Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Don't Ever Let Go ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or any of its characters.

 

Chapter 5

 

Vegeta

 

I can't stop thinking about her. Seeing her lying on the bathroom floor, blood leaking out of her body. The mental imagery disturbs my fragile sense of control over my emotions because seeing her like that has brought back half forgotten memories of broken and bloody corpses, corpses made out of the billions of beings I sacrificed for the might of the Ice-jin Empire. More importantly, I can't stop thinking about the fact that I ran away from her. I ran away from the situation without doing anything to alleviate her pain or her suffering. I feel like I've condemned her to that fate I inflicted on so many others. Holding back a shudder, I try to hold back the tears that are forming at the corners of my eyes. The more I look back at what has just happened, the more I realize that I'm still the monster I was before, and the fact that I realize my wrongs isn't helping to relieve my own suffering. I hate myself.

 

Swallowing raggedly, I snap open my tightly closed eyes and wait for them to adjust to the dimness that surrounds me. Quickly scrubbing away the tears that have slowly trickled down my face, I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them, resting my chin upon them as I look out across the expanse of the desert around me.

 

I'm back at the place that always seems to beckon to me when I'm feeling particularly wretched; the goddamned crater that Kakarrot's brat created when he killed Cell. It's been a few weeks since I've been out here, but nothing has changed since then. Looking over the lip of the crater, I crinkle my swollen eyes slightly as I watch the sun begin to peak over the edge of the mountains in the distance. I must have dozed off for a little while, though to tell the truth, I don't feel rested at all. Instead, an overwhelming sense of despair threatens to suffocate me. There have only been a few times in my adult life when the protective barriers surrounding my mental and emotional controls have ever been completely breached. When I lay dying before Freeza, before my son was born, after my son from the future was slaughtered before me, and right after Cell was defeated. At the moment, I'm desperately trying to stay in control of myself, but that is proving to be especially difficult when flashes of Bulma's anguished face press their way into my mind's eye, reminding me once again of memories from past that I would rather not have to face.

 

Choking back a growl, I find myself swirling back in time to when I first began my training to become a killing machine. I was so young, yet I was already a weapon to be used and disposed of accordingly. I remember being excited over my first purging mission, determined to show my father that I had what it took to be the next King of all Saiya-jins. I exterminated half of a planet in half a day's time without having to transform, which was certainly a feat of achievement for a four year Saiya-jin cub. It wasn't until I found myself up against a woman and her child who was probably not much younger than myself when something weak within me clawed its way out of my gut. There was something inordinately wrong about killing something as defenseless as a child when I myself was only a child. Yet, I killed the brat and its mother because I couldn't lose face in front of my men, and most importantly, in front of my father. I boasted about my success, yet that same night, I hid myself in a closet and cried, not understanding the reason behind it. Soon after that, I found myself alone in the world except for my bodyguard and Kakarrot's weakling brother, enslaved under the worst sort of tyrant imaginable. I committed atrocities that make the war crimes on this planet look like acts of goodness before I was the age of ten. And through it all, I learned to block away everything that bothered me, everything that made me weak. Until I came here. Until I met Kakarrot and Bulma.

 

She thinks I have changed perhaps, but watching her like that and doing nothing to aid her, even when I really didn't know what to do or how to act is only helping to solidify the fact that I'm not the person she wants me to be. Nor will I ever be. I've become a weak and selfish being, confused about my purpose in life, with no goals and no true aspirations any longer. And I'm not even worthy to be her mate. I'm sinking to a new low in life, and at the moment, I'm not above finally destroying the misery that is my stinking life. However, thoughts of her and thoughts of such a cowardly action also help to give me a reality check. Though I may be a coward, I have never taken the easy way out of a situation, no matter how much I might wish to. Perhaps it has something to do with my Saiya-jin pride. Who the fuck knows? At any rate, wallowing in my own self-imposed torment isn't something I should be doing at the current moment.

 

Gritting my teeth, I start re-erecting my damaged walls, trying to quell the worry that is rapidly rising in my gut over the condition of my mate. Standing up, I stretch to pull out the kinks in my muscles from sitting for such a long period of time without moving. Kicking a pebble with my bare foot, since I had left my boots in the living room without retrieving them when I left, I let out a deep breath. I have to look calm and I have to look in control. Chewing on my bottom lip, I take a look around at my surroundings, once again facing the reality of all the fucked up things I've done since I came to the Planet Earth. And the list of my misdeeds just keeps growing larger and larger. Shaking off some of the hopelessness that has descended upon me, I take off into the early morning sunlight, heading back once again to the place where I live.

 

Flying low over the ground, I have time to think out a plan of action. No doubt, there will be people present when I let myself into the house. Normally, I avoid Bulma's erratic and unpredictable parents as well as my son, to a certain extent. However, avoiding them is not something I can afford to do on this particular morning. I have no idea where Bulma is, if they took her to the infirmary or somewhere else. Or for that matter, what her condition is. And I certainly cannot appear before her weakling parents looking as though I've been crying like a baby. Only two people have ever been allowed to see me in such a state of weakness: Kakarrot and Bulma. And of the two, only Bulma is the one whom I do not hold anything against. But that is another circumstance altogether. Fisting my hands, I pick up speed and soar up above until I am almost touching the fleeting wisps of icy clouds above me.

 

In less time then I would have liked to take, I find myself automatically touching down on the front lawn outside of Capsule Corporation. Everything looks normal, as if last night had not occurred at all. The only thing that is out of place is the patch of burned grass left over from my botched training of my son. Shaking my head angrily, I pull my arms down to my sides and then purposefully walk towards the front door. Opening the door, I make my way inside and head towards the kitchen, my stomach still in synch even if the rest of me is not.

 

It isn't until I walk in the kitchen that I realize the extent of what has happened to my mate. Sitting at the table with an overly large spoon in his chubby fist is my son, greedily shoving cereal into his mouth. Bulma is nowhere to be seen and neither are her parents. Narrowing my eyes, I cross my arms and let out a grunt of irritation to hide some of the worry that is lacing its way through my system. The brat is seldom if ever left to his own devices in the kitchen, since he has the tendency to destroy everything that he touches. I can see for myself that someone must have helped him in getting his breakfast, but it is not like the knit-whit or the Woman to leave him unattended.

 

Looking over at him, I can see clearly that he finally notices my presence, especially when he starts to double his eating speed. In less then a second, he's choking up the cereal he couldn't swallow, milk and food spraying across the table. Growling at him, I make my way slowly around the table and head towards the refrigerator, pulling it open and yanking food out of it without looking to see exactly what it is. Slamming the door shut, I throw everything onto the countertop behind me and then turn to my son, who is still coughing up his breakfast.

 

“Trunks, don't eat like a pig. You are a Prince, so act like one.”

 

He just nods his head stupidly, trying to hide the fact that he's beginning to tear up from the harshness of my voice. I watch as he drops the spoon he's holding on to and slides out of his booster seat, landing neatly onto the linoleum floor of the kitchen. Scampering out as fast as his chubby legs will carry him, he pushes the door open and disappears around the corner. Rubbing my forehead in frustration, not for the first time around my brat do I feel like a complete ass. It angers me when he starts crying, but it wasn't my intent to get rid of him, leaving me alone with the mess he left behind. Had Bulma been here, this wouldn't have happened. Even though I dislike her pampering of him, she has a way of smoothing down his ruffled feathers. After all, she is his mother through and through.

 

Seating myself at the table, I open up the food in front of me, noticing that it's a leftover part of a bento and some dried fish. Not a particularly appetizing meal or snack, but I don't feel like digging around for something else. And looking at the mess of milk and half-chewed cereal across from me doesn't make that option seem appealing at all. Chewing methodically, I take in a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly. A stress headache is starting to form behind my temples and I feel like shit after staying up all night long. And the worry about my mate is eating away at my insides, making me feel uncomfortable and uneasy. I have never been a worrier, taking action before I could begin to think of the consequences. However, last night and if I'm honest with myself, the previous few months, have been slowly turning me into a somewhat anxious individual. I don't like these feelings inside of me, so the only remedy I can think of is to swallow my pride and find the old couple so I can find out what is wrong with my mate. Thankfully, I don't have to do anything since at the exact moment, Bulma's nutty mother finally makes an appearance.

 

She seems surprised to see me and perhaps happy at the same time. But those fleeing emotions are replaced by a mask of uneasiness that only accentuates the dark circles underneath her eyes and the fact that she doesn't have her make-up or hair done. To see her, the epitome of shallowness and superficiality, in such a state only makes me all the more concerned. Clenching my fists tightly, digging my fingernails into the flesh of my palms, I try desperately to quell my discomfort. But since she's here, I don't feel the need to ask her any questions, knowing full well that she'll eventually supply me with the information I need. Taking a bite of the dried fish in front of me, I watch her out of the corner of my eyes as she takes a rag out of the sink and cleans up Trunks's mess before she settles herself across from me. As soon as she is seated, I know she's going to talk, so I slowly set my fork down and cross my arms, waiting for whatever news she has about my mate.

 

“Trunks didn't finish his breakfast.”

 

Rolling my eyes at such an insipid comment, I let out a snort of irritation. Leave it to the idiot female to make note of the obvious before giving me vital and important information.

 

“Was he in here when you got back Vegeta?”

 

I don't have time for this. Slamming my fist down on the table, I watch as she jumps slightly in her chair and opens her eyes, showing the clear blue that both my mate and my son inherited from her side of the family. I quell a small amount of guilt for being a bully, but she is insufferable and if I don't take control, who knows how long I'll be stuck listening to her inane chatter. Leaning over the table towards her, I bare my canines and look her straight in the eye.

 

“Look here female, what the fuck does it matter if the brat was in here when I got back? He's not here anymore. Now, you will tell me what the hell is wrong with my mate before I tear your weak body apart limb from limb, understood?”

 

Watching her nod her head slightly, I push my way back down into my chair and cross my arms, waiting for her to finally spill the news I want to hear.

 

“Vegeta…Vegeta I know you must be upset about last night.”

 

Me, upset? Huh, I want to laugh in her fucked up face. She has no fucking clue about what I'm feeling, and why should she? I want to sneer at her and make her squirm in her seat, but I also want to hear the rest of the shit she's going to spill out of her mouth. So I just ignore her comment and stare at her with an unflinching gaze until she continues on.

 

She licks her lips, much like Bulma does when she's nervous or uncomfortable and then proceeds to clear her throat before continuing on.

 

“She didn't really want you to leave. Bulma, that is. She…she just doesn't know how you are going to react sometimes and she's just as proud as you are, you know. She didn't want you to see her like that. But at the same time, she wanted you to be her strength.”

 

I swallow slightly, sensing this much to be true about the woman who bears my mark. Once again, I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt and betrayal for leaving her like that, but what else could I do? What more could she have wanted from me? I'm not the type to give out comfort or affection because I don't understand it or feel comfortable doing so. And I know that she understands that about me. But I left her to die. I left her.

 

I don't realize until my mother-in-law touches my arm that I've been staring off into space. Giving her a death glare for daring to touch my body, I watch as she retreats back across the table and lets out a long sigh.

 

“Look Vegeta, I don't know how much she told you about…about certain things. She's been having a difficult time with this pregnancy. And sometimes, for whatever reason, a woman's body will reject the child growing inside of it. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

 

I nod my head dumbly at her. I knew Bulma was having problems. How could I not, seeing as we sleep in the same bed together? But she never once told me that her body was rejecting the brat, that that was what was making her sick. She just kept acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary. And the more I think about it, I realize that there really wasn't any reason for her to tell me. It wasn't as though I had been acting in a very accepting or accommodating manner around her, especially since I was still angry over her failure to tell me she was pregnant in the first place. Just like me, she contained her problems and fears, but unlike me, it was because she didn't want to be a bother and she didn't want to make me upset.

 

Looking over across the table at my mother-in-law, I can tell that there is more to what she has to say and my uneasiness increases exponentially. Growling, I lash out at her to hide my uncertainty.

 

“Just spill it, old woman! What else are you going to tell me?”

 

Clenching my jaw, I watch as she lets out a sigh and pushes back a few of her platinum curls that have managed to make their way into her face.

 

“Bulma had a miscarriage early this morning. She lost your baby. I'm sorry Vegeta.”

 

Looking at her, I see pity and sadness in her gaze. Part of me wants to call her a liar, part of me is relieved, and another part of me feels guilty over feeling any sort of relief. If what she's saying is true, then the brat inside Bulma's womb is dead. I don't know what to say or even how the woman across from me expects me to act.

 

“The child is dead. Is B…is the Woman…is she alive?”

 

“Yes, Bulma's fine. She was in a lot of pain. They sedated her and she wasn't even aware when her body finally gave birth to your child. I stayed with her last night until she woke up. She's…she's fine physically but I think this is going to affect her. It's going to be very difficult.”

 

Letting out a breath that I had been holding, I watch as she slowly stands up and pushes in the kitchen chair. Standing up as well, I'm not at all prepared for what happens next. Still trying to let her information sink into my mind, I don't realize she's in front of me until I find her arms around my mid-section, hugging my body close to hers. Dumbly, I find myself weakly responding to her motherly comfort. It takes everything I have not to give into my earlier distress up at the crater. Thankfully, it's over quickly. She releases my body from my grip and then backs up a bit, looking at me nervously. Trying not to meet her gaze, I can sense a blush starting to spread across my cheeks and I'm embarrassed by my reaction. She's never once dared to touch me in such a manner, and since I mostly only think of her with contempt, I'm surprised at how right and how good such a ridiculous action feels. Still, my pride won't allow me to show any sort of fragility in front of her or anyone else. Putting on my mask of indifference, I stiffen my body and look towards where she is standing awkwardly.

 

“Where is your daughter?”

 

I notice when she lets out a slight sigh, as if to say she's relieved I'm not going to blow up over her serious infraction into my personal space.

 

“Bulma's at West City Memorial Hospital. She'll most likely be there for another day. Are you going to go visit her? I know she would want you to see her. It would mean a lot to my little girl.”

 

“Look here, it isn't any of your business what I plan on doing and how those plans concern your daughter.”

 

She shakes her head slightly at my acidic tone and then she backs away and heads towards to door, leaving me blessedly alone once more. However, before she leaves the room, she turns around and gives me a sad smile.

 

“Vegeta, if you need anything, either you, Bulma, or Trunks, just ask myself or Dr. Briefs. You are family after all and that's what families are for.”

 

With that silly statement left hanging in the air, she finally opens the door and leaves. Sitting back down at the table, I slowly start to finish eating the dried fish and partial bento in front of me, digesting the information my mother-in-law was so good to provide.

 

The child is dead. There will be no baby. And Bulma is still alive. All of these things together leave me with a sense of agitation, for lack of a better word. I'm not particularly upset that my unborn child is no longer of this world, but at the same time, there is a feeling of sadness within myself that something I created has suffered the same fate of almost anything that has been good or held meaning in my life.

 

Then there is the overwhelming sense of relief that my mate is not dead, that the god's did not decide to take her away from me. In fact, the sensation is so strong that I feel my legs begin to shake. To have such a strong emotional reaction over a person is something I'm not used to, only having had a similar reaction when my future son was slaughtered in front of me. In that case, the feelings emitted were rage, anger, and sorrow. Feelings of relief are completely new to me and this also adds to the pile of things that have contributed to my weakness. My burgeoning humanity as it is. Not really feeling hungry, I push my uneaten food away from me and slowly stand up. Leaving the kitchen, I make a decision about what I'm going to do. I have to see my mate, whether I truly want to or not. Call it a penance, but she does deserve that much respect from someone as screwed up as myself. We haven't been on very good terms with one another lately, but if she really wants to spend time in my company, so be it.

 

Making my way up to our bedroom, I notice that everything has been cleaned and replaced since last night. Letting out a breath of relief, I relax my body and make my way once again towards the closet, realizing for perhaps the first time that I'm only in my boxers and a T-shirt and that I just spent an entire night out in the desert like that. What a fucking moron I am. Feeling stupid, I pull off the dirty shorts and shirt and pull out a fresh pair, sliding them up my legs. Looking through the closet, I take out an undershirt, a dark blue button-down shirt, a pair of khaki pants, a pair of socks and some halfway decent shoes. No doubt the human freaks at the hospital would not approve if I appeared in my usual training gear, and for once, I don't want to make trouble for my mate. Putting on my clothes, I take a good look at myself in the mirror and run my fingers through my hair.

 

Feeling satisfied, I make my way to the balcony, leaping off and once again finding myself flying through the air. I'm not looking forward to this, but I also have the sense to realize that I need to see with my own eyes that my woman is alive, that she is all right. I need to prove to her somehow that…that I'm worth putting trust into. That I can protect her. I've come to a realization and the realization is unnerving. I've become dependent upon her and without her, my life, no matter how worthless it is, would have no meaning in it at all.

 

Bulma

 

That dream. My baby. Those are the only two things that keep running through my mind. Touching my belly, I try to keep back the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes. I have to be strong. For my family. I have to be.

 

I don't know how long I've been awake. My mother left about an hour before and I've been in here thinking of all the things I did wrong. Of what I could have done differently that would have allowed my little one to survive. All I can think is that it's not fair. I wanted him so badly. I wanted to hold him, rock him, care for him and now, I'll never have that chance. All because I was a coward. All because I was too afraid to deal with the reality of my situation.

 

I wanted to be strong. I didn't want to add to Vegeta's mental instability by telling him about my fears. And I didn't want him to see me in such a state of anguish. What must he think of me, seeing me crying on the bathroom floor? He probably thinks I'm just a weak female and no doubt, he won't be coming anywhere near me again. I told him to leave. I rejected his help. If anything, that is the greater of the two evils. I've already shown him through my actions of not telling him about the baby that I don't believe in him, that I don't trust him. All of these thoughts put together finally helps to open up the floodgate of tears I've been trying so valiantly to hold back.

 

Holding my middle, I bend over and weep into my hospital blanket. It's so unfair. I want to curse Dende. I want to howl at the supposed god's that keep our universe balanced. What right did they have to take away my baby?

 

Letting out a sob, I can see his features as they appeared in my dream. His clear blue eyes and dark brown hair exactly like Vegeta's. The sadness in his face because of his knowledge that he would never get the chance to live in this plane of existence. Even if Vegeta wasn't happy about having another child, I know he would have been proud of his son. Another Saiya-jin Prince to carry on his family's legacy. And now, that would never, ever be.

 

I don't know how long I sit hunched over in my bed sobbing, when a nurse pokes her head into my bedroom door. She looks at me awkwardly and then steps inside the room, closing the door behind her.

 

“How are you feeling Miss Briefs?”

 

I don't even bother to answer that question. How could she ask something so stupid? Isn't it obviously clear how I'm feeling? Leaning back into my pillow, I watch as she shifts her feet awkwardly before continuing.

 

“Do you feel up to any visitors?”

 

Well, that wasn't what I was expecting. Who would be visiting me? As far as I know, no one except for my mother and father knew what had happened last night and my mother had just left. I really don't feel like entertaining anyway. I just want to lay down and die, that's how horrible I'm feeling at the moment. But my curiosity is piqued, so I ask who it is. I'm surprised and dismayed when she tells me who the mysterious visitor is.

 

“A man named Vegeta. He says he's your husband.”

 

I ask her to repeat herself, and when she does, I ignore the strange look she gives me. I don't want him to see me like this, but what can I do? If I send him away, he'll only hate me all the more. Pushing back my hair, I tell her he can come in. I watch as she leaves the room, only to feel an attack of nerves I haven't felt ever since the time when Dr. Gero destroyed the air car I was in with Yajirobe and Vegeta did nothing to save me and our infant from certain death. I don't know what to say to him or even how he's going to react towards me. To say that Vegeta has ever really shown me any sort of caring is somewhat of an understatement. Yet I ended up mating with him and we've been in a rocky relationship for years. I have no idea how he's going to react, or how much he even knows, let alone how he figured out where I am. I don't have time for anymore thoughts because almost as soon as the nurse leaves, Vegeta steps into the room.

 

Looking at him, I know that he probably got little to no sleep last night, and that surprises me slightly. He looks almost as bad as I feel, except for the fact that he obviously took the time to dress nicely before coming. He shifts his feet, looking both awkward and uncomfortable, two things I have never witnessed in my husband. On most occasions, he has the bad habit of hiding his discomfort either by shouting, acting inordinately rude, or by leaving the situation altogether. Looking into his eyes, I can see that he is relieved and for once, I can feel that he is relieved through the bond we share from the time we first mated with one another. It doesn't make sense to me. Why would he feel relief over me? Watching him, I see that he notices a chair, and he pulls it up closer to the bed I'm lying in and seats himself, crossing his ankles and folding his arms across his chest as he has the habit of doing.

 

After he's made himself comfortable, I notice he's watching me just as I'm watching him. He clears his throat slightly, indicating to me that he's trying to say something.

 

“Woman, there…perhaps there will be others.”

 

That is definitely not what I was expecting him to say, although honestly, I have no idea what Vegeta would say anyway, never having been in circumstances like this with him. I don't know if he's just saying that in a strange attempt to comfort me or if he's actually serious, but his statement makes a whole new set of tears pour out of my eyes. Choking back a sob, I find myself once again wrapping my arms around the part of me that had so recently held our unborn child.

 

“Veg…Vegeta…he's dead. I couldn't st…stop it. I c…couldn't.”

 

Rocking myself, I blubber out inconsolably, the misery of the whole ordeal taking over my reluctance to act in such a manner in front of Vegeta. For minutes on end, I cry, trying to expel the almost unending grief that is washing its way through my body. So consumed in my own misery, I'm not even aware of the bed shifting or of finding my body pulled into a tight embrace. It isn't until I hear a deep, raspy voice whispering my name slowly into my ear that I realize where my husband is.

 

He has his arms around me, his chin resting on the top of my head as he rocks me back and forth gently. I crave this sort of comfort, and I'm surprised to be finding it in the arms of the last person I could ever think of who would be able to give it. Yet this is what I need. Laying my head across his chest, I sob into it until I can't produce any more tears. Then I just hiccup weakly into it, taking in deep breaths and smelling the slightly musky scent that is all Vegeta.

 

Feeling his arms around me, some of my deep anguish leaves. Relaxing into his warmth, I can feel his breath tickling across the top of my scalp. He doesn't let me go, but some of the strength in his arms dissipates as he shifts slightly behind me. I feel myself beginning to doze off. Just before I fall asleep, I can hear him whisper something to me. Another surprise from the enigma that is my husband.

 

“Bulma. Do not blame yourself for this. I'm…I'm just glad to know that you are not hurt. That you have not become another victim.”

 

What does this mean for Vegeta and Bulma? And what about Trunks? Will Bulma recover from her loss and will Vegeta ever let go of his demons? Find out in the next chapter! And please review!