise of help with math homework.

A single candle flickered on my desk, casting sinister shadows cross the silent room. Bulla was hushed like a frightened mouse and only the sound of her body gliding along the sheets or our flesh coming together permeated the pregnant lull. Her fingertips pressed small half-moon circles into my back. I needed her to desire me—I needed her to crave my touch, scramble into my lap.

Bulla had stood by the door with her small hands clasped behind her in a saintly posture, wearing one of my dress shirts to incite my lust. Trunks was taking her away from me in the morning and regardless of my parental hold, she would always belong to her brother. I'd regarded her quietly through the darkness until she presented me her math textbook and permitted me to pull her into my lap. My Bulla. In America, she would be another man's Bulla.

Another man would lavish her neck with love bites and revel in the sensation of her; the slippery warmth of her insides that I had yet to find equivalency of and the enticing spasms of her muscles. He would marvel at the arch of her collar bone, stroke her lean, languid pale legs, and become utterly lost in her esoteric blue eyes. Those same eyes had brought me to my knees and I could confidently confirm that they would likely do the same to many men.

There hadn't been enough time. There was never enough time. I had learned long ago how cruel and fickle time could be, and that she would gleefully twist herself in knots to prolong your suffering. Oh, how long those ten seconds before Goku vanished with Cell had seemed. How long those seven years covering my ears while Chi-Chi sobbed in her bedroom seemed.

I leaned on my side to pull my nymphet flush against my chest and slowly slid in and out of her warmth, grasping her hip with one hand and clutching a fistful of her cerulean locks with the other. Her hands lay limply before her as I inhaled the scent of her hair, hoping to remember each detail. I would inscribe it in my memory. I would frequent America to see her on every occasion possible. She would not disappear.

Bulla's shoulder twitched when I kissed the crook of her neck. She was scarcely moving, perhaps stuck in the reverie that a family member's recent death brought. I tried my damndest to make her feel some kind of pleasure through the emotional turmoil—I had brought her several gifts and abstained from sexual contact in the weeks after Bulma's untimely passing. Yet Bulla remained stoic, only choosing to speak to me on the final night before she vanished to another country.

"Would you like me to stop?" I whispered into her ear, teasingly nipping the lobe. My hand roamed across the flat plane of her stomach to massage her small breasts. I would never have my fill of her.

She shook her head. Good girl.

Other men may have her and believe her to be pure but Bulla's innocence belonged to me. She would be entirely mine, comparing her future encounters to her first with me, remembering how my hands felt on her skin and knowing that, as a fellow half-Saiyan, I was the only male who could truly please her.

Sadistically, I fantasized about impregnating her. I wished for it; I tried for it. I rolled on top of her to hook her knees over my shoulders and for the first time, I did not fear becoming a father. Bulla squirmed with restrained excitement as her body clashed with her emotion and I longed to see her curvaceous stomach round with my child. It would be her death. Half-Saiyan children were difficult to carry.

I came to my completion and watched, enraptured, as Bulla's body betrayed her. She whimpered and writhed against me, audible even over my groaning. In a slow, torturous pace I ensured I had entirely filled her with my seed while her tired eyes began to close. My sweet nymphet. No other man would be capable of handling her—she was a volatile substance, like fissile uranium. One misstep could spell death and destruction for innocent people miles around. She could not be easily forgotten.

Bulla winced. "Aren't you done yet? That hurts."

"Shh," I crooned, brushing her hair away from her face, "only a few more minutes. Do you feel better?"

"No. I don't know."

"Will you miss me, Bulla?"

"…No." She squirmed and pushed against my shoulders. "C'mon, cut it out! It stings!"

I tilted forward to force myself deeper inside of her and she squealed in a delightful way. I'd become flaccid, of course, but it wouldn't be long before my blood began to flow again. Each writhing movement Bulla made was fuel on her funeral pyre.

"That hurts me, Bulla," I said. My hands were on either side of her head, firmly bracing me to the bed. "I want you to hurt like I do. That's only fair."

How could she leave me? After all the suffering I had endured; the careful planning, the horrible months of watching her with drool practically dripping from my mouth, Bulla was prepared to abandon me. I'd had her for a flash of time that was insignificant to my long life. There were still so many things I wished to do with her—to her—that would never come to fruition. Bulla. How could you?

Distracted by my fury, I did not react in time to prevent Bulla from slapping me hard across the face. It was forceful enough to turn my head, and I stared in blank shock at my window whilst she freed herself from my grasp. She teetered out of bed and irately pulled my shirt back over her head.

"You're such a freak," she snapped, setting one dainty hand on her hip. "This is why I would never in a million years keep doing this stuff with you. Every time we're doing it you're staring at me or touching my hair or something stupid like that, and then you do the really creepy stuff like what you just tried. No wonder no one in your family likes you, Gohan. They know you're crazy, too."

Then she was gone.

I rubbed my cheek for a while, gazing dispassionately at the wall. It seemed her words hadn't affected me until I felt warm wetness running down my cheeks and along my neck. I held my wounded face and closed my eyes, smiling softly. It'd been so long… I'd promised myself years ago that I would never cry again. I wanted to be strong like my father for my mother.

Oh, Bulla. How do you do this to me?

Promptly after acknowledging my tears, I began to sob into my hands. It was refreshing. The essence of the underage girl left sinfully strewn on my lips and slackened arousal became just fractionally more tolerable. Perhaps I wasn't a monster. She was entirely willing and eager to please me and I never left my Bulla dissatisfied. We were happy together in our secret liaisons.

They left in the early morning light. I stood solemnly by the window of Capsule Corp. to watch Trunks slide inside his limousine and Bulla hesitated by the door. She looked radiant even in jeans and a t-shirt. She turned to gaze up at her home and smiled vaguely. You will always be welcome here, princess.

Videl and I were married in a quiet ceremony to refrain from attracting attention. She was nearing 17, slowly slipping from the age group I preferred, and I could hardly bear to see her pregnant stomach. Chi-Chi was ecstatic and bragged to several people about our shameful union. I only smiled and nodded when necessary, imitating the naïve Gohan from times long since passed. People would smile in return and take my faux laughter as a sign of gratitude.

Bulma's death was glossed over. Tragically, and perhaps amusingly, my father wasn't deeply affected. He grieved for a week before shrugging and reminding us that the Other World "wasn't so bad." My marriage to Bulma did not reach Chi-Chi or Trunks's ears but they were quite curious as to why she left Capsule Corp. to me after her death. I merely pointed to my status as Vice President.

We returned to Capsule Corp. and I retired to my bedroom while Videl morosely went to her own. I had no time to invest in a honeymoon, much to my mother's chagrin. Videl and I would live worlds apart and she could continue whatever strange relationship she had with my father. Nothing mattered.

Pan was born nine months later without a tail. Feigning interest in her was intensely difficult during the first few weeks and I found myself scowling deeply at the writhing child at inopportune moments. Videl delighted in having her own pet to care for and I forsook my duty as a false parent. Goku became agitated on the days he couldn't come around to play with her. I ruminated over legal documents and financial statements. Pan slowly grew.

Regret is my creeping demon.

"Daddy?"

Ah, the second interruption. Pan is as precocious as her mother.

I drop my quill into the inkpot with a tone of finality before slowly swiveling in my chair to face the trembling four year old, steepling my fingers. "Yes, Pan?"

My half-sister squirms under my gaze. "Mommy wanted me to tell you that dinner is ready, and if you don't come down to eat she's gonna throw yours outside. I… I um…" She wrings her small hands. Can she read my thoughts? "W-well, you've gotta eat, daddy!"

The years are long and gruesome. Bulla… I dream of her blue hair; her sparkling eyes, the way her mouth twisted when she smiled at me. She has left me. She is eighteen by now, a grown woman with a figure that will attract plenty of suitors, while I remain a prisoner to my tumultuous desires.

I look down at Pan and smile, causing her dark eyes to brighten with excitement. They trail my hands as I place them on my thighs and pat twice.

"Why don't you come sit in my lap?" I purr.