Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Dark Heart ❯ A Step Forward ( Chapter 21 )

You're neither. 

You're an errand boy,

sent by grocery clerks,

to collect a bill.

[Colonel Kurtz; “Apocalypse Now”]

 

 

Bulma blew softly on her freshly painted toenails.

After having spent quite a few minutes waiting for Vegeta to finish his shower, she'd finally decided to make herself busy so she wouldn't look too desperate for his attentions when he'd eventually leave the bathroom.

Her mind was racing at a million miles per hour, not really knowing what her next step should be. Right now, she wanted nothing more in this world than to finally close that final gap her mate seemed to have breached between them and take the next natural step to deepen their relationship. And yet she knew, in her heart, it was probably still too soon to simply throw herself in Vegeta's arms and give in to her desire.

It'd only been a few days ever since they'd been reunited, and not only was the warrior not fully like his old self yet, but Bulma wasn't even sure what his intentions truly were and whether or not he wanted a relationship with her. For all she knew, he hadn't even made the decision to give her and Trunks a chance and come back home to them yet.

When she'd witnessed his very obvious erection back in the minuscule cabin, she'd felt absolutely ecstatic for many reasons. First, because it flattered her ego to know the Saiyan still found her desirable, something she'd been feeling quite insecure about, especially ever since she'd given birth to their child. And second, because she thought it was a good sign that the warrior, or at the very least his body, was finally reacting to an outside stimulus other than war and destruction.

The old Bulma, the coquettish Capsule Corp. heiress that had once thought herself completely irresistible and unstoppable, would have decided to use all her womanly charms in order to further tempt and seduce her Prince, but her current situation with Vegeta was quite a different game altogether, and she knew if she came on to him too aggressively, she'd probably scare him off. It would be such a shame, she thought, given the enormous progress they'd made in such a short amount of time.

So, the new somewhat more mature and humble Bulma Briefs chose, once again, to take it easy, slow things down and allow their relationship to blossom at its own natural pace. What pace that was, she really didn't know. After all, her relationship with Vegeta had always been anything but ordinary, and their unusually strong personalities and the undeniable chemistry that had at all times existed between them, had made it impossible for them to keep their hands off each other for too long.

After the first few interminable minutes of waiting on the couch, Bulma chose to simply turn on the television and watch a documentary while she painted her toenails, thus keeping herself distracted and not looking too eager when she'd finally have to face her mate again. Just as she was about to finish applying the second coat, the distinct noise of the bathroom door opening let her know it was time for round two.

She tried to play it cool, even though she couldn't help but feel her heart beating faster and a nervous knot forming in her stomach. Bulma took a deep breath, her eyes still fixated on the task at hand, blowing on her nails for a second time.

When she finally managed to compose herself, she turned around towards Vegeta, and one single look at him told her she'd undoubtedly made the right choice.

He looked unwell.

There he stood; his naked form dressed only in the medium-sized bath towel wrapped around his waist. The sight of that perfect body, muscular, deliciously compact and proudly marred by battle scars, had always been enough to drive her crazy, and yet, Bulma could immediately tell something was off.

Vegeta looked tense, clutching his towel so tightly his knuckles were almost white. And what was even worse, the heiress could clearly read the nervousness and apprehension present on his handsome face, despite his flawlessly crafted mask of stoicism.

Bulma smiled sweetly at him, silently cursing herself for having teased him so shamelessly before, and quickly realizing, much to her disappointment, the Saiyan was not ready for an intimate physical relationship just yet. Rapidly, her ingenious mind tried to find a way to make things a bit less awkward and force her mate to forget about how she'd clearly noticed the physical evidence of his desire for her just minutes earlier.

“Hey…” She said softly with a kind, almost naïve smile on her face. “Did you enjoy your shower? Was there enough hot water left for you?”

The Prince raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly, seemingly shocked by his woman not ridiculing him anymore about his previous shameful situation, and nodded affirmatively.

“I have no clothes to wear, woman,” he finally announced.

“Oh… Right…”

Bulma knew it was a silent request since, before they'd abandoned Planet Z365, she'd told Vegeta there was no need for him to pack anything because she'd brought him lots of clothes from Earth in one of her capsules, including several new sets of armor she'd designed and fabricated exclusively for him during his absence.

“I can give them to you now if you like, I just thought you'd let me take a look at your wounds first, just like you promised,” she replied in a quiet voice full of hope.

The Saiyan remained silent for a moment. Every fiber of his being wanted to take his damn clothes, get dressed and lock himself up in one of the ship's cabins until they reached their destination. He was still filled with shame, both at his body's betrayal of his urges and about the fact that he'd eventually had to masturbate all alone in the shower in order to release all that pent-up tension. But Bulma was right, he had promised her to allow her to tend to his wounds, and a Saiyan warrior always kept his word, no matter how insignificant the matter was, so he finally nodded once again and, when he did, he couldn't help but notice his mate's face illuminating, her smile widening.

“Great!” She replied gleefully. “Would you rather do it here or on the bed?”

Vegeta unconsciously clutched his towel a little tighter, feeling a sudden wave of vulnerability take hold of him. After brief consideration, he decided he'd probably feel safer sitting on the sofa. Lying on a bed with Bulma next to him would almost certainly bring him memories he didn't need to recall, especially now that he was still trying to avoid any physical contact with her. He slowly walked towards her, feigning as much confidence as possible, telling himself, over and over again that, now that he'd given his body a much-needed release, he'd be fine when he finally felt his mate's hands on him.

He was wrong.

As soon as Bulma brought the first aid kit from the bathroom and knelt right in front of him, he knew he was about to be exposed to another round of torture.

“Alright, let me take a look at this…” She said, frowning in concentration and inspecting the left side of his thorax with clinical eyes.

“Okay… Does it hurt when I press here?” She asked softly, gently applying pressure over his ribs.

“No.”

“Mmm… This is looking good… Really good, actually…” She raised her eyes to him and gave him another one of her bright smiles. “I'm impressed! You Saiyans are truly amazing. This was looking so ugly just a couple of days ago…”

Vegeta said nothing in return, waiting patiently as his woman run her dainty little fingers across his skin. He couldn't help but remember the first time she'd showed up in his room in the middle of the night, back at Capsule Corp., when she'd tried to tend to his wounds for the first time and he'd furiously refused until, finally, after the scientist had almost begged him to let her do so, he'd caved in. He'd never been touched in such a kind, gentle manner, always used to being hit, punched, blasted and kicked, and he hadn't really known what to make of her actions back then. In a way, he still didn't, but the amount of generosity and compassion his mate had always offered him never ceased to amaze him.

He kept looking at her, hypnotized by her glossy turquoise hair, still slightly damp from her shower, her fresh clean scent, those bright blue eyes filled with concern and those kissable lips she was biting in concentration as she inspected his body.

“Well… I think your ribs' fractures have almost healed, and some of the stitches have already fallen out. I could remove the rest, but I'd say we should give it another day, what do you think?” She asked, looking at him questioningly.

He grunted, not wanting to argue with her. The truth was he didn't care; he just wanted her to stop touching him as soon as possible. Her touch was bringing him dangerously close to the edge one more time, and he really didn't feel like dealing with another embarrassing situation any time soon.

“Alright then… Let me give you another antibiotic shot, just to be on the safe side,” she continued, already filling a needle with the contents of a minute vial. She then soaked a cotton bud in disinfectant solution and rubbed it all over his wound.

“This might hurt,” she warned, practically whispering.

He almost wanted to laugh at that. Did Bulma still really think something as insignificant as that could hurt him? But he remained silent, allowing her to do as she wished with him.

“Perfect!” She said cheerfully, rubbing the cotton bud one more time before discarding it. “I'll just apply some anti-inflammatory ointment, I'll cover it with some gauze and then I'll stop bothering you.”

Stop bothering him?

He highly doubted that was possible, not when she was about to massage than damn cream on his skin. In an effort to block her actions, he chose to focus his attention on the television, where some lizard-like creatures seemed to be lazily soaking up under the sun by the beach.

Vegeta's abdomen twitched as soon as Bulma's hands were back on him, carefully massaging the ointment in small circular motions for a few minutes, which felt like interminable hours, until it was completely absorbed. The warrior just kept staring at the documentary, trying to ignore the warmth of his woman's delicate touch.

“Done!” She said triumphantly after applying the cream and covering his wound with some clean gauze. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

He shook his head, still avoiding her gaze and making the heiress feel a tad hurt.

Was he choosing to ignore her all of a sudden?

“Okay, well… Let me wash my hands and I'll give you the capsule with your clothes.”

Bulma walked into the bathroom, thoroughly washing the remains of the sticky cream off her hands, unable to avoid the anxiety Vegeta's new indifferent behavior was making her experience. She then walked to the kitchen, grabbing her red belt from one of the small drawers and quickly finding the capsule she was looking for.

“There you go,” she said, standing once again in front of him and offering him the small object.

To her surprise, the warrior seemed to be now genuinely interested in the images on the television.

“Woman, what exactly am I watching here?” He asked with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

“Uh? Um, it's a documentary…”

Bulma squinted a little. It was unlike Vegeta to be interested in anything playing on TV, which back on Earth he'd used to call `a complete and utter waste of time'.

She sat down on the couch near him, raising her legs and putting them on top of the coffee table, wiggling her freshly varnished little toes.

“You like it?” She asked, looking at him with a hopeful smile on her luminous face. “It's called `Pink Temptation'.”

He looked at her face, then at her tiny feet and then back at her, absolutely puzzled about what it was the damned woman was talking about now.

“The color! Silly! Do you like it?” She enquired again, stretching one of her legs and wiggling the little toes once more, making him frown in return.

“What is the purpose of it?” He finally questioned.

“Of what? Of painting my nails?”

He grunted.

“No reason… It's just pretty, I guess…” She replied, both a bit disappointed and amused about the fact that such things were completely lost on the Saiyan warrior.

Vegeta finally took a good look at the earthling, taking in the sight of her…

She was wearing long blue leggings and a pink sweatshirt with long sleeves but short enough to give him a glimpse of her toned midriff. The neckline was so ample it left one of her milky shoulders uncovered, exposing the strap of that black lacy bra he knew oh, so well by now. Even though she was casually dressed, she still looked good enough to eat, and if she kept wiggling those pink little toes at him for too long he was going to end up putting them in his mouth and licking every single inch of that gorgeous body.

He had to get out.

Now.

He extended his hand, silently asking for the capsule she was still holding in her hand, a sign Bulma quickly understood.

“Oh, right… There you go,” she said, handing him the small object, her soft fingertips grazing the calloused palm of his hand.

Vegeta got up and walked towards one of the rooms without looking back.

“Let me know if you need anything else!” Bulma yelled out from the living room, right before he closed the door of the small cabin without bothering to give her a reply.

Once he opened the capsule, revealing its contents on the bed, it became quite clear it would be impossible for him to ever need anything else. Bulma had packed several suitcases for him, all clothes neatly folded, labeled and with the price tags still on them.

She'd bought brand new clothes just for him.

Vegeta reticently run his hands across the surface of all the impeccably packed garments, most of them in his favorite colors: blue, grey, black and white, and he smirked at the memory of the hideously ridiculous pink shirt and yellow pants she'd forced him to wear when he'd returned to Earth, after having spent some time looking for Kakarot in space.

How different his life would be if he hadn't come back to Bulma's planet at all…

He finally chose a black sleeveless t-shirt, a navy-blue sweatshirt and some grey sweatpants, marveling at how soft the inside of the clothing was, and he just put on some thick cotton socks, not feeling like wearing any shoes at the moment.

The warrior couldn't help but take a closer look at the shiny new set of armor his mate had made for him, grabbing it with one hand and punching it with the other.

The material didn't even crack a bit.

He punched it again, harder this time.

Nothing.

“Impressive…” He murmured to himself, quickly noticing the woman had really outdone herself this time. It wasn't the first time she'd made armor for him, but her designs seemed to improve every single time she attempted to create something new.

This also made him realize something else: if Bulma had been working on fabricating something for him, this meant she'd expected him to return to her at some point in the future.

Had she truly counted on him coming back to Earth for sure? Or would she have eventually moved on after she'd finally understood he was gone for good?

The Saiyan felt a lump in his throat at the thought of Bulma waiting indefinitely for his arrival, and briefly wondered what had finally made her have the guts to simply get into her ship and go looking for him across the Universe.

He had no answer to that question, so he let go of the armor he'd been holding in his hands all this time without realizing it as he'd been lost in thought and he gently placed it on the bed, finally leaving the room after calming himself down a bit and joining his woman in the living area.

Bulma was just where he'd left her, now sitting cross-legged on the same spot on the sofa, holding a cushion against her chest and leaning her chin on it, avidly watching her documentary with interested eyes. When she finally noticed his presence, she looked at him, smiling once more.

“Hey…” She said softly. “Do you like the clothes? Are they comfortable?”    

The Prince nodded, standing by her side and crossing his arms, not quite knowing what to do next. Bulma immediately noted his cautious behavior and decided to give him a little push, patting the couch invitingly.

“Wanna come sit with me?”

He looked at her, those damn blue eyes, so full of life and yet almost supplicant, silently begging him to give her a chance and spend some time with her.

Did he really have a choice?

Without a single word, he sat down next to her, trying to keep a safe distance between their bodies, fearing he'd lose control if he allowed her to share her warmness with him. They silently watched the documentary still playing on the large screen and, despite the evident awkwardness still present in the room, Vegeta was able to gradually relax, calmed by the strange familiarity of the situation.

Back at Capsule Corp., he'd gotten used to Bulma waking up in the middle of the night when, during her insomniac nights, she'd quite often just lay on the sofa and watch some TV, and he'd stay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling as he listened to the faint sounds of the trivial films she enjoyed watching. The noises reminded him that she was there, a constant and somehow reassuring presence in his life. Many times, he'd walk into the living room after a couple of hours and he'd find her already asleep. The first few times he'd simply covered her lithe body with a cozy blanket but, as they'd gotten closer and their relationship progressed, he'd frequently dared to pick her up in his arms and take her to her bedroom, tucking her in and, eventually, joining her in her king-sized bed as well. Neither one of them said anything in the morning, but Vegeta knew those small details pleased his woman immensely and, for some unexplainable reason, this satisfied him too.

When the documentary was finally over, Bulma let out a small yawn and stretched languidly.

“What would you like to do now?”

Vegeta looked at her and she could see that, even though he seemed much more relaxed than before, his arms were still crossed defensively and he didn't quite know what to say. It'd be up to her to keep them busy so they wouldn't revert to their previous awkward situation, so she stood and walked to the TV, sitting on the floor and searching through a large box full of films and games Krillin and Yamcha had been using to entertain themselves during their trip together.

“Mmm… Let's see what we've got here…” She mumbled to herself, but loud enough for Vegeta to hear. “How about a movie? We've got some DVD's…”

Bulma raised her gaze, hoping for some kind of a reaction.

Nothing.

She sighed inwardly, trying not to let his impassive behavior get to her.

“Oh! I know! How about playing a game?” She asked again, thinking that perhaps doing something Vegeta had to actively participate in would cheer him up a bit.

But, instead of accepting her invitation, he frowned, almost offended.

“A game? Woman, we are not children…”

“Uh?” Bulma blinked at few times, puzzled. “Well, they're not exactly children's games. Actually, these are just for adults…” She continued as she kept examining the contents of the box, hoping she'd find something that would catch the Saiyan's attention.

“Oh! Look! This one's really cool! It's a fighting game!”

The word `fighting' certainly sparked Vegeta's interest, and he set his eyes on the small box his mate was now holding in her hands, but no further words came out of his mouth yet. Bulma got up from the floor, sitting dangerously close to him, opening the box and going through the little book of instructions included inside.

“Let me see… Mmm… Yeah, I played this one years ago, it's a classic! You'll love it! What do you say?” She asked expectantly once again.

Vegeta grunted, uncertain.

He knew he'd seen those weaklings partake in such frivolous activities in the past and he'd always thought of it as a tremendous waste of time, especially while he'd been working his ass off in the meantime. But here, locked inside a space ship with the most desirable woman he'd ever met, he started to believe it was probably a good idea to keep himself occupied, regardless of the nature of the activity. Just as he was about to seriously consider agreeing to Bulma's proposal, his mate decided to keep challenging him further…

“Awww… Come on, Vegeta!” She said, playfully elbowing his left arm. “What's the matter? Are you afraid a girl will beat you?”

He groaned, offended.

Oh no, she didn't…

He could see she was egging him on, and the blasted woman knew him too damn well because it was working, and he was now perilously close to saying yes.

“Care to make it interesting?” She carried on, a wicked smile on her beautiful face as she noticed she had him right where she wanted him. “How about we make a bet?”

The Prince raised an eyebrow at that.

“A bet? What kind of a bet?” He finally enquired circumspectly.

Bulma thought about it for a minute, wondering what she could possibly make the bet about. It was obvious to her that her mate owned very few possessions, so they couldn't bet on anything of a material nature, not that she'd ever want to take anything from him anyway.

The naughty part of her briefly considered asking for something a bit more intimate, like maybe a kiss, but she didn't want to put Vegeta in an uncomfortable situation, nor force him to do something he didn't really feel like doing. If he ever chose to finally take the next step in their relationship, she wanted it to come from him, so she finally decided to try something else…

“I know! Okay, so… If I win, I get to ask you a question… No, wait! Two questions! And you have to answer, no matter what. And if you win, you get to ask me too, and I can't refuse to reply either!”

“Don't be ridiculous, woman. That bet would only work in your favor,” he quickly retorted.

Bulma was honestly surprised by his response.

“And why is that?”

He looked at her and offered her one of those trademarked cocky smirks of his, filled with presumptuous arrogance.

“I already know everything I need to know about you, so you and your damned nosiness would be the only winners in that scenario.”

Bulma crossed her arms petulantly, almost offended by the implications of what he was saying. Was Vegeta really not that interested in her? Or was he trying to piss her off? One look at his face told her he was, very possibly, just messing with her…

“Is that so? Well… Then the bet should just bother you in case you lose. Does that mean you've already accepted the fact that I'm going to kick your Royal ass and you're scared of my damned nosy questions, Lord Vegeta?” She said mockingly, knowing oh, too well how to push the Saiyan's buttons.

The Prince winced at the sound of his new title on her lips, suddenly disliking it for some reason.

That did it…

She was right, of course. The only way this bet of hers would turn against him was if he was defeated, and he had no intention on losing anyway. And it wasn't so much that he wasn't interested in asking his woman a few questions himself. The real issue was, his little mate was such a mystery to him, he firmly believed that, even if he had the chance to interrogate her for hours on end, he wouldn't get any closer to understanding what really went on inside that brilliant mind and surprisingly generous heart of hers.

“Very well, woman, get ready to bite the dust…” He concluded, fixing his gaze challengingly on her and offering Bulma a glimpse of his former self: the proud, arrogant asshole she'd ended up loving far too much for her own good. Normally, she'd want nothing more than to erase that pompous look off his face, but she was secretly enjoying the sight of that haughty fire in his eyes, the one she'd been so afraid would have disappeared by now.

“Oh, you're going down, buddy,” Bulma replied. Her radiant blue eyes were daring him to fight her, and that defiant attitude was, unbeknownst to her, driving the Saiyan mad with desire once again.

Bulma handed him one of the controllers, she put the game in the console and sat back down by Vegeta's side, spending a few minutes re-familiarizing herself with the old game and teaching her mate the basics on how to play it. She wasn't surprised to find out the Prince was a fast learner, and for an instant she feared he'd actually end up being the one who'd ultimately beat her metaphoric ass.

Much to her relief, she'd been wrong…

Several extremely intense hours later, Bulma realized she'd greatly underestimated herself and her abilities. Over that period of time, Vegeta's character was punched, kicked, decapitated, blasted into oblivion, dismembered, thrown off a cliff, knocked unconscious, punctured and run over with several different types of vehicles. He died a countless number of times, getting killed and resurrected, only to end up dying again humiliatingly fast. Not to mention the mortifying moments in which he'd accidentally hurt himself or even fallen inside a pit.

“Oh, yeah!” Bulma yelled victoriously.

“Again!” Vegeta roared ferociously after getting killed, once again, by his woman's character.

He was now sitting on the edge of the couch, his hands fiercely holding the controller, his tanned skin flushed in embarrassment.

“I don't think so, Mister…” His mate cockily replied. “You've been asking for another chance for far too long, buddy…” She stood in front of him, proudly placing her hands on her hips in a classic Bulma Briefs pose.        

“Woman…” He muttered threateningly, wiping off a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Nope! I think we're done here…” Bulma said, leaving the controller on the table and sitting cross-legged on the sofa in Vegeta's direction. “I believe it's time to collect my prize...” She said triumphantly, crossing her arms and sporting a huge grin on her marvelous face.

Vegeta kept side-eyeing her for a minute, stubbornly clutching the controller, still reluctant to let it go.

His shameful defeat and the proud look adorning his woman's features were bad enough, but what was truly making his warrior blood boil even more was the torture he'd had to withstand during the entire time he'd agreed to play that ridiculously pointless earthling game of hers.

Bulma had literally destroyed him, her sharp mind and quick reflexes reminding him, once again, how incredibly intelligent his woman truly was. He reached the conclusion that it was a good thing his little mate had practically no ki energy to speak of, because he wasn't convinced the Universe would be able to survive a woman like her: her temper, brains and beauty would have been deadly combined with proper ki control.

And, of course, as if dealing with the realization that Bulma was probably a far better strategist in combat than him hadn't been bad enough, he'd also had to endure the very physical way in which the woman had been celebrating her victories. She'd jumped and yelled, sometimes giggling in pure joy and, at different times, laughing mockingly at him. Bulma would even do little dances, wiggling her tight perfect body right in front him and, once, she'd even sat spontaneously on his thigh, wrapping her arms around him and rubbing her soft cheek against him. The warmth of her skin against his had been driving him absolutely insane, and Vegeta didn't quite know if he'd be able to endure this unnerving situation much longer.

He finally let go of the controller, begrudgingly placing it on the coffee table too, and he crossed his arms defensively, closing his eyes and leaning against the back of the couch once again. He exhaled loudly through his nose, ready to admit defeat in front of his mate.

“Fair enough, woman; I accept your victory,” he said half-heartedly, unwittingly swallowing his pride. “But only because this was a stupid game anyway and the outcomes of such fictional fights are of no consequence in the real world.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Mister Grumpy Pants… I won fair and square and we both know it, so you know what that means,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows maliciously. “It's question time!”

Vegeta groaned, not fully believing he was about to be interrogated by his mate and he'd have to force himself to give her prying questions an honest answer.

Damn his burdensome Saiyan honor!

“Mmm… Let me think…” Bulma continued, placing her index finger on her lips, thinking about her upcoming questions to Vegeta out loud. “What could I ask… Mmm…”

The warrior grew impatient, a muscle under his left eye twitching rhythmically. He was finding her behavior utterly annoying and childish and yet, deep down, still oddly charming.

What was it about this woman?

Every little thing she did or said caught his undivided attention…

“Alright. I think I got it,” she finally said with a confidence that made Vegeta's skin crawl. If there was one thing the Prince hated was revealing personal information, and knowing his woman, she was probably about to ask him about things he'd rather not discuss.

Bulma remained silent for an instant, before adding, “But you have to promise you won't get mad at me,” she whispered, suddenly biting her lip anxiously. The sudden change in her tone made Vegeta open his eyes and look at her, confirming his suspicions that the woman's enquiry was of a serious nature.

Fucking great…

“I will not promise such things, since I do not know what it is you wish to know and whether or not your questions will offend or infuriate me. I am not a liar, woman, and I will not become one now, not even for the sake of your fragile human sensibility.”

His voice was neutral but firm, and Bulma felt, in a way, secretly grateful for his brutal honesty, so rare in her world, usually filled with ass-kissers and sycophants. Vegeta's frankness had always been so refreshing to her.

“Fair enough,” she replied, still sitting cross-legged on the couch and placing her hands on top of her delicate ankles.

“How did you get that wound on your ribs?” Bulma finally asked, her voice soft but unwavering.

Vegeta squinted his eyes imperceptibly.

“Why?”

“That's not important. Just answer the question, Vegeta.”

“I will not, unless you tell me why you wish to know such a trivial thing,” he replied skeptically.

Bulma cringed inwardly; she should have known the Saiyan would be hard to crack, but she shrugged nonchalantly nonetheless. “No reason,” she lied. “I'm just curious…”

“Why?” He asked again, knowing full well there must have been a reason why his woman was suddenly so interested in that one wound in particular, especially after having seen him injured countless times in the past, even to the brink of death in the now infamous Gravity Room explosion.

“Alright…” Bulma relented. “I'll tell you why I'm so curious.” She paused briefly, taking a deep breath and praying to the Gods that this conversation wouldn't turn ugly awfully fast…

“It looks like a wound caused by some kind of bladed weapon, possibly a knife.”

“So?” Vegeta questioned, attempting to follow the woman's train of thought.

“So, it looks like a very deep wound if you ask me, which tells me that, whoever did it, managed to get really close to you.”

“And?”

“And, well… You are one of the strongest warriors in the Universe, as far as we know, so who'd be able to get that close to you with a knife?”

“Woman,” he said, trying to conceal a slight uneasiness in his voice. The blasted woman was smart, he gave her that. “I am a warrior. Fighting is what I do, it's in my blood, and sometimes, getting stabbed is part of the deal.”

“Yes, I know…” She carried on, tilting her head curiously to the side. “The thing is, Vegeta, that whoever did it had the time, not only to stab you and bury the blade to the hilt, but also to punch or kick you hard enough to fracture your ribs, I'm guessing while the knife was still inside of you, am I right?”

Vegeta gawked at the woman.

`That clever little bitch…'

At times like this he truly wished his mate weren't as intelligent as she was. His experience with women prior to meeting Bulma had been scarce, however, he'd quickly learned that, when it came to dealing with females, the less they knew the better. His sexual encounters had mostly been brief and to the point, and he'd certainly never shared personal information of any kind with neither of the women he'd bedded.

Of course, Bulma had completely changed that.

Not only had his little mate managed to slowly get closer to him, but she'd somehow gotten under his skin, occupying a tiny bit of his heart and stubbornly refusing to let go of it. She was the only one who'd ever asked him questions simply because she was interested in him, fascinated by his past and culture, unlike those other females that had usually tried to pry information out of him only to use it for their own benefit. Of course, he'd always been far too clever to ever share anything intimate that could have made him susceptible to betrayal, and yet, Bulma had been the only being that had ended up knowing little tidbits, here and there, from his real past.

And now, well…

Now the brilliant woman had deduced his wound wasn't the result of getting injured in battle.

“It doesn't make any sense to me, Vegeta, you're way too fast to allow an enemy to get away with something like that during a fight…”

Vegeta remained silent, weighing his options. If he told her the truth, he knew the woman would probably get upset, then again, her impeccable deduction skills would find out the truth one way or another, so he finally decided that truth shall be, once again, his best choice.

“You are correct, woman. I am now much faster than any opponent I have faced since my departure from Earth.”

Bulma waited quietly for him to carry on with his explanation; when it became clear he still wasn't willing to give anything else away, she decided to keep pressing the issue.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“So, how did you get that wound on your ribs?” She asked again.

Vegeta exhaled loudly, finally giving up and looking to the side, closing his eyes and prudently avoiding her stare.

“I was not fighting when I got injured.”

There was an absolute quietness in the room as Bulma tried to put all the pieces together to understand what the warrior was trying to say.

“Oh, Dende…” She finally whispered, letting out a ragged breath. “Y-You… You were stabbed in your sleep?” She continued in a voice that was still soft but now full of astonishment.

Vegeta said nothing, still abstaining from looking at her. She sounded upset and on the verge of tears, exactly how he'd feared she'd react. But, wasn't this what his woman had wanted? Didn't she want the truth? Perhaps it was time for his mate to fully understand what kind of life he'd been living and what kind of life he was destined for.

He suddenly felt the weight of the cushions on the sofa shift, and he heard her walk quickly towards the kitchen. By the time he found the courage to open his eyes and look in her direction, she was already in the kitchenette, holding a now half-empty glass of water with trembling hands.

“Oh, Gods… Oh, Gods…” She kept mumbling over and over again, anxiously running her hand across her face repeatedly. “I knew it… I just knew it…”

The sight of her was absolutely heartbreaking.

“Bulma…” He whispered, now standing in front of her. His arms were on his sides, his sturdy fingers itching to hold her against him, to comfort her, to try to make her understand that this was the life of a warrior, the life of a ruler…

She slowly raised her sight, setting her striking blue eyes on him. They were watery, filled with unshed tears, her ivory skin even paler than usual and her delicate face contorted in a mask of grief and something else he couldn't fully identify.

Was it pity, perhaps?

“How can you live like that?” She susurrated, absolutely horrified.

“How?” He replied, simulating indifference but fully aware of what she was talking about.

“What do you mean `how'? Like that! How…? Is that what you want? To live a life where you can't even get a decent night's sleep? A life where people will try to kill you the minute you turn your back?”

The tone of her voice kept rising, her breathing quickening, so he tried to remain cool as to not make things even worse. He absolutely hated seeing her like this.

“It's the only life I've ever known, woman,” he said in a low, deep voice.

She placed her shaky hands on his warm cheeks, holding his face firmly in place and forcing him to look her in the eye.

“I-I can understand you having to live like that in the past, but… But now you have a choice Vegeta! Now you do have a choice!”

“What the fuck do you think my life is about, woman?” He replied hotly, boldly grabbing her wrists and taking those impossibly smooth hands away from his face; but Bulma, stubborn as always, kept holding on to him, tightly clutching the fabric of his sweatshirt and leaning a little on his solid chest.

“Your life is about whatever you want it to be now, Vegeta! That's precisely the point! Wasn't that what you always wanted? To get rid of Frieza? Well, you did! And now you're free!”

“You think just because that despicable, filthy lizard is dead I am free? I have a responsibility, woman! A duty! I was born to rule, and the life of a ruler is a dangerous one!”

Bulma shook her head passionately, still fiercely grasping his chest.

“No, Vegeta! You were born to rule! To rule over your people, not over those… Those bastards!”

Her harsh words made the Saiyan warrior growl furiously.

That was enough.

It was time to awaken the woman, to make her to forget her delusions about him and who he really was.

“Look at me, Bulma.” He ordered authoritatively, one of his calloused hands forcefully grabbing her jaw and obligating her to focus on him.

“If those men, my men, are bastards then so am I. It's about time you wake the fuck up and forget about whatever or whoever the Hell your delusional mind thinks I am.”

Her chin was now trembling, and he felt the moisture of an unruly tear travel through her cheek, painfully caressing his fingertips as it rolled down.

“You are not like them, Vegeta! You're not!”

Bulma was agitated, furiously staring at him and literally trying to physically shake him, attempting to make him see what she saw. He was not the bastard he thought himself to be, and he most definitely had nothing in common with those betraying assholes he constantly called `his men'.

Of course, her efforts to shake him were in vain, and he stood in front of her, still as a rock. His entire body was now trembling in a rare mixture of rage and unwelcomed desire. He licked his now very thirsty lips as he held the face of his little mate, both brave and bewitching, crying for him, struggling to make him walk away from his current miserable life: the life of darkness and insatiable quest for power he'd been destined to live since the day he was born.

Vegeta absently run his thumb across her lower lip, unwittingly closing the gap between them and now perfectly able to feel her tremulous sweet breath intermingling with his own.

He wanted to kiss her so desperately…

He needed to crush his lips against hers and erase that damned look of sorrow from her immaculate face…

“Vegeta…” She whispered, her needy eyes also seeking his mouth. “It doesn't have to be this way… You don't have to live this life... You don't have to…” She kept whispering, suppliantly.

“I am a Saiyan, Bulma. I was born evil, I have done terrible, terrible things throughout my life, and the sooner you accept who I really am, the sooner you'll…”

“No!” She cut him off ardently. “You are not evil, Vegeta!”

“Woman…” He said menacingly, slowly losing his patience, but she interrupted him again.

“W-What about Khalla?”

Vegeta frowned, honestly not knowing what or who she was talking about.

“Who?”

“K-Khalla,” she stuttered, whispering again, uncertain of whether her mate would feel uncomfortable discussing events from his past. But she had to try, she had to make him see what, apparently, he was too blind and possibly too depressed to realize on his own.

“The old woman you gave your capsule to. We… We talked, Vegeta. She told me… She told me about how you saved her daughter from Nappa…”

His eyes widened a fraction.

`That fucking gossipy old woman…'

He should have known. After all, that was what females did, wasn't it? They just talked too damn much.

Vegeta hissed irritably, suddenly letting go of her trembling face. He could see she was still upset, and yet, her eyes were full of passion and life, infuriatingly tenacious, as always.

Should he tell her the whole story? He knew there was no way Bulma knew about the true fate of the young girl he'd been incapable of saving, given that even Khalla wasn't aware of the real facts herself; the tragic tale of a young girl whose beauty had brought her an early, horrible death. He was painfully aware of his woman's compassionate nature, and knew her heart would break if he told her the truth but, perhaps, this could be an opportunity: the chance to make his mate realize once and for all what an utter failure he'd always been.

So, why not?

Re-opening a few wounds from the past was a small price to pay if that made Bulma ultimately comprehend that the two of them were not meant to be together, that she deserved a much better man than the complete disappointment Vegeta thought himself to be. So, he put on his old mask, the oh, so familiar disguise he'd constantly hidden behind through the years, and a subtle, malevolent smirk drew itself on his lips as he grabbed her by her impossibly smooth shoulders and proceeded to walk slowly, very slowly, until Bulma's back touched the cold metal wall of the ship.

She gasped softly, disconcerted by his behavior, and waited expectantly for his next move.

“Is that so?” He whispered maliciously. “And tell me, little woman, just what exactly did that decrepit gossipmonger tell you about me?”

“S-She… She told me about her daughter, about how beautiful she was and how Nappa t-tried to, um, to… To take advantage of her… And he attacked her and y-you, well…” Bulma was stammering fretfully at the sight of the old Vegeta interrogating her, but she also knew, deep down, that this was just a façade, a carefully crafted wall he'd always constructed in order to protect himself from the world, so she decided, once again, not to feel intimated by his performance.

“Well, she said you saved her and told her to go back home. And then… Then she told me everyone saw Nappa all beat up the next day, and she assumed you'd done it, b-because you were the only one strong enough to do that…” Bulma frowned slightly, tenderly caressing his hot cheek with a quivering hand. “Is that true, Vegeta? Did you save that poor girl?”

The Saiyan let go of her shoulders, placing his hands on both sides of her head now, effectively trapping her against the wall. He wanted to remove her blasted hand from his face but, much to his shame, he was secretly enjoying that his woman still wished to touch him in spite of the way he was now talking to her.  

“That is correct. I beat the shit out of Nappa, and I'd do it again a thousand times, but I did it because that bald fucker had no honor. I certainly didn't do it so I could save an insignificant slave. That fucking girl meant nothing to me, woman… Nothing! She was a slave, nothing more!”

Bulma smirked knowingly. It was clear as crystal Vegeta was underrating his concern towards other people.

“Right…” She replied confidently, crossing her arms and lifting her chin with self-assurance. “Just like those poor slaves you've been freeing throughout the Galaxy didn't mean anything to you either…”

Vegeta growled loudly; her surprisingly smug behavior was turning out to be both exasperating and a massive turn on at the same time.

“I have not been liberating slaves, woman! I've simply been getting rid of Frieza's remaining scum and settling old accounts from the past!”

The rise in his voice had absolutely no effect on the woman, who simply kept staring at him, seeing right through his masquerade.

“Then, why didn't you simply take those slaves for yourself? You're certainly strong enough to do it!”

“There's no honor in taking slaves, just like there's no honor in fucking a woman against her will,” he replied, so matter-of-factly that Bulma felt touched by his words, by how confident he sounded about rejecting such unbreakable values.

“Baby, don't you see? That's what makes you different! The fact that now you have the power to do literally whatever you want, and yet you still have such strong principles… You have honor, Vegeta! Those men don't! Where's the honor in trying to assassinate a man in his sleep?” Bulma now held his regal face in her hands, bravely bringing her lips closer to his. “An evil man would have never saved that poor girl, Vegeta…” She whispered zealously.

Her sweet breath on his lips was maddening, and Vegeta felt something inside his chest tighten. For a moment, he hesitated about telling his mate the truth about the young slave's final misfortune, but he eventually chose to carry on with his plan of telling his mate the real facts.

“What else did the old woman tell you, Bulma? Did she tell you the girl died?”

Bulma nodded falteringly.

“How?”

“Y-You already know that. She said she died a year later…”

“How?” He repeated.

“From some illness… S-She said she was too frail to do hard labor…”

“What if I told you that's not the truth, Bulma?”

The woman frowned in confusion.

“What…? What do you mean?” She asked, a sudden uneasiness taking hold of her.

“Nappa went back to the planet to pick up the girl not long after that incident.”

“Y-Yes, I know. Khalla told me he took her to one of Frieza's palaces to work for him as a servant…”

“What if I told you the girl never even had the chance to set foot on Frieza's palace, Bulma?”

“Wha…? What?”

Vegeta pressed his forehead against hers, his dark, smoldering eyes penetrating her now fearful blue ones. Bulma knew by now that, whatever it was her man was about to share with her, it would be undoubtedly revolting.

“What if I told you Frieza was curious about why I had beat the living shit out of Nappa and, after being told why I'd done it, he'd decided to punish me instead just for his sick, perverted amusement?”

Bulma's face was suddenly filled with horror.

What terrible, unspeakable things had that monster done to her lover?

A part of her didn't want to know, and yet, she had to ask. She needed to find out what exactly had Vegeta gone through during his years serving under Frieza's rule. His past life had always been such a devastating mystery to her, and she hoped whatever glimpse she could get of it would slowly assist her in putting all the pieces together to try to understand her mate a little better.  

“H-How…? How d-did he punish you?”

“He sent me away on a mission. It was the first time he ever assigned me a purging mission all by myself…”

His body was trembling, trembling in pure rage at the memories of the atrocities his old Master had ordered him to do and the impotence he'd experienced through the years: years and years of waiting, biding his time, waiting until he'd be strong enough to defeat the slimy son of a bitch, only to have a third-class asshole do it in his place.

Vegeta kept his forehead firmly pressed against hers, and he briefly squeezed his eyes shut, as if he were in deep pain, before he finally opened them again, setting his sight on Bulma once more as she waited, almost entranced by his close presence, for him to finish his story.

“He lied to me, of course,” he chuckled bitterly. “When I asked if I could take Nappa with me, he told me he had other plans for him and he asked me not to worry, promising there'd be other men waiting for me already on the planet I'd been assigned to purge…”

He took a deep breath, shaking his head and walking away from Bulma all of a sudden, running his hands nervously through his hair as he paced the room, completely lost in his memories.

“Like I said, it was a lie, and when I landed on the damned planet I realized I was all alone. The population was large, and their ki much higher than I had anticipated…”

Vegeta stopped pacing, sitting on one of the small chairs of the kitchenette and placing his elbows on the table, holding his head between his strong hands and hiding his eyes from Bulma, who was still standing in the same spot where he'd left her, hugging herself protectively and now openly crying, even though she knew her mate abhorred such public displays of sentimentality.

“I almost didn't make it…” He muttered. “By the time I managed to fulfill my mission I was badly injured, and Frieza had to send a small rescue team to get me out of there safely. Something he kept reminding me for years, obviously.” There was a short pause before he whispered, “Fucking bastard…”

Bulma clumsily dried up her tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and cautiously sat down by his side, completely awestruck by this uncommon display of vulnerability. He looked so troubled, lost in those bitter recollections. It was small wonder he trusted nothing and no one. Who would? It looked like, not only had Frieza taken him away from his family, killing his entire race and destroying his planet not long afterwards, but he'd forced him to do his dirty work and had even messed with him for the sake of it, finding some sick, twisted satisfaction in hurting the young Prince for no apparent reason.

Vegeta finally came back to reality, tiredly rubbing his eyes and crossing his arms defensively as he leant back on the chair.

“While I was away on that mission, he gave Nappa permission to go back, retrieve the girl and do whatever he wanted with her.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Which he did. You don't even want to know the details, woman. All you need to know is… It was… It was the most dishonorable way in which a Saiyan warrior could treat a female… And the bastard kept bragging about it, telling the story, over and over again through the years, right until the day I finally got rid of him back on Earth.”

Bulma remained speechless, sitting still as she listened to her mate's story in complete horror. She remembered how cold and inhuman she'd thought her Prince to be when she'd discovered he'd been able to kill his own comrade, not considering the possibility that there could have been some bad blood between them already even before the Saiyans had landed on her planet.

“So, you lied to Khalla…” She concluded.

Vegeta nodded somberly.

“I did. I had to travel often to that planet to pick up the weapons the slaves built for Frieza, and every single time that irritating old woman would ask me about her daughter, so I simply waited a prudent amount of time and finally fabricated a less violent death for her child.”

“Vegeta, do you know what that's called?”

The Saiyan frowned. “What is what called?”

“What you did, do you know what that is? On Earth, we call it a `white lie', a lie you tell someone to spare their feelings…”

Vegeta snorted incredulously.

What was that damned look on her face?

It was almost as if she were proud of him.

“Don't be ridiculous, woman! I don't give a shit about sparing anyone's stupid feelings! I simply didn't want to have to deal with the old woman's pathetic emotions. The truth would have benefited no one in that scenario.”

“Whatever you say…” She shrugged with false indifference. “I still believe those are not the actions or the words of an evil man, besides…”

The loud sound of Vegeta's rough hand slamming the table shut her up automatically.

“I am evil, woman! Stop this fucking nonsense, right now!”

“It's not nonsense, Vegeta! Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“I could ask you the same fucking question, woman!” He replied, his eyes angrily fixated on her. “So, because I lied to that foolish old woman, now you suddenly think I'm not…”

“Gods, Vegeta! I'm not saying what I'm saying because of Khalla's story! I even told Dende before I left the Earth that I thought you weren't evil!”

Vegeta was silent for a moment, until he finally tilted his head to the side, looking confused.

“Dende? You mean the Namekian boy?”

Bulma's eyes widened slightly, and one look at him told her she'd screwed up.

She'd screwed up big time…

“Y-Yeah… We, we talked a bit before… Before I left…”

“About what, woman?”

“N-Nothing, really… He just, you know…” She mumbled nervously, knowing the last thing she needed right now was Vegeta thinking she'd only gone into space looking for him because Dende had known of his whereabouts and she'd been sent to stop him.

And the expression on his face told her that was exactly what was going on through Vegeta's mind.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her forcefully towards him, almost making her fall from her chair.

“What did you talk about, Bulma? And don't fucking lie to me, woman. I'm Saiyan! I can fucking smell it when people lie to me…” He threatened, his voice low and menacing.

“N-Nothing, Vegeta. H-He told me you, uh, you know, you were traveling with a group of men. That's all, really…”

“And how the Hell would that idiot know where I was or who I was with?!”

“H-He's a God, Vegeta. He's a young G-God, so he told me he sometimes talks to the other Gods and they… They teach him secrets…”

“And what else did he tell you, woman?” He kept asking, completely focused on his woman's reactions in an attempt to find out whether she was lying to him.

“Vegeta,” she sighed. “You need to calm down, alright?”

Bulma gently pulled away, breaking free from his almost painful grip, and she rubbed her wrist soothingly, trying to choose her words wisely. She hoped things wouldn't get too out of control.

“Look, he didn't say much, okay? Piccolo showed up in our home, and he said Dende wished to speak to me. So, you know… I went to The Lookout, and Dende told me you were out there with a group of men. That's all, Vegeta.”

Vegeta's face remained immobile, frozen in a permanent scowl of skepticism.

“Did he tell you what I had done?”

She nodded.

“Yes, Vegeta. Well… Kind of… He told me some blood had been spilt, but… But he said it wasn't innocent blood, Vegeta. And I believed it.” She replied with firm conviction. “And then…”

“And then what, Bulma?”

Bulma let out a ragged breath, afraid, once more, to allow herself to become vulnerable in front of the Saiyan. If Vegeta broke her heart again, she truly didn't know if she'd ever recover.

“He asked me if I thought you were evil, Vegeta. And I said no.”

The warrior felt the room spin around him. His mate's eyes were telling the truth, as usual, and he knew, as he'd always known, that Bulma didn't possess a dishonest bone in her beautiful body.

How could it be?

Was it possible the woman had known all along what he'd been up to and she'd still chosen to leave their child behind on Earth and embark on some almost suicidal quest just to bring him back?

And, why?

Why would she want to spend her life with a monster like him?

True, he hadn't killed anyone that didn't deserve it yet, but knowing himself and the madness that had constantly surrounded him since birth, he also knew sooner or later whatever remained of his sanity would snap and then, then he'd do something truly unforgivable.

He looked at her, her eyes full of affection and undeserving love for him.

It was infuriating…

“Damn you, woman!” He roared, standing up and throwing away his chair at an inhuman speed, making Bulma scream in shock.

“Be careful, dammit! Do you want to destroy the ship and kill us both?!” She yelled angrily.

He pointed in her direction with an irate trembling finger.

Oh, yes…

Anger was good, anger was a familiar emotion, something he could hold onto, something he could control.

“You… You're just a lying little bitch!”

“Ve-Vegeta, what…?”

“Be silent, Bulma! I know what you are! You…” He kept pointing at her, barely keeping his self-inflicted fury in check. “Y-You… You're just a little errand girl, aren't you? All of those, th-those… Those fucking words about l-lo… About l-lo…”

“About love, Vegeta! Love! My Gods! Do you know how sad it is that you can't even say the word?” She asked with tears in her eyes.

“Tsk! And why the fuck would I want to pronounce a word that doesn't mean a thing, uh?” He kept pacing again, like an untamed, large feline trapped in a cage. “You… Y-You… You're just a little errand girl… J-Just… They just sent you here, didn't they? Didn't they?!”

Bulma just stood still, shaking her head anxiously, her tears falling freely down her pale cheeks.

He was withdrawing, locking away his emotions right in front of her very eyes. It wasn't the first time she'd witnessed him behaving like this, but it certainly was the first time she finally understood why he was acting this way.

Vegeta had just offered her a rare glimpse into his past: a past filled with pain and betrayal. A youth spent amongst immoral men, capable of the most despicable acts, between them his own comrade, an older Saiyan that, as far as she knew, had been assigned to watch over him, to protect and serve him. A man that had brought him nothing but trouble, shame and dishonor in the end.

And then there was Frieza, her mate's former Master. Bulma had always known he'd ordered Vegeta around, forcing him to do his dirty bidding in his place, but now she'd also learnt the son of a bitch had found great pleasure in messing with his head as well, torturing him and putting his life in unnecessary danger just for the sake of it, for his own perverse amusement.

His life had been one big disaster after another, hadn't it?

A life full of anger, hatred, agony and mistrust, and in her mind, there was only one way to save him so, finding a courage she didn't even know she possessed, she walked bravely in his direction and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her tiny body against his in a fierce embrace.

“I love you, Vegeta… I do love you, you hear me?” She whispered in his ear.

Vegeta's body went stiff as a marble statue at her touch, shocked by her bold, unanticipated move.

“I love you…” She repeated, tenderly kissing his golden cheek. “I love you… I love you, Vegeta…”

He closed his eyes, momentarily basking in her warmth, wanting to believe her honeyed words more than he'd ever wished to believe anything in his entire cursed life. The combination of her affectionate words and her enticing body's close proximity was overwhelming, tempting him, luring him into a world of love, safety, trust and affection.

A world only his Bulma embodied.

It was too much…

He clenched and unclenched his fingers apprehensively a few times before he finally had the strength to gently push her away, forcing her to let go off him.

“Stay away from me, Bulma,” he muttered in an almost imperceptible voice, his eyes never leaving the ground, incapable of looking his fragile mate in the eye.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving Bulma standing alone, shaking, in the middle of the now freezing ship. She was so upset she could barely breath, her tears blurring her vision and her chest constricting anxiously. She heard the sound of one of the doors of the small rooms closing, the noise making her close her eyes tiredly.

What should she do now?

Should she leave him alone, or should she follow him and try to talk some sense into him?

She quickly decided that trying to reach him was the only choice she really had. If Vegeta erected a new wall between them, it would take far too long to get him to open up again, and they'd made so much progress in the past couple of days already…

Damn her and her big mouth!

She shouldn't have mentioned her conversation with Dende at all, especially knowing how distrustful the Saiyan was feeling at the moment. But, then again, she was so damn exhausted she could barely think straight anymore.

“Vegeta?” She asked softly, shyly knocking at the door.

Silence.

“Vegeta, please… Let's talk about this... Please?”

Bulma was only rewarded with more unnerving silence. She briefly considered attempting to open the door, but she didn't want to invade her mate's personal space, besides, she was pretty sure he'd locked up the door already anyway.

“Vegeta! Please, open the door!” She repeated, banging the door louder and feeling her voice rise in exasperation. “Please! Let's talk about this! It's not what you think, Vegeta! It's not!”

The Saiyan laid on the bed completely immobile, his arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Despite his casual posture, the Prince was feeling anything but indifference towards the pitiful sounds Bulma was making outside his cabin.

“Vegeta! I swear! He asked me if I thought you were evil! And I said no! I said no, Vegeta!”

He finally covered up his face with a pillow, muffling the sounds of her delicate voice breaking down into tears of distress. She kept frantically banging the door, telling him repeatedly that she loved him, that she didn't believe him to be an evil man. Vegeta hadn't lied to her when he'd warned her about his ability to detect people's lies. Through the years, he'd become an expert at deception, both at sensing it and using it against his enemies, and one thing was painfully clear: Bulma was telling the truth.

The Prince closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath as he tried to isolate his mind from the heartbreaking sounds his mate was making outside.

Eventually, the door banging stopped and Bulma whispered a few tired, unintelligible words. The faded sound of her sorrowful weeping in the distance was the last thing he recalled hearing before a troubled, restless sleep finally overtook him…

He wasn't sure how long he managed to sleep for but, by the time he woke up, the entire ship was engulfed in the most unnerving of silences.

Vegeta groggily stood from the bed and walked to the door, unlocking and opening it slowly, without making a sound. He wasn't quite ready for what he found waiting for him outside: there, sitting on the cold metal floor, was his mate. Her back leaning on the wall, her thin arms wrapped around the knees she had tightly pressed against her chest and her face hidden from his view.

Was she asleep?

And, more importantly, had she been waiting for him like this all this time?

The Saiyan felt like a bastard, and now that his previous anger outburst had withered away, he was deeply ashamed about the way he'd treated her earlier. He'd yelled at her, simply for telling him the truth.

Was he even surprised Dende and the other Gods had known about what he'd been up to ever since he'd abandoned Earth and they'd gotten in touch with Bulma to let her know? She was, whether he liked it or not, the only person that had ever gotten close enough to him. The only one he'd established some kind of meaningful bond with, so it made sense that his reckless behavior would have been a reason of concern to such powerful beings.

And what was even worse, he'd called her a lying bitch, even though he'd known, despite his previous irate state, that she'd been telling the truth. The young Namekian had asked Bulma whether she believed Vegeta to be an evil man and she'd said no.

How could that be?    

Was it possible his woman had seen something in him that he couldn't see himself?

Whatever the cause, the only thing he felt right now was the unshakable desire to make things right with her. After all, she deserved nothing less from him.    

Vegeta took a few steps and stood in front of her. She looked so small, curled up on the floor, and he knelt down in an attempt to pick her up and carry her to the bed but, the moment his hands touched her now frozen body, she awoke startled.

Bulma silently looked at him, her delicate face, at first still filled with a hint of apprehension, gradually relaxed when she noticed her mate didn't seem to be mad at her anymore. She looked sleepy, her eyes and lips still a bit swollen from all of her previous crying, and the sight of her made something warm and unfamiliar stir in his chest. A sincere emotion he'd forced himself to ignore for as long as he could but that was now becoming irrepressible.

“Vegeta,” she whispered, her face barely illuminated by the dim emergency lights from the ship.

“I'm so sorry… I know I should have told you about my conversation with Dende, but… I just, I didn't want you to get upset and to think that I…”

“Don't apologize, woman,” he cut her off, his voice steady but kinder than she'd expected it to be.

Bulma held her breath when Vegeta gently tucked an unruly lock of hair behind her ear and, right after this unanticipated action, he softly caressed her cheek with his strong hand, his thumb lovingly stroking her skin, drawing tiny circles on it while he kept those usually impenetrable eyes of his fixated on hers. The heiress couldn't help but feel like there was something different in the way he was looking at her now, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Before she had time to ask, Vegeta spoke once more.

“I am the one who should…”

He paused, struggling to find the right words, fighting a conflicted battle between his pride, his ego and what he knew, deep in his heart, to be the right thing to do. Bulma waited patiently, not wanting to put any pressure on him as she secretly reveled in the warmth of his touch and the unexpected tenderness of it.

“Bulma,” he continued, solemnly, “My words earlier… They were… They were uncalled for.”

Bulma kept staring at him, completely enthralled by her mate's words.

Did he just apologize to her?

The hint of a smile appeared on her lips, and she knew she had never been prouder of her man than she was at that very moment. Sure, he'd pissed her off and even hurt her deeply quite a few times in the past, and he had `apologized' in his own way before, but his way of making up had always been physical, mostly consisting in swallowing his pride after having spent a couple of days apart and showing up in her bedroom, in the middle of the night, physically trying to show her what she truly meant to him. Vegeta was, after all, a warrior. A man of action, not of words, and she'd finally come to accept and understand that he'd never be the most vocal of men when it came to expressing his feelings and emotions, which was precisely the reason why his words were now so shocking and moving to her.  

She slowly turned her head to the side, closing her eyes and placing a long, languid kiss on the rugged palm of his hand, which was still resting on her cheek.

“It's okay Vegeta,” she muttered. “I understand, really… I…”

Before she could go on, the Prince leaned forward, now placing his hand on the nape of her neck and bringing her closer to him with great care. He kissed her lips softly, almost innocently, making Bulma inhale sharply by this unexpectedly bold move, but quickly allowing herself to relax and give in to his kiss.

Vegeta kissed her repeatedly, delicately locking his lips with hers over and over and enjoying the tiny moans of pleasure he was eliciting from his little mate, whose fragile hands were now shyly clutching the sleeves of his sweatshirt. The was something pure, almost childlike, in the way he was kissing her today and, in the back of his mind, he knew it had never been like this before.

What did it all mean? He didn't know. All he knew was he'd never felt as raw and defenseless as he did in that instant.

Bulma felt overtaken by a sudden wave of emotion, provoked by the relief of Vegeta finally bringing down his defenses, both mentally and physically, and the rare sweetness of these innocent kisses he'd chosen to freely share with her.

Soon, she wanted even more…

“Vegeta…” She mumbled against his mouth, the tip of her rosy tongue tentatively licking his lower lip, making him grunt and shiver in desire. His reaction wasn't lost on her, and she carefully repeated her actions, lazily licking and nipping his lower lip, teasing him, wordlessly pleading for more of him. With little hesitation, the Saiyan happily obliged.

His tongue finally joined hers, exploring her mouth, drinking in from her feminine sweetness. That newfound feeling of vulnerability was still there, unmovable, like a familiar alarm bell warning him, begging him to walk away and go back to his former icy self, but he stubbornly put it aside, choosing to finally allow himself to enjoy the exquisite creature in his arms.

They kissed for several minutes, both happy to just be with each other, finally enjoying a moment of true intimacy after all the exasperating time they'd been apart.

It was only when Bulma finally moved her hands from his clothing to his face that he noticed how cold she really was. He frowned, reminding himself of how delicate his woman actually was and feeling, once again, the need to protect her by getting her to a much warmer, comfortable place.

He broke their kiss, smirking at the sound of displeasure Bulma made all of a sudden, delighted to see that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

“Hold on to me, woman,” he whispered in her ear, gently grabbing her arms and encouraging her to wrap them around his robust neck. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and, when she let him, Vegeta was put at ease feeling Bulma so relaxed and comfortable in his embrace. For an instant, he'd been worried he'd have scared her off with his heated, foolish behavior, but the tiny woman still seemed to trust him, burying her face in the crook of his neck and sighing happily as he walked her through the dark hallway and into the living area, where the large king-sized bed awaited them, still unmade since the last time they'd slept on it.

Vegeta placed her gently, almost reverently on the bed, taking great care to accommodate her head on one of the fluffy pillows. When he tried to let go of her, however, she wouldn't allow it, hungrily kissing his lips yet again.

“Please, don't go…” She begged in a whisper, sounding like a child who was about to be denied of her favorite treat.

He smiled playfully against her mouth.

“Greedy woman… I'm not going anywhere…” He said, immediately lying beside her on the bed with his mate's arms still obstinately draped around his neck. Vegeta stretched one arm, trying precariously to cover her up with the blankets while Bulma's mouth teasingly traveled across his jaw and neck, her lips and tongue eagerly kissing and playing with his hot exposed skin.

It was intoxicating and, in the end, he had to briefly coax her to cease her ministrations by gently unwrapping her arms away from his neck and firmly holding her petite hands between his. He lay by her side, both lovers facing each other, and he closed his eyes momentarily, his senses inundated both by his mate's presence and her charms.

He couldn't take it…

“Bulma, I just… I just need a minute…” He muttered self-consciously.

She said nothing, completely understanding how exposed the Saiyan was feeling in that moment and not wishing to pressure him into doing anything that might still be too much for him. So Bulma waited, simply enjoying the fact that Vegeta was now freely sharing his warmth with her.

Eventually, Vegeta opened his eyes and slowly, very slowly, he brought her hands to his lips and proceeded to place soft, feathery kisses all over them, making Bulma shakily squeeze his hands back in return. When he looked into her eyes again, he was surprised to find her lips trembling, offering him a tender, watery smile.

“Vegeta…” She sobbed, deeply affected by his uncharacteristically affectionate gestures.

It was hard to believe that, even though they'd slept together on countless occasions in the past, she'd never felt closer to her mate than she felt right now. There they were, lying next to each other, both of them fully clothed, and yet, the intimacy they were sharing in that moment was extraordinary.

Bulma shyly let go of his hands, caressing his cheeks and jaw, her delicate fingertips grazing his skin until she buried them in his hair, lazily running them through his scalp, making him sigh in pleasure. She boldly brought herself close to him and pressed her forehead against his. Her fingers possessively gripping his hair, a gesture she knew the warrior loved when they were intimate, and she indolently kissed him again, thrilled to feel Vegeta immediately respond to her touch. He carefully traveled her gorgeous body as his mouth kept exploring hers. Her pink sweatshirt completely exposed her midriff, and the Saiyan found great pleasure in running his hands across the curvy sides of her body, his calloused fingers reacquainting themselves with her small waist and voluptuous hips, secretly enjoying how her breath hitched sometimes, due to how ticklish his little mate could be.

Holding her body in his arms, and enjoying her taste in his mouth, made him feel as if he'd been a thirsty man, wondering in the desert, and he'd finally found an idyllic Oasis to drink from.

Bulma felt like home.

His home…

So, he held her tight, pressing his solid body against her soft form, and they kissed for innumerable minutes, almost rediscovering each other in a new way. Bulma intertwined her long legs with his, her little toes sometimes curling and uncurling in excitement at the feeling of his skillful hands caressing her skin.

What at first had started as a sweet, innocent kiss, slowly evolved into a heated, almost needy exchange and, when Bulma couldn't take it anymore, she grabbed the neck of his sweatshirt and pulled in her direction, physically attempting to roll them over so he'd be on top of her. The Saiyan relented with little effort on her part, and he quickly positioned his muscular body on top of hers, carefully supporting part of his weight on one of his elbows so as not to crush her. He'd always been so cautious, almost obsessed with trying not to hurt his fragile mate, that he'd already gotten used to it, so he just kept kissing her, ardently joining his tongue with hers in a playful, intimate dance.

“Vegeta…” She mumbled against his lips, her hands abandoning his hair and tenderly holding both sides of his face. “I love you…” She said, in between fervent kisses. “I love you…”

Vegeta kept kissing her, trying to ignore the strange feeling growing in his chest at his mate's sincere declaration of love, until she finally stopped, slowly separating her lips from his and looking him straight in the eye.

“I mean it, Vegeta,” she whispered passionately. “I really mean it. I love you; I do love you, Vegeta…”

He timidly caressed her soft, feathery hair, fully believing her words but, also, painfully aware of the fact that he'd probably never be able to return the sentiment, at least, not verbally.

“I know, Bulma,” he replied sincerely, trying to appease her doubts as best as he could.

His past fears and insecurities returned at the sight of his woman's stunning face slowly morphing into what looked like a sad frown, her bright blue eyes shimmering and unexpectedly bursting into tears.

What just happened?

Did he say something wrong?

“Woman…” He muttered in low, confused voice. “What…?”

As if reading his concerned thoughts, Bulma quickly shook her head and she smiled through her tears, hugging him closely and pressing her smooth cheek against his.

“They're happy tears, Vegeta…” Bulma whispered against his skin, placating his doubts. “I'm happy…” She said again, and this time he truly sensed her joy behind those so-called happy tears she'd already talked to him about in the past but he'd never fully managed to comprehend.

Earthlings, and blue haired Earth women in particular were, and always would be, a great mystery to him…

But he decided that, even though reading other people's emotions and expressing his own wasn't his forte, he could at least do his best to comfort the small woman in his arms. So, he returned her embrace, one hand cupping her head and another one on her back, and he rolled them over in one swift motion, allowing her to lay completely on top of him.

Vegeta knew his woman loved to sleep on top of him. He often felt her wake up in the middle of the night, crawling on the bed and climbing on top of his body, most likely thinking him already asleep.

What Bulma didn't know was that his sleep was as light as a cat's, always awakening at the slightest sound or movement around him, but whenever she approached him during nighttime, he'd remain still, letting her do whatever she wanted with him. The first few times he'd done it out of curiosity, to see if he could discover his woman's real intentions and whether she'd ever attempt to hurt or betray him. But soon he learnt the woman's heart was as pure as it could be, and he eventually chose to continue playing his little game of pretense, finding every single thing she did to him extremely amusing, whether it was falling asleep on top of him or initiating some fantastic night sex, always taking the initiative until, of course, his Saiyan domineering instincts would finally put her in her place, not that she ever complained about him ultimately taking control over their coupling.

Vegeta grabbed the blankets and covered up the shivering body of the woman now lying on top of him, still trembling slightly due to her latest emotional outburst. She placed her hands on his chest, the side of her face pressed against his heart which, incidentally, was the real reason behind Bulma's unusual sleeping habits.

She simply loved to press her ear against her mate's chest, his heart beating strongly just for her. It reminded her that, regardless of how rude, cold or distant Vegeta could be at times, his body was still alive, and it was his mind, his soul, which were truly broken. As the powerful sound of the warrior's heartbeat lulled her to sleep, she promised herself, every single night, that she'd do everything within her power to make him feel as alive as his body had always been…

Based on Vegeta's current behavior, Bulma's hopes were higher than ever.

She hadn't been lying when she'd told Vegeta her tears were happy ones. She felt relieved, overjoyed by her mate's display of affection. It was as if, for the first time, he'd truly chosen to listen to her and, not only he seemed to be willing to give her a chance, but it appeared as if he were also seriously considering giving one to himself too. Vegeta had never showed her the tenderness he was demonstrating in that instant and that had to be necessarily a positive sign.

Gradually, a newfound sense of calm replaced her tears. Bulma closed her eyes, and the couple simply lay together, sharing a comfortable silence. Vegeta kept softly petting her silky hair with one hand, running his thick fingers lazily through it while his other hand kept her firmly pressed selfishly against him, refusing to let go of her. Bulma smiled drowsily, the familiar sound of her mate's powerful heartbeat inviting her to sleep, just like in their old times…

“You never asked your second question, woman,” Vegeta finally whispered, disturbing the quietness in the room, but never stopping his hands gentle attentions on his mate's body.

“Mmm?” Bulma mumbled sleepily, not fully understanding what the warrior was referring to.

“The question, woman. I promised you could ask me two questions after you won that game earlier and you only asked one.”

“Ah, right… That's true.” Bulma replied quietly. “It doesn't really matter I guess. You'll probably think it's a stupid question anyway…”

“Oh, I'm sure it will be a stupid question, woman, after all, it was a stupid meaningless game to begin with.”

The woman chuckled softly at that.

Vegeta behaving like a sore loser?

Who would have thought…

“Nonetheless, I am a Saiyan, and I gave you my word, woman.”

Bulma smiled again. In the past, she'd sometimes rolled her eyes at Vegeta's constant `heroic speeches' about Saiyan honor, but now she knew his honor was, and always would be, her mate's most prized possession, one that had stopped him from becoming like many of the monsters he'd been surrounded with throughout most of his life.

She remained silent for a moment, until she finally dared to ask the little question that had been plaguing her mind ever since her son from the future had abandoned their timeline back in her home planet.

“It's about Mirai Trunks…” She whispered softly, her eyes still closed as she felt her body giving in to her exhaustion.

Vegeta hesitated for a minute. The memory of his son from the future still haunted him from time to time. He knew that, even though in the end the young man had learned just how much he truly meant to his father, Vegeta hadn't really been fair to him during most of his stay with them on Earth. The rough and unkind treatment he'd given the old version of his son was something he'd always regret.

“What about him?” He finally managed to ask.

“Mmm… It's about the day he left,” she went on, idly rubbing her cheek against the soft fabric of his clothing. “When you two said goodbye to each other, you did something with your hands, like a sign… I just wanted to know what it means…”

Now it was Vegeta's turn to chuckle good-humoredly.

So, that's what it was…

It turned out that Bulma's clever mind had paid attention, as always, to every single detail surrounding her. It should come as no surprise that she'd been curious back then about the intimate gesture shared between father and son, but even the Saiyan was a tad surprised about her still recalling and questioning it.

“Mmm…” He responded, pretending to be considering whether to give her an explanation or not.

“I'm not really sure if a scrawny human female should have knowledge of private information exchanged between Saiyan warriors, woman,” he said mockingly.

If she hadn't been on the brink of falling dead asleep, Bulma would have rolled her eyes at that egotistical, narrow-minded comment.

“Ugh…”  The heiress mumbled tiredly. “Nevermind…”

She sighed softly, her long fingers clutching his clothing a bit tighter as she nuzzled his broad chest one last time.

“Mmm… I don't know why I even bother…” She slurred.

The Prince smiled softly, still caressing her hair. He'd expected her to put up a fight, or at the very least, be offended by his words of mockery, but she must have been truly drained if she didn't even have the energy to be her usual feisty, snoopy self.

He raised his head and kissed the top of hers, nuzzling her satiny hair and deeply inhaling her sweet, soothing scent before finally helping her decipher his secretive enigma.

“It means `hope',” he susurrated, before finally deciding to join his little mate in the land of dreams…