Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Dark Heart ❯ A Single Bed For Two ( Chapter 16 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

By: SarahW

He could feel his flesh burning, blood pouring through his leg's fresh wound while the old one, on his left ribs, throbbed and stung like fire. Vegeta knelt on the floor of the Gravity Room on all fours, the heavy pressure mercilessly attacking his body as he panted heavily.

He was furious.

Furious with the woman.

Furious with himself.

The past three days had been pure torture and had confirmed to him what he'd already suspected all along: he'd bonded with Bulma and, very possibly, with their child.

When he'd reluctantly decided to abandon the Earth, his plan had seemed simple enough, and the execution had been a lot smoother than he'd anticipated. The Universe had been in chaos ever since the death of Frieza and his father King Cold, and it appeared that people were almost begging for that void of power to be filled.

So, he'd done it, so easily that the very thought of it frightened him.

The Prince had travelled directly to Planet Z365, where he'd found a small group of the bastard's old troops unofficially inhabiting the place. He knew most of them, and the men certainly knew him, and since he was clearly the strongest of them all, the warriors had followed him and pledged allegiance to him almost immediately and without trouble.

Sure, there'd been moments of insubordination here and there, but nothing that couldn't be solved with an effective threat or a dominant act of punishment. In fact, he'd only had to kill two of the members of his new army ever since he'd taken control.

The first thing he'd chosen to do was to kill all the assholes that used to work for Frieza and which the Saiyan knew for sure were incapable of redemption. A few of them had even attacked and ridiculed him on a personal level when he was still under his former overlord's rule, and now that the filthy lizard wasn't there to protect them anymore, he'd taken great pleasure in settling some old scores.

Or so he'd thought.

The truth was he didn't enjoy power and mayhem as much as he used to anymore, and this new situation unnerved him.

He should have been happy.

And yet, he wasn't.

All of his life, he'd dreamed with the day of Frieza's demise, the day when he'd finally bring him down and rule in his place…

Sure, things hadn't happened the way he'd envisioned them, since it had been Goku who had ascended to Super Saiyan first, stealing the moment of glory from him and, later on, his own son from the future had finished the job.

Still, the end result had ended up favoring him now that his nemesis was dead and the only being stronger than him was an eleven-year old brat with no thirst for power, whose mother was slowly but surely going to throw his fighting potential to waste anyway due to her obsession with the pursuit of pure intellectual knowledge.

So, all in all, the final result had turned out to be to his advantage, and he knew there were no real threats to his lifetime dream of universal domination, and yet…

He was miserable.

He'd been miserable ever since he'd left the blue planet.

Ever since he'd left Bulma and their son…

In all honesty, he'd missed her already even as he was still holding her in his arms with the certainty that it would be the last time he'd ever feel the warmth of her body and spirit close to him, and he'd missed Trunks even as he'd whispered a Saiyan prayer for protection in his ear before he kissed him goodbye.

His mother's prayer…

It hurt.

It actually physically hurt, almost as much as he'd suffered when his mother had died and he'd been handed over to Frieza shortly after that by his father the King, and he knew without a doubt that it was due to the Saiyan bond the members of the Royal Family of Vegetasei had always shared, for only the Prince should be carried full term so that the full bond would be established and the Queen could prove her worth if she managed to survive the brutal delivery.

His mother had done it.

And Bulma had done it too.

The woman hadn't even realized the danger she'd put herself and their child in by choosing to continue with her pregnancy, carrying their baby full term, not that he'd been around to warn her anyway. By the time he'd finally returned to Earth and found her heavily pregnant, she'd refused to induce the boy's childbirth any sooner than it was supposed to be. Vegeta knew she could have died due to his boy's unusually high power level, and yet, his woman had brought the purple haired Prince to this world and had lived to tell the tale, making the Saiyan feel fiercely proud of the beautiful heiress…

The further his ship had gone into space, the greater the sense of loss and despair had become, and his misery had been such that his appetite had decreased and he'd even lost the drive to train as much as he used to, in spite of having the Gravity Room all to himself and no woman berating him for his carelessly ruthless training regime.

He'd even missed her reprimands.

The Prince felt like a fool, like a damn weak fool, and he'd forced his mind to forget about Bulma and Trunks, telling himself over and over again that they'd both be better off without his presence in their lives anyway. After all, what could he possibly have to offer?

He had nothing.

No race, no possessions of any kind, and thanks to the Cell Games fiasco, he didn't even have his pride anymore. Before the battle with Dr. Gero's horrid creatures, he'd believed that perhaps he could make up for his lack of wealth and the sentimentality the scientist was so fond of by becoming the strongest warrior, at least offering her, their son and their home planet, his strength and protection in the future.

He hadn't even been able to achieve that.

During the week he'd spent by himself on Earth after Mirai Trunks' departure, he'd realized that he wasn't really needed in his child's life. Especially, after having seen the fine job his mate had done all by herself in Mirai's timeline.

More than fine.

In fact, if Vegeta was brutally honest with himself, he could admit that the teenager was better than him in almost every way…

Sure, he'd possessed an evident lack of technique in combat, no doubt a consequence of his youth and the fact that he'd been trained by the son of a third-class warrior that hadn't even trained his child himself most of the time anyway, leaving the task to the Namekian that had become like a second father to his enemy's son. The Prince knew that the strongest Saiyans, especially those of the elite classes, always benefited from being trained by their own parents, who had the responsibility of instructing their children in the arts of war, passing down all of their knowledge from one generation to the next, quickly learning to identify their children's strengths and weaknesses, and correcting them efficiently.

Vegeta himself had witnessed his son's enormous progress during the time they'd both spent together in `The Room Of Spirit And Time', and even though he'd been tough and sometimes downright rude towards the boy, something he now regretted in retrospect, he'd tried to offer him his advice and experience.

The younger Prince had turned out to be highly skilled in combat, making his father insanely proud in the end, and Vegeta had said his goodbyes to the older version of his son with the certainty that he'd be more than capable of destroying those fucking machines that had terrorized him and his mother during his entire lifetime.

But even though he wanted to attribute the boy's talents simply and purely to his Saiyan heritage and Royal blood, he knew he couldn't.

The boy was all Bulma.

His intelligence, politeness, sense of compassion, purity and openness of heart…

The woman had done an excellent job raising their son on her own and under terribly adverse circumstances. Hell! Mirai Trunks was even humble, something his cocky and proud parents had never been, which made Vegeta assume that the future had indeed been hard on his mate, and the hardships had probably forced her to mature at top speed.

As the warrior knelt on the floor, bleeding, panting and sweating profusely under the excruciating gravity forces, he couldn't help the guilt that coursed through his broken body at the thought that, not only had he failed his Bulma in another lifetime, but he would surely fail her in this one too, if he hadn't already.

As tempting as the thought of going back to Earth with the heiress was, the inevitability that things would never work out between them anyway lingered heavily on his mind.

After all, why would life bring him happiness all of a sudden when it never had before?

And what the fuck had he ever done to deserve it anyway?

He was a bastard from Hell, and he had the certainty that he'd end up losing the woman one way or another eventually. Either she'd wake the fuck up and leave him as soon as her infatuation with him was over and she saw him for the worthless asshole he really was, or his cosmic joke of a life would find a way to take her and the child away from him, that's if he didn't manage to fuck things up first all on his own.

No.

He couldn't go through with it.

He had to break the bond one way or another…

And that was his last conscious thought before darkness overtook him…

**************************************************

Yamcha accelerated his pace in an effort to catch up with Bulma.

The damn woman was insane, that much he knew…

She'd been so pissed off after Krillin and him had tried to convince her not to visit Vegeta while he was training in the Gravity Room that, after she'd finished her shower, she'd barged into the enormous bedroom and ordered the two men to wait outside until she got dressed, only to leave the room minutes later, not even bothering to acknowledge them, quickly walking through the palace's lavish hallways until she'd reached the exit. When the scarred faced warrior had offered to fly her to the Prince's location, she'd angrily scowled and rejected his offer, claiming that she was sick of being carried everywhere like a little girl and she'd be following them in her own vehicle.

Now, as Yamcha followed Bulma who was, at the same time, following Krillin's lead, he couldn't help but shake his head, both in frustration and admiration, and he found himself agreeing with Krillin when the bald man had said that the Saiyan and his ex-girlfriend were truly made for each other.

The heiress was recklessly driving a flying device very similar to a motorbike, and the man's view right in front of him was really something else: she'd chosen to wear indecently tiny short jeans, a baby blue tank top that showed off her toned midriff and a really strange blue pendant hanging around her neck. He had to admit that, if it weren't because he'd been by her side throughout her pregnancy, he'd find it hard to believe the stunning woman had ever given birth to a child. A deep dark part of him couldn't help the shameful tinge of jealousy at the thought that Bulma might have chosen her attire in an effort to further seduce her mate.

`Lucky bastard…'

What the former desert bandit didn't know was that seduction was not at the top of the list in the scientist's priorities at the moment.

As she drove her latest invention, Bulma's thoughts were filled with worry, speculating over and over again with the possible scenarios she might encounter once they reached their destination.

She had a bad feeling about this.

A really bad feeling…

She didn't know if it was due to the infamous bond Piccolo had talked about or simply because she knew the Saiyan almost better than he knew himself, and she feared that none of the scenarios playing in her head were very optimistic ones. Bulma was pretty sure that her mate would be subjecting himself to a brutal training session right about now, but she dreaded the motives behind his actions…

The best case scenario would be that his Saiyan anatomy would crave the challenge that her machine provided for him, and given that he hadn't had access to it for a while, there was a good chance that he might simply overdo it as usual.

The second possibility frightened her to death, especially as she evoked her last conversation with the Prince and recalled how angry and troubled he'd seemed to be. Bulma feared Vegeta would be mercilessly punishing himself, and the image of the look of guilt and shame on his face when he'd admitted to letting their son die in combat was haunting her…

“There it is!” Krillin finally yelled, bringing both Bulma and Yamcha out of their reverie at once.

Bulma smiled nervously.

Yes, that was her creation, proudly standing in the middle of the red dessert. As she looked around her, she noticed her man had chosen a really isolated place to train, and she bit her lip in worry, now truly afraid of what they might encounter.

She descended slowly, gracefully landing the vehicle on the arid land. She got off, quickly encapsulating it, and without saying a single word to her friends, she walked speedily towards the ship.

“Shit!” She yelled.

“What is it, B.?” Yamcha asked as he hurried to her side.

“The windows are closed! Damn it!”

She run to the heavy metallic door and frantically banged on it.

“Vegeta!”

Silence.

“Vegeta! Open the door!” She shouted again, only to be faced by more unsettling muteness.

Bulma looked around her, and after making sure none of Vegeta's men were in sight, she reached for the thin red belt full of tiny capsules around her jeans' waist and searched for the one that contained her tool box. She opened it and knelt down, quickly finding a small tablet inside.

Krillin and Yamcha watched in awe as the scientist efficiently connected the little device to the controls near the gate and started to furiously type secret codes into it.

“Um… Bulma?” Krillin finally asked. “What are you doing?”

“Ugh… What do you think?” The heiress replied in exasperation, not even bothering looking at him as she tried to hack the security system of the machine.

“Vegeta! I'm coming in, alright?!” She yelled again.

“Wait, are you actually going to enter that place?” Yamcha asked in a voice full of concern.

“Duh! Why the fuck do you think we're here for?”

The computer beeped.

“Ugh! Seriously?” The woman yelled, completely engrossed in her activities.

“Bulma… Please… You can't do that! What if the gravity simulator is on? It'll crush you!” Her ex-lover begged.

“Really, Yamcha? You think I'm an idiot? I'm going to disconnect it before I open it!”

“Are… Are you sure about that?”

“Yes! I'm sure, dammit!”

Both men remained silent, knowing that talking to the heiress when she was in that state would only make things worse, plus, when it came to science, there was no one better than Bulma…

There were three beeps and a buzz, and the slight vibration of the ship stopped completely, letting the three friends know that the gravity was finally switched off.

“Alright baby… One little thing here…” Bulma mumbled, as if she were talking to the machine, still typing anxiously.

There was another beep, a really loud one this time, and the heavy gate made a sharp sound.

“Yes!” The scientist yelled triumphantly.

She turned to her friends and she winked playfully.

“I told yah… I'm Bulma fucking Briefs after all…” She said cockily, making the two men roll their eyes.

“Yeah, yeah…” Yamcha replied. “So… Do you want us to go inside with you?” He gingerly asked.

“Um… I'm not sure… Let me check on him…”

Bulma stood up, wiping off her now dusty knees. She encapsulated her tool box and put it back inside her belt while she walked to the door.

“You guys just… Just wait here, okay?”

Both men nodded.

“Vegeta?” She asked once more, trying to give the Prince a chance to reply before she invaded his privacy. When no one answered, the blue haired woman shyly opened the door.

The inside of the Gravity Room was hot and humid, no doubt a combination of the planet's natural tropical weather and the result of Vegeta's hardcore training.

It felt like a sauna.

It was unbearable.

Bulma walked carefully to her right, blindly feeling her way along the metallic wall in search of the light switch until she finally found it. She turned on the lights and blinked a few times, trying to get used to bright light once again. When she finally did, she looked around and she gasped in horror.

“Vegeta?! Oh, Gods! Vegeta!!!”

She run towards the center of the chamber where her mate laid on the floor unconscious in the middle of a puddle of blood. When she finally reached him, she knelt beside him, automatically pressing her fingers against his neck in search of his pulse.

She exhaled in relief when she realized the Saiyan's heart was still beating strongly.

“Guys!!! Please!!!” Bulma yelled, her blue eyes now full of fearful tears.

Yamcha and Krillin quickly entered the ship and their eyes widened at the horrifying sight in front of them: their friend was by the Prince's side, softly caressing his sweaty face and hair with trembling delicate hands, whispering comforting words to his ear.

“Vegeta… Everything's gonna be fine… You're alright… You're alright… You'll see…” She kept murmuring over and over again, almost as if trying to convince herself more than the unconscious warrior.

“Bulma…” Yamcha whispered. “Is… Is he okay?”

The heiress shook her head frantically, her petite body shaking in shock.

“I don't… I don't know… His… His heart is still beating…”

Both men walked towards her, kneeling by Vegeta's side.

“Help me! Please!” Bulma begged, clumsily wiping off her tears with the back of her hands. She knew there was no time for sentimentality; she needed her cool analytical mind back once again.

“Alright… Okay… Let me… Let me take a look at him… Help me move him; he must have a wound somewhere…”

Krillin and Yamcha carefully turned the compact but heavy body of the Saiyan Prince around, gasping at the amount of blood covering the frontal side of his body.

“Holy shit…” The bald man murmured.

Bulma was horrified. It didn't matter how many times she'd seen her mate injured, it always made a strong impression on her seeing him in this condition, and she feared she'd been right from the start: the man had been punishing himself.

“Oh, Dende…” She whispered. “Okay… Let me… Let me check…”

She cautiously run her hands across the Prince's body, inspecting him with medical eyes. She quickly discovered that the main source of the bleeding was a large cut that run through the inner side of Vegeta's muscular thigh. It looked like one of the burns he'd gotten on a few occasions from the training bots. As she looked around, she saw one of her bots completely destroyed, laying on the corner. It must have been the only one the warrior had left, and at times like these, she regretted ever having built her mate those damn training robots.

Other than that, the Saiyan seemed to be alright, although she noticed his torso had been wrapped up in some type of bandage, and she suspected there'd be another wound underneath that she'd have to take a look at.

“Alright, guys… I think he's gonna be okay… I'm going to need your help though. Do you think you could carry him to the living area? There's a little bed in there and it will be easier for me to clean up this mess…”

“Sure thing…” Krillin quickly replied. “Alright, Yamcha… I'll grab his legs and you get his back”.

“Be careful with his leg! That's where the wound is!” Bulma yelled in worry while she closely followed the two men downstairs, waiting patiently until they laid her man on the single bed.

She couldn't help but feel a sudden sense of déjà vu about the whole scene in front of her, and she remembered the countless times she'd dealt with the Prince's lesions back on Earth, starting with the big explosion in the GR. The last time she'd seen him like this, she'd been heavily pregnant with Trunks and Vegeta had vehemently refused her help, but stubborn as she was she'd helped him anyway. Shortly after that, the Saiyan had disappeared a few days before she'd given birth to their son, and she'd barely seen him again until the battle with the androids.

And now, here she was about to take care of her mate again, just like the old times.

In all honesty, she didn't even know if he was her mate anymore…

“Do you need any more help, B.?” Yamcha eagerly asked, bringing her back to reality.

She shook her head.

“No, thanks Yamcha… I think I can take it from here… Let me walk you out so I can lock the door” she said, already walking upstairs to the main floor, silently ordering her male friends to leave.

“Bulma, are you sure about this? Do you wanna be alone with the guy?” Krillin asked, evidently concerned about this new situation. It was clear to him that Vegeta was behaving in a self-destructive, reckless manner.

“It's fine, guys… Really, he's not going to hurt me…”

“If you say so…” Yamcha replied unconvinced. “Why do you want to lock the door, anyway?”

“I doubt Vegeta will want any of his men to see him like this, plus it'd be dangerous for us if he loses their respect. It's probably because of him that we're still alive anyway…” Bulma explained.

The scarred faced man shook his head, still doubtful, but he left anyway.

“Just yell if you need anything, alright?”

“Sure… Uh… Yamcha?” She asked as her ex-boyfriend turned around.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she said with honesty in her eyes, holding his hand and squeezing it gently.

The man smiled.

“No problem... Good luck with the crazy Saiyan!” He said jokingly, making the woman giggle despite her state of concern.

“Thanks! I appreciate that…” She replied with mockery. “I'll be out in a bit…”

Bulma closed the door, firmly locking it from the inside, and she walked to the central console of the room, switching on the cooling system. This way the ship's temperature would decrease a bit and it'd be easier for Vegeta to get some much needed rest. She walked downstairs and she entered the tiny bedroom, locking that door as well, just in case. She stood by the bed, still disturbed by the sight of the bloody Saiyan lying unconscious in front of her.

“Alright, Bulma…” She whispered. “Let's get to work…”

She walked into the small bathroom and, realizing her hands were now smeared with dry blood, she washed them thoroughly with hot water. When she was done, she knelt on the floor, opening the little white cabinet that usually contained the medical supplies she'd always provided her mate with.

The heiress smiled.

“Perfect…” She mumbled when she found a black and white box of capsules that was almost full. She grabbed the first one and opened it, revealing a large white case with a red cross painted on it.

She recognized its contents immediately, since she'd been the one that had packed this one for Vegeta before he'd left on one of his countless training trips into space. Once Bulma had finally understood the true nature of the Saiyan's instincts, she'd given up on attempting to stop him from leaving, so she'd decided that at the very least, she'd try to make sure the warrior had a large amount of food and medical supplies encapsulated inside the ship.

The scientist grabbed a bottle of disinfectant, some cotton, suture thread, a needle, a pair of surgical scissors and a clean cotton cloth. She also filled a small plastic washbowl she'd found under the sink with warm water and carefully carried everything back to the bedroom.

Bulma sat on the small bed, placing the bucket and the cloth on a chair nearby, and with the help of the small scissors, she proceeded to cut the bloody shorts the Prince was wearing in order to do her job more efficiently, and she realized that, as usual, her mate wasn't wearing any underwear.

Under different circumstances, the sight of that perfect muscular body completely naked would have turned her on, but now, her thoughts were solely focused on healing the warrior as best as she could.

She soaked and wrung the cotton cloth and, slowly and delicately, started to clean up Vegeta's form, gradually revealing his delicious bronzed skin underneath all the dried-up blood. When she finally reached the horrible wound on his thigh, she put extra care in trying not to touch it too much, and as she observed his reactions, she saw him flinch in pain even in his unconsciousness.

This wouldn't do.

Bulma run to the bathroom and walked back into the room carrying an empty syringe and a little vial with her. She filled it up and just as she was about to inject her mate, a thick hand wrapped itself around her frail wrist, effectively stopping her.

She gasped in shock when she realized the Saiyan had awakened.

“Ve-Vegeta?” She shyly whispered.

“Woman…” He murmured in a raspy voice. “What is that?”

The heiress quickly noticed he was suspiciously looking at the syringe in her hand.

“This? It's… It's an anesthetic, to help you with the pain…”

He grunted.

“I don't need it…” He replied angrily.

“I know you don't need it, tough guy… But it would still make me feel better… May I?” She asked with supplicant eyes.

Damn that woman!

He could deny her nothing when she was looking at him with those large blue puppy eyes…

He reluctantly let go of her hand, closing his eyes and resting his head on the pillow once again.

“Do as you wish, silly woman…” He mumbled.

Bulma smiled happily.

Oh, yes, this was just like the good old times, when she'd visit his room late at night and basically obligate him to accept her help, and even though he rejected her at first, he always caved in. Deep down, Bulma had the feeling the guy actually enjoyed it, after all, had he ever truly had someone taking care of his broken body before they'd found each other?

`Probably not', she thought sadly…

But things were different now.

Now he had her.

She gently injected him with the anesthetic, waiting a couple of minutes for it to take full effect, and then she proceeded to stitch the ugly gush, marveling at the same time at how resilient his skin was. A wound like this on a human being would take weeks to cicatrize, but Saiyans were truly remarkable, and the heiress knew he'd be able to heal in a matter of days.

When she was done, she applied some antiseptic on it to prevent an infection and she covered his now perfectly clean lower body with a white bed sheet, not wanting to make the Prince feel uncomfortable by being completely exposed to her.

Unbeknownst to Bulma, Vegeta had silently been witnessing the whole scene through heavy lidded eyes, admiring her beauty and skills and, at the same time, absolutely stunned by her actions.

He'd treated her like shit the last time they'd talked.

He'd purposefully offended her, asking her if she was here looking for wealth or power, knowing full well that his woman had never held such ambitions. He'd insulted her and the boy, calling them a wench and a half-breed, and the harsh words made him internally cringe at himself.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

Neither the woman nor his son deserved that kind of treatment.

But he had to do it, didn't he?

He had to try to push her away, to make her hate him, fear him, despise him…

And yet, here she was, her delicate features frowned in concern as she examined and cleaned his abused body, kindly stitching his burned skin and even injecting him with that blasted painkiller which, by the way, had actually brought him some relief.

She was taking care of him, taking the pain away, and he didn't understand why.

And the most unbelievable thing was…

She'd told him that she loved him.

Bulma, his Bulma, had told him that she wanted him to go back home with her and their child, simply because she loved him.

Could that actually be true?

He'd been wondering about her true intentions ever since his failed video-call to Earth during his stay in the frozen planet. The agony of their separation had been such that, like the weak fool he knew himself to be, he'd caved in and he'd actually called her laboratory, hoping she would be there, silently praying that she'd be asleep, as she usually was in the late hours of the night, her stunning face resting on the cold table and baby Trunks by her side in his crib.

He couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for her to leave their son back in her home planet. Vegeta knew full well how much she loved the brat, always carrying him with her everywhere she went, like some golden child, like the most precious thing to her, as if the boy wasn't the son of a vicious killer…

A part of him wanted to berate her for coddling the baby, fearing that she'd make him soft, and yet, he was secretly pleased that his mate had given him a son and she'd fallen in love with someone they'd conceived together.

Could she actually love him, then?

And if that was the case, why did she?

He was so lost in thought that he didn't realize the woman was now taking care of his upper body, and was carefully cutting his dirty old bandages with her surgical scissors. She was so close to him that he could feel her breath on his chest and her sweet fragrance enveloping his senses…

“Oh my Gods, Vegeta!” She gasped as she discovered what laid underneath the bandages.

It was horrifying.

The flesh that covered the left upper side of his torso was bruised and swollen, looking like he had, at the very least, two or three fractured ribs. There was a large wound, poorly stitched across the inflamed flesh that looked like a cut, a deep one, as if he'd been stabbed with some kind of blade.

Vegeta felt his chest constrict at the sight of the woman's trembling lips and shimmering eyes, and he prayed to the Gods that she wouldn't start crying.

He couldn't stand it when she cried…

“It's nothing, woman…” He whispered, trying to reassure her.

“What… What do you mean `it's nothing'? What happened?!” She asked in horror.

“That's none of your concern…”

“Like hell it isn't! How long have you had this for?”

He closed his tired eyes and shrugged.

“I don't know… A couple of weeks, maybe…” He finally replied with a still hoarse voice.

“Two weeks and it still looks like this? It's probably infected then… Who stitched you?”

The Prince remained silent.

Holy shit…

“You did it yourself, didn't you?” She said, absolutely livid by now. She didn't know if she should be angry at the Saiyan for butchering himself or pity him, because he'd probably had no one there to help him or care for him; for all she knew, there wasn't a single one of those `men' of his that he could trust to do the job.

It was heartbreaking.

“Oh, Vegeta…” Bulma whispered, almost to herself, standing up and walking back to the bathroom, searching through the case of medical supplies. She finally found what she was looking for and went back to sitting by the Prince's side.

“Alright… It'll be better if I remove the stitches and start all over again. Are you okay with that?”

“There's no need for that shit, I just told you I'm fine…” He irritably muttered with his eyes still closed, unable to face the look of distress in his woman's eyes.

“Dende! Just let me help you, dammit! This is not fine! It looks infected and the stitches are badly done, no wonder the skin is not healing properly…” The heiress replied in frustration.

Vegeta let out a small growl, giving up on arguing with the tenacious beauty.

“Silly woman…” He whispered again.

Bulma shook her head, thinking that the obstinate man was going to be death of her, and she got to work, injecting him another shot of anesthetics and meticulously removing the old stitches with the help again of her little scissors.

Her mate had truly done a very poor job, but considering he'd done it on his own and in such a difficult angle, and undoubtedly while being in a lot of pain, she supposed it could have been worse.

She cleaned the infected wound properly before she began the process of stitching it again, and when she was finally done, she dabbed a bit of antiseptic on it, just to be on the safe side, and grabbed the new syringe she'd just brought from the bathroom, only to be stopped by Vegeta's hand once more just when she was about to inject him again.

“What now?” She asked tiredly.

“What is that?” He asked untrustworthily, looking at her with one eye open.

“It's an antibiotic, to take care of the infection. I just injected you a second anesthetic shot before, why are you bothered by this one?”

“This one smells different…”

Bulma couldn't help but smile a bit at that statement, and a rush of memories of her early adventures with Goku came to her. The little monkey had been just like Vegeta, his sense of smell so over-developed that he'd complain about every single little thing…

“Well, you need this one, so just trust me, okay?” She pleaded softly.

“Do what you must…” He finally said, knowing full well that his woman would never hurt or betray him.

It was something he'd instinctively known from day one, ever since she'd offered him food and shelter back on Earth. Vegeta really had no idea as to why that was; after all, he'd been poisoned countless times, and gone through failed murder attempts on more occasions than he cared to remember, a couple of times even by an angry drunken Nappa. Evidently, none of those efforts had succeeded, and he'd taken great pleasure in punishing the betraying idiots that had tried to end his life. Still, something about Bulma had always seemed pure and innocent to him, in spite of her big foul mouth and those indecent scraps of clothing she liked to wear, she was nothing like the vulgar conniving whores he'd met in space…

He abruptly opened his eyes at the sudden touch of the woman's hands on his skin.

“It's an ointment…” The heiress whispered before he had time to ask. “It won't heal your ribs but it will help with the bruising and the swelling and bring you a bit of relief…” She explained while her clever little hands softly massaged the cream until Vegeta's skin absorbed it properly.

“I'm not hurting you, am I?” She asked worriedly.

He grunted again.

“It would take more than your puny hands to hurt me, woman…” He said with a smirk on his lethargic face, privately hoping she'd stop running those velvety hands across his skin before he did something he'd regret.

Bulma sighed and decided to let go of his insult, thinking that the last thing they needed was to start an argument. She knew the Prince was tired, and honestly, so was she.

“Well, my puny hands are done here… Let me just cover this for you a bit…” She said as she made another trip to the bathroom to wash the ointment off her hands and retrieve some gauze and surgical tape. She knew he was too heavy for her to wrap his ribs completely without his help, and he looked so drained that she chose to simply cover up the wound and finish the job when Vegeta was finally able to stand up again.

When she was done with his injuries, Bulma quietly cleaned her Prince's face with the wet cloth, trying to eliminate the droplets of dried-up blood and sweat so that he'd sleep more comfortably.

“Vegeta… Do you need anything else?” She asked is a low voice, caressing his cheek and admiring how handsome the Saiyan looked like this. He always looked much more relaxed and even younger without his ferocious trademarked scowl…

When her mate didn't answer, she guessed he was finally asleep and, glad that she'd contributed to help him get some rest, she retrieved all the medical supplies and the dirty clothing and bandages and made her final visit to the bathroom, putting everything back in its place and emptying the washbowl, now filled with crimson-colored water, into the toilet.

The heiress got up and walked to the sink to wash her face and freshen up a bit, only to be greeted by a very disturbing sight…

She gawked as the mirror reflected a woman she barely recognized: her skin, clothes and even her prized blue pendant were now covered in blood.

Her lover's blood…

She looked pale and gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes, and she could tell she'd lost some weight ever since this whole expedition had begun.

The woman filled the washbowl with clean hot water, grabbed a fresh cotton cloth and removed her blood-soaked clothes, suddenly sickened by the feeling of it. She sat down on the floor with her back against the cool bathroom's wall, pulled her hair up in a ponytail and began the revolting task of erasing the evidence of her mate's self-punishment from her skin.

Before she knew it, her vision was blurry and her hands trembling…

Bulma broke down, releasing all the pain, anger and hopelessness out.

All of it.

She was mad, mad at herself for being stupid enough to fall in love with a man that probably didn't even know what love was to begin with. Mad at Vegeta and the fucking Saiyan heritage bullshit he always carried around, like a burden, like a heavy load that wouldn't allow him to adapt, to change, to grow… And she'd been an idiot for allowing herself to be seduced by that, by that smoldering intensity that consumed her like fire, a fire she couldn't seem to be able to put down no matter how hard she tried.

She cried inconsolably, pressing her knees against her chest and covering her face in shame as she let it all out.

She missed her planet.

She missed her parents.

She missed her son.

She missed her baby so much sometimes she felt she'd go mad. It was as if someone had ripped off a piece of her, a physical part of her body, and she still wondered how it was possible to feel so attached to such a little person. But she did, she felt homesick and, for the first time, she seriously considered the possibility of packing up and going back home, abandoning Vegeta to his luck…

And yet, she couldn't.

The horror that had coursed through her body when she'd found him laying on a pool of blood just a few hours earlier told her that she had to keep fighting, keep trying, for Vegeta, their child, herself and even for the fate of the Universe.

What the earthling didn't know was that the Prince was witnessing her breakdown at that very moment. His sharp Saiyan senses had picked up on the quiet sobs and, given that the bathroom's door was wide open and the mirror right in front of him, he could clearly see the frail petite woman curled up in a little ball on the floor, crying hysterically.

Because of him.

Shit!

If he hadn't already believed there was a special place in Hell waiting just for him, he did now…

He was doing this to her, and it was disheartening to think that he didn't know what to do to make things better for her. When he'd abandoned her and the kid, he'd truly believed he was doing them a favor by getting out of their lives, but now he realized he'd actually hurt his woman by leaving.

Did she miss him?

And how the fuck was that even possible when there were times he couldn't even live with himself?

Vegeta squeezed his eyes shut, the sight of the weeping shivering woman sitting on the tiled floor, clad only in her lacy pink underwear, felt like a stab to the heart.

His dark, miserable heart…

It hurt him more than any physical wound in his body and, despite his exhaustion, he was unable to sleep with the sound of the dejected woman crying in the next room.

After a few minutes, the pitiful sounds finally stopped, and he went back to spying on her to see what she was up to now.

He watched as she stood on wobbly legs, unable to take his hungry eyes off her still gorgeous body, even though it was a tad too thin now; she washed her face with cold water and entered his room again, rummaging through his scarce closet until she pulled out one of his tight fitted t-shirts, which was black, sleeveless, and much too large for her, making it seem like she was wearing a little dress.

She looked perfect.

The heiress sat on the chair, clearly not knowing what to do next but apparently unwilling to leave him alone in his sleep. She groaned and finally decided to lay her head on the little desk placed by the bed, much like she'd done the time he'd made the Gravity Room explode and he'd awaken from his atrocious nightmares to the sight of her.

He hadn't understood what she'd been doing back then.

And he sure as hell couldn't grasp what was happening right now…

One thing he knew was, there was no way he'd allow her to sleep in such an uncomfortable position while he laid restfully on a bed. So, even though every fiber of his being was advising him to keep mistreating her so that she'd finally tire and walk away from him, he couldn't stop what happened next.

“Bulma…” His gruff voice whispered, making the woman jump startled.

She immediately turned to him, offering him a close glimpse of her swollen blue eyes, blinking curiously as she waited for his next move.

Vegeta didn't really know what to say so, not without difficulty, he moved his sore body to the side, leaving her some space available next to him. He lifted the white bed sheet a little with his right hand, silently inviting her to join him.

The heiress' eyes widened in shock, and her legs walked her to the bed almost on their own volition. Bulma shyly knelt on the cot and laid next to the warrior, curling on her side while she buried her pretty face in his neck and her pale, slender arms wrapped themselves around the Saiyan's waist, mindfully avoiding the damaged upper side of his torso.

He couldn't help but imitate her actions, still laying on his back but enveloping her minute body with his right arm, holding her close to him, feeling her trembling form gradually relax in his powerful embrace.

This felt… right.

This felt so fucking right that it scared the living shit out of him.

Bulma's warm breath against his neck awakened emotions inside of him he couldn't fully comprehend, but her reassuring presence was like a soothing balm for his broken soul, and for the first time ever since he'd left her home planet, the Prince decided to let go, if only for a mere few hours, and revel in the comfort she was offering him so freely…

“Vegeta…” His mate whispered almost inaudibly. “I've missed you so much…”

Her sweet voice and loving words made him feel a lump in his throat which was hard to swallow.

“Silly woman” he finally muttered, his embrace a bit tighter, trying to express without words what he was truly feeling right now.

Vegeta felt some wetness on his neck and his woman's full lips laying a soft, trembling kiss on his tanned skin before she closed her eyes and mumbled…

“Stubborn Saiyan…”