Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Price You Pay ❯ Chapter Thirty ( Chapter 30 )

Insert standard disclaimer here.

 

The Price You Pay: Chapter Thirty

 

“Don't even try to pretend you're sleeping, onna. Your heart is beating far too quickly for that.” Vegeta's voice was one of censure as he approached her form on the bed.

 

“I wouldn't dream of it,” replied Bulma with a smile. She wasn't sure what to say or do after listening to the exchange of words between the Saiya-jin no Ouji and Zarbon just moments earlier.

 

Vegeta sat down in the chair beside the bed—the sound of the friction against the cloth of the chair Bulma's only clue as to his location in the darkness.

 

“Freeza knows you're here.” Resignation wasn't a tone Vegeta was used to taking on and the use of it seemed out of character to Bulma. “Soon, my father will know as well. Once word gets out that we are mated to one another Vegeta-sei will be bombarded with war.”

 

Bulma sat up and removed the blankets around her. Kneeling in front of Vegeta, she took his hands in her own. “I know,” was her breathy response. “I've known since the moment I woke on this planet that something was going to happen. I've known that I would be a part of it was well.

 

“I know what risks must be taken. I don't expect you to trust me or to care for me the way I care for you. As far as you're concerned, you've only known me for a few days. But at least try to believe this: I will make sure that whatever role I play in the prophecy's fulfillment works out in Vegeta-sei's favor.”

 

After an awkward silence, Bulma got up to walk away only to be halted by Vegeta's callused hand suddenly enclosing her own.

 

Thank you.

 

His words were silent but through the weak mental connection that they still seemed to share, Bulma could sense what he was thinking. Bulma squeezed his hand and climbed back into bed.

 

“Um, Vegeta, you wouldn't happen to have my pajamas anymore, would you?” asked Bulma timidly.

 

“Why?” It was obvious Vegeta was still in deep thought.

 

“Well, they'd be much preferable to sleeping in this gown.”

 

Vegeta grunted and then started to chuckle. “Women.”

 

~~~~~~~<(((((|||)))))>~~~~~~~

 

“Nappa, I want you to send for Vegeta tomorrow. He is to meet me in the throne room. There have been some unfortunate developments in the past few days that must be brought out into the open.” The King sat at his desk, sorting through some political documents of some unknown origin.

 

“Of course, sire.”

 

Well, Vegeta we shall meet tomorrow. Let us hope you won't do anything too foolish.

 

~~~~~~~<(((((|||)))))>~~~~~~~

 

“Thank you for returning these to me,” said Bulma with a grin. “You have no idea how much more comfortable I'll be now.” Bulma laid back down on the bed and stretched her arms and legs out like a cat.

 

“They are cotton based after all, onna,” commented the Saiya-jin no Ouji with disdain.

 

After returning from finding her “savage” clothing Vegeta seemed more at peace. As if he'd finally had enough time to gather his thoughts and fully examine the situation at hand.

 

“Whatever, Vegeta.” Bulma rolled her eyes. She didn't think he would react too severely to her sarcasm now that they'd reestablished some sort of relationship.

 

Well, I don't know, thought Bulma. Vegeta does seem to enjoy that whole life of torment thing.

 

“And you will stop addressing me so informally. At least while in the presence of others. Nothing gives you away more easily than your ignorance of Saiya-jin custom and respect,” Vegeta snapped. She didn't know what had wound him up so tight all of the sudden but when he snapped, Kami, did he snap.

 

“I didn't realize it was so important, Vegeta no Ouji,” responded Bulma without a hint of sarcasm. Bulma turned onto her side, away from the fuming prince.

 

Vegeta grunted. “You don't have to address me that way now.”

 

“If I don't do it now then I never will. I don't want to risk `giving myself away.'” Bulma's voice had lowered and it suddenly became obvious to Vegeta how tired she must be. It wasn't everyday that she was nearly crushed by gravity after all.

 

“Do what you must.” Vegeta made his way toward the door.

 

“Where are you going?” asked Bulma absently as she rolled to face him.

 

“It's obvious that you're exhausted, onna,” responded Vegeta, trying to sound as as diffident possible. It would have been tragic if she thought he cared about her wellbeing or anything like that. Caring about anyone, especially an obstinate woman, was out of his emotional range, wasn't it?

 

Bulma rubbed her eyes. “Where will you sleep though, I mean, it's not like there 's anywhere else comfortable to sleep in your quarters. I'm not going to molest you in your sleep or anything if you stay in here. There's more than enough room for the both of us.”

 

“Really, onna. I promise you, I'll manage.” Vegeta was starting to get testy. There was no way in hell he was spending another night in bed with her. With all the stress of the events unfolding around him, he didn't think sexual frustration was a good topping to his cake.

 

“Alright, just… don't go too far, okay? I can't sleep when you leave your quarters.” Bulma started to trail off. She would be sound asleep any minute.

 

“Of course I won't,” was Vegeta's rather staggered response.

 

Vegeta slowly and silently closed the door to his bed chamber behind him. Sharing such close quarters with the onna was going to be difficult. Every bone in his body urged him to hold her. Well, maybe hold wasn't the most appropriate word for what he wanted to do with her.

 

Vegeta looked back at the door. It was so tempting to sleep with her though. If not to release some of the sexual tension that had been mounting, then to simply know what it was like to spend the night in a bed with a woman.

 

Ye gods, Vegeta. Get a grip!

 

And with those final thoughts, Vegeta headed to the bathroom to take a very cold shower.

 

~~~~~~~<(((((|||)))))>~~~~~~~

 

Why in Kami's name is Radditz standing guard outside of Vegeta's room at this time of night?

 

After the absurd conversation with the King earlier that night, Nappa was anxious to see what all the fuss was about. Usually when Vegeta was called to the throne room it was for one of two reasons. One: His father wanted to beat him publicly to a pulp or two: his father really wanted to beat him publicly to a pulp.

 

Eh, the brat's too old for that now. He's way out of the King's league. I don't know what he's going to pull but it better be damned good or Vegeta-sei just might find itself with an untimely change in politics.

 

“Good evening, Radditz,” cooed Nappa, openly mocking the lower ranking warrior. “And what brings you to this wing of the royal palace so long past your bed time?”

 

Radditz sneered. “Some of us have real jobs rather than playing suck up to the King, Nappa,” responded Radditz with a growl.

 

“Watch yourself third class, you wouldn't want to be killed by a much stronger Elite right before the war, now would you?” Nappa grinned evilly. Playing on their class distinctions always put Radditz's panties in a bunch.

 

“Why are you here, Nappa?” questioned Radditz between bared, clenched teeth.

 

“Please inform the prince in the morning that his father requests an audience with him in the throne room.” Nappa paused, looked Radditz up and down, and then started to snicker. “That is, if it isn't too much of an inconvenience to you playing the little guardian solder and all.”

 

Radditz's teeth remained clenched as Nappa walked away.

 

When Freeza comes, Nappa, I hope that you are one of the first to die.

 

~~~~~~~<(((((|||)))))>~~~~~~~

 

Although the plush chair wasn't the first thing Vegeta would have usually considered sleeping in, it would have to do.

 

All this and celibacy, thought Vegeta.

 

Vegeta looked down at the loose fitting pair of training shorts he was wearing. Damn modesty. Having Bulma there wasn't a small inconvenience like he thought it would be. It was a lifestyle change. After opening the nearest window for additional circulation, Vegeta laid down on the chair and put his feet up on the matching footrest. He was going to have the mother of all backaches in the morning.