Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ In Dreams ❯ Prologue

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

AN: I'M BACK! After taking a hiatus from writing DBZ fics, I have returned! And to get my creative juices flowing once more, I offer you this one-shot (it seems like that's all I ever do, but there will be an update of The Mistress coming). After having my son, I felt that I lost inspiration for B/V fics but I have returned to my love for them and this one-shot is my first offering since December. Enjoy.



Summary: B/V, post-Buu. In dreams, a Saiyan hides his deepest, most darkest deeds. In dreams there is no reprieve. In dreams, he comes to see the creature he became; a monster.




The streets were painted with blood. Blood of his victims, blood of his so-called comrades. From the corner of his eye, he spied his Saiyan counterpart, Nappa, rip the body of a woman in half. Her blood spurted outwards, smattering the floor and staining his own cheek like crimson rain falling from a hellish cloud. With morbid fascination, he watched as her vital organs plopped to the dusty ground, only to be swarmed by flies a few seconds later. They feasted upon the bloodied morsel like parasites.



He wiped his cheek, catching the rivulets of blood upon his once pristine white gloves. They were crusted with drying blood... The blood of his victims.



Their screams tore through barrier of his mind, invading his ears like the endless ringing of torturous bells.



Vegeta had to stop them. He had to stop the screams.



"Are you done fucking around, Raditz?" The sound of his own voice felt like sharp razors grating down the side of a ship. He looked to his right and saw the unhappy picture of his Saiyan guard atop a trembling figure. The long, spike-haired man grinned up at him ferociously before moving to stand as he tucked his member back into the flap of his armor.



"Finished, my lord," Raditz replied a little too happily.



The Prince of all Saiyans snarled indignantly, "Well, it's about time!" He raised his hand and sent a ki-ball hurtling towards the woman staring up at the sky with deadened eyes. Although she had been breathing before his attack, her soul had been destroyed the second Raditz had invaded her body.



But just before the ki-ball engulfed her entirely, the woman seemed to morph... And instead of dull lilac eyes staring up and beyond the clouds, a pair of exquisite cerulean orbs danced in their place.



He tried to move, tried to do something, but his feet remained firmly planted in the dust-ridden road. And he was only able to shout out in agony as the electric ball of energy burned away her flesh as acid would to a living creature. She dissolved before his very own murderous eyes.



"Bulma!"




"Bul ma!"



Vegeta's eyes opened and he found himself gazing up at a dark ceiling. His breath rasped heavily as he tried desperately to still his beating heart. It hadn't been one of his worst nightmares, but it was chilling nonetheless.



He was almost ashamed to look towards his left, but he knew. He knew that she was sitting up beside him, her eyes wide with fear and such sorrow as she gazed down at him through the darkness. He closed his eyes to her. He was not a weakling and he refused to run into her arms like a child needing to be coddled after a nightmare.



He was a warrior, dammit. He was not a weakling... But he had done it again. He had killed her again. Albeit it was in his dreams, the monster within him had still killed her.



Vegeta's jaw twitched at the silken touch of her hand upon his angled cheek. "Don't touch me!" He snapped irritably.



She refused to be cowed; her palm continued to stroke his cheek and he could not find the will to bat it away. "Another nightmare?" Her breathy voice enveloped him into reality, welcoming him to truth of his deception. Bulma knew that he was no angel. She knew of the evil deeds he had committed in his past. But she did not know that he was haunted by the screams of his victims every hour of every waking day.



As his years on Earth drew on, the shrieking screams grew louder. Though they were somewhat dimmed in her presence, they never truly vanished. Vegeta had yet to make peace with his past. And for that, he was ashamed.



"Go back to sleep," he ordered quietly, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just called out her name in such anguish and self-hatred.



Bulma knew how to deal with her husband. She was not one to back down from his challenging attitude, nor accept his rude behavior. "It's kind of hard to do that when you're thrashing around next to me," she commented dryly.



He popped open an eyelid and gazed up at her unwillingly to retort to her sassy words. His other eye shot open as his Saiyan eyesight caught a dark circle bruising the lower right hand side of his wife's jaw. "How–?"



"You accidentally hit me," her lip quirked up in amusement. "What happened to your self-proclaimedcontrol, Prince Vegeta?" She remarked laughingly.



He, on the other hand, was far from laughing. Bulma ceased her mirth to sigh as she caught the glint of self-loathing in his eye. Although Vegeta professed to control his emotions, he sometimes wore them on his sleeve when it came to her and their children. Or perhaps she was just becoming much more adept at reading them. Whatever it was, their time together had meant that she could understand him on a level that no-one could.



"It's ok," she assured him gently, her eyes growing serious at the stony expression on his face. "It looks worse than it actually is."



"Does it hurt?" He asked gruffly.



Bulma shook her head. "It just stings a little bit." She watched with confusion as her husband slid out bed to make his way to their en-suite bathroom. Her eyes widened as he returned to her side with the First-Aid box that had been tucked away into a corner of one of the bathroom's cabinets. She hadn't even realized that Vegeta knew of its' location. Apparently, her husband was more observant than she gave him credit for.



As silently as he had risen from the bed, he set about opening the box and pulling out a jar of healing salve. The ingredients had been procured from the endless information he had stored in his brain as Frieza's mercenary. He had given her the contents and instructions on how to create the salve, as he required it's use after the countless hours of training he endured in the GR. That didn't mean to say she had told him the location of the healing salve. After the Cell incident, it had always been Bulma's job to apply the salve on her husband's wounds. He only let her because of her constant griping about his needs and the worry she harbored for him. In all honesty, Bulma was lucky to have such a man like Vegeta as her husband. Only he would put up with her temperamental mood swings, her whining and as he liked to called it, her 'constant bitching'.




Her eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of his calloused fingers gently rubbing the slave into her bruise. She didn't know how he did it. She didn't know how he could make her feel so–so desirable. Even with a bruise staining the near-perfect features of her face. Electric ripples of pleasure danced luxuriously down her spine, surrounding her stomach and abdomen in a glowing warmth that almost made her melt under his touch. Slowly, she opened her eyes to focus on his blank face that clearly contradicted the blazing inferno within his obsidian eyes.



Through it all, she knew that he was avoiding her gaze–she knew that he was focusing on his task. But Bulma also understood that it would be fruitless for him to ignore the same desire that furled within his stomach. He always succumbed to the force of lust between them.



"Vegeta..." His name fell upon her lips like a flower blossoming in the sun's dawning rays. Untouchable and yet ethereally beautiful. With his name she spoke a thousand words of affection and love, that no other impassioned speech could have compared to his softly spoken name. He finally looked at her. "About your nightmare..? I–Are you okay?"



In the depth of his eyes he shadowed a monster–a beast that lay hidden beneath the years of peace in her arms. It flickered at the mention of his turmoil. It was there, so tangible and utterly real in its ferocity. She revelled in the fiery gaze. With all the sins he had committed in the past, she had the privilege to know that he would die before causing their family any harm. But she worried about him, as was her given right.



It was so strange... This thing called love. It could make you turn a blind eye to the most hideous attributes of your significant other. It could empower every breath of your being and make you light-headed with a single glance from the one who possessed your heart. From the one who possessed her. But to know that the one you loved suffered, her love suffered, in the cold night–well, it made her want to weep with sorrow.



Bulma waited with bated breath as he leaned forward, moving his hand to cup her injured jaw. In his eyes, she saw a flicker remorse. Remorse for his past deeds? Remorse for the years he wasted in ignoring her? Remorse for his continued nightmare? She couldn't be sure. But it was there.



"Woman," his breath feathered her lips as he cupped her chin, "You talk too much." It was merely an accurate observation at present, but he meant every unspoken word that lingered between them. He didn't want to dwell on his nightmares. He wanted to concentrate on this moment. This moment with her.



A lazy but saddened smile found its way to her lips, "Then why don't you make me shut up?" She whispered.



He smirked. "Gladly."



Before she could comment, he was already pushing her form back onto the bed, his lips finding hers in a sacred dance that surpassed the passage of time. Though she wanted to comfort him from his nightmare, she knew there was nothing she could say or do to heal the wounds that had been so deeply etched into his blackened heart. And so, she offered him the only thing that could compensate for her lack of empathy towards him.



Her love.




Afterwa rds, they lay together in silence with her head upon his chest. He cradled her naked body to his, as though he were protecting a fragile jewel that was worth more than all the riches in the world. He liked the way she made him feel. So wanted... So needed. However, it wasn't enough.



"Don't," Bulma pleaded softly to herself against the cool night.



He looked down at her questioningly as he held her. Her word had not made any sense to his dimming pleasure-saturated senses.



"Don't do this to yourself, Vegeta. Don't punish yourself in silence. Not like this."



Ah.



Vegeta held back a sigh at his wife's implied words. She was talking about his nightmares, about the man he became when he dreamed. In the daylight, he was cold and aloof but a family man at heart. But when the sun set and the dreams invaded his sleep, he seemed to revert back into the monster he was before he met her. A murderer. A rapist... A pedophile.



The last one sickened him the most. He could almost feel the bile rising to his throat as he thought of the countless atrocities he had committed towards children. He had slaughtered them in their billions, taunted them in their thousands... And raped them in their hundreds. He was a monster. He did not deserve the life he had now–this life of peace.



He did not deserve to have his children.



If only... If only Frieza had let him be as a child. The lizard had been glorified by Vegeta's childhood antics.



The Prince of all Saiyans down on his knees like a rabid dog, waiting to be fucked like a bitch in heat.



And so, he forced other children to bear the shame he had felt in his younger years. There was no excuse, except perhaps that he had been, and still was, mentally imbalanced. But to imagine his own children in the same situation? Hurt by his hands? The thought alone made his hands itch to shred the world into pieces. If such pain was ever to be bestowed upon his own children, he would bathe the universe in the blood of the gods. And Hell be damned.



"You have no idea, Bulma." Vegeta finally said, hearing the sound of her heart-beat against his rib-cage quicken at his chilling, empty words.



"Then tell me."



"You would not want to know," he replied with a hollow voice.



Bulma raised her head to look him, her eyes focused upon his angular cheek-bone as she deftly stroked his smooth skin. "I do. I do want to know. You must be having nightmares for a reason..."



There was, Vegeta thought darkly. There was a reason. It was because he had indulged in this life of peace and love. How could he tell her? He was certain that she would never allow him near their children once she knew. He would not blame her if she took that course of action–if she wished for him to leave. He would leave in a heartbeat if he felt that he was unwanted by his blue-haired vixen.



Unable to stand the thundering thoughts in his mind any longer, he gently pushed her warm body off of his and moved to stand. His naked form was outlined by the shadows of their spacious room. Slowly, he began the task of donning a pair of cotton trousers that were on the table beside their bed. They were there in case their youngest decided to pay them a visit during one of their heated nightly sessions. The amount of times they had almost been caught... Vegeta almost smirked at the embarrassing situations that had been avoided, all because of these pants and Bulma's large, old t-shirt.



"Where are you going?" Bulma asked as he moved towards the double-door french windows of the room.



"I'll be back soon," he assured her.



Her heard her sigh sorrowfully.



It made him want to bow his head in shame. He had made her suffer in the past by leaving her, but there was no cause to create tension between them now. They had moved beyond the petty games that had occurred during the start of their relationship. "Don't worry," he heard himself say softly, "I will return." In the past, he would not have returned to her side for months. He preferred to train in the rugged terrain of Chikyuu. It offered a solace from his nightmares that sometimes her arms could not. But never would he wish to sleep by himself again for so long. If it came to that, then the dreams would become unbearable. The monster inside of him would find itself awakening. And he could never allow that to happen.



Silently, he flew out of the window and into the dark embrace of the breezy Autumn night.




Morning came swiftly and Bulma set about her daily routine. The fact that Vegeta had left in the middle of the night still niggled at the back of her mind, but there was nothing she could do about it. Only he could lay the ghosts of his past to rest. It was the one thing she could not assist him on. Even though he had left her in the past and had been gone for months without a trace, he eventually returned. But that had not occurred since before the Buu escapade. He had never been gone for months after that, but now... It was happening again. And it worried her.



"Momma?"



She looked up from her food, "What is it sweetie?"



"Where's Poppa?"



Bulma reached out to ruffle her young daughter's hair. "He's busy, Bra-chan. You know how Poppa can be when he's busy."



Bra frowned. "But won't he be hungwy?" She looked down at her own pile of food sadly. "I know. Can I save him something?" She asked hopefully, her eyes lighting up with the sudden solution. Bulma almost laughed aloud, though in her soul she was uncertain as to when Vegeta would return.



"You can save him something," she looked at her daughter's almost empty plate. "But what?"



Bra pouted and pointed thoughtfully to one pancake that was separated from it's half-finished stack. "This."



"Why did you pick that?"



"Because it's not wound and Poppa likes funny shaped pancakes." Bra said innocently.



Bulma bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. If anything, Vegeta preferred round pancakes and was a stickler for them, as was Bra. But she wasn't about to tell her sweet little daughter that. "I'm sure he'll be very happy, honey," she assured her. "Now, eat the rest of your breakfast so you can go wake your brother up. He sleeps in too late on a Saturday."



Bra chirped happily in agreement. She didn't mind waking her older brother. It meant she got to go into his room and jump on his bed. And although he grumbled and whined about his sleep, she knew he secretly liked being woken up by her because a smile always tugged at his lips when he finally rose from the bed.




Night had fallen by the time Vegeta had finally returned home. This time, he had not stayed away too long from home.



Home.



He inhaled deeply as he stepped in through the back doors of the kitchen. A wonderful calm enfolded his aura like never before. Who would have thought that his trip to the mountains could have been so... Productive? He certainly had not. Though it had been more of a hellish experience, it had strengthened him like never before. And that strength had come from the most unlikely source he could have ever thought of.



It's funny how things turn out.



Like a predator in the dark, Vegeta honed in on his mate's ki and slowly moved to stalk towards his prey.



A smile played upon his lips.



Not a smirk, but a real smile; the first in all the long years of his life.




For hours he had blasted his ki at the snowy mountainous peaks. No thoughts invaded his trance-induced state, no awareness pierced through the cold armor of numbness he had clothed himself within. He became detached, as he had forced himself to become many years prior to arriving on Chikyuu.



Though at that very mom