Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Syndrome ❯ Once More, With Feeling! ( Chapter 11 )

 

Two years and some odd months later…

 

 

She peeled the garish blue spandex off his body, carefully, gently. He groaned a little in his sleep. It was far past midnight; the Cell games had ended hours ago, but this fighter had only just now returned to Capsule Corp. Covered in grime and dry sweat and blood and tears, he had fallen into unconsciousness as soon as he reached his bed. Bulma had taken it upon herself to make him a bit more comfortable, lest he be even more cranky than usual upon awakening. She remembered when he used to wake up next to her.

 

She remembered the worry and longing she'd felt when he'd first left.

 

She pulled the tight leggings away, brushed her fingers over the two small scars on his knee.

 

She remembered the taste of the pizza. The taste of his skin.

 

She didn't remember what caused the fight that made him leave the second time, two months before the arrival of the androids. But, for whatever reason, he'd been gone for a long while, only returning when the time had come to fight. As a Super Saiyan. Since then, this was the first they'd been in a room together without breaking something or straining vocal cords.

 

He groaned and rolled onto his stomach.

 

She placed her hands on his back and began kneading softly. The muscles were tight with tension, even now. She remembered when he used to relax, when he would give her a massage just like this, rubbing circles down her spine with his thumbs, as she slouched forward over her pregnant belly. She remembered when he was excited about his son.

 

She wondered if he'd cared when Future Trunks had been shot down.

 

He groaned, and muttered, “A little lower.”

 

Her hands stilled, and he opened his eyes. He took in her form, sitting on her knees next to him, clad in her soft yellow pajamas that clung to her hips. “Why did you stop?”

 

Bulma began to edge off the bed. “I need to go check on Trunks.”

 

“He's fine,” Vegeta replied, reaching out to stop her.

 

“I should go check.”

 

A sigh. “The boy is fine. His older self is giving him a bottle, I can hear them in the next room. Stop fussing.”

 

“Actually, I wasn't fussing, I just needed an excuse to escape your presence.”

 

He sat up in bed, so as to look into her face on the level. “You feel I'm someone to flee from?” He asked testily.

 

“If the last few days are anything to go by, then yes.” She paused, uncertain, then asked tentatively, “When will you be leaving again?”

 

He knew that the battle had begun. “When do you want me to leave?”

 

“Ha! When have you ever done what I wanted?”

 

Were he a softer, more sensitive man, he might have taken her hands to make his solemn pledge. But he was Vegeta; as such, he settled for gazing intently into her eyes as he said, “I will this time.”

 

Simply, “I don't believe you. I deserve to be treated better, Vegeta. I deserve better than what you've given me.”

 

“I've given you a son.”

 

Bulma by this time had backed off the bed to stand next to it, and from this position she was able to increase the volume of her voice and gesticulate angrily. “Whom you don't even love! You don't love anyone on this planet.” Including me, she thought to herself, but kept it silent, uneasy about bringing up such a paltry emotion.

 

Somehow, he seemed to know what she was thinking. “I'm working on it.”

 

“It's the riddle of your being, isn't it? You expect another chance without ever having to ask for one.”

 

“Is there any other part of my being that you're inclined to bring to task tonight? Shall I give you a list, perhaps, and when you're done you can finish off with a good kick in the balls?”

 

“Don't try to trick me into simply insulting you without addressing my real concerns.” She leaned forward, staring him in the face, pointed figure leveled at his chest, “You” -poke- “ran” -poke- “out” -poke- “on” -poke- “me. I understand your reasons for doing so, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to let you do it to me again, somewhere along the line.”

 

“You don't trust me any more.” The statement was not a question. He'd hoped, during the long hours he'd spent wandering the desert that day, that he'd be able to painlessly move back into the space he'd occupied in the family just a few months prior. But the world was no longer the way it was before, even though he desperately needed something to hold on to now.

 

“No, I don't.”

 

“You will. I'll make sure of that.”

 

“And how are you going to accomplish that?”

 

“Bulma, Cell is gone. The Androids are gone. Kakarott is gone. I've got nothing left to do in this world except raise my son and make sure you don't screw him up too much.”

 

“I think we have tangible evidence that I turn out to be a pretty good mother.”

 

“Point for you.”

 

“Bulma: 1, Vegeta: 0.”