Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ At Odds ❯ The Light and the Dark ( Chapter 17 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ
Warning: Strong language.
Thanks again to LisaB for her fine editing skills.
Chapter Seventeen
The Light and the Dark
Bulma peered through the bars at her son. He was crouched before her with his furry tail wrapped around his feet as he ate a piece of fruit that she had given him. For the last couple of days, with help from Delia, Bulma had been sneaking Trunks food from the kitchens.
Since his capture they had only fed him thin gruel, starving his growing body. He remembered eating meat from when he lived on the planet, so whenever she brought him some he devoured it like a starving wolf. Although he craved meat (the rarer the better,) fruit was still his favorite. His face would light up into a smile whenever she produced a sweet, succulent piece.
When she first handed him the treat, he grabbed it so forcefully that it burst, oozing through his fingers. That didn't bother him at all as he lapped up the meat from between his fingers and down his arm, but Bulma was appalled. Patiently she taught him to grasp the fruit gently in his hand until he no longer even bruised it.
She had slowly been working with her son to gain his trust. Initially he would only snarl when she came near, so she had to carefully push the food through the bars. He would quickly snatch it up, scuttling away to the back of the cage to eat his prize. Now when she appeared he moved to the front of cage, and she was able to very carefully hand him food through the bars.
Today she was going to try something very daring. She was going to touch her son.
Bulma looked down at the bouquet of flowers that she had brought with her. Their petals were the same vibrant blue as her hair and were delicate to the touch. Day after day she spoke to her son, amazed at how quickly he grasped the concept of language. He was already using words, and it was only a matter of time before he strung sentences together.
Yesterday, between mouthfuls of food, Trunks had pointed to her hair, calling it pretty. Bulma hoped to use his fascination with her blue locks to her advantage today.
“Trunks, honey.”
Trunks glance up, a hopeful look in his eye. Her heart bled that she couldn't sneak him more food. She knew enough about Saiyan anatomy to know that he needed more food that she could get him. As a Saiyan child grew, they needed to consume ten times their weight in food daily. Trunks was barely getting a third of that.
“Look what mommy brought you.”
Bulma held out one of the blue flowers, twirling it in the soft light. Trunks cocked his head to the side, instantly infatuated by its beauty.
“Food?” he chirped.
“No. Flower.”
Trunks cocked his head further to the side, unsure of what he was suppose to do with it. Bulma reached through the bars to hand him the flower, being careful not to get her fingers caught in his powerful grip.
As soon as his hand closed around the bloom, he crushed it with his strength. A deep frown appeared on his brow as he looked up at her with wet, shinny eyes.
Bulma was quick to console him. “It's okay. Mommy has another one.” She pulled out another flower from the bunch.
“Flowers are delicate. You have to hold it gently like the fruit.”
She handed it to him again, and this time he didn't destroy it, but the stem snapped where he pinched it with his fingers. He let out a little growl of frustration that sounded just like his father, making Bulma smile softly.
“Hold it softly. Very softly.” She held up another flower, and he instantly dropped the damaged one, reaching for it.
A crease of concentration appeared on his brow as he carefully pinched the stem between his thumb and forefinger. When the bloom remained unharmed, he flashed Bulma a bright smile of victory that made her soul light up. Her baby was so beautiful; she couldn't help but to love him with her whole heart. She wanted nothing more than to get a hug from him.
She pulled a flower from the bunch, holding it up to show him. “Smell.” She brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply, sighing when the sweet scent infused her senses.
Trunks mimicked her, his eyes lighting up as he inhaled. “Smell pretty,” he exclaimed happily.
Bulma smiled back, lowering her flower to the ground. “Mommy is like the flower. She's delicate. You have to hold her gently.”
Slowly, Bulma reached her hand through the bars waiting with baited breath as Trunks placed his palm in hers. She winced as his fingers tightened around hers, and his eyes shot up to peer at her.
“Gently. Mommy, flower.”
His grip lightened, and Bulma smiled at him encouragingly. She would have bruises in the morning, but it was worth being able to hold her son's hand. He held her gently as he brought her hand up to his nose to sniff her.
She cocked her head to the side as she watched. He looked up at her, smiling. “Smell pretty.”
Bulma laughed, a rich, tinkling sound that filled the whole room. Trunks watched in fascination, and as her amusement died down it occurred to her that he might have never heard a laugh or experienced one himself. The sadness she felt in her heart showed in her face no matter how much she tried to disguise it.
Carefully, she freed her hand from his grip, brushing her fingers against Trunks's cheek. He didn't flinch away like she expected him too, but he did give her a confused look.
“Mommy loves Trunks,” Bulma whispered softly.
Trunks's tail twitched as he leaned closer to her hand. “Mommy?” He pointed to her; Bulma nodded in affirmation.
“Trunks?” He motioned to himself.
“Love?” His brow creased, his confusion multiplying in his eyes.
Bulma felt tears well up. She was at a loss on how to explain what love was. How did you describe an emotion? All she wanted to do was gather him up into her arms, and show him what love was. To express it to him the only way she knew how.
“Love.” Bulma lowered her hand, pressing it to his heart, while covering her own with her other palm. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she repeated herself.
“Mommy loves Trunks.”
Trunks began to wiggle, obviously uncomfortable with her tears. He moved away from her, digging through a pile of furs in the back of the cage to reveal a hidden piece of fruit. He returned, offering the fruit to her with a consoling look on his face.
Bulma smiled at him reassuringly, touched by his generosity. “No. Trunks's food. You keep.”
He drew back his hand, devouring the fruit while smiling happily. Spontaneously, Bulma reached through the bars to ruffle his long lavender hair, pleased when he let her do so.
“Mommy has to go, honey.” Trunks looked up from his meal, a frown instantly replacing his smile.
“It's okay. I'll be back tomorrow with more food.” That seemed to make him happy and he went back to eating, barely noticing as she left.
As Bulma stepped into the shadows, she reactivated her Recombinator, hiding behind her mask once again.
She made her way to the kitchens, her thoughts buzzing rapidly around in her head. It would be only a matter of days before Trunks was tame enough for her to take him out of the cage. He was such a quick learner. It was obvious to her that although his animal nature was brought out by his captors, he was in fact, a gentle and loving boy.
Confident that she would be able to handle Trunks, it left her with one last problem. Something she had avoiding doing for days. She had to go and talk to Vegeta.
She knew that he was there, fighting in the arena. Both Delia and Seventeen had informed her of that fact almost a week ago. Bulma had been shocked. She thought for sure that her mate had been running the universe ragged. She didn't understand what he was doing there, in King Cold's court. Even Raditz wasn't sure why Vegeta had agreed to meet Cold on the planet they had been captured on.
Bulma couldn't imagine Vegeta doing such a thing unless he was sure that he could kill King Cold. Even if that was the case, no amount of madness could overshadow Vegeta's intelligence. It would have been counterproductive to kill Cold and claim his domain while his own still lay in shambles. Vegeta would have considered that. Vegeta considered everything that had to do with power and bloodshed. It was emotion that tended to fuck him up.
Bulma slipped into the kitchens just in time for the afternoon meal. Raditz was picking up Vegeta's platter as she was returning her empty one to Delia. Without a word to her friend, Bulma turned to follow Raditz out the door, missing Delia's concerned look.
In the hall, Bulma called to Raditz, stopping him to face her. Their eyes met for a long minute and with a curt nod, Raditz handed her the tray. She took it silently and made her way down the corridor to the slave pens under the arena.
The beauty of being disguised as a slave was that it allowed her the freedom to go almost anywhere she pleased. No one questioned a servant that carried a tray, so she was able to slip passed the guards unseen. Once she reached Vegeta's cell it took a few seconds to gain the attention of the guard she needed to let her in. With only a nod and a soft word, he unlocked Vegeta's cell to let her in, locking it behind her.
Bulma didn't have to search the room to find what she was looking for. He was there in front of her, reclining on his cot. His arms were crossed, and his dark features set in a familiar brood that sent her pulse fluttering. He didn't even bother to look at her, assuming that she was what she appeared to be.
She placed the tray on a rough wooden sideboard, taking a step near him. His head twitched subtly to the side, his frown becoming more pronounced.
“Leave. And take that tray with you. I have no need of it.”
Now it was Bulma's turn to frown as her concerned eyes scanned down Vegeta's lean body. He was dressed in a purple body suite, a symbol of Cold's ownership -- something she was sure that disgusted him. His was perfectly formed as ever, but she could see where he was thinner than before. He was wasting away, becoming nothing more than an angry shade in the dankness of the dungeon.
Raditz had told her that Vegeta refused to eat, but she had not believed him. She thought back to those many nights they had sat down together at the dinner table. He had eaten with the voracity of a raptor. She couldn't believe that such an appetite could dwindle down to nothing.
“Vegeta,” she whispered as she took a step closer.
“Go!” Vegeta flung out his arm, stretching his hand towards her. On the tips of his fingers the blue light of his ki sputtered and died like an overused candle.
Vegeta's face turned red as anger infused every cell in his body. He threw back his head, the tendons in his neck straining as he roared his frustration to the ceiling beams. For the first time Bulma was able to see the collar that stole all of her mate's power. It looked fragile enough for Vegeta to break with one finger, but without access to his ki he was no stronger than a normal human male.
He covered his face with his hands, his muffled shouts echoing around the room, striking her in the heart. Without thinking Bulma dropped her disguise and rushed to his side, grasping his arms to pull his hands away. She couldn't bear to see the man she loved caged once again by his enemies, a prisoner not only of war, but of his mind.
“Vegeta! Vegeta, it's me!”
He lowered his arms, revealing his black eyes rimmed with hatred staring back at her. His shout turned to a growl, an angry, vengeful sound that reminded her of rabid wolves about to pounce on a helpless doe.
He pushed her away, his eyes widening as he made contact with her solid body. She flew across the room, hitting the floor hard and sliding on her butt until she slammed into the far wall. The breath whooshed out of her as she lay there gasping like a beached fish.
Vegeta scrambled to her side, staring down at her with disbelief.
“You're real,” he muttered with real awe that only served to piss off Bulma more than she was at the moment.
“No shit, dumbass. Did you have to toss me across the room to confirm it?”
Vegeta's astonishment melted away to reveal true anger. He bent down, wrapping his fists around the voluminous robes that surrounded her. She was drowning in her clothing without the bulk from her disguise as an old, heavyset woman.
He hauled her up until they were nose to nose, pushing her against the wall, and pinning her there with his fists. He kept his body separate from her, using only her clothing to hold her.
“How dare you! How dare you show your face,” he hissed down at her.
“I'm here to help you!” Bulma shouted back, ignoring the fear that unfurled in her belly. Always she had known that Vegeta was a dangerous man. He was feared and hated, but she had never felt those things for him--until now.
His ebony eyes turned red and Bulma could see the fires of madness deep inside them. He lifted her further off the ground, shaking her above his head like a rag doll.
“I don't need your help. I don't need you!” he spat venomously.
Suddenly, as if he decided that just by holding her he was infecting himself somehow, he tossed her across the room. Thankfully she landed on the cot this time.
Bulma sat up in the bed, fear clenching her fists closed around the single ragged blanket.
“I don't need you either!” She screamed, unaware of the tears that streamed down her face.
All at once the thin sheet of ice that all of her emotions hid behind cracked and shattered inside her soul. Her tremendous grief from losing her son and leaving her mate came forward in a tidal wave of sorrow. Her tears turned into gut-wrenching sobs that shook her entire body. Between shuddering breaths she screamed at Vegeta, trying to convince herself more than him.
“I don't need you either, you bastard. I don't need anyone! I'm Bulma Briefs. I can take care of myself. I always have and I always will. I don't need anyone.”
She balled up the blanket that she was clutching, holding it against her stomach as if she was trying to stop her insides from falling out of the hole in her heart. She hung her head, muffling her face in the blanket.
“I don't need you, but that doesn't stop me from wanting you,” she confessed to the blanket, her muted voice barely audible.
Vegeta, who had been standing silently, crossed the room in a whirlwind of anger to stand over her, shaking his fist.
“Want! What do you know of want? The only thing you have ever wanted in your life was the destruction of Frieza, and when I gave you that you still weren't happy. You had to run off, acting like the superior smart-ass bitch you think you are. But you are nothing Bulma. Nothing but a whore that sells her body to get what she wants.”
Bulma's eyes widened at his words, her self-pitying tears drying up. She rose up to her knees so she could bring herself even with Vegeta. Without fear she slapped him as hard as she could across the face, ignoring the sting of pain in her palm. She hit him with such force that it whipped his chin to the side, and the print of her hand was instantly visible on his cheek.
“I am not a whore, you fucker!” She screamed so loudly that her voice took on a shrill pitch. “I slept with you because I loved you.”
Vegeta's head was still cocked to the side, and Bulma watched as his lips twisted into a sneer of scorn. He turned his head to face her, his black eyes boring into her.
“Loved?” he questioned softly, his fingers rising to toy with her collar. He had seen the gleam of stone, and he had to confirm what he dared to think. He pulled away her clothing, and there around her slender neck was the Torque of Kingship.
Bulma lowered her head, brushing her fingers over his. “I wear it to be close to you. I want to keep it safe for you, so you can claim it along with everything that you deserve in life.”
“What is that you think that I deserve, woman?” He stared deeply into her blue eyes, his fingers unmoving from around her neck.
She knew what he wanted, but it was so hard. There was so much pain and distrust between them. The man she had known back on Primas had changed. He was no longer a man driven by the need for revenge, but a monster who destroyed everything he touched. For all of her love, for all of her faith in him, he had become the one thing that broke her heart. A tyrant.
“I want to love you, Vegeta.”
Bulma could barely stand the hurt that formed in Vegeta's eyes, before he shut it away behind his ever present mask. Anger took the place of his hurt, and she braced herself for the onslaught that she knew was coming.
“Love. What a stupid word. That word is more of a lie than anything Frieza ever said.”
“It's not a lie, Vegeta. I loved you. Why can't you believe that?” Bulma pounded her fists into the tops of her thighs, frustrated beyond caring for her own safety.
“Because love would imply trust, and you never trusted me Bulma. Not once!”
“That's not true. I trusted you to kill Frieza. I trusted you to take care of our son after I was gone.”
Hurt flashed in Vegeta's eyes at her words. “Yes, but once you were resurrected that trust ended. I tried to claim the throne, not just for me but for us both, and you blocked me at every turn. You didn't believe that I wanted to have Trunks returned to us. You didn't believe that I…cared.” The last word was choked out between clamped lips. Vegeta whirled away to face the door, bitterness at his mate stewing inside of him.
Bulma wilted under his throbbing anger. Slowly she crawled off the bed to stand beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“I believed that you wanted Trunks returned. But…” She couldn't finish the thought, afraid of admitting the betrayal.
“But?” he snapped, still facing away from her.
Unable to escape, Bulma had to answer. They had to lance the wounds or they would never heal.
“But you are the Saiyan Prince. Uncompromising and brutal. Once I believed that you loved me, but that feeling faded under your fierce, unreasonable possessiveness. You wanted to lock me away, unseen and unheard. I became a thing to you. A priceless treasure stored in a vault, only to be taken out on special occasions. How could I believe that you cared for our son when I couldn't believe that you cared for me?”
Vegeta's back was rigid under her palm so she let it fall back to her side. She lowered her gaze, noticing that Vegeta's own hands were clenched into tight fists at his side.
“How could I trust you?” She whispered to his back.
He turned, his face drawn into a mask of cold steel. His features were so frozen that when he spoke it was through tight lips that barely moved.
“Me? How could I trust you? You closed your mind to me. You closed everything to me. After seeing how you plotted against Frieza, how could I not believe that you would do the same to me? I would have given you everything you wanted, indulged your every spoilt demand, if you had just let me. I would have returned Trunks to you, if you had just given me the time to do so.”
Vegeta reached down to grab Bulma by the upper arms. His fingers pinched her painfully, but she barely noticed she was so riveted by his speech.
“But instead you shut me out. You turned against me like I was the enemy. In my entire life I have had no one. I have needed no one. With you, for the first time I could sleep through the night. For the first time in twenty years I felt at home.”
The tears began to stream down Bulma's face again as his words reverberated in her soul.
“For the first time I had a friend,” he finished, and Bulma's heart broke.
Vegeta dropped his hands, turning from her again. “I have never spoken so freely before in my life. Always I have been tormented by my thoughts, haunted by my emotions, so I have locked them away. Somehow you found the key, and since then I have been tortured daily.”
“For you I could have been a better man, if you had just trusted me.” Vegeta paused, choking on his own breath. “I want you to leave. We have nothing more to discuss; we are done.” Vegeta brushed passed her, returning to his cot.
Bulma dried her tears, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She stood for long moments in the middle of the room, the feeling of loss swamping her. In one single moment of clarity she knew that she couldn't let something as precious as what she had right there in that room end. She wouldn't let go without a fight.
Bulma turned, crossing the room to Vegeta. He sat on the bed, and for the first time ever, he looked beaten. His hands dangled down between his knees, his head hanging to his chest.
She knelt down before him, taking his cold hands into hers.
“You had your say, and now I have something to say too.” She tugged at his hands, hoping that he would lift his head to look at her, but he ignored her.
“Trust is never instantaneous. Love at first sight is a myth. Some things take time and time was something that we never had. It can take years for married couples to build a trusting foundation, while some never achieve such a thing. We had only a few short months.”
At that Vegeta raised his head in clear disagreement. “We lived together for nearly a year, woman.”
“Yes we did. A full year where we did out best to avoid each other unless we were in a public room. Months of trying not to touch each other for fear that we would spontaneously combust.” Bulma smiled softly at that, hoping that Vegeta would return the sentiment. He did not, but his features did seem to soften at the memory.
“We had one night of blissful passion, and then we were torn apart by our vengeful master.” Vegeta rolled his eyes at her expressive statement. She was such a woman. Blissful passion, indeed.
“The only intimate time that we had together was when we traveled to get Trunks. That is truly the only time that I can think of that we spent time together as a couple---as lovers. I don't know what happened while I was dead, but you changed. Yes, before you were a mean bastard, but you were reasonable. After we returned from trying to retrieve our son, you became obsessed.
“You wanted to leave me!” Vegeta broke in. Bulma calmed him with a hand on his heart, finally able to make eye contact with him.
“I understand now that you didn't want to let me go. I should have trusted you to find Trunks, but that is what I am trying to tell you, Vegeta. Trust takes years to build. We fell together into a bed of deception, but fate gifted us with love. We just weren't ready for that gift to be tested so strenuously.”
Bulma placed her other hand on Vegeta's chest as she looked up into his eyes. “Vegeta, we just need more time,” she whispered softly, her sapphire eyes sparkling with unshed tears and seething emotion.
Time stopped as they held that moment between the beat of their hearts. Bulma was sure that he wanted wrap his arms around her, but then he blinked and the moment was lost. He encircled his fingers around her delicate wrists, pulling her hands down to drop them between his knees. His eyes turned cold, sucking the air from her lungs and freezing her heart.
“You aren't worthy of my time,” he whispered deliberately, stabbing her with every word.
Bulma lowered her head in dejection, the feeling of loss returned ten fold. The weight of reality pushed her shoulders towards the floor. Vegeta was rejecting her. They had come too far and risked too much. They had suffered through too much pain to forgive. Together they managed to do the impossible. They freed themselves from a tyrant, fought to unite a universe, and most unbelievable of all, they had managed to destroy the undestroyable---love.
It was over.
Bulma shivered as a veil of ice covered her heart and soul, killing her slowly from the inside out. She rose from the floor, her knees almost buckling under the weight of her sorrow.
“I have found Trunks. I have hired the Red Ribbon Mercenaries to help me. We will be ready to leave in a few days. Be ready when that time comes.” She picked up the tray from the sideboard, as she spoke. “So why don't you pull your ass out of that pity fest you're wallowing in and eat something.”
She dropped the tray in front of him, ignoring the food that splattered around her feet. She reactivated her Recombinator as she turned to leave. She knocked on the door, waiting quietly as it was opened from the outside by a guard. She walked out on Vegeta without another word being exchanged by either of them. She was so immersed in her misery that she failed to notice the sly smile on the guard's face as he escorted her down the hall.