Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Proof of Affection ❯ Proof of Affection ( Chapter 1 )

 

 

“Proof of Affection”

 

By QueenSaiyajin

 

 

 

(This is a canon fic, and my take on what was going on between Bulma and Vegeta during the Android/Cell Sagas. Rated NC-17 for explicit lemon. Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or the characters; if I owned Vegeta I'd have better things to do than sit on the computer…)

 

 

 

 

 

“Just where the hell do you think you're going?”

 

His voice was harsh, unfeeling, in stark opposition to what she needed from him right now. The last few weeks had been strained to say the least. He'd trained long into the night, resting only when he'd been at the point of exhaustion. She'd hoped that when he'd come back from space, when he'd finally attained his dream of Super Saiyan, that the deep rage within him would subside. That he would be satisfied with himself, with what he was and what he was not. He was a Super Saiyan. He was one of the most powerful beings in the Universe. But he was not Goku. Why did surpassing her lifelong friend mean so much to him? So much that it had caused him to go off into space, leaving her and their infant son when she'd needed him the most?

 

The bitterness still welled within her when she let it. She'd cried her eyes out the day he'd gone, then gotten so furious with him that she'd almost decided she would be better off if he never came back.

 

Almost. And then, when he had returned, with a triumphant smirk as he'd shown her what he had become, all her rage had been washed away in her joy for him, and to have him in her arms again. He'd made such passionate love to her that night, showing her without words that he had missed her just as much as she had him. For a while, it had been good—idyllic even. He'd even seemed to take some interest in his son, amazed at how he had grown in three short months. Bulma had even caught him standing over the baby's crib, watching him sleep. The feeling for them that he had found so hard to display seemed to shine in his eyes from the moment he had arrived, confident now in his ability to face the oncoming Android threat with the power of the Legendary Super Saiyan.

 

But as the day of the Androids grew near, Vegeta's anxiety had slowly begun to wear at their relationship once more. A chance meeting with Piccolo had thrown him into a deep depression, and Bulma surmised that he had somehow learned that his power level still did not match up to that of the bigger Saiyan. From that moment on he had trained over eighteen hours a day, and she had barely seen him in passing. Any tenderness towards her and the baby had been abandoned once more as distractions that he could not afford. So each of them had prepared for the coming storm in solitude.

 

“I asked you where you're going, woman,” he broke into her thoughts. He'd spied the diaper bag on her shoulder, and had seen her dressing Trunks for their ride.

 

She looked at him. “You wouldn't ask if you didn't already know.”

 

“Absolutely not,” he commanded, the momentary fear in his eyes consciously replaced by anger.

 

“I'm taking my air car,” she told him stiffly. “I wouldn't expect you to take us.”

 

“Are you insane? A battlefield is no place for a woman, much less an infant!”

 

“This could be the end, Vegeta! I'm not going to let you, and everyone I care for, go up against this threat without my being there! Everyone's meeting fifteen minutes before the Androids are supposed to arrive.”

 

He glared at her. “Everyone, huh? I suppose that weakling ex-boyfriend of yours will be there too.”

 

She sighed, impatient with this old discussion. “Yes, of course Yamcha will be there. Everyone will.”

 

“Except you,” he said, crossing his arms. “And certainly not my son,” he added, glancing down at the child crawling on the floor.

 

“Oh, you're so worried about us now, Vegeta? Is that why you left us alone for three months to go off into space?”

 

For a moment he said nothing. She'd never come out and berated him for leaving, not since that first night he'd returned. She'd forgiven, but not forgotten, and now she threw his concern back in his face. For the briefest time he seemed to open his mouth as if to defend his actions, but then his face clouded over once more with anger as he said, “If you still don't understand why I needed to go, then you are not quite as intelligent as I thought.”

 

“You are infuriating!” she fumed, scooping the baby into her arms. “Do you actually think you can ignore me for weeks on end, and then expect to dictate what I can and can't do?”

 

“You are my woman!” he told her with an angry possessiveness that held none of the affection that she hungered for. “You will obey me in this, Bulma!”

 

“Obey?!” she cried.

 

“Yes!!” he hissed. “I am the Prince of all Saiyans, and I will not have my woman and brat flying about in the midst of a battle! Isn't it enough of a disgrace to me that you insist on keeping company with that vulgar group of would-be warriors—“

 

“You're talking about my friends!” she retorted angrily.

 

“Friends,” he repeated, as if the word disgusted him. “Kakarot and Baldy I can see; they have some degree of honor. But that scarred-faced freak—you consider him a friend?”

 

Yamcha again. She had long ago grown tired of this. What did she need to do to prove to him that any feelings other than friendship for her ex-boyfriend were long dead? How many times had she tried to explain to him that her relationship with Yamcha was as innocent and platonic as her connection with Goku or Krillin? “Yes, I consider him a friend,” she said wearily.

 

“A friend who tried to seduce you while I was in space,” he replied, glowering at her.

 

“He did not try to—you are impossible!” she sputtered, her frustration escalating as Trunks began to cry, as he always began to cry, when they fought. “Look what you've done now, Vegeta!” She soothed the baby quietly, while fuming within. When Trunks had finally settled down, she turned to him with vengeance in her eyes. “All Yamcha did while you were away was show concern, for me and the baby. Which is a hell of a lot more than you ever did! He's probably spent more time playing with our son than you have since he was born!”

 

She could see the hurt flash briefly in his eyes, and at that moment, she was glad. She wanted to hurt him. Hurt him as he had hurt her more times than she could count.

 

“Do what you wish, then, woman,” he spat at her. “Let your `friend' Yamcha protect you and your brat. I have greater concerns right now.”

 

“You always do,” she replied coldly.

 

He was gone without another word. And Bulma could only hold onto the anger as tightly as she hugged the baby in her embrace. Anything less would allow her to fall into the utter despair of her realization that he truly did not give a damn about either of them.

 

 

 

 

 

Trunks was already asleep when she set down on the rugged mountaintop. She took a deep breath, willing the depression that had set in to retire to the recesses of her mind. With all that was about to ensue, her relationship problems with Vegeta would have to be relegated to the back burner. None of that would matter if the Z fighters failed in their mission. She thought sadly on the quiet, mysterious young man who had come from that hellish future. It was not a future she would want her little boy to see. She lifted his sleeping form into her arms, holding him against her breast and lightly kissing the soft warm skin of his cheek. He smelled of baby powder, and she cursed lightly as she realized that in her anger with Vegeta she had forgotten the diaper bag after all. “Don't worry, Trunks…Between your Daddy and Goku, they'll beat those androids, and then everything will be better.” It was that optimism she would always show her son, and certainly the façade she would present to her friends when she saw them today. Despite the gravity of their situation, she was still excited at the prospect of showing off the most important thing that had ever happened in her life.

 

“Hey, Bulma!”

 

Yamcha waved as she stepped from the ship, and a pang of guilt ran through her once more. No matter how much he had hurt her in the past with his infidelities, she knew that in his own way he did love her. Her own such feelings for him had died long ago, and the woman she had become could never find happiness with the handsome young Desert Bandit wanna-be that she'd been so infatuated with so many years ago. But she would always care for him as a dear friend, as one among that close circle that had shared so many adventures. Her relationship with Vegeta, and then the birth of Trunks, had devastated him more than he would ever admit. He'd asked her once if she really loved Vegeta. She had answered honestly. "I love him so much that it hurts."

 

Yamcha had looked at her balefully, eyes filled with pity, as he had replied, "I hate to say this, Babe, but I can't see loving Vegeta as bringing you anything but pain." At the time she'd dismissed him angrily, knowing he was speaking out of jealousy. But each time Vegeta pushed her away as he had these last few weeks, Yamcha's words came back to haunt her. And she would be damned if she would let him, let any of them, know just how much pain she was in.

 

“Hi, Yamcha,” she said cheerily as Trunks began to stir. Luckily he'd fallen asleep with a bottle, and wasn't hungry. But experience told her that diaper wouldn't stay dry for long…

 

“Hey, look at the big guy,” Yamcha said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. He reached out a hand and the baby grabbed his fingers, smiling in recognition. She thought back to what she had told Vegeta, about Yamcha having spent more time with Trunks than he had. “Woah, what a grip. This kid is gonna be strong.”

 

Neither of them had to say what they were both thinking. Any child of Vegeta's would have to be strong…

 

Yamcha's smile faded as he looked up at her. “So, where is the Prince of all Assholes? Did he decide to sit this one out?”

 

Any sympathy she'd felt towards him slipped away at his stinging words. “I told you not to talk about him like that,” she warned. “Especially around the baby.”

 

“Okay, sorry,” he said, throwing his hands up and backing away slightly. “It's just not easy, you know?”

 

Just then, Tien arrived, opening his eyes wide as he saw the tiny bundle in her arms. She just hoped that the first sight of the three-eyed man didn't scare her little son. But despite his odd appearance, Tien was gentle, and the baby responded to him favorably. And Bulma sighed in relief that someone else had arrived to interrupt their unwanted privacy. She hadn't wanted to get into it with Yamcha again. Not today.

 

Suddenly, an odd feeling overtook her. A swirling maelstrom of warmth and cold, of love and rage, seemed to brush against her being then disappear just as quickly. It had passed too quickly to even register in her conscious mind exactly what it had been. But then the others began to arrive, and she chalked it all up to nerves.

 

 

 

 

He'd followed her. His stubborn resolve to let her go off and get herself and the brat killed if that was what she wanted, to not give a damn what happened to them…lasted a pitiful five minutes. Five minutes during which he tried desperately to convince himself of their insignificance to him. They were a distraction, nothing more. To kill time. To make life on this dreary ball of rock a bit more bearable until his goals had been achieved. Destroy the Androids. Kill Kakarot. Prove himself to be the Legendary Reborn, the most powerful being in the Universe…

 

And then, what? He could take over this world if he wanted, take over a score of worlds with as little effort as it took to breathe.

 

And then, what? A ruler would need a Queen, and an heir. No Saiyan woman survived. But certainly there had to be some other race that could produce a woman worthy to be his Queen. A woman beautiful enough, strong enough, intelligent enough…

 

He sighed deeply as the image of that woman, his woman, his mate wafted through his mind, making his heart beat more quickly, his body grow hot with his desire for her. He'd told himself it was nothing but outrageously good sex that had kept him here with her. That and the fact that she provided for his every other need. Food, shelter, training facilities… The pragmatist in him rationalized that it was only logical he remain here with her. For the time being. For a few years.

 

Or, for all my days. It was not logic that dictated that train of thought. It was need. The burning, overwhelming need that terrified him whenever he acknowledged it. The need that went far deeper than the mere physical desire that had first brought them together. The same need that kept him in her bed long after they'd been sated, holding her possessively as she slept in his arms, reveling in the peace and contentment that had eluded him all his life until he'd made her his.

 

In her arms, there was nothing to prove, no enemy to defeat, nor Kakarot to surpass. The loss of his world, his race, no longer brought him pain. The memory of his torture at the hands of Frieza dissipated into the blur of his hellish past. He was no longer the Prince of all Saiyans, and honor and pride fell to the wayside. He was…himself. He was…hers. And the loneliness that had been his constant companion was thrust aside for this fragile beauty who seemed to fulfill needs he hadn't even known existed. His solitude had brought him pain, and, eventually, a cocky self-reliance that he'd mistaken for strength. Her companionship, her…affection for him, worked against that wall that he'd built around himself. It threatened his certainty of purpose; it drew him from the realm of what he knew, into a part of himself that was even more frightening than the cold-blooded killer had been. It made him feel strong and weak at once, comfortable and yet awkward, happier than he'd ever been when he was with her, and more miserable than he could recall when he pushed her away. And push her away he did. Over and over.

 

She was a weakness. A detriment. A distraction from his goals. Insignificant. Nothing…

 

Everything. The only thing, truly, that had kept him here. Not the threat of the Androids. This was not his world to defend. Not even Kakarot. He could easily train elsewhere, and seek out Kakarot another day. It wasn't as if the clown were going anyplace. No, this woman had enchanted him with those lovely blue eyes that sparkled with her intelligence and indomitable spirit. She had captured him with her beauty, and the soft warmth of her body that seemed to meld so perfectly to his. And she had enslaved him with her greatest gift, the one thing that no one else had ever given him, that he still fought tooth and nail to refuse, for the enormity of it made him feel so utterly weak and powerless—her unconditional love.

 

It was her weakness, it had to be. And yet it gave her more power over him than anyone, even his father or Frieza, had ever had. The power to make him forget what he was, what he lived for. Strength, power…that had been the meaning of his existence. But somehow this woman could almost make him believe that he had a worth beyond that as Prince of all Saiyans. As a mere man. As her mate. As the father of that tiny half-breed boy…

 

It scared the Hell out of him. She had subverted his very purpose in life, his destiny.

 

Then why did it feel so good? So right between them?

 

It was the reason he had left, to continue his training in space. To escape the distractions that deterred him from his goal. But at the moment that meteor had nearly crushed him out of existence, it had not been the Universe's loss of the Prince of all Saiyans that he had mourned…

 

It had been the fact that he would never see her again. Her…and his…son.

 

He would die before he would admit it to anyone, but that thought alone, that fear, that loss…had transformed him. Had inadvertently made him what he had strived to be all along.

 

A Super Saiyan.

 

In that moment, that he had wanted to live not for power, or revenge, or glory, but for…for them…something inside him had snapped. It was as if the meaning of his existence had become perfectly clear, and his purpose had changed forever.

 

But then, the glory of what he had become overwhelmed him. And the fact that she had been the catalyst of his transformation had been consciously forgotten in his jubilation over attaining his lifelong goal.

 

Until he saw her again. Saw the child, who had his frown, his features, his ki, despite the hair that was so un-Saiyan, and the eyes that were…hers. And he knew, though he would never say it aloud lest it weaken him in her eyes, that it was not just her love for him, but his fondness for her, for them, that had given him true purpose. It was a secret he would never reveal to anyone, but his acceptance of it nonetheless had allowed him a degree of happiness that was alien to him. And he knew in his heart that his reappearance, his private tenderness with her, had pleased her. Not just physically. That he had been able to do from the first time he had taken her. But he had seen the joy in her beautiful face as he had been what he knew she had always wanted him to be. Hers. In body and in spirit.

 

Had he not run into the Namek that day, he would have lived in the delusion of happiness still. But although he had kept secret the news of his ascension, something he would reveal to them all in its full glory when the time was right, Piccolo had still sensed the increase in his power. And Vegeta, knowing that the Namek had been training with that clown for three years, had smugly announced his intention to destroy Kakarot as soon as he had taken care of the Androids. To which Piccolo had said the words that had shaken him to the bone.

 

“It's still not enough.”

 

“What isn't enough?" he'd asked in annoyance.

"All the training. I know what he's got, and I know what you've got. And you don't have enough.” The damned Namek had smirked at him then, mocking him! “Maybe you should change your plans."

”Maybe you should shut your mouth before I shut it for you,” he'd snapped, taking an aggressive stance.

 

The Namek had just shrugged with a nonchalance that mocked Vegeta even further. The Saiyan Prince had wanted to blast him right then and there, but he knew that there had truly been no malice in Piccolo's assessment—just an honest estimation of the progress that both Saiyans had made in the last three years.

 

It was then that his fantasy of supremacy had come crashing down, and with it his acceptance of this new part of his life. The woman and the child were distractions, softening him in a way that his father would revile, diverting him from his true purpose.

 

He'd seen the light in her eyes fade as he had taken to ignoring them both. It made his chest ache with the loss of what he had truly begun to enjoy. But even if she didn't understand now, she would one day. He was the Prince of all Saiyans. And he could not allow himself to be any less than that, even if she would accept less in him.

 

He'd tried to harden his heart to them. But the thought of her heading into that unknown threat, of taking his son to the very heart of the battle that would ensue, had made his stomach clench in something he could only liken to terror. She would follow his commands! She would obey his wishes and remain at home, allow him the dignity of protecting what was his…

 

What was his. They were his. And he was bound by his duty to protect them. And bound by something else that he could not define. That he would not name.

 

Her open defiance had infuriated him, though in truth her fierce bravery and independence were traits that had attracted him to her in the first place. In a rage he had let her go, convincing himself that he shouldn't care, didn't care, what happened to them. He was the Prince of all Saiyans once more. The best. He didn't need an exasperating woman and whining infant to complete him.

 

Or so he'd convinced himself. For a full five minutes. Then he had sped off, following them, tracking their ki just far enough away to be out of her sight. The gods forbid that she should know he was watching, ready to intervene if they needed him.

 

She might actually get the ridiculous notion that he cared.

 

 

 

 

He watched from afar as she drove her air car with the finesse of a stunt pilot, making loop de loops and speeding like a demon. He remembered the first time he had taken her flying with him, and she had screamed her head off at him for having a little fun with her… true, they had just had a full dinner, but that was no reason to practically pull his hair out when he'd broken the sound barrier… He smiled at the memory. The more enraged she had become, the more he'd wanted her. It had always been that way with them, from the very start. At first, he had thought her a vulgar, low-born wench who didn't have enough brains to realize that he could kill her in the blink of an eye for her insolence. But before long he'd learned that she was none of those things. The daughter of the wealthiest and most intelligent man on this planet, she was a genius herself, who was as used to ordering around subordinates as Vegeta himself. Her knowledge and understanding of physics and engineering far surpassed his own, and he found himself fascinated with her many inventions, not the least of which was the very dragonball radar the Earthlings had used on Namek. As time passed, he came to realize that her fearlessness was not grounded in ignorance, but in true bravery. He still marveled at her insistence on tagging along when he and the others had set off to face Frieza. At the time she had made some idiotic excuse about wanting to see if Frieza was “cute.” He'd never heard such foolishness in his life. Only later did he realize that to her it had been one more chance to stand with her friends during their greatest trials. She had always done so, she would later confide in him. He'd still told her she was a fool. But it wasn't what he truly felt. He could simply never bring himself to tell her that she was the bravest, most incredible woman he had ever encountered. Her ki was as insignificant as her physical strength. But her brilliant mind and fiery spirit could easily surpass those of most Saiyans he had known.

 

It was that same stubborn streak that had resulted in their argument this morning. He should have known since the day that boy from the future had come with his warnings that she would naturally wish to witness it all. Yet so much had changed in those three years! She was his woman now, his mate, although he had never used that word with her. And the brat was his heir, even if Vegeta had no true kingdom to bequeath him. She could not simply go running off into the face of danger! How could he be free to battle knowing that she and the boy were at risk?

 

He'd wanted to say this to her, and yet words had failed him. He'd commanded her to obey, rather than voice the one truth that would have changed everything.

 

He was terrified of losing them.

 

The worst had been when she had assured him one day that “Son-kun”, Kakarot, would never let anything happen to her. Wondering about the connection between these two had driven him mad. She'd assured him they'd never been lovers, and yet she held the fool in such high esteem. They all did, these ridiculous humans! Didn't she know that her mate was the Prince of all Saiyans, that it was he who would protect her, from the androids, from anything…

 

Of course she didn't know. He had never bothered to tell her. No matter what façade he put on for the others, he could not promise her that he would protect her, protect the child, when he had spent most of his time on this rock doubting his own ability to even do so.

 

Damn that Kakarot! And damn the Namek for destroying the peaceful confidence that his transformation had afforded him! He had felt…good…for a time, and things had been good between them. Better than good. Better than he had imagined possible. Until that green freak had shattered his delusion of superiority.

 

That was why he had gone back to his training, driving a wedge between them once more.

 

That scarred weakling had not helped matters. How did he have the gall to spend time with his mate, to try to foster a bond with his son?

 

The ship touched ground, and Vegeta watched from a distance as the weakling greeted her. Where the fuck were the others? Had this been some ruse to meet her here? His jealousy began to rage with his anger, even as the sight of her made his heart miss a beat. Then the three-eyed freak was there, the one he himself had dispatched to the next dimension. Gods, that seemed so long ago! In the days when he would have destroyed this useless rock, before one weak human had become the center of his existence. A part of him wished he had done so; then he would be free of her. Free of the weak emotions that tied him to this world. But another part of him could not bear the thought that he had come so close to never having known her; never having experienced the glorious peace of drowning in her flesh, of letting her love for him cleanse him of all the pain that had ever touched him…

 

 

The approach of more ki signatures brought an end to his self-indulgence. He'd be damned if he would let the others find him like this, spying on the woman and brat like some emotional human. Of course, he'd love to see their reactions when they learned who had fathered the child. And he'd give anything to see the expression on the weakling's face when they discovered it wasn't him.

 

But no, nothing would match their surprise when they saw that he had surpassed Kakarot. He would wait until they were in trouble, when Kakarot was about to fall…and then he would make his grand entrance, destroy the Androids…

 

…and finish off that self-righteous son of a bitch Kakarot once and for all. Show him, show them all, who is the Prince of All Saiyans…

 

With that thought he lowered his ki beyond their detection, and sped away to lie in wait.

And any concern for his earth woman and brat was pushed from his mind, as his true destiny called to him.

 

He would show them. The Androids. Kakarot.

 

Frieza and Ottousama, burning in their well-deserved Hell.

 

He would show them all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Bulma! What in the world do you think you're doing out here?”

 

Goku's shock at seeing her here probably wouldn't have been so severe had it not been for the tiny infant clinging to her firmly as he shyly hid his face in her breast.

 

“I've come to watch you fight, silly,” she answered cheerfully, taking in the astonishment on their faces. “Oh, don't worry! I'll just stay for a while, and then I'll go home.”

 

Krillin seemed the most surprised of all, but was the first to venture, “I hope you don't think I'm nuts for asking, but what's the deal with the baby, Bulma?”

 

“Is he your son, Yamcha? I'll bet he is!” Gohan piped in excitedly.

 

Her smile faded at the question, even as Yamcha looked away from them in a mixture of anger and disappointment. “He's not my kid.”

 

Krillin and Gohan gasped, as Yamcha added, “Well, if you think that's a shock, just wait!” She frowned at him, but seeing the sudden sadness in his eyes, she remained silent as he walked away from them, crouching down on the ground to wallow in his self-pity. “Wait until she tells you who the father really is!”

 

Krillin and Gohan were clueless, but Goku stepped towards her, bending down to examine the baby with a grin on his face. “I'll bet it's Vegeta, isn't it? Right, Trunks?”

 

Bulma's eyes opened wide. “Now who told you that, Goku? I wanted to keep it a secret. I was going to surprise you guys!” She doubted Yamcha would have told them—he was too ashamed of the infidelity that had caused their final breakup, and it had hurt his pride too much when he'd found out about her and Vegeta. Could Goku sense the baby's ki?

 

Her childhood friend became totally flustered by her question, and began to ramble, “Well, actually, I just thought I'd take a guess. I mean, he kind of looks like Vegeta!”

 

“You guessed his name, too!” she protested in wonder. Now that was strange! No one else knew about the baby except her parents and Vegeta. Had her Saiyan Prince spoken to Goku before today? Was that what had brought about that change in him a few weeks ago?

 

“…Maybe I'm psychic!” Goku was stammering. There was definitely something up.

 

“Outageous! Who would have guessed? Bulma and Vegeta!” Krillin was utterly incredulous. She'd known he would be. She couldn't say she blamed any of them. She'd kept her relationship with Vegeta a secret, and when she'd found herself pregnant, she'd been too sick most of the time to deal with anyone. This reunion had seemed like the perfect time to show off her little boy…

 

“Well, since we're on the subject, where is Vegeta?” Piccolo stepped forward, bringing the conversation gladly away from her personal life.

 

Good question, she thought to herself. “I don't have a clue! I really haven't seen him around lately. I know he was training to come here, but what with the baby and all, well, I guess I must have lost track of him.” She'd remained purposely nonchalant, repeating the words she had practiced to herself on the way here. She'd known they would ask, and was just grateful that with the crisis at hand there would be no time for the barrage of questions she wouldn't be able to answer: Why Vegeta? It was too difficult to put into words. Sometimes she despised the little bastard, but in spite of his innumerable faults, she loved him desperately. Does that mean you're married? Hah! Not in the legal sense. But would a ring around her finger change anything in the way he treated her? Does he treat you well? Sometimes he was her Prince, and others…

 

She blinked back the tears she would never let them see, smiling sweetly as Gohan played with Trunks, and the baby laughed hysterically. If Vegeta were here he would chastise the older boy for being so un-Saiyan. He detested the way she babied Trunks, constantly accusing her of coddling him. But he was a baby, damn it! What did he want to do, put him in armor and train him?

 

Tien bent down to look at the baby, smiling in a way she had never seen him do. “It's hard to believe, isn't it? That the same guy who killed me could have such a sweet little kid.”

 

“He's not like that anymore, Tien,” she said quickly, not sure why she felt the sudden need to defend him. Tien didn't respond. None of them did. But she knew they didn't believe her.

 

Then, it began. And as Goku threw her the bag of sensu beans, asking her to hold on to them, leaving was no longer an option. She could only wonder two things.

 

What the hell was she doing here in the middle of nowhere, with the battle of the century about to ensue, with an infant?

 

And where, in Kami's name, was Vegeta?

 

 

 

 

 

 

The blasts below were the only indication that the enemy had arrived. As Vegeta had suspected, the Androids had no detectable ki. As Kakarot's energy rushed to the center of the fray, the Saiyan Prince heard his rival call out in anger, and looked down to see what had prompted his fury. In the midst of the melee, a strange looking old creature was holding the limp and bloodied body of Yamcha. One hand was grasped tightly around the human's face; the other had impaled him through the chest.

 

The Android withdrew his hand, dropping the human's body in a pool of blood. The Saiyan Prince looked on with utter disdain. As much as he'd wanted a dozen times to blast the weakling fool out of existence, he would have done so with a single blow. This savage display was…inefficient. It was the kind of sadistic torture reminiscent of Frieza, and unbefitting to true warriors. He heard Kakarot barking orders at the bald one to carry the weakling back to Bulma. To Bulma?! She's still here?

 

They'd apparently left her in charge of the Sensu beans! Would that idiot Kakarot have brought his own woman into the middle of a battle?! The fool! Vegeta had a mind to blast him right now just for his lack of brains and his utter disrespect. But as Krillin carried the dying weakling back to the spot where he knew his woman and child were waiting, his curiosity and indignation got the better of him. He'd demand that she return to the safety of their home, or, if need be, carry her and the brat back there himself!

 

It wouldn't hurt to get a hold of those beans in the process…

 

 

 

 

 

“Yamcha!”

 

Bulma's eyes opened wide with horror as Krillin landed, laying the limp body of the fallen warrior on the ground. She gasped as she saw the gaping hole that ran from his chest straight through his back. “Oh shit, what happened?!” she cried, dropping to her knees at his side.

 

“Quick, Bulma! The Senzu!” Krillin yelled, pulling her from her shock.

 

“Oh, right,” she murmured, setting the baby down on the ground and reaching frantically for the satchel Goku had given her for safekeeping. Taking one bean out, she brought it to Yamcha's lips. “Come on, Yamcha, chew it. It's Senzu,” she coaxed him gently as she pushed it into his mouth.

 

She breathed deeply as he slowly began to eat the healing bean. “That's right, now swallow it,” she told him, brushing his hair from his face. Gods, she didn't want to see him die. No matter what had happened between them, he had been her friend for almost half her life. The horrific prediction of the boy from the future came rushing back to her. She couldn't bear the thought of any of them falling. Vegeta…

 

Slowly the color returned to his face, as the magical cure healed the wound in his chest, new flesh growing to cover the regenerated organs below. It was a miracle he had even survived—the puncture had grazed his heart. Bulma smiled down at him as he opened his eyes.

 

He smiled weakly. “Wow, I'm surprised you didn't tell Krillin not to waste the Senzu on me. You must still care.”

 

Bulma smirked at him, knowing full well it was a gesture she'd picked up from Vegeta. “Just because I don't want to be with you, doesn't mean I want you dead.”

 

He frowned at her sadly, until Trunks came crawling over to them, peering at Yamcha curiously. Bulma picked the baby up, glad for the interruption of what had become an awkward conversation. “Aw, see, even Trunks was worried about you, weren't you Trunks-kun?”

 

“Glad to see you're okay, pal,” Krillin interjected as Yamcha sat up and examined the fresh skin under the still-bloodied rip in his gi.

 

Yamcha shuddered. “Yeah, thanks to you guys. Man, I've never felt such pain in all my life. I thought I was done for.” He looked at Bulma, and she could still see the fear in his eyes. “He grabbed me by the face, and it was like I felt all my energy being drained. Then his arm just went straight through my chest.” He grabbed the spot where the Android had impaled him, as the haunting memory made him relive the pain. “I don't know if anyone's gonna be able to stop them—even Goku.”

 

“Goku and Vegeta will stop them. I know it.” But even Bulma did not feel the confidence her words were meant to convey. And the thought that they might fail, that they might never return, that Vegeta might never return to her, gripped her with the worst terror she had ever known.

 

 

 

 

Vegeta watched the scene below in silent rage. He'd heard his woman scream out in distress, then fall before the still figure of her former lover. He could feel her anguish, and it was a knife in his heart. What did she care if this fool died?! Why was she hovering over him with such concern?! And as she placed the Senzu in his mouth, caressing his forehead, he could only think of that day when it had been him lying on the ground, the object of her attention, her concern. He knew that the weakling had been watching in utter shock at what had appeared a betrayal. Now, with a sick feeling in his stomach, he felt the roles reversed. And the part of him that she had awakened with her love, began to wither and die.

 

Did these humans have no sense of loyalty? Of commitment? Of honor? She was his mate! How dare she tend to this mortal as if…as if…

 

Even his son was crawling over to the weakling now, and Bulma's words, that this human had spent more time with his son than he himself had, rang in his mind. Would this pathetic creature take them both from him?! And was she so inconstant, so fickle, that she would let him?! Blinding fury surged through him now, and he began to move in, ready to rip his own fist through that weakling's flesh, pull him apart piece by piece until no magical cures would be able to bring him back to life. But in sudden horror, the power she had over him, over his emotions, brought him to a halt. How had he ever let her gain so much control over him? How had he let a weak, capricious wench become so important to him that the mere thought of losing her could divert him from his mission, from his destiny?

 

Cursing his own foolishness, he sped away, back towards the battle. Never again. Never again would he forget who he was, and what he was born to do. And that blasted woman and her half-breed brat could go to Hell.

 

They were nothing to him. Nothing.

 

 

 

 

“Trunks is back!”

 

Piccolo's words startled him, drawing his attention from the Android below to the young man who had just appeared. The same young man who had effortlessly slain Frieza and King Cold, the enigmatic young Super Saiyan whose identity had remained a baffling mystery that had eaten away at Vegeta for the past three years. Only now, as Piccolo spoke the boy's name, did it all make such perfect sense.

 

Trunks? My son's name is Trunks! Incredible! He's my son! How had he failed to see it before? The blue eyes that were so much like Bulma's, the lavender hair that matched the tiny strands on the baby's head. The widow's peak visible only as his hair shifted in the wind, the sign of the royal family of Vegeta-sei. The incredible strength that rivaled his own…Of course it was his son, who had ascended at such an early age. In shame he realized how wrong he had been to assume the child inferior for being only half Saiyan. If this boy had grown so strong in a world where his father was dead, imagine how powerful he would become under Vegeta's guidance!

 

The pride that had begun to burst forth was shattered and forgotten in the conversation that ensued, as the boy revealed that these two Androids were not the same ones that had destroyed his world. Vegeta's complete triumph over Android 19, and the dramatic show he had put on as he'd ripped the Android's energy-stealing hands from its body, then blasted it into oblivion…all these were made suddenly meaningless as the boy tried to tell them that they had not even yet encountered the true test of power.

 

Suddenly, something inside Vegeta's chest constricted, as he tensed at the sensation of coming danger. It was what Bulma had jokingly dubbed his “Spidey-sense” after some ridiculous cartoon. Bulma… Her ki danced on the edge of his consciousness, along with that of the child, near, much too near. In a mixture of annoyance and surprise he turned to see the air car rapidly approaching, his woman waving, utterly oblivious to what she was getting herself into. The fat little bastard who had cut off his tail was sitting beside her, holding the baby. Was this woman mad?! Was it not enough that she had disgraced him by her flagrant attentions to that weakling human? The gods alone knew what she had said to him, but Vegeta's imagination had run wild with the possibilities since he had spied them together. Now she was flying straight into the battle, endangering not just herself but the child he now knew would become a powerful warrior…

 

A blast from below and the world around them was smoke and fire. The Android was making his escape, and Vegeta scanned the ground below. Suddenly, that sick feeling of foreboding struck him once more, just as the woman's ki began to spike in fear. The air car had been struck! His first instinct was to go to them, but with cold bitterness he resolved to let them fall. It was better this way—wasn't it? Perhaps some divine intervention was freeing him of this distraction, this burden that had attached itself to him despite all his attempts to resist. They were nothing more than that! She was nothing more, and today the cheap bitch had finally shown her true colors, her unworthiness to be his Queen… Let her die, and he would be done with her! Done with her and all the absurdities that threatened to weaken him and detract him from his destiny!

 

Where was her scarred-faced lover now? Or did she expect Vegeta to rescue her after she had utterly disgraced him with her display, wrenching at those emotions that she herself had forced upon him? Let the traitorous bitch die! He would be rid of her once and for all!

 

In his mind he heard her scream, and a sudden terror that he wasn't sure was hers or his own shook him to the bone. And in that split second the truth he had balked at struck him with such intensity that he felt he would double over.

 

He couldn't lose her like this. He couldn't lose them. He didn't want to.

 

His son from the future whooshed by him, and he was saved the decision that would have humiliated him. Let the boy rescue his mother, then, and himself. He would let her see that he didn't care, that she was nothing to him, that she held no power over his heart and his soul.

 

Even if he knew in his heart that it was a lie.

 

He breathed deeply as he heard her frantic calls for her baby, and the child's insistent crying. They were safe. And he had not had to betray his feelings to her, to any of them. He was a warrior, not one of these emotional humans… With a resolve to push these distractions from his mind, he began searching for the android, who had apparently disappeared. He was cursing the infernal machine when Trunks flew up unexpectedly to block him.

 

“Vegeta! Why didn't you try to help them?!”

 

The boy was in his face, glowering at him with a rage that would make any Saiyan father proud.

 

“Who?” he asked distractedly, though he knew damn well. He wouldn't let this kid see him as anything less than a perfect warrior.

 

“Who?! Bulma and her baby!” the young man cried.

 

“Oh, them,” he said with feigned nonchalance. Then, looking the boy hard in the eyes, he added, “I have more important things to worry about than that foolish woman and her blasted child!”

 

Vegeta studied him, waiting for a reaction. Who was this young man who was his son? Was he a true warrior, as he would have trained him to be—or the emotional weakling his mother would make him with her constant coddling? In disgust Vegeta saw the hurt in his eyes, and knew that Bulma's influence had won out. He pushed the boy out of his way, to continue his search for the Android.

 

Battle was what he knew, what he lived for. Not those insignificant creatures who had become a part of his life.

 

Or so he would convince himself before the day was through.

 

 

 

 

 

Blasted woman. Once again, she had held the key, with that one bit of knowledge that had escaped them all.

 

The Android was Dr. Gero himself. “How could you possibly know such a thing?!” he'd barked at her angrily. Why was he so angry with her? Because she had proven herself so valuable once more? Because of her seeming betrayal that had affected him more than he cared to admit? Because the first moment she had seen him she had betrayed that one moment of hurt that had made him fall silent before her in shame? If he'd wanted to make her believe he didn't care, he had accomplished his task. But as he looked on her and the infant in her arms, he could not imagine how he had ever thought to let them die. No! he chastised himself. I will not let her weaken me like this!

 

Taking a deep breath to regain his control, he leapt into the air, landing right in front of her. “Now stop wasting time, woman, and tell me where Dr. Gero's laboratory is!” he growled.

 

He'd startled her more than he intended to, and as she jumped back in fright, he regretted the move. She'd never been afraid of him before, and he did not wish her to be.

 

“How dare you, Vegeta!” she cried, her surprise turning to anger. There, that was more like it. That was the Bulma he knew and…was accustomed to.

 

“Every time you stick your geeky little face in front of Trunks, you make him cry!”

 

Geeky little face?! How dare she! And the others were…amused by her insult. He stared at her speechless as she soothed the baby, throwing daggers at him in the process. “It's all right. Your daddy's not going to scare you with that ugly mug of his.”

 

“Bulma, will you forget about the child for one minute?” he said in exasperation, before she could humiliate him any more. “Do you know where Dr. Gero's lab is?”

 

From that moment on any personal discourse between them was set aside, as it should be. Vegeta listened to Bulma's recollections of where Gero's hidden lab might be, and once more cursed himself for having let the Android get away. Now there were two more Androids, 17 and 18. The Namek suggested the cowardly course of destroying the lab before the Androids could be activated. How absurd! Let him bring them to life! If they were anything like the fat clown Vegeta had torn to pieces, he would finish them all before the sun set! Then they would all witness the true power of the Prince of all Saiyans!

 

 

 

 

 

Bulma looked up at the sky anxiously from her terrace as night fell on the day they had dreaded for three years. It had come and gone, and she was still unsure as to where they all stood in this battle for survival.

 

It had been hours since Gohan had dropped her and the baby off at Capsule Corp, and still there was no word from the battlefield. For the briefest moment her heart had seemed to stop as an image of Vegeta in pain had flashed through her mind. It had worried her to distraction. But as time passed, the sense of him settled back into the recesses of his mind where it stayed even when he was away from her. She couldn't explain it. But she knew that he was still alive.

 

She wondered if he had felt her fear as the air car had descended and crashed into the rocks below. Certainly he knew she was in the ship. He had seen her waving through the viewport just moments before the explosion. Yet it had not been Vegeta who had saved her and her baby from certain death. It had been that young man she now knew was her son.

 

Trunks had been furious with his father, and had demanded an explanation for his failure to help them. Vegeta's words still rang in her mind with horrible clarity: I have more important things to worry about than that foolish woman and her blasted child!

 

She had grown accustomed to his insults, and his demeaning tone. It was part of his persona, the image he liked to portray to the world as a warrior, who put battle and strength above all else. Yet beneath that cold exterior had always been the man she knew when they were alone together, the one who would never be able to express how much she meant to him in words. But she had always known. Or thought she'd known.

 

Until today. The fact that he had not rescued them had hurt like hell. But the biting words to their son, the façade of complete indifference to the fact that they had almost died—that had extinguished any hope she had held in her heart that he really cared for them.

 

Had she been fooling herself all along? In thinking that she and Trunks actually meant something to him? Why had he stayed then? Why had he come back? Was it simply because he had no place else to go? Was she nothing more to him than a convenience, a clever mind to build him training devices by day, and a warm body to comfort him at night? “Fucking bastard,” she whispered, wiping the tears from her cheeks. I hate you! I hate you! “No…I love you,” she admitted, hating herself for her weakness. She should throw him out on his ass, and yet here she was waiting for him to come back. She knew damn well that if he were to walk up to her right now, offer her a rare smile or a tender kiss, she would melt into his arms. And once again, he would make love to her with such gentle passion that she would forget her doubts, and forgive him for all his flaws.

 

Bulma wasn't quite sure what frightened her more: the prospect that she would let him get away with treating her like dirt, or the possibility that this time he might not come back at all. The first would destroy her self-respect. The second would destroy her completely.

 

A figure approaching made her heart miss a beat, but as she realized it was not Vegeta, but their grown son, a new anxiety set in. How would she explain this all to him? To a boy who had probably dreamed his entire life of meeting his father, and was most certainly disillusioned. She was sure she had never told her son how cold his father could be, and she had seen the hurt in his eyes as Vegeta had flown past him. And even more than she hated Vegeta for ravaging her emotions, she reviled him for hurting her little boy.

 

He landed on the terrace, looking at her awkwardly. No matter how strange this seemed to her, it had to be a hundred times worse for him.

 

“Hi, Trunks,” she said smiling at him. He was such a handsome young man, and only now could she see the features that were Vegeta's and those that were hers.

 

“You know, then?” he asked timidly, relieved that the ice had been broken.

 

“Yes, I do. And I can't tell you how proud I am of you!” She threw her arms around him before he could react, hugging him tightly, glad when she felt him return the embrace.

 

“Thanks…Mom,” he said hesitantly, then added quickly, “I hope it's okay to call you that—”

 

“What else would you call me, silly?” She kissed him on the cheek and stepped away to look at him again. “I can't believe how big and handsome you're going to be—I mean, you are,” she corrected.

 

Trunks grew crimson at the compliment. “I'm going to check on Goku in the morning…but I thought maybe I could come home for the night.”

 

Bulma smiled brightly at him, glad to hear him call this place his home. ”Come. Let me get you something to eat. And we can…talk.”

 

“I'd like that,” he said truthfully.

 

“Just one thing I have to ask you first,” her face growing serious. “Is your father all right?”

 

The expression on Trunks' face told her that Vegeta was the last thing he wanted to talk about. But to her relief he nodded. “Yeah, he'll be okay.”

 

Bulma took her first deep breath since this morning. “Good. Okay, come on, kiddo, why don't you tell Momma what your favorite foods are?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trunks was as voracious an eater as his father and Goku, but his Saiyan appetite had been supplemented with good table manners. Okay, she'd done a good job in that department. Actually, overall, she was quite impressed with how her son had turned out. She knew he was strong, and had become a great warrior. That she'd seen when she'd witnessed him kill Frieza and King Kold with virtually no effort whatsoever. But she also found him to be intelligent, polite, well-spoken and generally easy-going. She wanted so much to hear about what their life had been like in that other time line. Yet she was afraid to broach a subject that was probably fraught with many unpleasant memories. One thing was clear, however. Trunks and his mother were extremely close, and after the initial shock of seeing her eighteen years younger had worn off, he was able to speak with her easily.

 

 

“This place is in great shape,” he commented as they sat in the living room. “In my time, most of the upper compound has been destroyed or abandoned. We live in the underground bunkers that Gramps built.”

 

Bulma shivered involuntarily. She had seen the underground bunkers before—dark, damp, windowless and sterile, supplied with the basics that would be necessary in the event of a nuclear holocaust or other such emergency. She couldn't imagine living there permanently.

 

“Are Grandpa and Grandma still alive?” she asked hesitantly.

 

Trunks' face darkened. “They were until about five years ago. They were in the city when the Androids attacked.”

 

Bulma was silent for a moment as she once again prayed that this horrific future would never come to pass. “So it's just me and you, huh?” she said, wondering how lonely the other Bulma must be right now with her precious son gone.

 

Trunks nodded. “Gohan used to come around a lot before he—before he was killed.” Bulma could see the sadness in her son's eyes, and could imagine that Goku's son must have played an important part in Trunks' life, especially with Vegeta gone. “He was my sensei—and like a big brother to me,” he continued. He smirked, so like his father. “He trained me behind your back for a while, but of course you figured it out.”

 

“I guess I must have been pretty over-protective,” she mused, knowing how precious her baby was to her. Her face grew dark. “Especially after losing your father,” she said softly as if afraid to even voice the horrific possibility aloud.

 

“Yeah,” he murmured, suddenly uncomfortable at the mention of Vegeta.

 

“Trunks,” Bulma began gently, “Are you…disappointed…now that you've finally met your father?”

 

His cheeks grew crimson as he realized just how transparent his emotions were to her. Though she imagined that he shouldn't be surprised. She'd gathered that they were close in his time. “No, I mean, yes, I -”

 

“It's okay,” she told him, putting her hand on his arm. “Your father is a very difficult person to get to know…and even when you do, you can't always understand why he does the things he does…”

 

“I know that, Mom. You told me what to expect! But after what happened today—” He cut himself off, and she knew it was because of her own reaction. Vegeta had hurt her today, and their son knew it. “I dreamed all my life of meeting him,” he told her. “And he is just as amazing a warrior as I knew he would be. Even though he couldn't defeat Android 18—that doesn't take away from how impressive he was.”

 

Trunks had told her of Vegeta's humiliation, and she could only imagine that he was off somewhere dealing with his rage. How she only wished he would seek comfort in her at times like these! Not to mention the injuries he would stubbornly ignore…

 

“But the way he was…with you. When he didn't try to save you and—”

 

Bulma could see his eyes glazing over with tears he was refusing to shed. Trunks had been prepared for the cold, distant Vegeta his mother had known. But seeing his father deliberately refuse to save her, to save him, from what might have been their death, had shaken him terribly. Probably any positive image his mother had tried to create of Vegeta -the man, and not just the warrior—had been thrown out the window. She would have to repair that damage, even if at the moment she was finding it very difficult.

 

Trunks took a deep breath. “Mom, you always told me that my father never said he loved you—but that you knew. How? Is there something I'm missing here? I mean, he acted like such an asshole—” He caught himself as if thinking his mother would find that offensive, but she just reacted with half-hearted amusement.

 

“Hm. Yeah, I guess he can be a real jerk sometimes.” She didn't like admitting this to her son about his father, yet he was a grown man and had witnessed it for himself. Her expression became serious. “Trunks, there's a lot going on in that head of his that you or I can't even imagine. His life before us was—worse than he would ever admit to you. What Frieza did to him was like a living hell. He's only told me some of it. He has no idea what I've seen in his dreams.”

 

Trunks' eyes opened wide. “His dreams?”

 

She nodded. “Saiyans have great telepathic abilities. And sometimes at night, I see things—nightmares, I guess, but I know that they're his memories. I would never let him know all I've seen—he would be mortified beyond belief. But seeing what that sick bastard did to a little boy—it leaves me shaking and crying so much that I have to leave the room so he won't suspect that I know.” Even now the horrific images that had remained imprinted on her mind made her shudder. “Please, Trunks…” she begged. “Don't ever let him know I've told you this—“

 

“I won't,” he whispered, shaken.

 

“It's no wonder he became so hard, so cold…obsessed with becoming strong, so that no one could ever take everything away from him again as Frieza did. Sometimes he holds me so tightly it's as if he's clinging for dear life. Why do you think he trained so hard to defeat these Androids? All he has left is his pride in his Saiyan heritage—and us. It's true, he's never said aloud that he loves us. And that hurts a lot. But I can see it in his eyes. In the way he is with me when no one else is around. In the way he looks at you when he's standing over your crib.”

 

“But then why—?”

 

“Why did he let the air car fall?” she asked for him. “Good question. We had an awful fight this morning. He didn't want me to go, to take the baby into the heat of battle. He was being protective, and I was just stubborn. I wanted to be there. He was furious when he left. And I guess…” Her voice trailed off. She wasn't quite sure how to answer that question that had haunted her from that moment. Had Vegeta really been prepared to let them die? Out of stubbornness? Out of spite?

 

“I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't have brought this up.”

 

She gave him a thin smile. “It's okay. I needed to think it out myself too. Maybe I'll find out the answer someday. But…I still stand by what I said. He loves us. In his own way. I just don't think he knows how to deal with those kinds of feelings.”

 

Trunks nodded his understanding. “And you really love him a lot, don't you? In spite of everything.”

 

Bulma nodded. If she was sure of anything, it was that. “I love him with all my heart.”

 

Once she had said good night to her son, and checked to see that the baby was sleeping soundly, Bulma lay down, more at peace than she had been. In telling Trunks about his father, she had reminded herself of a few things too. He did love them. He did.

 

But he was sure as hell going to have some explaining to do when he came back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

How? How is it possible? I am the Prince of all Saiyans! The Legendary reborn! How did a fucking machine make an utter fool of me?!?!

 

The rain had completely drenched him now, but he didn't care. For hours he had stood on this cliff, staring unseeing at the world below, as night and the elements had converged upon him. The day's events played themselves out in his mind, one miserable failure after another. The Senzu had repaired his broken arm and ribs, but his spirit and pride could not be so easily healed.

 

His personal failures had begun this spiral into the depths of depression. First the bitter argument with the woman, and then seeing her fawn over her former lover. Then had come the shameful result of his jealous rage. He had almost lost them both. He had almost chosen to let them die. His mate. His son.

 

His son. He had not quite forged the rapport he would have hoped with his son from the future. The boy was powerful, of that there was no doubt. But he was ruled by his weak human emotions, just like his mother. And just as Vegeta could not deal with her emotions, he found it difficult to respond to his son on any level that was not related to battle.

 

His exhilaration over the destruction of Android 19 had been short-lived, a brief respite from the trivial concerns that had annoyingly become too important to him. His only regret then had been the fact that that weakling hadn't been there to see him rip the Android's hands from his wrists. It was only a hint of what Vegeta would do to him if he were to touch his woman…

 

Damn!! He was doing it again! Was it his distraction with this woman that had led him to his humiliating defeat?

 

It would be easy to blame her. The gods knew he had done it often enough before. But he knew that it had been something more basic that had led to his downfall in battle today.

 

He was not strong enough.

 

But how is it possible?! I am a Super Saiyan! Even the Namek capitulated that I was probably stronger than Kakarot! Why did I fail?

 

Only then did it hit him, the truth that he should have known all along.

 

I must go beyond Super Saiyan! I must ascend! Being more powerful than that clown Kakarot is not enough! I must truly be the most powerful being in the Universe!

 

With a growl of sudden determination he powered up, until the ground beneath him began to quake. He would do it! He would ascend! Even if the struggle to do so meant destroying everyone and everything around him.

 

Including himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The heat was almost as oppressive as the gravity, making it a strain to breathe, much less move. Sweat dripped down his brow, and he had to shake it away from his eyes. Even that slight gesture was painful. Perhaps because the wounds he had suffered over the last six months had never been given a chance to heal. Each day he would rise after two hours sleep, straining his muscles, extending his ki to greater limits. And each night he would collapse in excruciating agony, certain that if he pushed even a bit more, he would die.

 

It was exhilarating.

 

His energy surged now to incredible levels, crackling around him as if he were a live wire. But he needed more. Focusing his rage, calling upon all the fury of a lifetime, he roared wildly as the air about him burst into spontaneous flames. Shockwaves of his own energy spread the flames for miles in all directions, tossed aside by the brilliant gold sun that he had become. He was Super Saiyan, yet the ground beneath him did not shake.

 

There was no ground beneath him.

 

An endless void stretched out in all directions, as far as the eye could see. This vast wasteland that had been his home, his training ground for months now, was as infinite as it was intimidating. He'd heard tales of others who had gone mad in this strange dimension that Kakarot called the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. Weak-minded fools! He would show them all! He would emerge more powerful than anyone had ever contemplated. He would destroy the Androids, subjugate that fool Kakarot, and then…

 

…And then what?

 

 

He powered down, his exhaustion suddenly more psychological than physical. When his mind remained focus on battle, he could endure anything. But when his thoughts drifted to other things, to the future, to her…

 

He showered and made his way to the small twin-sized bed, thinking idly that it was not anywhere near as comfortable as their bed at home.

 

Their bed. Home. His own choice of words surprised him. But he had been thinking of her a great deal in the past few months. At first it had been a bother, and he'd cursed her for distracting him even from another dimension. Then, thoughts of her, of holding her in his arms, had become a comfort in the moments when he truly admitted to himself that he was lonely. And in those rare instances, alone with his memories of her, he could admit to himself the truth he would sooner die than reveal to anyone.

 

He missed her.

 

No, it was more than that. So much more. For over four years, she had been a constant in his life. Daring to stand up to him. To care for him.

 

To love him.

 

From the moment he had met her on Namek she had captured his attention. The silly girl that had swooned over Zarbon until he had transformed into his bestial form, the gorgeous companion to Baldy and Kakarot's son who had left her planet for the sake of dragonballs to bring life back to her friends. Courageous enough to want to see Frieza, though she had no ki to speak of. Brilliant enough to invent the dragonball radar, and perfect the very gravity dome where he trained. Kind enough to invite a stranger whom she knew to be a genocidal maniac into her home. Patient enough to deal with his rage, his needs. Perceptive enough to know how desperately lonely he had been before they had come together. Since that glorious first night in her arms, he had never again been truly alone. Even when they were apart, she danced on the edge of his consciousness, her essence an ever-present reminder that there was someone in the Universe who cared for him.

 

Yet all that he could admit now to himself, he had never spoken to her aloud. Oh, he had shown her what she meant to him. Slowly, gently, cherishing every inch of her body, making himself a slave to her pleasure until she cried out his name in her ecstasy. She had no way of knowing that he had never had another woman. All that he did he had learned in his quest to please her, to show her in some small way the gratitude and affection he could express in no other manner…

 

Even when he had gone off into space, convincing himself that she and that silly little purple-haired boy were nothing more than a distraction, he had still had a sense of her. Of his child. Even in his most desolate moments he had secretly been comforted each time he had reached out to feel them there, waiting for his return…

 

Here, in this place, when he reached out, he felt…nothing. And that nothing was terrifying. It was as if a part of him had been ripped away. The solitude of his youth, of that whole other lifetime, was nothing compared to this. He had not known fulfillment, not known his complete self, until he had made her his. Without her now, he was…incomplete. It had taken total separation from her, both physical and spiritual, to even know. The fact that he had almost lost her, that he had almost let her die…Gods, if this was what it would be like were she to be permanently removed from his life, then he knew that if he ever really lost her, he would go mad.

 

It occurred to him that death was not the only way he might lose her. She was a strong-willed woman, who had been pampered all her life. He knew that he did not treat her with the respect she deserved. She might easily tire of his neglect. Or seek elsewhere the multitude of things he knew he could not give her.

 

The image he had seen that morning on the island burned in his mind, as it had for months. The weakling human was a worthless piece of shit, and yet she had once…had feelings for him. She had once…

 

The rage of jealousy began to burn anew as he imagined what that cowardly freak was doing in his absence. But no, he reminded himself, in the outside world, only hours had passed. Not enough time.

 

But if he dared…

 

Vegeta closed his eyes, willing the unwanted images from his mind. He would escape into the comfort of sleep, where his subconscious mind indulged him each night in the sweet memories and sensations that were his only peace.

 

 

 

He awoke with a start to the sudden sense of that small, familiar ki that made his heart begin to pound. Impossible! He had not been able to feel her at all for six months, but it was as powerful now as the soft scent of her that suddenly filled his nostrils. He bolted upright in the bed, looking wildly around him in the darkness. His eyes opened wide as she came towards him, as beautiful as he remembered her, a demure smile on her face.

 

“Bulma! But how--?”

 

“Dende let me in,” she said softly, coming to sit on the bed. Her hands came up to his face as he blinked, thinking for certain this must be a dream. But the warmth of her skin as she softly caressed his cheek was as undeniably real as the reaction that her touch engendered. “I couldn't stay away from you. I missed you,” she said, her blue eyes mesmerizing him.

 

Gods, how he wished he had the courage to tell her the same! Instead he drew her into his arms, kissing her hungrily as he told her what words failed to reveal. There was so much he wanted to say, needed to say, but all he could do was drown in the ecstasy of having her here, the soft warmth of her flesh, the enticing scent of her arousal, the utter completeness of her essence as it melded with his once more, filling the void that had been his agony over the past six months. He didn't know how she had managed to coax the Guardian of the Earth into breaking the rules, but as he pulled away to look into those soulful blue orbs that were filled with her love for him, he smiled openly, certain once more that this amazing woman of his could do whatever she set her mind to.

 

“Did you miss me?” she asked playfully as he nuzzled at her neck, impatiently ripping open her blouse and popping the hook on her bra to free her beautiful breasts to his exploration.

 

“What do you think, woman?” he murmured as he took one nipple into his mouth, tenderly fondling her flesh.

 

“That feels so good…” she whispered, though her hardened buds had told him so already. She was on top of him now, and his hands moved down to her miniskirt, one of those tantalizing things she wore to drive him insane, pushing it up to find nothing but bare skin. If he had been ready for her before, this drove him past the point of waiting. He could feel her heat even through the light sheet that separated them, and as she pulled it away to expose his own arousal, it was all he could do to keep from lifting her up and sheathing himself immediately in her warmth. But he knew that he would have to do this right, to show her with his lovemaking all that he was too much of a coward to say. How precious she was to him. How very…

 

“Aaaaaaah…” The moan had escaped his lips before he even realized that she had taken him into her mouth, making him tremble as she licked his sensitive tip, then took in as much of his length as was possible. It was taking royal restraint to keep from releasing his passion as she tugged rhythmically at him with a glorious sucking motion, caressing his balls until he began to shudder from delight. But no, he wanted to see her, to be inside her, to have her share this climax with him…

 

“Bulma…I want…to be…inside you…” he managed, reluctantly pulling her head up gently to disengage her. She smiled at him, licking her lips from the taste of him, moving up to kiss him passionately. His fingers reached for her warmth, finding her so hot and wet for him that he knew little prelude was necessary. Regardless, he caressed her folds, rubbing the nub of her pleasure as her own breath quickened, sticking one, then two, then three fingers into her, making utterly sure that she was ready for him.

 

“Vegeta…” she breathed as she lifted herself up, and he helped her to slide onto him. He growled in primal pleasure as he reveled in her warmth, and she began to ride him slowly, teasing him mercilessly by almost completely pulling away from him, only to come crashing down harder and deeper with each thrust…

 

Suddenly, she was still, and as he opened his eyes to look at her face, he could see a pain that had not been there before. “What is it…?” he breathed, reaching up to play with her breasts tenderly as she sat, still straddled on him.

 

“Do you love me, Vegeta?” she asked sadly.

 

Vegeta's face flushed with his panic. Far from being frustrated by the sudden halt in their lovemaking, he was suddenly aware that the physical displays of affection that he'd always resorted to were no longer enough. She wanted more. She deserved more. But fear and conditioning would not let the words escape his lips. “You…should not…have to ask…” he managed, hoping that would suffice.

 

Tears filled her eyes suddenly, but they were not borne of joy. Her next question was more difficult than the first, if he had ever imagined that possible.

 

“Then why were you going to let us die?” she asked in a broken voice.

 

He wanted to tell her the truth. That he had known the boy would save her. That his pride and jealous rage had held him back, but regardless, he had known in that last instant that Trunks would help them. That he had regretted his hesitation ever since, and it shamed him more than anything he had ever done…

 

But again, the words would not come.

 

Silently, Bulma pulled away from him, physically and emotionally. Even as his erection faded in the cold rush of air, his entire being shuddered with that sense of loss. She was withdrawing from him in every way possible. Withdrawing herself. Withdrawing her love.

 

In a panic he rose from the bed and followed her as she ran to the door of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. She was so damned fast! She was gone by the time he reached the portal, and with no care for the fact that he was abandoning his training he stepped back into the real world, searching the endless halls of the Lookout for a sign of her.

 

When he finally found her, he stopped dead in his tracks, his heart rising up into his throat. There she stood with…him. The weakling. Crying in his arms.

 

“I told you it was no use, Bulma,” the bastard was saying. “He'll never change. He'll never love you like I do…”

 

“Get your hands off of her!” he snarled, just waiting for the moment that his woman was a sufficient distance from the weakling before he tore him to pieces. “She's mine!”

 

“No, I'm not, Vegeta,” she told him harshly, turning to him with hatred in her eyes. “I could never belong to a man who can't even admit he loves me. Who would let me and my son die!”

 

“You don't understand!” he roared at her, but he knew in his heart that it was too late. He had failed her completely. After all that she had selflessly given him—from a home and a training dome to the more precious gifts: herself… a son—he could not provide her with the simple assurances that she so desperately needed. The foolish words that this coward found so easy to voice. Didn't she realize? Didn't she know that what he felt for her was so much more profound than words could even begin to express?

 

“Face it, Vegeta,” the son of a bitch sneered, stepping towards him. “You stole her from me for a while—but she's always been mine!”

 

Fury alone propelled him as he lunged at the human, ripping through his chest to crush the still-beating heart in his fist. He could have blasted him away. But only tearing the coward into pieces would suffice. He could hear Bulma screaming, and knew that this show of savagery would make her hate him forever. But it didn't matter. He had already lost her. Nothing he could do now could possibly make things worse. And nothing that happened to him now could possibly devastate him as much as the loss of the only being who had ever loved him.i

 

 

Darkness engulfed him and he found himself alone in his bed. Only as he realized that it had been a dream did his choking sobs of anguish turn to tears of relief. It had been so real! He could still smell the scent of her skin, still feel the ecstasy of being inside her, and the rage of seeing her in that bastard's arms. He knew that if he were to face that weakling right now, he would rip him to shreds. The human was lucky that Vegeta was locked away in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber right now, and truthfully, he was too. He would not trust himself in his present state. His nerves were too raw, his emotions too out of control.

 

The false sense of contentment as he'd felt her presence was gone, and the desolation of being less than his full self was maddening. He didn't know how much longer he could stand the sense of emptiness. Those brief, glorious moments of remembering what it could be like had destroyed any chance he'd had of regaining his concentration. Wondering what was happening on the outside, what she was doing, was driving him insane.

 

But he could not give up. Too much depended on him, on his success. He would ascend once more! He would destroy the Androids, and then…

 

…and then what?

 

Would he fall silent on her gentle pleas as he had in his dreams? Would he drive her away with his inability to express the depth of his feeling for her and that little boy whose “future self” slept in the next room?

 

He thought of his son as he lay in the bed, willing discipline upon his frazzled nerves. He'd barely spoken to the boy in the months they'd been here. He'd told him from the beginning that he trained alone. It was the truth, but in his moment of weakness now he could admit to himself that it had been more than that. The boy made him uncomfortable. He seemed so eager to please him, to prove himself. But all Vegeta saw when he looked at him was a son he had failed. He had not been able to protect him and his mother from the Android threat. He had left them to what sounded like a hellish existence. This boy had grown up without him, and seemed so anxious to know him. Yet Vegeta's guilt would not allow him access to his inner self. The boy desperately wanted a father, and Vegeta was still trying to figure out how to be one. It was difficult enough with an infant…but a grown man?

 

Yet another thing made him avoid even looking at the boy. He had his mother's eyes. And he could not bear to look at him and see her. The Bulma he had failed, abandoned in that other time. The Bulma he feared desperately he would fail in this one. How could he maintain control of his emotions when the thought of her, the want, the need, that had manifested in this dream, drove him to distraction?

 

But secretly, he had been observing his son. Watching. Wanting to train him, yet needing to stay away. The boy was powerful, and his strength had increased geometrically in here. Perhaps it was time…

 

“Trunks.”

 

He'd rarely if ever called the boy by name. His son broke from his training and looked over at him in surprise. Why shouldn't he? Vegeta had spoken a total of maybe six sentences to him in as many months.

 

“Yes?” he asked, coming to face him. He looked so much older than when he'd arrived, his lavender hair falling in his eyes. It was human hair, and had grown long, unlike his own Saiyan hair that remained the same for life.

 

“Do you think you're ready to show me how you've progressed in your training?” he asked.

 

His son's face brightened perceptively, though Vegeta could tell he was trying to maintain a Saiyan control. “Yes, Sir,” he replied with a nod.

 

“Good.” Vegeta nodded, glad that battle, the only language he truly spoke, would break the ice for them. “We'll spar, then,” he announced, then added with a note of sarcasm, “I want to see if you can land a punch.”

 

Trunks smirked at his deliberate mockery. “Land a punch? Is that all?”

 

Vegeta frowned. “You think you can even do that, boy?” he challenged.

 

“I'll knock you on your ass if that's what you want,” Trunks replied with an arrogance that mirrored his own. But there was more than just a show of bravado. An underlying anger drove this sudden desire to best his father.

 

“I'll teach you some respect,” Vegeta said in a low voice.

 

“Why don't we see if you can earn it,” Trunks replied, his bitterness no longer veiled.

 

The insolence! Even Vegeta's own guilt over the things his son might blame him for were no excuse to allow such blatant disrespect. “All right, then! We fight until you knock me down.” It was preposterous to think that the brat could even do that, but if he wanted a real test…

 

Trunks thought for a moment, then looked at him with a slyness that was his mother's. “Okay, but why don't we make it interesting? If I can actually knock you down, then you'll answer that question for me.”

 

Vegeta felt suddenly uneasy. “What question?” he asked, though he knew. Gods, he knew. The very question that Bulma had asked in his dream, and he had been unable to answer.

 

Trunks' eyes bore into his as he said, “You'll tell me why you didn't try to help my mother and…and the baby.”

 

My mother and me, was the unvoiced question. The hurt in his eyes was so much like Bulma's had been, that Vegeta was thoroughly shaken. But if he would ever face Bulma, and voice those truths that must come out, perhaps this would be a start.

 

Not that Trunks would actually knock him down. That was pretty inconceivable.

 

“All right, then,” Vegeta told him, the thought of sparring with his own son suddenly an exciting notion. He burst into Super Saiyan. “Let's do it.”

 

 

 

 

The brat was good. Better than good. It irked Vegeta to no end that Kakarot's son had been the one to train him, but all things considered, he was grateful that another Saiyan had been there to guide him. Vegeta had already seen his finesse with that sword of his. He'd sliced Frieza into pieces with virtually no effort whatsoever. Knowing now that his son had killed his Tsiru-jin torturer gave him comfort. It was divine justice. Trunks would never know what that act had meant to him. Perhaps someday he would tell him.

 

The boy's skill with his fists was just as impressive, and his speed was incredible. Twice Vegeta lost sight of him as he dodged his father's blows and returned with his own. It was clear that he had something to prove, but just as evident was a resentment that Vegeta knew he himself had engendered. Was it all for his failure to save them that day? Or was it for the lifetime in that hellish world that he had left them to endure...?

 

Vegeta's jaw stung as Trunks' boot connected with it. He could taste his own blood, and realized that his musings had distracted him. Deciding it was time to bring the battle to the next level, he raised his ki and brought his hands together to form an energy ball, then blasted his son with just enough force to surprise him and send him flying. It was odd throwing an opponent into nothingness, where there were no mountains or rocks to break a fall. Trunks responded in kind, and as Vegeta dodged easily, a new contest of speed began, each trying to hit the other with massive blasts that went off into the infinite distance of their surroundings. Vegeta could see his son was beginning to tire, and he shot a Galick gun to finish him off, impressed when Trunks countered with an attack of his own that met the blast and vied for supremacy. Then it was a test of will and strength as each poured more and more into his attack to see who would triumph. Vegeta carefully measured his son's level, raising his own only enough to keep the balance, not wanting to tip the scales until he had gotten an accurate assessment of his son's strength and stamina. It occurred to him that while he was merely trying to test the boy, his son might actually harbor enough hatred to try to kill him. But no, the Saiyan in him was subverted by the Human, and he would never have the balls to actually—

 

Vegeta flew suddenly backwards as his own Galick gun blasted him in the face. Damn the kid for getting the better of him while he was taking it easy on him! Recovering quickly he shot a series of successive blasts in what Bulma called his “pissed off and frustrated” attack, smirking as he realized that she had probably been right on the mark. Trunks dodged each blast, coming closer and closer until he was in Vegeta's face, an anger in him that was definitely Saiyan in nature. With one swift punch he aimed for his father's jaw, momentarily startled when Vegeta grabbed his wrist and held it in a grasp that could easily break it if he tried. “So are you really interested in killing me, or is the answer to your stupid question just so damned important?” he taunted, though there was a true curiosity behind his question.

 

For a moment the boy's face registered his surprise, but then hardened in rage. “I came back here to keep you from dying, no matter how much of an asshole you seem to be!”

 

Vegeta grinned evilly, his grip still on Trunks' wrist. “If you think I'm such an asshole then why do you even care?”

 

He'd said it as a joke, but the boy's eyes became deadly serious as he shouted, “Because you're my father, and I've waited my entire life to meet you!”

 

Vegeta's face sobered as he struggled not to let the boy see how his words had touched him. “And why is it so important to you that I answer that question? You saved your mother. That should be the end of it,” he said quietly.

 

Trunks took advantage of his momentary lapse to pull his wrist free. “Because my mother loves you so much,” he replied angrily, as if unable to understand the logic of it. “And I don't like seeing her treated like shit.”

 

Vegeta's face paled involuntarily at the truth of his words, and Trunks took advantage of his pause to slam his fist into his father's cheek, sending him flying down to the floor at the entrance to the fighting arena. Literally on his ass, Vegeta thought grimly. The warrior in him wanted to strike back and repay the insult, but something in the boy's anguish had touched him deeply. There was no shame in calling it quits. Trunks knew damned well he was nowhere near spent.

 

Vegeta stood as his son flew down to face him, his rage dissipated into an awkwardness that Vegeta shared. “I'll tell you, then,” he said quietly.

 

“Go on,” Trunks said warily, as if his life depended on the answer.

 

“I was furious with her that day,” Vegeta began, recalling that terrible argument. “I didn't want her taking you and going anywhere near the battle. It was absurd. The battlefield is no place for a woman and an infant. But she is a stubborn, headstrong woman.”

 

“That's for sure,” Trunks admitted knowingly.

 

“Then…I saw her with that weakling,” he said softly, the most difficult part. At Trunks' questioning look, he clarified, “her…ex-lover.”

 

“Yamcha?” Trunks asked, confused.

 

“The android had impaled him,” Vegeta explained, knowing his son had not yet arrived at that time. “Baldy took him back to Bulma and the baby. Kakarot, being the total moron, had left her with those Senzu beans. Another idiot, making her feel as if she needed to stay in the midst of all that danger!” He paused, realizing that his son could see how truly worried he had been, but not really caring at this point. He was too weary of it all, and had not unburdened himself of this tale on anyone. Besides Bulma, he had no one. “When she saw what they had done to the weakling…she ran to him. She was concerned. I don't know what was said between them, but she seemed happy when he was revived.”

 

Trunks' eyes opened wide in disbelief. “You were…jealous?”

 

Vegeta looked at him sharply, no less annoyed when he saw the tinge of amusement in his son's eyes. “I was—“

 

“—jealous,” Trunks finished for him.

 

He said nothing. He couldn't really think of a more fitting word, much to his annoyance.

 

Trunks sobered. “That's still no reason to—“

 

“I knew you were going to them,” Vegeta interrupted, saving him from stating the obvious. He didn't need his guilt rubbed in his face with his humiliation. “At first, I was furious that she had betrayed me. I was ready to let the ship fall. But then…I knew that I could not let that happen. I wouldn't. I was about to go to them when I realized you had. I knew they were alive. I knew you would save them. There was no need for me to—“

 

“No need except to let Mom know that you give a shit about her and the baby,” he pointed out.

 

“I am with them. It is enough,” Vegeta replied tersely. “Saiyans do not voice such things. Emotions are for the weak.”

 

“Then you must be weak, Father, because you've got emotions raging inside of you.”

 

Vegeta's first instinct was to punch the boy for his insolence. But there had been no derision in his words, just an observation that was more accurate than he cared to admit.

 

“In any case,” he continued, “your mother apparently does not `give a shit' about me, as you say.

 

“That's bullshit and you know it,” Trunks replied, shaking his head. “I can't believe you would actually think something was going on between her and Yamcha—“

 

“She was upset that he was near death—”

 

“He's a friend that she's known half her life. You know what her friends mean to her. That has nothing to do with how she feels about you—”

 

“Enough,” Vegeta dismissed him, not wanting to discuss it further. “There's no point—“

 

“Yes there is,” Trunks persisted. “You have no idea how much my mother loves you. You don't know how many times I have heard her crying because she misses you. And it eats away at her that in the time you were together you never once told her you loved her.”

 

“But I did,” he admitted hoarsely, the guilt over how he had left Bulma and his son to fend for themselves threatening to consume him. Guilt over how he was treating her now, how he had almost left her to die… “I do,” he added in a barely perceptible whisper.

 

His head hung low, as he avoided looking in the boy's eyes. To think that he had admitted such a thing…and yet, it was strangely liberating at the same time.

 

“Then tell her, Father,” Trunks said gently. It was the first time he had addressed him in that way. It felt strange. It felt good.

 

Vegeta looked up at him. “Trunks, even if…your mother felt that way in your time…you've admitted yourself that time has been changed. There's no way of knowing…” His voice trailed off. He didn't want to sound like any more of a jealous, insecure fool than he already did.

 

“She told me,” Trunks said, looking into his eyes.

 

“She…?” Had Bulma actually confided such a thing in their son?

 

“She told me she loves you. But she needs to know how you feel, Father. It's tearing her up inside. Please. Don't let your pride get in the way. Don't make the same mistake again.”

 

Vegeta nodded slowly, marveling silently at the wisdom of his son, and sure beyond any of a shadow of a doubt that he had inherited it from Bulma. “I'll take your advice, boy,” he warned menacingly, “But the gods help you if you ever repeat a word of this conversation to her, or to anyone.”

 

Trunks nodded seriously, but there was a hint of a smile. At least he had made the boy…happy. It was pitifully the first thing he had done for him in his life. But as Vegeta thought of the Bulma who awaited her son's return, he added, “When you see your mother again—in your time—you may tell her what you wish. Whatever will ease her pain.”

 

It would ease hers, perhaps, but never his own. “And tell her…I am sorry.”

 

He didn't have to say what he was sorry for. She would know. The gods forgive him, she would know.

 

 

 

The next six months in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber were considerably easier than the first. Though Vegeta and his son would never again share as intimate a conversation as their first had been, there was between them an unspoken understanding. With new ease and enthusiasm they trained together, a better form of father-son bonding than Vegeta could have imagined or Trunks could have hoped for. They had probably both reached a high enough level to vanquish the Androids and Cell without much effort within the first few months. But Vegeta had insisted they stay to the end. It was a training opportunity they could not afford to squander. Any extra speed or stamina, or new technique, could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

 

 

That was what he had told Trunks. But in truth, there was more to it. Vegeta was actually finding his training with his grown son interesting. Perhaps even enjoyable. There was a satisfaction in seeing how powerful his offspring would someday become. He'd questioned the viability of a half-breed Saiyan. Even Kakarot's brat, while incredibly strong, lacked a real Saiyan thirst for battle. But Trunks was different. Perhaps it was a result of the hellish childhood he'd had, or more likely his superior bloodline. He was, after all, an Elite by birth, a Saiyan Prince. There was a dark side to him that might even rival his father's. But it was tempered by the wisdom and compassion that had come from his mother, and Vegeta couldn't help but think that his son was literally the embodiment of the healing effect that Bulma herself had had on Vegeta's soul.

 

The things his son had told him had given him the peace of mind to persevere, where before his thoughts of Bulma had driven him to distraction. His nightmare had only been the culmination of anxieties that had festered for months. Trunks' assurances that his jealousy was unfounded, and that Bulma truly cared for him, had given him back his much-needed focus. Now, his last moments before falling asleep each night were filled not with obsessive worries, but fantasies of what he would say to her, what he would do to her when he saw her again…

 

But first, there were enemies to defeat. And as he prepared to step out of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, he pushed all personal thoughts from his mind, adjusting his worn and tattered armor and smirking as he imagined how Kakarot would react when he sensed the power in him that had grown nearly ten-fold…

 

He let Trunks emerge first so that he could observe the others reacting to his son. Kakarot and his boy were there, the Namek, the tri-optic human, and…

 

The sense of her assaulted him almost immediately, her familiar ki and that of his infant son. What the hell were they doing here? In this place? Perplexity, strange warmth that quickened his heartbeat, and a concern that stoked his anger all consumed him at once. He fought to maintain his warrior façade he watched her run to their son, shocked by the year of growth that had made him almost unrecognizable. He hadn't noticed it himself, but the boy's body had expanded and his hair had grown considerably. Trunks was explaining the unequal passage of time to her when she noticed him for the first time, startling him with her eye contact.

 

“Vegeta, you don't look that different! Why didn't your hair grow at all?”

 

It was not the reunion he had envisioned, and he responded in annoyance, “For your information a pure Saiyan's hair does not change from the day that he is born.”

 

That was definitely not the first thing he had hoped to say to her after what to him had been a year's separation.

 

“Is that true? How about that?” that oaf Kakarot commented. How could he not have known? The fool!

 

“I guess that's why you've never needed a haircut,” Bulma commented, turning her attention back to her friend, as if she had only seen her mate yesterday. Well, actually, from her perspective, she had seen him yesterday, but still…

 

“Hey, yeah! But I wish I could do something about these split ends,” the clown was murmuring.

 

“Try shampoo,” Bulma suggested dryly.

 

“I don't have time to listen to Kakarot's hair problems!” Vegeta broke in to their mundane conversation. This was ludicrous! It was not how he'd imagined he would speak to her, but he had been caught totally off guard, and was thoroughly frustrated by the fact that he would not be able to speak to her privately. It wasn't supposed to happen like this! He was supposed to defeat their enemies, show Kakarot his superiority, then return to her victorious, and tend to the personal matters that he now too wanted desperately to mend. It was this annoyance that determined the tone of his voice as he sputtered, “But I sure wouldn't mind knowing why you're here!”

 

It had come out totally wrong, and taken aback by his attitude she went on to explain why she had come. The industrious little genius he had mated had been hard at work in the last twenty-four hours, and had reproduced almost perfect copies of Saiyan armor, enough sets for all of them. “And if you stop being a jerk, Vegeta, maybe you can have one too!” she yelled at him, drawing him from his fascination with her handiwork. No, this was definitely not how he had planned it.

 

He was silent as Kakarot and his son raved over their new uniforms, the blue spandex combat suits with gold-tipped boots, white gloves and breastplates. He walked over to her silently, looking at both her and the child, remembering with guilt that his last time seeing them had almost been…his last. That he had almost let them die. He knew that that still preyed upon her mind and heart, and wanted suddenly to find some way to let her know that he…gave a shit, as Trunks would say. “Bulma,” he began quietly, so that the others couldn't hear. “Are you—” The words all right, just would not come out. For simple as they were, they would reveal a concern he could not in front of these outsiders. She was alive and well. So such a question would be unnecessary…wouldn't it?

 

She looked up at him suddenly and smiled wanly. “Yeah, I'm going to give you one too,” she capitulated, totally misunderstanding what he had been about to ask.

 

He looked into her eyes for a long moment, searching for…something he couldn't place. She was still hurt, he could see. But she knew him well enough to know that this was not the time or place to resolve the issues between them. “Thank you,” he mumbled, as she handed him his battle suit. He took it, resting his hand on hers, stealing the contact for just a moment. The heat that passed between them made him shudder.

She looked up at him, surprised by the sudden gesture, but pleased, he thought. “Come back to me,” she mouthed, so that no one would hear but him.

 

He nodded lightly, his expression still carefully guarded. But his eyes held the promise that that was precisely what he would do. He turned away from her to change his clothes, knowing that if he did not the urge to hold her right now would become unbearable.

 

He did not look at her again, except to steal one last glance as he announced to Kakarot that he need not even bother training. Kakarot made some comment that his power would have to have at least tripled to face Cell.

 

Vegeta just laughed. If only they knew! The Androids, this Cell, would be destroyed before Kakarot even had the chance to warm up. And then, after reveling in his glory, he would revel in the warmth of his woman…

 

 

 

 

 

 

It had all gone so disgracefully wrong.

 

He had had him, had Cell in the palm of his hand, at his mercy, an inch away from being destroyed forever…

 

…and he had let him go. Out of pride. Out of arrogance.

 

Out of stupidity, and he knew it.

 

Cell had been no match for him! After his humiliating defeat at the hands of Android 18, Vegeta was once again the unstoppable Prince of all Saiyans, more powerful than Kakarot, than his brat, than Cell…

 

But that genetically engineered freak had tricked him, whetted his appetite for a challenge, misled him with the promise of an even more stunning victory that would prove to all that he was the most powerful being in the Universe…

 

They all knew now. It was his fault, and they all knew. And he had had to be carried from the battlefield by Baldy while his son had attempted to do what he could not.

 

Trunks had failed. But in reality, the failure had been his own. For Vegeta had gone against better judgment, against the wisdom of his own son, and allowed Cell to become complete.

 

Bulma would know of his defeat. Of his foolishness. It would be one more thing for her to berate him for. Nevertheless, if there were to be ten days before this Tournament of Cell's, surely there would be time to iron out their differences. Then he would go back to the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, and train relentlessly until he once more had an edge over that arrogant green freak. Then it would be done! His foolish mistake would be forgotten in the awe of his victory over Cell's complete form. For no matter what had happened today, he knew that only he would be able to defeat this monster. The others were fooling themselves if they actually believed that they even approached him in strength! Damn that Kakarot! Still hours to go before he would emerge! Didn't the moron know that he was just wasting his time?!

 

He touched down in front of Capsule Corp to the greeting of Bulma's ditsy mother, who fawned over Trunks with as much coquetry as she did over him. If only she knew this was her grandson! In annoyance, he searched for Bulma's ki, for the baby's, only to find that they were nowhere to be found. Where the fuck was she?! Once again, irritation set in as he realized that that blasted woman was never where she was supposed to be.

 

A ship set down, but even before the others emerged, he had felt the absence of her ki. He looked on in exasperation as her friends tumbled out one by one, saying she had asked them to meet here. The old pervert, the pig, Kakarot's harpy and—

 

He growled in displeasure as his eyes fell on the weakling, looking around nervously as he was followed by that ridiculous feline companion of his. You should be afraid, Vegeta thought dully as he glared at the ugly son of a bitch. Why the fuck had she invited them here?! Didn't she realize there would be precious little time before he must leave again for battle?!

 

Mrs. Briefs had prepared a sumptuous feast, and he took his plate to the other side of the room, watching the others but not interacting with them. The old man began to tell a story of Kakarot's victory in that meaningless Budokai, and Vegeta left them all to go to the balcony, looking up in the sky as he searched for some sign of her.

 

His irritation reached a peak as they all seemed to follow him outside, discussing like fools how perhaps this Tournament of Cell's would be a good idea, and the loud-mouthed bitch went on a tirade about how her son would not be allowed to compete. Was Kakarot such a pussy that he would allow his wife to dictate whether or not their son was permitted to fight?

 

He could take no more of this. He abandoned them to the privacy of his bedroom, their bedroom, the one place where they would not follow. What was taking that blasted woman so long to come back? She'd mouthed Come back to me, as he'd left the lookout. So where the hell was she? Didn't she know he needed—?

 

He caught himself in the embarrassing thought, but alone here, there was no need for pretensions. I need her, he admitted to himself finally as he let the hot water of the shower cleanse the blood and sweat of his battle. On so many levels he needed her, that he was almost afraid to contemplate it. To lose himself in her body, to drown in her unconditional acceptance, to feel her love and know that things were all right between them… All this and more. He needed her, wanted her, so much that he thought he would explode if she didn't return soon. But no, once more she was off somewhere dragging their son into danger with no thought whatsoever to her safety or the boy's…

 

Once more the image of their crashing ship and the onslaught of emotions that it had released in him made him take in a breath. The panic filled his body anew as he thought of how he had almost lost them both. But he reminded himself grimly that she had no idea what that loss would do to him. He had never told her. And he had let her think that he didn't even care by not going to help them.

 

There was so much he would have to tell her, so much that would have to come out into the open before things would ever be right with them again.

 

Perhaps he was better off that she hadn't come home yet. He had the courage to face enemies more powerful than himself. But to tell the woman what she meant to him?

 

He was scared shitless.

 

 

 

 

It seemed hours before she made her way back to them, and of course, she had run straight to their son, eyes filled with tears as she made sure he was all right. A pang of jealousy struck him that her first concern was for the boy, but he dismissed it. She adored the child. And how would Vegeta react if she had run to him like that in front of this entire group? He'd back away, humiliated, annoyed at her show of public affection for him. That was how he had taught her to react to him in public. Then why did he suddenly wish that things were different? That she would run to him in relief to find him alive?

 

Why should she? he thought grimly. What have I done to show her that I care?

 

Suddenly, Cell was on the television, showing off his strength in a disgusting display as he announced the time and location of his Cell Games. Vegeta pushed his personal concerns from his mind as his rage at Cell was renewed. What was he doing here wasting time? It was a matter of honor! He began to pull off the yellow shirt, ready to abandon his street clothes for his armor when suddenly Bulma was walking over to him. His heart missed a beat as he realized that it was the first time she had even looked at him. Why now? Why right now, when he had his injured pride to defend? Where the hell had she been when he had wanted to—?

 

“Where are you going, Vegeta?” she asked quietly, her blue eyes boring into him with concern. He wanted to melt in them. But now was not the time.

 

He responded with some crap about how he didn't care about the people of the Earth, but that he was going to train to defeat Cell. It was an answer befitting the arrogance they all expected of him. But how he wished they had been alone! Then he might have been able to tell her the truth—that there were two humans he cared very much about.

 

He glanced up at her for a moment, and she was staring at him strangely, as if she actually knew the truth. But that was impossible! Could you possibly know that I care, woman? Despite all my efforts to push you away?

 

Her eyes lit up for the briefest of moments, and he thought he heard her whispering his name. But she had said nothing. She'd turned to Trunks, telling him that she was going to cut his hair before he went back to train. Vegeta turned away from them to dress, sure that he was letting his nerves get the best of him. What was this affect this woman had on him? That mere thoughts of her made him lose his focus, the sight of her threatening to draw him from his purpose…

 

He would figure it out later. For now, he headed back to the Lookout. That clown and his son must have given up by now. He had training to do. And by his reckoning, it might feel like years until he saw her again. Maybe that would loosen the hold that she had on his soul.

 

I doubt it, he thought to himself. But somehow, it wasn't as frightening a prospect as he'd imagined.

 

 

 

 

 

Bulma stood alone on the balcony, looking out into the darkening sky, remembering grimly how this had become her customary spot when Vegeta had been gone for those three long months. Back then she had taken to staring out into endless space, calling out to him in her mind, willing him to come back to her. He had come back. And things had been good. What had gone so terribly wrong since then?

 

The fight the morning the Androids had appeared had been her fault. She knew that. Their brush with death had made her realize how foolish she had been to take Trunks into such a dangerous situation. Her years of good luck and the protection of strong friends had made her overconfident, fool-hardy even. She was a mother now. She had more to consider than just her own safety. She couldn't blame Vegeta for being angry at her that morning. Each time she looked at her baby and thanked the gods that he was alive, she was overcome by guilt for her own recklessness.

 

Yet that still did not explain Vegeta's indifference towards them. Not only had he failed to come to their rescue, but he had blatantly told Trunks that he had more important things to worry about. His cruel words rang in her ears even now, bringing tears to her eyes and a dull ache to her heart. “Why, Vegeta?” she sobbed, leaning against the railing and dropping her head to her hands. “Why don't you care about us?”

 

“But I do,” his voice said softly from behind her. In shock she turned to see him standing there, gazing into her eyes with a face devoid of the anger she had last seen there. Instinctively she threw her arms around his neck, not caring at that moment how angry she was with him, just wanting to feel his warmth against her. He held her tightly, possessively, as if he too had been waiting for this moment. Oh, gods, I've missed you, she heard him whisper.

 

“I've missed you too,” she wept, clinging to him.

 

Suddenly he took her face in his hands, bringing her up to look at him. His eyes were filled with confusion. “What did you say?” he asked with a slight flush to his cheeks.

 

“I said I missed you too,” she replied.

 

He smiled lightly with an understanding she couldn't quite place, then said, “I trust then your entourage is gone? Really, woman, if you ask a man to come back to you, you can at least be waiting there when he gets home, and not have a welcoming committee of all those idiots to deal with.”

 

Home. The use of that word had not been lost on her. It was probably the first time he had referred to this as his home. She smiled through her tears. “Is that why you came back now?”

 

He nodded. “I have twenty-four hours before I can go into the Hyperbolic Time Chamber,” he said, bringing his lips closer to hers, and whispering, “And I wasn't about to wait another year to see you.”

 

He kissed her hungrily, as if it had been an eternity since he'd last held her like this. And in truth, she realized, it had been for him. But there was something more than pent-up lust that was driving him now. There was something different in his demeanor, in the way he had looked at her, the way he held her now. Those simple words he had voiced, expressing that he did care, were more than she would have ever expected of him. It almost made her forget the pain…almost…

 

He'd swept her into his arms, taken her inside and laid her on the bed, only then taking his lips from hers. He sat down to face her now, his eyes suddenly filled with anguish. “Bulma…” he began, but couldn't seem to find the words.

 

“I'm sorry,” she blurted, probably the last thing he'd expected to hear. “Vegeta, you were right. I shouldn't have gone to the Island with Trunks. It was foolish. I almost got us both killed—“

 

“Bulma,” he whispered, “The fault is mine. I commanded you to stay rather than tell you the truth. That I was…afraid…for you and the boy.”

 

Her eyes opened wide at his admission, but it only confused her more. “Then why? Why didn't you come to help us?”

 

She fought the tears that had surfaced anew, but failed miserably. Vegeta's face was contorted in what almost seemed a similar struggle, as he pushed himself to ground out the words that were so difficult. “I knew the boy would save you.”

 

“You--?”

 

“I felt your ki and the baby's. I knew you were alive, and the boy had gone to you before I could react. I let him.”

 

“That's no excuse, Vegeta,” she said bitterly. “If you truly cared for us, you would have been there at light speed. No. You were going to let us die. Don't bullshit me. I can see it in your eyes!”

 

She'd said the words on some horrible instinct before she could even think about what she was accusing. The fact that he did not deny it only confirmed her intuition. “Oh, gods, why did you even come back here? Did you just want to get laid before you went into training? I guess it's convenient for you then that Trunks did save us! Because that's probably all I am to you! An easy fuck!” She jumped off the bed in humiliation, pushing him aside and going back to the balcony for air. She couldn't believe this was happening. But maybe she should have known all along. Why had she ever deluded herself into thinking she was more to him than that?!

 

“Because you are more to me! Much more!” he said passionately as he placed his hands on her shoulders from behind.

 

She froze in utter shock. He'd responded to her as if he'd heard her thoughts. Vegeta turned her around to face him and gazed into her eyes, his lips twisted into a light smile as he said wordlessly, If this doesn't convince you that you are a part of me, woman, then I don't know what will.

 

But how…? She thought in confusion, surprised when he answered in her mind,

 

We are one, woman. Not only in body. In heart, in spirit, and in mind. It is the bond between a Saiyan and his life-mate. The woman he consciously chooses to spend eternity with.

 

She looked at him wide-eyed, as it all became clear. The window into his dreams, the feeling of his presence before he entered a room, the ability to sense his emotions, the times she had responded to something she'd believed were words and had really been thoughts… “Why now?” she asked in amazement. “Why is it so much stronger now than it ever was before?”

 

He breathed deeply, reaching up to caress the tears from her cheek as he said aloud, “Because until now, I wasn't ready to accept what was happening.”

 

“And now?” she breathed, the touch of his fingers on her skin leaving fire in their wake.

 

“Now you are mine, forever,” he whispered. “And I am yours.”

 

 

 

 

 

Her eyes glistened with tears, and he kissed her face chastely, knowing that even his startling revelation to her was not enough. It was not all there was to tell. And until he unburdened himself of it, things would never be quite right between them. He looked into her eyes, holding her face in his hands, knowing it would demand more courage than it had taken to face Cell, to tell her what he was about to.

 

“Bulma…you were right. For a moment, I—I was going to let you go.” He cursed himself silently as any happiness he had given her faded with the light in her eyes.

 

“Why?” she questioned bitterly. “If you really do care—“

 

“Because I saw you with Yamcha,” he admitted to his own mortification.

 

“What? What are you talking about?” She truly seemed shocked.

 

“On the Island. After he had been nearly killed. I saw you…caring for him…you were upset that he was hurt—”

 

“And that's why you were ready to let us die?” she asked in disbelief. “Because you read something into my simply caring for a friend who was wounded?”

 

He wanted to tell her that the scarred warrior had been more than a friend to her, that she had disgraced him with her display, that…

 

It was no use. The words would not come out. For the hurt in her eyes was too profound, and he knew that nothing could excuse the fact that he had even contemplated letting her and their baby die. He remembered his son's amused accusation that he had been jealous. Even so, that could not justify…

 

“Trunks told you that?” she asked suddenly, surprising even Vegeta with her telepathic ability.

 

“Yes—and a few other things,” he murmured.

 

“Did he tell you what an asshole you were?” she said resentfully.

 

He smirked slightly at that. “Not in so many words. I'm sure he was leaving that honor to you.”

 

“It's not funny, Vegeta,” she said wearily. “You…were going to let us die. As if we were nothing to you.”

 

“Yes,” he admitted shamefully. “I was. But then, when I felt your fear…and I realized what my life would be like without the two of you…I knew that I couldn't bear to lose you or the boy. ”

 

“Vegeta…” she whispered in anguish. “I want to believe you…”

 

Then see what's in my heart. He brought his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly as he projected into her mind all that he had seen, all that he had felt over the last year. His rage at seeing her with Yamcha. His panic when he'd realized that he might just lose her. The months of thinking of her constantly as he'd been in training, culminating in that dream that had turned into a nightmare. The peace of mind his son had given him, and the admission he had made to Trunks that he found so hard to put into words with her.

 

Tell me, Vegeta; tell me what I mean to you! she begged him silently, kissing him so deeply it made him shiver with desire for her. And he thought it without thinking, simply feeling, and allowing himself to feel.

 

I love you…

 

The relief of putting it into words after all this time was torturously liberating. She separated from him to look into his eyes, to see for herself what he had told her in her mind. And he knew that this was what she had wanted, what she had needed, in all the time that they had been together. Gazing into the blue pools that had mesmerized him from the first day he'd met her, he found his voice, broken as it was by his own emotion, and whispered hoarsely, “You…are everything to me…”

 

No words had ever been more difficult. But none had ever seemed so right.

 

 

 

 

 

Bulma had known he was telling the truth from the moment he had begun to project his memories into her mind. For the first time since they had come together, his love for her was more than just a desperate wish, or self-delusion. She had felt it, even before he had formed the words in his mind. And when he finally said them aloud, a husky proclamation that she had never in her wildest dreams hoped to hear, she utterly lost the battle to control her own emotions, throwing her arms around his neck and collapsing against him, weeping with joy. “I love you, Vegeta!” she said over and over, crying in his arms. Those simple words he had spoken had changed everything. Knowing what it had taken for him to admit his love made it all the more precious. For a long while he held her, burying his face in her hair, kissing her softly on the face, until finally he whispered, “Silly emotional woman, must you cry even when you're happy?”

 

She looked up at him and smiled. “When you make me this happy, yes,” she replied, kissing him.

 

He lifted her into his arms. “All this for admitting something you should have known all the time? I hope you won't expect me to continually profess my feelings for you like the fools in those ridiculous soap operas your mother watches. Once is enough. You are my mate, in every sense possible, and I should not have to—“

 

She covered his mouth in kisses. Just shut up, Vegeta. Let me enjoy a romantic moment, okay?

 

Yes, my Princess… The sultry tone of his voice in her mind sent a rush of heat through her. He had never called her that. He was a prince, of course. But she wasn't his wife, after all.

 

You are my mate, he told her as he laid her gently on the bed. He pulled his armor over his head, then lay down facing her. Don't you see now how meaningless your legal conventions are compared to the bond between us? How meaningless words are, when you can feel your mate's thoughts, emotions, and know things that mere words could never express?

 

“But I'm human,” she responded in words, though she knew she could easily have sent him her thoughts. No matter how extraordinary this was, there were still things that meant something to her…

 

Vegeta was looking at her with a thoughtful expression, as if considering what she had said. Finally, caressing her cheek, he sighed, “So be it, my Princess. Then I will wed you in one of those silly Earth ceremonies that mean so much to you…”

 

This had to be a dream. Was Vegeta actually proposing marriage?

 

Maybe then that weakling will realize once and for all that you are mine…

 

There was never any doubt of that, she reassured him, too emotional to speak.

 

“And I will make an attempt to remind you from time to time that I—” He paused, though she could see his hesitation was playful now. “—you know.”

 

“That you love me?” she asked sweetly.

 

“Don't make me say it out loud, woman,” he murmured, bringing her face to his. He kissed her tenderly, his fingertips moving down her throat, finding the path to her breasts. Bulma wasn't even sure how and when he'd removed her shirt, but she shivered as his warm hands cupped her bare mounds of flesh, his thumbs rubbing her nipples as shockwaves of desire coursed through her. His mouth left hers and she gasped as it found her hardened buds, suckling at each one in turn. Bulma held him in place, running her fingers through his thick mane of hair as his hands moved downward, ripping off her skirt as if it were paper. His fingers played at her flat stomach, just above the line of her panties, chuckling lightly as she unconsciously raised her pelvis in an invitation to move lower. Finally he obliged, and the last barrier of clothing was gone as he caressed her folds, dipping a finger into her wetness, growling with pleasure as he found her more than ready for him.

 

See what you do to me? she thought to him seductively, moaning as he responded with another finger joining his first. She lifted herself up to meet his hand, urging him to go deeper. Then, as his thumb joined in to rub the source of her pleasure, she could hold back no more. She came in a warm rush, pulsating around his fingers as she anticipated an even greater pleasure to come.

 

No, don't… she thought weakly as his fingers left their warm haven. But as his mouth moved to taste her nectar, she trembled once more in anticipation.

 

Don't? he teased in her mind as his tongue explored her most private place, filling the void his fingers had left behind.

 

Don't stop! she commanded him, hearing him laugh in her mind. Gods, he had never done this to her before—no one had. It was something her friends had told her most men were too selfish to do. And though she had pleasured him in that way, she had always felt too awkward to ask this of him. But tonight all she sensed was a desire to please her, to make her happy…to make her feel like…

 

…my Princess, he finished her thought for her. And he was enjoying this, too. He had never done this before either. She could feel his wonder, his excitement as her body became a slave at the mercy of his lips, yearning for his tongue to explore her deepest secrets, all the while his arousal growing, spurred on by her own passion.
Warm hands lifted her bottom to give him better access to the depths of her womanhood, and she clutched at his hair as he brought her closer and closer to her second release. She could see him imagine what it would feel like to be inside her as his tongue thrust further, and suddenly her entire body was shuddering in the most violent of climaxes…

 

She collapsed back onto the bed, eyes closed as she lay in the amazing afterglow of his handiwork. Vegeta still lay between her legs, kissing her gently as the pulsing finally slowed to a halt. She breathed again, realizing that she'd forgotten to. When she finally opened her eyes, she almost thought he was asleep on her stomach. But then he was kissing his way up her body once more, with as much care as if he had all the time in the world.

 

For a long while he held her cradled in his arms, and it was only then that Bulma realized he'd never even removed his blue flight suit. She ran her hand down his firm chest to another part of him that was rock-hard. It's a good thing this material stretches, she thought to him as she fondled his enormous erection. Had it always been this big, or was he just really glad to see her? It only occurred to her that he had heard her wry thought when she looked up to see his cheeks grow crimson. He'd clearly been like this for some time, and she sensed his arousal was almost painful. But she knew that he had resolved to bring her pleasure tonight, to make her happy in every way possible, before thinking of his own needs.

 

You've done that, Vegeta. You've made me happy in more ways than you can imagine. So now, it's your turn.

 

She kissed him then, unhindered by the taste of her on his lips. He had done this for her, after all. Now, she would show him just how she was prepared to treat her Saiyan Prince for the rest of their lives. She pulled at his flight suit, grinning at his impatience as he tried to help her and ended up ripping it . “Now you know how I feel,” she teased him, slowly pulling away the shreds of his clothes as she unwrapped his perfect body like a delicate birthday gift. She could feel the power of her fingertips as they smoothed over his abs, making the mighty prince tremble at her touch. “Just be glad I made you some extras,” she murmured as she tore away the piece of fabric that finally set him free before her. Once again she marveled at his size, the warmth between her legs igniting into a fire once more as she imagined what it would be like to take him inside her completely…

 

Gods, woman, stop thinking about it and do it, or it will be too late, he moaned in her mind, and she giggled, not sure if she was supposed to hear that or not. He looked up at her and blushed, and she realized she was not.

 

“Be patient, my Prince,” she said softly as she stroked his length, bending down to twirl her tongue around his tip.

 

“Aaaaaaah,” he seemed to whimper. She took him into her mouth and his voice was lost.

 

 

 

 

The moan had escaped his lips before he even realized that she had taken him into her mouth, making him tremble as she licked his sensitive tip, then took in as much of his length as was possible. It was taking royal restraint to keep from releasing his passion as she tugged rhythmically at him with a glorious sucking motion, caressing his balls until he began to shudder from delight. But no, he wanted to see her, to be inside her, to have her share this climax with him…

 

Bulma…I want…to be…inside you… he managed, reluctantly pulling her head up gently to disengage her. She smiled at him, licking her lips from the taste of him, moving up to kiss him passionately. His fingers reached for her warmth, finding her so hot and wet for him again … Regardless, he caressed her folds, rubbing the nub of her pleasure as her own breath quickened, sticking one, then two, then three fingers into her, making utterly sure that she was ready for him.

 

“Vegeta…” she breathed as she lifted herself up, and he helped her to slide onto him. He growled in primal pleasure as he reveled in her warmth, and she began to ride him slowly, teasing him mercilessly by almost completely pulling away from him, only to come crashing down harder and deeper with each thrust…

 

Suddenly, a sense of déjà vu assaulted him, as the dream that had turned so terribly wrong came back to haunt him. And as he grew still in his dread, she stopped moving on him, looking at him with concern. “Vegeta? What's wrong?”

 

It was here that it had all gone wrong. With the stubborn pride and outright cowardice that had prevented him from opening his heart to her. From giving her that last piece of himself he had not even known was his to give. He would never make that mistake again. He smiled at his beautiful woman, his mate, his princess, reaching up to play with her breasts as she sat, still straddled on him, waiting, almost fearing, what he would say. He would never let her fear or doubt him again. “Nothing's wrong,” he promised her.

 

“Then why did you just stop? Why are you staring at me like that?”

 

He brought her face slowly down to his, gazing at her with unabashed worship as he said the words he had just told her were so unnecessary to say aloud.

 

“I love you, Bulma.”

 

She looked like she would cry those silly tears again as she breathed, “I love you too, Vegeta.”

 

Her words alone nearly brought him over the edge, in a way he had never imagined mere words could. Taking her hips in his hands he lifted her up for a few final thrusts, until she clenched around him in a glorious climax, driving him over the brink. He erupted inside her, crying out her name, but whispering in her mind those words that he had foolishly been afraid of for far too long.

 

 

 

He looked so handsome in his full armor, and Bulma had to keep from remembering how they had ripped the last one to shreds. If not, this new combat suit might follow the same path as its predecessor. Now was not the time for that. They had spent a good deal of the last twenty-four hours entwined in each others arms, their thoughts, their very spirits, intermingling even as their flesh became one. With each round of lovemaking the bond between them seemed to grow stronger, and Bulma suspected that it had always had the potential to do so. All that they had needed was for Vegeta to let her in. It seemed so elementary now, but it seemed like it had taken a lifetime. But oh, the final result was pure Heaven. If the next few days brought them nothing but death, she would die happy.

 

Vegeta loved her. Even if he never admitted it to another living soul, even if he would never publicly display his affection, it no longer mattered. She was as certain of his love as she was of her own for him. That was enough. More than enough.

 

She shifted the baby in her arms, smiling as Vegeta looked down at the child and reached tentatively to touch his chubby hand. The baby grabbed his finger and laughed. Vegeta seemed pleased as he said, “You see, woman? And to think, you said I frighten him.”

 

She rolled her eyes. How many times would she have to apologize for that comment about his “geeky face”? She'd already assured him that her use of the term “ugly mug” had been nothing more than her anger speaking. She'd told him he was adorable, and he had turned as crimson as sunset. “You only frighten him when you're angry, and you make that scary face.” She hugged the baby. “See, Trunks-kun, I told you your daddy isn't really scary.”

 

Vegeta smirked. “You won't stop coddling him, will you, woman?”

 

“No way! You saw how great he turns out! I must have done something right!”

 

Vegeta stood looking at them for a moment, his expression becoming grave. “I may not see you again until—after it is over.”

 

“I know,” she said. Although she would love nothing more than for him to spend the next eight days in her arms, she knew that he had intensive training ahead of him. Depending on his progress during his `year' in the Chamber, he might continue his training in solitude…or, go with Trunks to spar in the wilderness. Who even knew if Cell would keep to his own schedule? He was a madman with the power of a god. If he grew impatient, or began another killing spree, it could be over in a matter of days.

“Just…come back to me,” she said simply, the same words she had mouthed to him on the lookout.

 

“I will,” he vowed, then gave her one last tender kiss on the lips. And this time, she knew that when he went off to fight, it would be for more than simply glory or legend. It would be to keep his promise—

 

--to come back to her.

 

And she would be waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The End…or is it the beginning?