Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.

A/N: This one-shot it the third installment in the Rebel universe. I suggest you read my one-shots Rebel, and Blood Red, before you read this one. You can find these on my profile :)

This one-shot was inspired and written for the fanart challenge on the We're Just Saiyan B/V community. Please check it out if you haven't yet; it's a wonderful community on Google Plus where we all discuss our mutual love for B/V and DBZ.

The fanart that inspired this fic is now the 'cover' for this story, and is by Kamikaze_666. If you're reading this on your phone and can't see the image, it's Super Saiyan Vegeta, with the royal Saiyan crest painted on his face.

I have to dedicate this to preciousjade76, who is always a faithful reviewer, and has been asking for this third Rebel installment for years! I hope you like it :)

Warning: Lemon(ish) stuff ahead...

It's half past 3 in the morning here, by the way. Let me know if there's any typos that my sleepy brain didn't pick up - my husband thinks I'm mad for staying up this late to write fanfiction, but I was determined to finish this thing!

Also, there will be a fourth installment in this series at some point.

- Pic

Insignia

Waiting in the shadows of a dark alleyway, Bulma resisted the urge to check her small tablet one last time. These were the coordinates Vegeta had given her in his last coded message; of that she was sure. She sank further back, pressing herself against the crumbling wall behind her, and pulled at the hood she wore, tugging it further over her face. Peering out from under the cover of her cloak, she dug her fingers into her side, her body strung tight as she watched the traffic pass by on the busy adjoining streets.

She scanned the pedestrian street continuously, and as so it was a shock when she turned to find Vegeta standing beside her. She jumped back, and it was only the strong arms that latched around her that stopped her from falling.

He slung her up into his arms before she could utter more than a surprised squeak, and they were away, moving too fast for her to see anything more than a blur of browns and greys.

...

Covered from head to toe in their dark cloaks, with scarves that wrapped across their faces, they were nothing more than dark, shapeless creatures of unidentifiable origin. The innkeeper didn't appear at all surprised; the wad of cash that Vegeta produced from his sleeve was apparently enough to satisfy the fat proprietor, and he handed over the keys to a room without a blink from any of his six beady eyes.

They made their way to the room slowly, calmly. In the elevator his eyes met hers for the first time, and she was struck once more by the depth of emotion that they alone could convey. Here, in this little pocket of solitude, the guard he usually kept so tight around him was quickly melting away, and he was not the cold Prince Vegeta that she occasionally passed in the halls of Frieza's flagship.

He followed her down the third floor hall, and her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the lock and key to their room. The door opened with a click, revealing a small, plain space outfitted with a double bed and a single window. She dropped the key on the lone table that stood by the door, and crossed the room, pulling the faded curtains closed.

"It's locked." His voice was water over gravel, smooth yet rough, his words clipped.

"Soundproof?" she asked, pulling off the scarf that hid her face. He did the same, and her heart ached with longing at the sight of his handsome face.

"It's enough, though if you scream the neighbours will hear," he answered, a glint suddenly present in his eye.

Her throat clicked as she swallowed nervously. It was six months since they'd last met like this, and she suddenly felt raw and exposed before him. There was so much she had to say – so much information to pass on, so many questions to ask – but she was weary of it all, exhaustion set deep in her bones. "Vegeta," she whispered, closing her eyes.

When she opened them again he was crossing the room, shedding his cloak as he approached her. He wore his armour underneath, and her eyes focused on the fingers of his gloves, poking out from the edge of his chest plate where he'd tucked them away. It reminded her absurdly of a rooster's crown, and she shook her head to dispel the meaningless thought, another remnant of her past life before the Earth was purged.

He reached out, calloused fingers brushing the curve of her ears as he pushed back her own hood. She lifted her face towards him, breathing in the scent of him, eyes hooded as his head bent towards her. Let it all go, she told herself. Enjoy the time you have.

"We'll talk business later," he murmured against her cheek. She leaned forward suddenly, crushing her lips to his with a desperate need, and the sound that escaped her throat was something caught between a sob and a moan.

His arms locked around her tight, and she dug her fingers in his hair, wishing fervently that she could hold him here forever.

...

Though the room was cold their bodies were slick with sweat. She sighed as Vegeta slipped from within her and placed her down on wobbly legs. They stood in silence, listening to their racing hearts as they leaned into each other, the wall still pressed cool against her back.

She smiled against his collarbone as his tail wound itself around her legs in a small gesture of possession. She clutched at him in return, arms wrapped tight around his middle, fingers digging deep into the flesh of his back. She knew her touch was as light as a feather to him; she could not harm this man of steel. Yet Frieza could, and the thought terrified her.

He had a new scar, a deep straight gouge that ran down from his left shoulder to under his right shoulder blade. The skin there was still a pale pink, an angry reminder of the torture that he underwent at the hands of their overlord. He never once spoke about his ordeals, but she knew about them. A sickening feeling stirred in her gut over this particular scar, for she had seen immediately from its jagged edges that a ki whip had caused the damage. Years ago, long before she'd even met Vegeta, the ki whip had been the first weapon she had presented to Frieza, a sadistic toy for the monster that had paved the way for her success within the Planet Trade Organisation.

Wishing to dispel her thoughts of Frieza, she pulled back from his embrace, lifting a hand to trace the lines of his jaw, his nose, his full bottom lip. He nipped at her fingers, catching them between his teeth, a wolfish grin on his face. She laughed, and let the final tension seep from her bones. She kissed him, hard, and felt his response press firmly against her stomach.

"Is that all you've got?" she asked, a dangerous question when she already knew the answer: he had a lot more. She flashed him her own grin as she pulled away, tugging him towards the bed.

She squealed as he moved with lightning speed, flipping her over so that she lay face-down on the coverlet. He grabbed at her thighs, provoked into being rough, and pulled her back towards him. Hard and hot against her backside, she shivered as he bent over her, his breath feathering over her neck.

"I dare you to say that again," he growled, nipping at her neck. She arched her back, hissing as he slid home, his tail tracing an agonisingly slow path down the flat planes of her belly. She twisted her neck to kiss him over her shoulder, and bit at his bottom lip.

Eyes as black as night stared down at her.

She grinned, pausing to lick her lips. "Is that all you've got?"

She couldn't help the cry that escaped her lips as he began his reply.

...

Vegeta woke in the dark of night, and immediately noticed the lack of a second body beside. He scanned the room quickly, catching sight of Bulma standing naked beside the small window beside the bathroom door. She held the ratty curtain that covered the small glass pane in one hand, and had this pulled back an inch, so that the pale glow from the half moon cut a path down the middle of her body, a bright ribbon against the darker tones of the shade.

She hadn't noticed him wake, and he was content to watch her for a moment. Her face looked pensive in the moonlight; something was on her mind. He wasn't surprised – in the morning they'd part ways once more, and he would return to Frieza's ship, while she'd continue on her mission of overseeing the purchase of a new fleet of space pods here on Thlaghair.

She was a beautiful woman. Bright eyes and long flowing locks of a hundred shades of blue, she'd bewitched him from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. His eyes travelled over her, lingering on her full round breasts, trailing over the curve of her hip, and in this moment he allowed himself to appreciate her, both for her looks and her intelligence. She was his woman, and he hadn't touched another since meeting her all those years ago.

He couldn't bear to look at her any longer, not without touching her. "Woman," he called softly, the gravel in his voice thick from sleep. She jumped, the moonlight blinking out as she dropped the curtain back in its place.

"You should be more aware of your surroundings," he told her, frowning even as he sat up and pulled back the blankets. "Come to bed."

She moved silently towards him, feet padding softly on the dull carpet. The bed dipped as she lay down beside him, tucking her head in the crook of his shoulder. Automatically his arm curled around her, his fingers tracing over her smooth skin, her ivory flesh icy cold to the touch. He closed his eyes, listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat. It was racing, and he stroked her, smoothing his hands up and down her side until the beat of her pulse slowly returned to normal.

"If we were on Earth," she whispered, her voice filled with nostalgia as her breath feathered over his skin, "I'd take you to my family's private island. The sand there was white as snow."

He opened his eyes, watching in the dark as she traced an invisible pattern across his chest. "We'd have sex under the stars and watch the sun rise, and the sea would sparkle like diamonds. You'd like Earth."

"Hn," he murmured, running his hand through her hair. They fell silent, though he could feel the tension coursing through her body.

"It's not Earth anymore," she said suddenly, lifting her head to stare at him. Her blue gaze was sharp in the dark, her brows pulled down in a frown. "Did you hear? It's finally sold. It's called Drazipa now." She spat the last words, shaking her head as she shifted away from him, sitting up so that her long blue hair fell around her shoulders and curled over her breasts.

Her eyes were shining with unshed tears as she looked down at him, her face pinched. "Fuck," she hissed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "Fuck," she hissed again, her voice breaking this time, and turned away from him. His eyes trailed over the curve of her back, watching her shoulders shake silently. He lifted his hand as though to touch her, then dropped it back on the bed, unsure of a way to comfort her. He'd seen her cry only once before, and he found this human expression of emotion extremely uncomfortable.

He eyed her as if she were a volatile bomb as she lay back down beside him. Her cheeks glinted with moisture, and she avoided his gaze, staring at the ceiling as her hand reached beneath the blankets for him. He allowed her to grasp his tail, and she drew it across her body, her fingers digging into his fur as she ran her hands up and down the length of it. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, and the movement seemed to calm her. Her breathing, however, remained uneven; occasionally her chest would shudder with the remnants of a sob, and a hiss of frustration would escape her lips.

He couldn't help but feel bitter. Her planet still existed, if under a different name. Vegetasei was nothing but dust, an empty void where it had once been. If he destroyed Frieza – when, he told himself with a flutter of uncertainty – he still wouldn't have a chance to walk on the land of his forefathers again.

Her body was rigid underneath his tail. He turned to her to find her staring at him in the dark, despite the fact that she could see nothing more than his vague outline in this dim light.

"Tell me about the Super Saiyans," she whispered suddenly.

"You already know the legends."

"I want to hear them again. I want to hear your voice. Tell me."

He sighed in resignation as she rolled towards him, fitting her body against his. Closing his eyes, he began to recite the legends of old. "There was a time, long ago, when Super Saiyans scoured the universe..." He found himself whispering as he recited the tales, caught in a state somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. It was as if he were floating, the woman beside him the only thing keeping him tethered to this place.

"What did they look like?" her soft voice called. He couldn't tell if she'd spoken out loud, for the sound seemed to echo within his brain.

"Green eyes," he spoke slowly. "Green eyes, blazing like wildfire. Their hair and fur glowed golden. They were monstrous, glorious. The greatest Saiyans that ever lived; the Legendary. Every opponent they faced was cut down before them. They drank the blood of their enemies and wore it on their faces, the crest of their houses painted red upon their brow."

"Your ancestor..." she sighed in the dark.

"Vegeta the Great... He fought all the others, and defeated them all. He was the greatest, the first true King. His blood runs in my veins."

"Hmm."

It is my birthright, he added, slowly losing the battle against sleep. I am the next Super Saiyan. He could see it now; could see the golden glow, the insignia of the House of Vegeta painted red upon his face.

Purple. Frieza's blood is purple.

He would kill the lizard. There was no other way.

...

Vegeta was already up and dressing when she woke. She watched in silence as he pulled his battered armour over his head – she knew he'd come straight from a purge, though she hadn't asked for the details that she didn't want to know.

"It's our anniversary next week," she told him quietly as he pulled on his gloves.

"What?" He paused, dark eyes raking over her naked form as she sat up and ran a hand back through her long hair.

"It'll be five years since we first met, next week. Do you remember? We had sex on the floor of the lab, and then we sabotaged all of the data stored on Frieza 79." She smiled weakly, thinking back to that night, the way she'd thrown her inhibitions into the wind, the risks they'd both taken in declaring themselves as rebels, if only to each other. What had made him trust her, she wondered? He trusted no one, not even his own men, and yet she knew so many of his secrets.

"We were idiots," he replied, his brows furrowing. "If we had been caught –"

"But we weren't. We haven't been caught, and we won't be. Soon you'll be a Super Saiyan, and Frieza will be dead, and we'll live happily ever after." That was the fairy tale she told herself, the story she repeated on lonely nights when Vegeta was light-years away from her, out purging planets while she designed weapons and equipment for a monster. It was the story she needed to tell herself now, as she steeled herself for another god-knows how many months away from her friend, her only ally, her love.

Vegeta's silence was worrying; usually when she mentioned the Super Saiyan legend he crowed about his achievements, how close he was to attaining the legendary level, how dead Frieza would soon be. Instead his face was closed, his movements sharp and hard as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull his boots on.

"You'll do it soon," she told his back, her voice soft. "I know you will. Especially with the increased gravity – I've put the machine up to five hundred times, now."

"I will," he replied, though his voice sounded hollow as it echoed through the small room they'd rented for the night.

He stood suddenly, turning to face her. His expression was indecipherable as he looked down at her, and dread swirled in her gut. Here came the farewell, the long months ahead without physical contact, the short, coded messages that hid all the passion between them.

"I'll miss you," she told him, rising from the bed. He stood still as she wrapped her arms around him, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. She held him for as long as she could, until he began to step away.

"It's time, Bulma."

She nodded, holding back the lump in her throat. "I'll see you soon," she whispered. He grunted in reply and turned away from her, collecting the various capsules she'd laid out for him the night before and slipping them down the front of his armour. He wrapped his discarded scarf around his face, pulled on the cloak he'd left in a puddle of fabric by the door, and suddenly he was the shapeless alien again. He didn't look back at her as he slipped out of the room and into the darkened hall, and she watched him go in silence.

She sat back on the bed and stared at the closed door for what seemed like an eternity before she forced her body to move, to get on with the daily routines of life. The room seemed too silent, too empty without him, and she hated the sudden claustrophobia that came with it.

She looked sallow in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. She stood under the spray of the shower for an age before she lifted her hands to scrub his scent from her skin, erasing all evidence of this meeting between them.