Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Let It Snow ❯ Hot Chocolate ( Chapter 1 )

He awoke with a breathless startle from an edgy dream, one of those dark, convoluted nightmares incessantly plaguing his broken mind, ever since he’d been confined to the claustrophobic walls of the tiny infirmary that had been his home during the past seven days.

Such unforgiving nightmares were nothing new, in fact, Vegeta could hardly recall a time when he wasn’t haunted by dishonorable memories and impossible expectations, the unbearable burden of an inescapable past, and the agonizing frustration of a Golden Goal that seemed more out of reach today than it ever was.

This time, however, as he shifted painfully in the surprisingly comfortable bed where someone must have lied him down during his state of unconsciousness, he couldn’t help but to grudgingly admit to himself that his torturous hallucinations had reached insufferable heights, leaving him feeling more and more exhausted as days went by, shattering and paralyzing him, in spite of having been humiliatingly restricted to bedrest for only the Gods knew how long.   

His weary eyes blinked dozily in the shadows, struggling to return to the surreal trap that was Reality, leaving behind that frenzied pandemonium of blurry images and confusing memoirs, diabolical reminiscences of the fallen Monster who was once his Master, chaotically entangled with the mortifying images of a Saiyan nemesis that he couldn’t defeat, and of a young, mysterious boy who possessed, not only the impossible power to travel throughout time and space, but the mystical ability to Ascend to a Legendary Status that looked as if it’d been bestowed upon everyone but him.

The Prince took a long, ragged breath, squinting in confusion at the minuscule, flamboyant dots of sparkly lights twinkling in the ceiling, their colorful playfulness a vast contrast with the thunderous drum of his agitated heartbeat, and with the calm, familiar sounds of the vulnerable creature keeping him company in his darkest hour, the enigmatic woman stubbornly refusing to give up on him, even if, at times, he still dreadfully wished that she’d just leave him to die in some hidden, forgotten corner of the luxurious home which she’d inexplicably offered to him.

Bulma.

All he had to do was turn his glance to his side and, sure enough, there she was, small and fragile, impossibly warm, curled up sleepily in the improvised armchair that she’d placed by his side, with the one and only purpose of saving him from his own suicidal stupidity.

When Vegeta had finally landed back on Earth, after a long, unsuccessful quest in search of the third-class warrior who’d selfishly taken Frieza’s life, not only had the strange little woman welcomed him with open arms, but she also had, perhaps unwittingly, given him a tempting glimpse of the bewitching kind of beauty that her planet had to offer.

Through the lukewarm balminess of spring, followed by the suffocating heat of summer, Vegeta had found himself, against his better judgement, falling into the alluring spell that seemed to follow the beautiful scientist wherever she went, developing a singular, almost obsessive fascination with the odd female who’d, quite literally, barged into his life as if she’d always been meant to be an intrinsic part of it.     

His days had become a gruesome anarchy, a turbid routine of drawn-out, punitive training sessions, alternated with handfuls of sporadic hours of restless sleep, all of it sprinkled with the constant, inescapable presence of the radiant woman running his life with an iron fist dressed in the finest silk.

Whether she was barking at him in the middle of her messy laboratory, screeching like a little hellcat while complaining about his utter lack of respect towards the magnificent inventions that were allowing him to grow in strength at a surprising rate, or whether she remained completely silent, patching up his battered body in the dark, quiet solitude of her home’s small infirmary, the siren’s magnetic pull had simply become too powerful to be ignored.

His usual darkness had been suddenly invaded by luminous sparks of blue, by bouncy curls and indecently short dresses, and by a pair of creamy thighs, openly exposed to his flustered eyes during those frequent repairs of his beloved Gravity Room, which had made him wonder, more than once, if Fate had sent the enticing woman his way to keep punishing him relentlessly for every single sin committed during his dissolute past.

It was impossible to escape her vibrant laughter, or the way her pretty brow furrowed in concern whenever those wide eyes of hers discovered one of his new bleeding wounds as they crossed paths at Capsule Corp.’s long hallways. The proud, majestic way in which her clenched fists found her hips every time she chastised him, for one reason or another, made it hard to pay actual attention to her girlish banter, and Vegeta had already lost count of just how many times he’d felt the uncontrollable need to run the tip of his tongue across her tiny bellybutton, every time the goddamned woman took a break from her demanding workhours, lounging by the extravagant swimming pool in one of those lewd attires which she called ‘bikinis’.

And it wasn’t his newfound interest towards the odd creature what bothered him the most, an uncomfortable, primitive desire to take their already dangerous proximity to an even riskier level. It was the intimate suspicion that the stunning female might be willing to reciprocate, if only he let it be known that he wouldn’t be opposed to getting a little taste of whatever magic she had to offer, especially now that it looked like the weakling loser who used to be her mate had been kicked out of her life, for good this time.      

Vegeta had already caught glimpses of those sparkly blue eyes frequently peeking at him with candid curiosity, or the way those small, skillful hands lingered on his naked flesh long after she was done stitching and healing his sore gashes, her touch so kind, so heartbreakingly gentle, that the warrior could have sworn to feel an anxious heat spreading through his cheeks, matching exactly the same shade of crimson of the adorable blush embellishing her face whenever he allowed himself the forbidden luxury of staring at her for far too long.

On one particular occasion, the memory of her bare foot casually resting atop his as she sat beside him by the flourished garden, taking advantage of a scarce break from his taxing training regime to show him a set of blueprints for those new bots which she was designing specially for him, had ended up replacing one of his nightly, terrifying nightmares. He dreamt of blue and red summer dresses, of the passionate quality taking hold of her harmonious voice whenever she was given the chance to describe her groundbreaking inventions, and of that pale, velvety knee delicately brushing against his as she’d joined him that evening under the respiting shadow of her garden’s largest tree.    

The temptation to give into his basest desires was proving to be irresistible, yet Vegeta was no fool, and he knew all too well that an intimate relationship of any sorts could be the Kiss of Death for a lonesome, independent fighter like himself, and that nothing good would ever come out of getting involved with the natural born seductress that was Bulma Briefs.

All in all, it was virtually a miracle that the Prince had somehow succeeded in keeping his urges in check for as long as he had, and he’d barely been able to suppress his relief when the smothering summertime heat had begun to gradually wane, giving place to a cooler climate that would oblige the attractive woman to put some blasted clothes on, once and for all, covering up that inviting body that she enjoyed flaunting so much, taking mercy on him, and giving his overexcited senses a much-needed break from her provocative aura.

But tonight, as his lethargic eyes drank in every inch of the minute figure curled into a tiny bundle of fuzzy cashmere, sleeping soundly by his side with not one care in the world, the time had come to admit that it wasn’t her flesh what intrigued him the most, but something else, that inscrutable something that kept pulling him towards her, like the darkest butterfly to the most brilliant of flames.

She was all curves and gentle exuberance, an impudent curl hiding one of her eyes from him as she lay down on her side in a bended position, holding a bizarre, metallic object protectively against her chest as her wriggly toes, dressed in a pair of pink woolen socks, fidgeted on and off in her sleep. The healthy rose of her cheeks made her look lovelier than ever, and never had Vegeta wished to know the meaning of a word more than when her fleshy lips pouted in that soft slumber, mumbling a hint of unfinished, whispery words whose meaning would forever remain a mystery, perhaps even to herself.

There was a hypnotic softness about her, a mellow, highly-squeezable softness that spurred within him the potent urge to pull from the oversized sleeve of her cozy sweater, and bring her to the bed with him, asking himself what it would be like to hold that petite body in his arms, and whether a man would ever find the strength to let go from the refuge that he knew he’d find in her warmness.

He wasn’t entirely sure of just how long he’d lied there gawking at the dreamy woman like an idiotic child, but he did know that the thin line suddenly wrinkling her nose as she stirred in her sleep was all he needed to take his greedy eyes off her before the astute female would surely discover his shameful weakness.  

So, he chose to focus instead on the peculiar scene taking place outside the four oppressive walls still keeping him prisoner, on the bizarre plethora of tiny, multicolored lights inexplicably covering the enormous walls of Bulma’s residence and, above all, on the ghostly emotion overcoming him at the proverbial flood of powdery flakes falling from the icy skies.

“Boy…” Bulma’s honied voice murmured woozily. “It’s snowing…” She whispered in awe, the touch of surprise lacing her tone revealing that this was a new occurrence tonight.

Vegeta’s puzzled gaze briefly returned to the beautiful earthling, and to the slender arms lazily stretching above her head, as if striving to touch the impossibly high ceilings of the narrow room, before finding the mass of curls that was her glossy hair, carelessly running her long fingers through it in a poor attempt at disciplining its untamed madness.

“Had you ever seen snow before?” She asked with a fond smile, and a surprising spontaneity that made it hard to believe that they hadn’t exchanged a word for a whole week.

“I have,” he answered simply, a pensive demeanor invading his face as his eyes got lost amongst the white blizzard swirling around outside.

“Ah, really?” Bulma instantly shot back, ingenuously ignoring the somberness hiding behind his reserved reply. “Back in your home planet?”

“No.”

“…”

A fleeting silence enveloped them both, one of those short, terribly awkward silences ensuing every single time the intrepid woman ventured to ask questions whose answer she did not, in truth, wish to know. One of those silences in which the Saiyan could almost feel her pearly teeth biting on the tip of her nosy tongue, stopping herself from crossing that faint line that Vegeta had learnt to walk for a living, that impenetrable barrier of sordid secrets and half-truths, such as the painful fact that he’d been far too young when his first recollection of this so-called ‘snow’ had taken place, and that all he needed to know about such a traumatic event was that it all occurred while he was captive on Frieza’s home planet.

“My Dad checked on you a few hours ago,” Bulma carefully informed, wise enough to both change the subject and update the hard-working warrior on when he’d be well enough to resume his training. “You’ve been out for almost a week, you know?” She explained, her not-so-subtle tone of reproach making Vegeta smirk inwardly to himself, having grown accustomed by now to the overprotectiveness of the silly woman fidgeting clumsily in her chair. “You had some really deep gashes in your chest, and they got infected,” she further described. “And your fever was very high, so my Dad gave you some antibiotics and some sedatives, because you kept thrashing about in bed so much…”

She halted her words for a second, lowering her glance absentmindedly as she kept fiddling with the silvery object now resting on her lap, the melancholic gleam in her usually cheerful eye sparking a rush of apprehension down the warrior’s spine, the chilling fear that he may have perhaps been talking in his sleep, just the way he used to when he was younger and far more inexperienced, constantly lectured by Nappa about the dangerously defenseless position he’d put himself in if he ever permitted complete strangers to spy on him in a state of utter unconsciousness.

“Anyway…” She sighed tiredly, with the exhaustion of a woman who’d been watching over a man for much longer than he deserved. “Dad said you’ll be able to get out of bed by tomorrow, so that’s good, right?” Bulma patiently briefed, carrying on with her girlish chatter without even waiting for his expected reply. “Oh, and I brought you this!” She announced, taking the mysterious object in her hands once again before proudly offering it to him, smiling in understanding at the confused frown creasing the Saiyan’s brow, who clearly hadn’t the faintest clue as to what it was that she was talking about. “It’s hot chocolate,” she clarified. “My Mom made a huge batch today, so I thought I’d bring you some… It’s really nice… Would you like to try?”

Vegeta remained silent for a long second, staring in bewilderment at the enigmatic little female with the expectant smile on the lips, realizing, not for the first time, that it was very possible that he’d never fully unravel the sphinx that was her mind.

When she’d first told him about how sick he’d truly been those last few days, he’d half-expected her to yell and bicker, to scold him like she always did, furiously reprimanding him for his temerity, and for the absolute disregard that he had, not only towards his precarious health, but even towards his own life. But there was no bickering tonight, nothing but sympathy and a rare sadness that insinuated that, either the woman was too drained to argue, or some secretive ailment was troubling her kindhearted spirit.

His eyes then travelled to the shimmery flask in her hands, distinctly recalling having already tasted this ‘chocolate’ food back during the sunny season, and concluding that, if he’d thoroughly enjoyed it in its cold version, there was no reason why it shouldn’t taste just as delicious when it was hot. Besides, the idea of settling his empty stomach with something warm and sweet sounded like Heaven, especially after having abstained from any solid nourishment for a full seven days.     

“I think you’ll really like it,” Bulma muttered with shy confidence, hopeful smile widening, pleased to see him slowly sitting on the bed on his own accord. “I put some caramel in it,” she confessed in a cheeky whisper, shaking the small flask a few times before removing the cap, which also served as a serving cup, and eagerly pouring him a glassful of the creamy beverage. “Caramel is my favorite, you’ll see…”   

Their fingers touched as he reached for the improvised mug, the contact brief, electrifying, and all he could do was waste no time in bringing the rich drink to his thirsty lips, doing his best to ignore the sharp shiver shaking his weak body to the bone, and the foreign emotion burning in his chest when she joined him on the bed, sitting beside him as if it were the most natural act in the world.

He hummed softly as the heavenly drink melted in his mouth, smooth and syrupy, almost as much as the woman who’d brought it for him, and who kept waiting for his approval, in hopes that he’d praise her for making just the right choice for him.

“So?” Bulma asked smugly, already enjoying her little victory when she noticed the way his features softened in response to the drink’s comforting flavor. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s… Acceptable…” Vegeta mumbled sheepishly, reluctant to admit that this ‘hot chocolate’ stuff was a pretty damn good invention.

She could have grumbled about his idiotic attitude, that stupid Saiyan pride that stopped him from openly complimenting her about even the most insignificant matter but, tonight, she chose a carefree giggle instead, visibly amused by his grumpy antics.

“I knew you’d like it…” She beamed at him, proceeding to graciously refill his already empty cup. “Those are our Christmas lights,” Bulma calmly explained, following his line of vision as he examined, through the large glass window, the strange amalgam of lively lights covering up nearly the entire building outside.

“Christmas?” He inquired with plain interest, clearly fascinated by what looked like another one of those exotic human traditions, undoubtedly, just as outlandish and pointless as all the others.

“Oh… You’ve never celebrated Christmas before, right?” She asked rhetorically, sensibly reminding herself that the half-naked, injured man sitting quietly on the bed was as alien as he could be. “Well… Christmas is… It’s an Earth celebration…” Bulma began to describe, observing the splashy lights through wistful eyes. “People celebrate it in different ways, I guess… Here at home we have a nice dinner on Christmas Eve, and then a big lunch on Christmas Day. Though we’re all pretty full by then…” She chuckled lightly, turning around and setting her naughty sights on him. “Mom cooks tons of yummy food…”

Bulma peeped at his newly emptied cup, caring hands serving him the remaining of the soothing hot chocolate, completely oblivious to the knowing twinkle shining in the eye of the coldhearted warrior who usually cared about no one other than himself.

It was self-evident by now that the woman was making the effort to put on a good show, and yet, there was a poignant sorrow about her, a rare anguish betraying the apparent coolness of someone casually describing what, by all means, seemed to be some kind of joyous celebration.

“So…?” She asked timidly, sapphire eyes falling like those of a cute, needy puppy. “Will you come?”

The steaming cup froze just as he was about to bring it to his famished mouth, deeply moved by the raw vulnerability of the usually spunky woman. If there was one, just one valuable lesson that the Prince had learnt throughout his dark, tumultuous life, was that the easiest way not to break a promise was to never make one to begin with, another priceless bit of knowledge being that, regardless of how much sporadic generosity he may encounter along the way, he’d never, ever, owe anything or anyone a goddamned thing.

Attending this blasted ‘Christmas Dinner’, whatever the Hell it meant anyway, shouldn’t be such a hard decision to make. After all, Vegeta had already settled into the habit of joining the Briefs family for dinner with more or less regularity, and the only real difference would be an increase in the quantity and quality of the already mouthwatering Earth food, something that a ravenous Saiyan like himself would never be opposed to.

But making a promise to the sensitive creature, who kept looking at him as if he were even the shadow of an honorable man, would set a very dangerous precedent indeed, particularly if this Winter celebration held a sentimental significance of some sort, which was precisely why Vegeta would never find, no matter how hard he tried, a reasonable explanation for the words of hope that left his mouth, and even less for the small act of generosity that he chose to gift the little woman with.

“Perhaps I will…” He murmured with astounding modesty, his stare low, scowling at the tasty beverage keeping his fingers warm, not even believing himself what he was about to do.

He offered it to her.

It took Bulma a solid minute to fully grasp what Vegeta was doing, and the incredible meaning behind such a gesture of benevolence, a kindness that she really needed tonight, even if she didn’t even know it yet.

Vestiges of something warm and uncomfortable tightened in the warrior’s throat when her eyebrows rose in surprise, reaching for the tiny cup and blowing softly with prudent lips, taking great care not to burn her tongue before taking a long, satisfying sip of the comforting drink.

“Thank you, Vegeta…” She whispered with gratitude, breaking into a timid smile as she gave the still almost-full mug back to him.

Vegeta nodded in acceptance, taking another slow sip of his own, trying to prolong such a pleasurable instant while quietly observing the earthling, who had now abandoned the empty flask on the wooden nightstand, and her secretive metamorphosis.

She was the vivid picture of melancholy, with those minuscule feet placed at the edge of his sad mattress, arms wrapped around her bent legs, an elegant chin resting on the knees nimbly pressed against her chest, and an ocean of kaleidoscopic lights reflected on the heartsick eyes contemplating the festive lights, whose vibrant glow kept illuminating the dark room protecting them both from the wild snowfall pouring outside.

“My Dad helped me out with the lights this time,” Bulma confessed in a husky murmur, making the brave choice to unveil the real reason behind her grief, even if she knew that the lonesome man silently listening to her troubles probably wouldn’t even care. “Yamcha used to… H-He…” Her voice broke as she stuttered, earning the Saiyan’s admiration when she took a deep breath, proudly composing herself as she dared to bare her broken heart to him. “He used to… To be the one who helped me, but… You know…” She shrugged dejectedly, the way one talked to a long-time friend, rather than to a man who still remained a virtual stranger to her in far too many ways. “I guess things will be different around here from now on…”

The Prince said nothing, feeling just as empty as the cup nestled in his bruised hands, undeniably useless when it came to matters of the heart, or about anything other than battle and utter destruction, for that matter, so he simply gaped at her like an infatuated idiot, burying, deep in the pit of his sick stomach, the outrageous need to pound the weakling bastard to death for dimming the light of those gorgeous blue eyes.

“I think you should get some rest, don’t you think?” She gently advised him, honoring him with an oddly charming, misty-eyed smile, and taking the empty cap away from his limp hands, glad to see him following her instructions without making a fuss, if only for once in his stubborn life.

Bulma shifted slightly on the bed as he lay back down, carefully assisting him in covering up with the snug blankets, a familiar habit which had turned into an intimate ritual these days. And, though this was supposed to be the time when she usually said her goodnights and left him to some much-needed rest, tonight, the lifeless woman didn’t budge a bit.

“Vegeta…” She murmured in the dark, her voice shy, subdued, her body looking smaller than ever, nothing but a doleful silhouette languishing into the night. “Do you…? Do you mind if I…? If I stay with you for a bit?” She finally risked asking. “It’s just that… Everyone in the lab is already on vacation, and… And Mom and Dad went out for dinner… And I just… I don’t know…” She exhaled a long, raggedy breath, the faint sound of her throat bobbing as she swallowed an anxious sob piercing his ears like the loudest cry. “I guess I just… I just feel a bit lonely tonight…”    

He stiffened at once under the covers, his body as tense as a wire, and those beaten onyx eyes losing their way across the myriad of gaudy sparks floating before him while his stare remained fixated on the ceiling.

Lonely.

The woman was feeling lonely, and out of all the goddamned people inhabiting the beautiful blue rock that she called home, she’d chosen him as the one to keep her company, the one to ease that heavy burden of solitude that a man like him had become accustomed to carrying around, like a second skin, for far too long by now.  

Bad idea.

It was a bad, bad idea to let the woman in, to let her in in the shameful secret that he may have been, against all odds, finding himself enjoying her quirky company too much for his own good. The only reason why he’d somehow managed to keep his crippled sanity intact, ever since she’d boldly invited herself into his miserable existence, had been through spartan self-control, and through that endless war of playful bickering and sharp sarcasm that they’d both seemingly embraced like the most natural way of life.

His remote coldness was all he had left to protect whatever was left of his wounded ego from being shattered to pieces, and yet, even when every fiber of his being was screaming, begging for him to man up and send her away, he couldn’t. Not when she kept sitting in the dark like a trampled pup, waiting for someone, anyone, to give her some measly crumbs of affection, anything to make her tender wounds sting just a little less.

“Do as you wish…” Vegeta rasped in the most distant voice he could muster, choosing his words with the meticulous precision of a warning, the desperate warning of a man feeling the world as he’d always known it crumbling beneath his feet, letting the alluring woman know that if she dared, if she truly dared to spark the fire, she alone would be the one responsible for the flames of desire that would consume them both.    

And he could have sworn to hear the most relieved sigh escape her lips, not long before the plush mattress hemmed and hawed as she joined him under the covers, her feminine litheness opposing the unbearable pressure narrowing his chest when the fuzzy fabric of her girly socks lightly touched his bare legs.

“Thank you, Vegeta…” She whispered again, her naïve gratitude slicing him in half, raw, exposed, thick fingers clutching a fistful of expensive cotton sheets as he kept staring sternly at the incandescent ceiling. “I’ll just stay for a little bit…” She promised in a sleepy slur, making the Prince wonder how the Devil was it possible for her to drift off so darned easily when he was but a pathetic bundle of nerves. “Just a bit…”

For a good handful of minutes, his eyes kept obstinately avoiding the sleeping figure snuggling closely against him, closing his eyes in a hopeless attempt at dropping off with as much effortlessness as the carefree creature.

But sleep wouldn’t come, and all he could do was ramble, losing himself in the sibilant sounds of the rough wind twirling outside, letting his restless mind travel a sinuous, forbidden journey into his own tortured past, and into the faded memories of a homeless child stranded on an alien planet, made out of ashen ice and evil monsters who stole the innocence of lost little boys in the middle of the night.

There was a reason, far too many good reasons to count, that would explain the gloom reigning over his numb spirit whenever he was in the presence of a dull mantle of snow, yet he couldn’t find one, not even one reason why the dark memoirs of his youth were vanishing at the childlike sounds of the soft breathing caressing his ear with silky finesse.

His flesh was weak, her temptation too hard to resist and, before he could even consider the dangerous implications of his actions, he was pushing his exhausted body to cross his own boundaries, rolling tiredly on his side and meeting face to face with the ethereal beauty curled up into a little drowsy ball.

She smelled of hot chocolate and white flowers, and of fragrant, exotic spices whose foreign qualities she’d recite for him if only he let her. And she smiled in her sleep for him, just for him, when two of his fingers found the cherubic curve of her face, languidly tracing that perfect line from the tip of her cheekbone to her delicate jaw, reluctantly letting go of her, lest she woke up and discovered what a reckless fool he was at heart.

He brought those shameless fingers to his mouth, pressing them against his parched lips as he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and letting himself go, dreaming of bright lights and alien celebrations, and of unattainable Earth women who were just as painfully lonely as he was, generous little creatures who could scatter the perverse Demons of a man’s crushed spirit with the only help of a sugary drink and a timid smile.