Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Dark Heart ❯ An Internal Conflict ( Chapter 3 )

Vegeta stood silently in front of the tiny window of his ship with his arms crossed.

Two days…

It'd been two days ever since he'd abandoned the Earth and, yet, he still couldn't make himself leave the blue planet behind.

Two days orbiting the planet.

Two days without her...

He was furious.

He was furious because, for the very first time in his miserable life, he found himself battling an internal conflict and he didn't quite know what the outcome would be.

His life up to that point had always been fairly simple or, at least, as simple as a life full of chaos and destruction could be. As far as he could remember, he'd always had some kind of golden goal to motivate him through his darkest times, something to strive for that would save him from succumbing to the insanity which had always been his closest companion.

As a child, he'd wanted nothing more than to serve his people, showing reverence towards their ancient Saiyan legacy and make his father, King Vegeta, fiercely proud. These aims had remained strong, even during his first years under Frieza's service and, only for a period of a few months following the news of the disappearance of his planet, had he experienced an emotional state of confusion and loss similar to the one he was battling right now.

Still, his circumstances had been vastly different back then. Except for Nappa and Raditz, he'd been alone during those earlier, frenzied times. Sure, he'd had his comrades fighting by his side, but he'd also lived with the unquestionable knowledge that they could be gone tomorrow and he'd live on.

He'd survive because he was a Saiyan Prince, more than just a mere, irrelevant Saiyan warrior, but the full embodiment of the most symbolic of his People's legends, the strongest child born in a thousand years.

So, day after day, year after year, his goals had gradually morphed and evolved, and revenge eventually became his main obsession. He'd wished to avenge his people and himself by killing the tyrant who had exterminated both his planet and his race. Much to his shame, he had to admit that his old Master had almost destroyed him in the process too and, in a way, he already did, on the fatidic day his monstrous ki pierced through his heart, taking his life in the end.

But then he'd been mistakenly resurrected and brought back to Earth, admittedly, the most beautiful planet he'd seen in his lifetime and, of course, she had appeared into his life.

Bulma…

She was the strangest creature that ever crossed his path, possessing the sharp tongue of a warrior and the insignificant ki of a house pet, oddly combined with an infuriatingly charming shamelessness and the class of a queen.

A shiver run through his spine as he recalled their last encounter, wondering what the Hell had made him humble himself in front of her the way he had.

Right after his son's departure to a different timeline, he'd spent an entire week flying restlessly around the planet, stopping only when absolutely necessary in order to hunt for food and get some sleep. He'd felt almost naked without his Saiyan armor, the one his little mate had designed and built just for him, but he hadn't been able to gather the courage to go back home and change into it.

Vegeta cringed all of a sudden as he realized what he'd just thought: home. What a cosmic joke that the planet he'd come to annihilate just a few years ago, the brutal battlefield where he'd suffered one of his most humiliating defeats had, ironically, become the place he called home. And it wasn't because of its more than evident beauty, which he wasn't stupid enough to deny, it was because of a certain blue haired woman who'd turned his whole world upside down and had chosen to give him a child.

Whatever had made that woman share her bed with him and bear his son, he'd never know; all he had was the undeniable certainty that he didn't deserve it. The Saiyan had no idea as to what the Devil had crossed Bulma's mind when she'd made such dangerous, foolish choices. Perhaps she'd thought that a child would trap him, or change him, and, if that was the case, he had no clue as to what exactly he was supposed to change into.

Perhaps he'd been expected to grow into a devoted husband and father like Kakarot…

Oh yes, what a damn hero that third-class clown had turned out to be, not only by sacrificing himself in battle, but by equally encouraging his half-breed spawn to finish the blasted job for him.

What a glorious failure he'd proven himself to be in the end…

The idea of an eleven year old brat being stronger than him was a disgrace, not only to himself, but also to his Saiyan people and heritage. During those last, lonely nights spent on Earth, he could almost swear he'd heard the disgraceful echoes of his father's roaring laughter from the Gates of Hell itself.

So, in the end, he made his choice, elaborating an improvised but quite simple plan consisting on quietly flying into his room in the middle of the night, grabbing his armor and the scarce belongings he possessed and getting the Hell away from this planet but, as always, the shameful events that followed evidenced, once again, what a pathetically weak excuse for a warrior he truly was.

Her lights were on…

Bulma's cursed lights were on, announcing that she was the only one awake in the entire household so, like a famished sailor following an enchanting siren's call, he stood furtively on her balcony for a few minutes as he heard her bathe, basking in that sweet voice she used to sing lullabies to his son with, shamefully unable to help himself.

He closed his tired eyes and chuckled softly, knowing just how much his woman loved spending time inside that excessively large bath tub, soaking in the hot, soothing waters until her tiny hands looked like wrinkled little prunes. His chest constricted at the memories of the petite, blue haired minx inviting him to accompany her, and the gorgeous hellcat knowing that he never said no, for he simply could not resist her bewitching charms.

So, he'd remove his tattered armor, which she had made for him, and he'd join her in the tub, where she'd sit right behind him, her perfect round breasts pressed tightly against his less than perfect scarred back, lovingly lathering up his broken body with that awfully sweet smelling soap of hers that made his nose itch, and he didn't give a damn because she was there with him, and that was all that really mattered in the end. She'd wrap her long, shapely legs around his compact waist and she'd talk, and talk and talk about all sorts of meaningless topics which made absolutely no sense to him as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her silky, creamy skin surrounding him. Every now and then, she'd giggle at her own silly little stories, and the girlish sound made his heart flutter.

He had to confess to never having experienced anything remotely similar to those intimate moments, which were growing more and more into an addiction, and that was precisely the problem. Not only the fact that he relished his woman's company and the overwhelming warmth she'd brought into his life, but that Bulma, for whatever reason, seemed to enjoy his company too.

The damn woman was insane…

He heard her hum softly in the tub, his senses invaded by that all too familiar vanilla scent, deliciously blended with the warm, appetizing human fragrance which was all hers and that always used to drive him to the edge of insanity but, surprisingly, for the first time ever since he'd first laid eyes on her, he felt no arousal. He knew that, if he entered her bathroom in that instant, she'd welcome him with wide open arms, and yet, he couldn't do it; and it angered him to no end that he couldn't comprehend what was happening to him.

Vegeta heard her rinsing herself, unwittingly announcing that she was done with her prolonged bath and she was about to exit the bathroom. Against his better judgement, instead of leaving, he silently entered her room and sat on her bed. There was a brief pause and, before he knew it, the lights went off and Bulma was humming again as she walked carelessly in the dark.

The warrior's flawless vision distinguished her fragile figure walking right next to him, without even detecting his presence, in the direction of their child's room, and he shook his head lightly in disappointment. It never ceased to amaze him how clearly unaware of their surroundings earthlings usually were, and a tinge of fear passed through him, knowing that his mate and child would be left wholly unprotected when he was gone.

He overheard soft movements through the baby monitor Bulma had prudently installed on her nightstand, and he soon felt the woman's minuscule but unmistakable ki walking right back into the room.

Vegeta desperately attempted to ignore the bewildering voices inside his head asking him to leave, to leave now, with no tears or goodbyes, and he secretly wondered whether she'd cry if he announced her that he was departing. The raging Oozaru beast still lying dormant inside of him hated such pathetic, human sentimentality, but his vast ego desired to feel wanted, needed and to believe that someone, somewhere, was actually going to miss his presence after his sudden disappearance.

He truly was pitiful.

He sharply held his breath as she entered the room and she finally noticed him, covering her pretty mouth with one minute hand to hold back the scream of shock that had fleetingly threatened to be released. She then ceased her walking and shyly whispered his name, instantly evoking in his mind all of those times when she'd call, scream, beg and moan his blasted name in the throes of passion, and his chest ached in despair at the thought of never hearing his name pronounced by her full, ravenous lips ever again.

After a momentary pause, she walked timidly in his direction, because that's what she did, didn't she? The damn woman was fearless and he greatly admired her for it. He raised his head deliberately and looked at her, his dark, unfathomable eyes penetrating her very soul, and what he saw in return told him that, for the first time, he hadn't bothered to put up the impenetrable wall that he was so used to erect to better mask his emotions.

He was broken.

He was the broken shell of a man, and the worst part was that he knew it, and he didn't care if she knew it too; looking back, perhaps he'd wanted her to know all along. Bulma was the most intelligent person he'd ever encountered, both intellectually and emotionally, and maybe if she discovered just how utterly worthless he really was, she wouldn't feel hurt by his absence in the end.

She might even experience relief…

As she stood in front of him, he couldn't help but seek her warmth, and he buried his head in her stomach, miserably releasing a soft, shaky breath as he held her in his arms.

Vegeta felt as if Bulma was the Sun and he was a frozen man.

He was thirst and she was water.

So, he held onto her for dear life until her fragile human body shivered from the cold air of the night, and then he got on his feet and released her from her towel, feeling a rush of affectionate fondness that he'd never experienced before as she quietly stood still in his presence, raw and vulnerably naked.

After picking her up gently and carrying her to the bed, they both lay together, no further words exchanged. He simply stared for countless minutes into those shiny blue eyes, eyes that reflected his own sadness. Eventually, Bulma gathered him in her frail arms, bravely burying her head in his chest and making him incapable of doing anything other than returning her fierce but tender embrace.

 

Vegeta took a deep breath as he opened his eyes. The Earth was still there, right in front of him, mocking him with its gorgeous, luminous blue color.

Blue, just like the color of her hair and Trunks' eyes...

The memories of her luscious, naked body, quivering in his arms were making his blood boil and, for a brazen instant, he thought that perhaps he could still return, going back to her and taking all she had to offer and, then, he could take some more. He knew with absolute certainty that she'd willingly give him anything he wanted, just like she always had, but even his tenebrous, broken heart wouldn't allow it, for Vegeta knew the painful truth.

She deserved better.

His Bulma represented every single thing in this world that was pure and honest.

And he was evil.

He was pure, unadulterated evil and that was the truth.

In the past there'd been times, as he'd laid awake at night watching her sleep, when he'd thought that maybe the possibility of redemption still existed for him and that, perhaps after the Cell Games, when he emerged victorious and triumphant he'd go back to her and he'd show her that he was worthy, worthy of having a mate, a son and a home of his own.

But she was light and he was darkness, so, he savored the last few hours they'd ever spend in each other's arms watching his blue haired beauty sleep, wondering if she knew that their son's tiny lips pouted just like hers in his sleep and, before the sun was up, he gently disentangled his arms from her soft, warm body, standing by her side for an instant, trying desperately to take a mental picture of her so he could keep her forever imprinted in his memory. He removed his clothes, walking into his old, barren room, where he put on his armor without even bothering to take a shower, encapsulating his few belongings and flying out the window and into the gardens. If he left right there, the loud noise from the ship would awaken the entire household, so, he encapsulated the ship and flew to the desert, enjoying Earth's fresh atmosphere while he could, knowing that he was going to spend at least a few weeks breathing only recycled air. He then opened his space ship and took off, abandoning the planet forevermore.

Or so he'd thought, right until he realized that he had no place to go.

Vegeta uncrossed his arms, clenching and unclenching his fists anxiously as he sighed deeply, closing his eyes again and concluding, right then and there, that he had to move on with his life. So, he walked to the central console and he typed in some old familiar coordinates into the navigation system, smirking triumphantly as he did.

The ghost of a plan had taken shape within the somber corners of his mind…