Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Lab Monkey ❯ Love Her Not ( Chapter 23 )

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

 

Thanks to Bardockgurl for her beta skills

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

Love Her Not

 

Vegeta successfully untangled himself from the clinging mass of sheets, arms and legs only to stumble on the wad of blankets on the floor. Cursing softly, he made his way to the closet, his tail twitching angrily. Groggily, Bulma lifted her head, blinking at the clenched muscles of Vegeta's bare backside as he tried to unearth a clean uniform.

 

She dropped her head, a smile curling on her lips, already dreaming of heady kisses and sweat-slicked skin. Vegeta pulled on his uniform quietly, unnaturally considerate of the woman that laid sprawled out over the bed, her pale ivory back contrasting sharply with the satiny black sheets that bunched at the dip of her spine.

 

He thrust his hand into his white glove as he watched the steady rise and fall of her breathing. He glided toward her with dangerous grace, his still bared hand reaching for her before coming to a full stop. He extended a single index finger, barely touching her as he traced the path of her spine from the curve of her backside to the slope of her shoulders. She was like silk on satin, soft and beautiful, sleek and complex, utterly glorious. He brushed her watery blue hair from her face, admiring her profile. He paused, stilled by her beauty, unsure of what he meant to do, of what he wanted.

 

She shifted beneath his touch, mumbling softly. Vegeta leaned down, brushing his lips against her ear.

 

“I will be back later, my Bitchess,” he promised, already imagining what he would do to her when he returned.

 

Her eyes fluttered, her long teal lashes kissing her cheeks. His tongue sneaked out, tasting her warm flesh, and the spice of her blood simmering beneath her skin.

 

Vegeta left his quarters, unable to understand his affectionate attitude towards the woman who slept in his bed. She should be regulated to the smallest part of his brain that was only concerned with food and sex, not luxuriating around in his consciousness, distracting him from his business.

 

Vegeta absentmindedly made his way to the commissary for food to take back to his quarters. There was no way he was going bring Bulma to the cafeteria to get her own food. This particular one catered to dregs of Frieza's ship, and most of them didn't care if they died, (and die they would if they touched what was his,) as long as they had a good time doing it. It would be like waving fresh meat in front of hungry predators.

 

Most of the soldiers were gathered in the dinning area, each trying to vie for the best morsels of food. As Vegeta walked by they parted, making way for him as he passed.

 

Rank under Frieza wasn't decided by aristocratic authority, or the ability to purchase favors, there were no stars or stripes. Rank was decided by strength. Those who were most powerful were allowed privileges, not because they had authority, but because they could take them and kill any who challenged them.

 

Vegeta wasn't in the least concerned for the two men that he had killed down in the bowls of the ship when retrieving Bulma. They were nothing more than foot soldiers, easy fodder, designed to die at Frieza's whim.

 

He wouldn't go entirely unpunished however. He couldn't just murder a fellow solider, robbing his Lord of man in his military, without cost. In return, he would have to pay the dead man's Soldier Price. That was the cost of training a new man of equal rank, to take the deceased's place, something that Vegeta could easily afford, especially now that he had access to all his funds.

 

He grinned smugly at the thought of finally being able to wave his fortune in his female's face. Normally he was reticent about sharing his fortune, paranoid, rightly so, that someone would steal his already stolen gains, but he couldn't resist the idea of finally proving his financial vigor to the one person who had questioned it. He could already imagine the look on her face when he proved his wealth to her.

 

Vegeta was roughly pulled out of his thoughts as someone collided with him. No one in their right mind ever crossed paths with the merciless prince, much less bumped him in the hall. His head shot up, his black eyes filled with murder. He met the mocking, green gaze of Zarbon, the filthiest, fucking bastard on the ship next to Frieza. He was so dirty that the smell of corruption wafted off his powdered skin like soured milk. Vegeta's already fierce frown grew deeper, his eyes hardening like chips of obsidian ice.

 

“Careful, Vegeta. You wouldn't want to return to your little human female all bruised up, would you?”

 

Vegeta stilled under the onslaught of Zarbon's words. It wasn't the sharp undertone of a threat that chilled him. It was the fact that Zarbon knew that Bulma was human.

 

He raised his head, his inscrutable gaze roving over the jovial man's features. Zarbon saw Vegeta's unrest, and his grin grew, his delight at torturing Vegeta was boundless.

 

“Oh, yes. I know. I'm the one that tortured her after all.”

 

The skin across Vegeta's back tightened at the man's words. He knew that Zarbon had been the one to torture Bulma, but it was something that he had put from his mind. The stress of lies in the interview room with King Cold, and the nearly endless bout of fucking the night before had exhausted him. He refused to admit that the reason he had thrust it from his mind was because the thought brought him actual physical pain---an ache where his heart should be, a flinching in his dead soul. But it couldn't be avoided, and worse, it couldn't be stopped.

 

“Who else have you been sharing your sordid little tales with, Zarbon?”

 

Vegeta's voice was velvet soft, menace thinly veiled by insincerity. He remembered how closely Zarbon had stood next to Cooler. How easily they had conspired. Zarbon knew Vegeta's most closely guarded secret, but in return Zarbon revealed his own. Zarbon was in bed with Cooler. Whether it was figurative or not, Zarbon was betraying Frieza with his own brother.

 

“No one, as of yet. I just can't seem to find the words.” Zarbon waved his hand, his manner lackadaisical, his movements feminine, but his eyes shone with hate so dark that even Vegeta was subtly affected by it.

 

Vegeta's stomach sank. Blackmail was yet another less than honorable practice that he was intimately familiar with. He had done his share in his life, but he had rarely been blackmailed himself. He owed it entirely to the austere life that he led. He had never put himself in a position to have something that he didn't want taken from him.

 

He had learned from the mistake he had made as a child. He had let Frieza manipulate him with his father's wellbeing, allowing himself to be turned into a monstrous demon that could never be redeemed. All for the love of his parent. Once his father was gone, Vegeta had never loved again; he had never allowed himself to be so vulnerable---until now.

 

“What do you want, Zarbon?” Vegeta had never seen the benefit of dancing to someone else's tune. Blunt and to the point was how he liked all his dealings.

 

“Oh, I haven't decided yet. I suppose I'll just have to one-up you in the future.” Zarbon's smile was sickly sweet, and his syrupy voice threatened to choke Vegeta alive.

 

Vegeta grimaced in disgust. Zarbon was reserving the right to trump Vegeta in the future. By using his information about Bulma against Vegeta, he would be able to coerce the prince to do his bidding. However horrible and evil that it may be.

 

“Lord Frieza is going to have your green skin as a throw rug when he finds out you're two-timing him with his brainless brother,” Vegeta spat back, using his own leverage against the amphibian.

 

Zarbon laughed, the tinkling sound of precious jewels brushing against each other as they cascaded over naked skin.

 

“Perhaps, but who is going to tell him? You?” Zarbon laughed again, turning away from the defeated prince.

 

Vegeta kept his intense dismay stoically hidden while damning his past. The rivalry between Zarbon and him was no secret. When it came to intrigue and manipulation, Zarbon was far more skilled than Vegeta, and over the years he had made Vegeta out to be a fool. So skillful were Zarbon's manipulations that it was nearly impossible to say anything against the amphibian lest he get laughed out of the room.

 

“Remember you have a ball to attend tonight. And don't forget your human. Frieza is eager to meet her.” Zarbon walked away, his muscled body swaying seductively to some unheard music.

 

Vegeta growled under his breath as he stalked away from the cafeteria, breakfast forgotten. He stormed into his quarters, startling Bulma who was reclining on the couch, still trying to wake up. Ignoring her, he accessed his Vid Feed from panel on the wall.

 

“What's going on, Vegeta? What are you doing?” Bulma walked up behind him, peering over his shoulder, not really expecting an answer.

 

From her standpoint it looked like he was checking his email. Her lips curled at her wholly human explanation for his alien doings. She peered closer, her smile dimming when she realized he was reading something that she couldn't understand. She had solved the problem of her language barrier, but she still couldn't read alien. That was defect she definitely needed to correct.

 

Vegeta began to mutter fiercely under his breath, and Bulma almost wished she hadn't invented her translator. His vulgar language nearly made her blush. She stepped back, instinctively knowing that he needed his space, while lifting one finely arched brow.

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

Vegeta folded his arms, scowling darkly. “I have to go to a party.”

 

Bulma couldn't help the smile that lifted her lips. There was nothing more in the world than she loved than a party. Okay, maybe that wasn't true. What she really loved was to shop for the perfect outfit for said party.

 

“Oh, no! Not a party! Whatever will you do?” she mocked.

 

Vegeta shot her an angry look. “Shut the fuck up, you dimwit.”

 

Bulma rolled her eyes, knowing better than to correct his rude behavior. Better that he abuse her verbally than say…murder her.

 

She shivered as the thought stopped her cold. Did she still believe that Vegeta would eventually murder her? Did she still think that he was capable? She eyed him as he stood at the door, arrogantly staring her down, his aura of wickedness seeping through every pore in her body.

 

Yes, she still thought he was capable of killing. Of that she had no doubt, but everyday that she stayed with him, every night that he caressed her body reverently in the dark, the less that she believed that he would murder her. Perhaps, he still would, one day when she ceased to be of use, and when that day came, she would meet it unflinchingly. She would hide the hurt away in her heart, and bravely die, even it was to make him proud of her courage.

 

Not that she wanted to. In fact, she was quite against dying.

 

Vegeta glared down at her, his lips compressed into a straight line. The woman was constant trouble for him. He dared not take her into public, lest someone challenged him for her, and now with Zarbon's decree, he could not keep her inside.

 

His personal mail included a demand that he attend tonight's gala, celebrating Frieza's victory over the infidels. The order had come from King Cold, who was throwing the party in his son's honor. No one had seen or heard from Frieza since his extensive surgery, which was something that Vegeta found to be very questionable. Even if Frieza needed time to heal his injuries, that would have never stopped him from boasting to all that could hear, how he had defeated those who dared to thwart his authority. Normally, Frieza would be waving his superiority under everyone's nose, reminding them that he was the most powerful being in the universe, utterly undefeatable. Yet, he was nowhere to be found. Tonight's party would be the first time he left his rooms.

 

“What has you all worked up, Vegeta?” Bulma approached her prince, concern shining in her eyes. If he continued to scowl all the time, the lines in his forehead would cut right through his brain like razor wire.

 

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to mind her own business, but a small voice reminded him that she needed to know everything if she was to protect herself properly. Even if she couldn't compete physically with the other warriors on the ship, perhaps she could try using her supposedly genius brain for once, and avoid situations that would get her into trouble.

 

“Zarbon is plotting against Frieza with Cooler.”

 

“Zarbon?” she asked.

 

“That green piece of shit that…questioned you.” He didn't want to mention her torture. For some reason, just the very thought made him angry.

 

“Oh,” she paused, thinking for a minute. “And Cooler is Frieza's brother, right? They don't get along?”

 

“No. Cooler is jealous of Frieza. He is constantly trying to find a weakness to exploit. Now, it looks like he's teamed up with Zarbon to try and usurp his brother from King Cold's favor.” Vegeta rolled his head back, working out the tense muscles in his neck. Bulma swallowed at the gleam of bronze skin that he revealed to her.

 

“How do you know all this?” she asked innocently to mask her sudden surge of desire.

 

Vegeta's head tilted forward, a dark look of desire reflecting in his eye. Her cheeks heated, and she belatedly remembered that he could smell her heat from across the room.

 

“Because Frieza doesn't know that you are human. Zarbon obviously coerced that information from you, but he hasn't shared that with his master.”

 

“Perhaps, he doesn't think it's important.” Bulma shrugged, barely grasping the danger of the situation.

 

“Oh, he knows. He's just waiting for the right time to use it. If he reveals that you are human then my loyalty is going to be called into question. They are going to assume that I was in collusion with the humans on Namek. As if I would join forces with those turd-brained friends of yours. Or that freak Saiyan turned human want-a-be.” Vegeta muttered the last part to himself, obviously angry about Goku's perceived defection from the Saiyan race.

 

Bulma ignored his gratuitous dislike of her friends, deciding to keep the conversation on track. “Why would they think that?”

 

“If I was a prisoner like I said, then they would want to know why you aren't dead, and why your world isn't in ruins. Somehow, I don't think they are going to grasp just how devious you are.”

 

He paused looking at her with piercing black eyes.

 

“I, myself, can barely comprehend it. Such a small slip of a girl, yet you managed to stay alive this long, and keep your world in one piece.”

 

His voice was like ice, slipping over her heated skin, chilling to the bone, but oddly pleasurable. She had thought that he had forgotten how she had tricked him so long ago in her darkened lab that he had destroyed in rage, but he had not.

 

“Didn't you tell that that you've been trapped on Earth all this time? Haven't they figured it out on their own?” Bulma hedged, her eyes darting away from his intense gaze.

 

Vegeta advanced on her, a whisper of moment in the still room. “No. For some misbegotten reason, I didn't tell them that I was on Earth all this time. For all they know I could have been half way across the universe in some dirt floor jail cell. In fact, I all but directly lied to them. But I can't figure out for the life of me, why?”

 

Bulma swallowed, small chills of sweat broke out across her body. “You were protecting me.” It was a statement, but it sounded more like a question to his ears.

 

Vegeta dipped his head, a small acknowledgement nothing more, but the gravity of the situation hit her like Mac truck. Vegeta had lied to his master, and put his life on the line to keep her safe, and her people. He was risking everything for her, a small slip of a girl, as he put it. Her earlier question that Vegeta may still kill her answered its self. If he dared to put his life on the line for her, then he would never lift a hand to kill her.

 

“How could that information possibly be of value to Zarbon?” In other words, exactly how could he use it to hurt them?

 

“It's not about how it's useful to him, but how important it is to someone else,” Vegeta's voice hardened. He was being blackmailed, the when and where had yet to be revealed, but it was there, hanging over him like a black cloud. There was nothing that he hated more than being vulnerable. His hands curled into fists, and he felt the need to lash out at the first thing in his reach.

 

“Of course, you with your sheltered experience would have no idea about secret conspiracies and gossip mongers.”

 

“Oh, I don't know,” Bulma replied flippantly. “After all, I did go to high school.”

 

Briefly, she added silently to herself. When she was sixteen she had begged her father to let her go even though she was a college graduate twice over. She had wanted to experience life as a normal teenager, with normal everyday teenage activities. Instead she had found a hotbed of malicious liars, egotistical jocks, and cruel cliques bent on seeing her miserable. After a few weeks she had left high school behind, and had embarked on her quest for the dragon balls. She remembered all too well how desperately she wanted a friend, so desperate that she was willing to use magic to get one.

 

Bulma's blasé attitude about their situation angered, Vegeta. Couldn't she understand how much danger that they were in. He might survive. He had the strength, both mental and physical to suffer any punishment that Frieza would heap on him, but Bulma wouldn't be so lucky. If fate loved her, she would die instantly, but if it did not…then she could linger for weeks before being put out of her misery.

 

“Get dressed,” Vegeta snapped.

 

Bulma jumped, unprepared for the pure venom in Vegeta's voice.

 

“Why are we going to get breakfast?” Bulma's stomach rumbled loudly at the thought.

 

Vegeta wanted to kick her for reminding him that he forgot to bring back the food that he had purposely left to go get in the first place.

 

“No.”

 

“But, I'm hungry.” As soon as the words came out Bulma wanted to shove them back in. There was no way that she wanted to go down that particular path again.

 

“Too bad. You're too fat, anyways.”

 

“I am not!” Bulma screeched in outrage, her cheeks red with mortification.

 

She was right of course, she wasn't, but he certainly liked looking at her when she was angry. Her eyes sparked with passion and her breasts swelled. It was almost as good as sex. Vegeta grinned at her, and belatedly Bulma realized that he had baited her. He stalked towards her, barely giving her warning before he pounced.

 

Two hours later they exited their quarters, Bulma breathless and flushed, Vegeta implacable as ever. She followed after him as he stalked down the hall. He looked neither left nor right, but she knew that he was aware of everything around him. She hurried behind him as fast as she could, reluctant to be left behind, but she knew that he would never leave her, even accidentally. Though his back was to her, she had no doubt that he knew every little expression that passed over her features.

 

He led her through a maze of shining metal corridors, and crowded lifts, taking her to the very edge of the ship. Through a bank of star-studded windows, Bulma could see a ring of metal that floated around the bloated belly of the ship. She quickly surmised that was held into place by a gravitational field. It looked large enough to house several additional decks, but what it really was she had no idea.

 

Vegeta marched up to a wall that had orange circles painted on the paneling.

 

“Place your hands here.” He pointed to the circles on the wall.

 

“Why?” Bulma questioned curiously

 

Vegeta grabbed her hands roughly in answer, placing them in the circles.

 

“Stay,” he growled.

 

Bulma obeyed, looking at the wall to figure out what he was doing. The wall was painted white over the metal, and it looked like it was on the verge of cracking. One moment she was staring at the poor paint job and the next she was whirling in a pool of black. Just as suddenly, she was barfed out, her body falling loosely to the floor. Vegeta appeared beside her unharmed, and hauled her to her feet.

 

Bulma held her stomach, afraid that she would lose last night's dinner while looking back distrustfully at the wall. She could tell that they were in a different part of the ship now, probably the ring that she had seen floating outside the window.

 

“What…” Bulma started, but her words drifted off into nothing. Vegeta looked down at her, watching as a myriad of expressions crossed her face. It was fascinating to him as he watched her think, he could tell the minute she understood what had happened, even without an explanation from him. She truly was a genius.

 

“Instant teleportation!” She gasped in wonder. She pulled on his grip on her arm in an attempt to turn around to examine the fascinating technology.

 

“Later.” Vegeta didn't let her loose, but kept dragging her through the halls. Bulma pouted in disappointment, but didn't argue. She already had plans to crack his information panel in his room. She was sure that she could use that to get access to the ship's systems and files, even the most top secret ones. Maybe should would even be able to teach herself the common language here.

 

The halls became narrowed and the traffic heavier. Vegeta pulled her towards the outer level, where the most prestigious shops were located. Instead of merging with the crowd on the wider path, he veered off, taking her into a narrow metal alley, between two shops. He paused just before the exit, his face still cloaked in shadow as Bulma peered around his shoulder gasping.

 

Bulma was a creature used to the finer things in life. She had been born on the finest satin sheets edged in gold, and her crib had been made of pearl. She spent her entire life shopping in the richest, most fabulous shops the world had to offer, and in return she had learned what true pretentious quality was. There was no doubt in her mind that she was looking out at a strip of those boutiques right now. They faced out to a bank of windows that were decorated with whizzing stars and the blackest night, and only a few people came in and out…the best of the best…the elite.

 

Vegeta turned towards her, his face dark, but pained in a way that made her heart hurt for some unknown reason. She lifted her hand to reach for him, but his tense shoulders, told her that he didn't want her comfort. His face grim and his mouth set, he reached into his armor, pulling out a thin crystalline disk.

 

“Take this and get what you need.”

 

Bulma looked down at the cred chip, then back out into the expensive shop laden strip, lines of confusion creasing her brow.

 

“Are you sure?” she asked skeptically. Her mind wondered back to their numerous, and nearly deadly arguments about money in the past. A wry smile twisted her lips, when she came to the conclusion that most relationships break down under the stress of their finances. Money may not make the world go round, but it certainly made the ride less bumpy.

 

Vegeta read the concern in her eyes, and knew exactly what she was thinking. He knew he shouldn't be annoyed at her insinuation that he didn't have any money, especially after their trip here, but he couldn't help but flex his chest with pride as he pointed to the chip.

 

“I have more than enough money to meet even your needs. I could fill this entire ship with gold and gems if it was to your liking.” He leaned down closer to her, grinning wickedly. “And, I would never give you false jewels, my Bitchess.”

 

Something dark, sinful, and pulse-pounding swept through Bulma settling in the deepest part of her. It writhed inside her, sliding against all of her that was wicked and primal. She would have never imaged that he would make such a claim, to boast not only of his money, but that he would give it all to her. The pure female inside her wagged with delight. Before her stood a man, proud, handsome, and strong enough to protect what was his, with enough money to see her in luxury. Bulma may already be the richest woman on planet Earth, but it didn't hurt to have a lover who was even richer.

 

The best thing of his declaration was that she was sure that he didn't even realize what he said to her. In true male fashion he had extended his brightly colored feathers in an effort to court her. He certainly wasn't going to dance, and he would never ask, but he would show her in his own way that he intended to be her male, for better or worse.

 

A soft smile formed on her lips, stunning the malicious curl off Vegeta's lips. She placed her soft palm on his check, wondering at the silken feel. In all their time together she had never seen him shave, and she was left to wonder if Saiyan males produced any hair except for on their tails and head.

 

She leaned closer, placing her lips gently against his. She didn't open her mouth, or use her tongue, but she remained still, relishing the feel of his lips against hers. Vegeta sat in stunned silence, absorbing her touch, before the primal part of his brain urged him action. He wrapped his thickly muscled arms around her narrow waist, pulling her against his chest, melding her body to his.

 

His lips moved over hers, devouring her hungrily. No longer able to patiently sit under her touch, his tongue slipped into her mouth, seeking the source of her attraction, the reason for his insanity. He wanted to split her skin open and crawl inside, douse himself with her blood, and lick her bones. For some reason he had held himself back from her at the last leg of the journey. Perhaps it was because he knew that he couldn't keep her, that she would be torn away before he could possess her fully, so he had checked his passion, encasing himself in ice.

 

But now her presence seemed more real. Since he had saved her from the hole he had gained an omnipotent feeling of possessiveness. He had kept her from Frieza, she would never been taken away, and she would be his forever. His to own, to brand with his scent.

 

Abruptly, he let her go, aware of where they were, and that he couldn't act on his most feral impulses. He smirked at her look of awe-struck bemusement that graced her flushed cheeks, proud at how easily she lost herself to his touch. She was so enticing that he feared that he would be unable to control himself while they were in public, and that was completely unacceptable.

 

What he needed to do was get away from her. He couldn't leave her alone, for fear that she would get molested, but she didn't need to know that. He could guard her from afar, and she would be none the wiser.

 

Without a word, he turned on his heel to stride away, leaving her alone in the alley.

 

“Where are you going?” Bulma reached out, almost panicked. Vegeta turned, but he didn't move towards her, and pride held her still.

 

Vegeta easily read her disquiet, since he himself managed to instill the fear in her in the first place. She didn't want to be left alone, and he was loathed to leave her, but it couldn't be helped. He could bear to be in her presence much longer.

 

“No one will hurt you here.” His words were true to his best extent. Word had quickly gotten around that the blue-haired woman was concubine to Prince Vegeta, and his possessiveness was already legendary. For a man, who had previously been coldly emotionless to the fairer sex to callously kill two soldiers over her, had caused quite a stir. By now everyone from the Ginyu Squad to the lowliest slave would know of his attachment.

 

No one of lesser rank would dare touch her, and if anyone of greater power wanted her, there was little that Vegeta could do. If she was captured a second time there would be no getting her back, and she wouldn't be safe with or without him. But that didn't mean that he dared to leave her.

 

Perhaps that was the source of his almost predatory instinct to savor her. Not that he could finally call her his and possess her, but because she was in such danger of being taken away. She had him in knots, his body twisted and his mind turned inside out. He couldn't think straight and form rational thought. For once he couldn't divine the future and manipulate it to his will. He had no idea what the next few days had in store for him. No way to prepare himself.

 

“But…” Bulma's voice trailed off in a quiver, her fear evident in every shadow of her blue eyes.

 

Vegeta knew that she needed reassurance, but he could not tell her his reason for his departure. She was privy to many things, but his lack of control when around her wasn't one of them. As smooth as a jungle cat, Vegeta glided up to her, effortlessly pinning her to the wall to look down into her eyes.

 

“You still don't get it, do you? There are Elites, and this mongrel trash.” He waved his hand to the strip, motioning at the passing crowd. “I am an Elite.”

 

The people that strode to and fro from the shops looked elite to her. But perhaps he spoke of physical strength and not wealth.

 

Vegeta both irked and amused her. She had grown up with only the finest silver spoon in her mouth, but her parents had been sure to teach her some level of humility and charity. In another person's eyes, she may have been born superior, but she didn't view herself as such.

 

“Well that's a very egotistical attitude,” she quipped, her fear melting away under her intense awareness of his animal heat.

 

Vegeta lips quirked up in the corner, wickedness gleaming in his eyes. Bulma felt her belly drop, and her skin prickle. He lifted his hand from the wall, extending it away from his body, and towards the crowd. His black eyes never left hers, his face implacable and deadly.

 

“Should I blast them for you? Would that make you feel safer?”

 

“I…” Bulma wanted to protest, but she was completely shocked by Vegeta. She expected him to blast people, in fact she was quite sure that he would grow cranky if he couldn't do it on a regular basis, but she would have never expected him to offer to do it on her behalf. As horrifying as it was, it also warmed something inside her. Her prince was full of surprises this day.

 

Vegeta lowered his arm, his smirk growing into a full self-satisfied grin.

 

“You are mine. None of that trash out there would dare to touch you.” Vegeta's eyes grew dark, and his lips melted into a hard line. “There are few stronger than me, Bulma. If they come for you there is nothing that I can do to stop them, either here or in our quarters.”

 

Chills went down Bulma's spine, and she could barely stand the look of hidden defeat in Vegeta's eyes. Too anyone else looking at him, they would have seen cold indifference, but she could see the pain inside of him, and it called to her. It drove her to soothe him, to draw the poison from his soul. She placed one small hand over his heart, feeling for its rhythmic beating that told of his life.

 

“Surely that won't happen. They won't come for us. I refuse to believe that they will.” She filled her words with false sincerity, but it was brittle and easily seen for what it was.

 

Vegeta sighed, unbelieving that she had still managed to hold onto her fragile innocence, even after all that she had seen. Silently he admitted to himself that it was that singular quality in her that drew him to her.

 

“The world isn't colored in guilty grays or shallow blues. It is black and white. Power and weakness.”

 

Bulma knew a losing battle when she saw one, so she forced a brilliant smile, waving his cred chip in his face, seemingly in victory.

 

“I hope you are prepared to spend a tidy fortune. I have strutted around in the same pair of pants long enough, mister.” Her grin grew bigger as she pulled their conversation into more comfortable waters. “Perhaps if you're lucky, I'll repay you someday.”

 

“I've already told you, I have more than enough. I'm not so poor as to demand repayment,” he gruffed, amused at her pleasure at spending his money, but hurt at her offer to repay him.

 

“Then it is you who doesn't understand. There are more valuable things in this universe than jewels. And when I say I'll repay you, I don't mean with money. Someday, you are going to need me, and I'm going to be there.”

 

Her words were intense, her eyes full of hard promises. He bent down, his nose brushing against hers, his eyes dancing with ill-concealed mirth.

 

“I need no one, woman. Now go, before you stink up the whole ship.” He pulled her from the wall, pushing her towards the strip, giving her a quick slap on the ass to hurry her on her way. She hopped forward before tossing a scathing glare over her shoulder, but he was already gone, not even his shadow remained.