This is a one shot that came from nowhere one day about, well, almost three years ago. I've only written for it here and there, and yet it has become, in Microsoft Word, 27 pages long. It's so funny to look at it, with the first pages written by myself three years ago, and the last pieces composed recently. But it's been a great project. I've always wanted to write this even before I came up with the exact idea. This may have to fall under a slight AU tinge, as I took no thought towards the real storyline of the events at all. I completely wrote this from inspiration having nothing to do with even watching episodes that would pertain to this…if there even is any at all. I would love your thoughts and reviews, and I hope you enjoy For The Want Of A Child.
- Astarii
For The Want Of A Child…
Bulma sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. She could hear Vegeta's steps go down the hallway, into the living room, out onto the deck, and finally she could hear the training room door close.
She picked at the rest of her food, not paying attention, lost in her own thoughts. He always did the same thing when the topic came up, escape from the discussion—or many times, argument—and go into the training room. She knew it was his way of saying, "I've spoken", and also sometimes was his way of escaping before he blew his top. But there weren't going to be any arguments over it anymore, arguing never made it better, it only made it worse.
Didn't he understand how much she wanted this? How much she needed this? She just couldn't understand why he didn't feel the same way,
Why he didn't want a child.
-
The front door creaked open and Bulma walked in, soaked from head to toe. Rain splashed mercilessly outside, and she shut the door and leant against it briefly, before taking a deep breath and walking into the kitchen where Vegeta was reading.
He looked up and sat the magazine down—Martial Arts Unleashed—and his lower lip dropped.
"What did they make you do? Walk around outside while they explained the problems?" Bulma had gotten a call; one of their labs nearby had had some technical problems, and she had left right away.
"The repairs were outside." She explained, slumping into a chair. Her jean capri's were dripping wet, and her gray sweatshirt with an amusement park logo on the front was as wet as if she had soaked it in a tub of water. Her hair, down and—unsurprisingly—wet, was separated into waving strands that were dripping water on her shirt, and her skin looked cold and clammy.
Vegeta got up and poured a glass of milk, then put it in the microwave for several seconds. He handed the warm milk along with a piece of white bread to her. She batted his hand away lightly.
"You need to eat this." He said, putting on a Vegeta-esque stance and expression. She took it grudgingly and stared at it for a few moments, but bit into the bread hungrily and gulped down the milk lightning fast.
"You were starving." He pointed out.
"You were making me eat it. I wanted it out of the way." She shot back. He sat down and leaned on his elbows.
"Did the problems get fixed?" He asked, and she nodded, standing and grabbing a cinnamon-raisin bagel.
"Yes, it was simple…but time consuming. Only an idiot could have caused the problem in the first place." She said, pulling the bagel apart and putting it in the toaster. "I should hire monkeys next year." She said, half-humorously. Vegeta got up and put his arm around her.
"I'm sorry." He said, brushing her sopping hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You need to change, get some warm clothes on." He said, wringing out the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "You're freezing." He pointed out, and she nodded, already knowing full well. "Are you going to do it, or do I have to change your clothes for you like a child?" He asked, cocking a brow. She laughed and shook her head.
"After I eat." She said, and he nodded. "I love you." She said, curling up in his arms and leaning her head on his shoulder. Vegeta swallowed, struggling to get his mouth to speak the words back, but he couldn't. He kissed the top of her head and leant his chin on it.
"What took you so long today?" He questioned, and she acted as if he had just woken her up. She broke the embrace and checked on the toaster.
"I stopped by the Sons, they're on the way." She got out some butter and a knife before the toaster spit her bagel out.
"How are they?" He asked, folding his arms and going back to his seat. She spread the butter over her bagel and took a bite before starting on the other one.
"They're fine. Gohan's starting High School." She sighed softly, smiling. "He had all his stuff out in the living room, checking, double checking; making sure he had everything. He's so nervous!" She said with a little laugh. "Chi-Chi's nervous too, but Goku's cool as a cucumber.
"It must be fun," She continued, putting the butter away, tossing the knife in the sink. "to send your son or daughter off to school. Take them shopping for back-to-school stuff. Clothes, pencils, erasers." She laughed. "You should have seen the crowd yesterday at the store! I couldn't find one notebook except the one I bought!" She grinned. "Well, and you've seen that one."
"The one with the rhinestone cats?" He questioned, and she nodded, taking a bite out of her oversized bagel. He shook his head and snorted.
"You know…we could." She said, and he looked at her questioningly. "Send a little someone off to school." He looked down and bit his cheek. "That wouldn't be for a while." She continued hopefully. "But we could, and until then get him one of those little tonka cars to drive around in, or dress her up in dresses, and have birthday parties with all her little friends. Play dress-up, or go camping. Either way the dice rolls, boy or girl, it wouldn't matter." She looked at him, gauging his expression, guessing his thoughts.
"But we would have to roll the dice…you know, to find out which." She said it slowly, looking at him thoughtfully, chewing her bagel methodically. She swallowed when he didn't answer.
"I understand." She said slowly, disappointed, throwing the rest of her bagel in the trash. She wasn't hungry anymore.
She walked to the doorway, her drying hair bouncing slightly with her step. She grasped the frame and turned around, still his eyes were cast downward, still his face was opposite the floor, his arms leant on his knees.
"I love you, Vegeta." She said, her best try at an apology.
He looked up, fighting to utter the words back. His mind twisted and turned, trying to make his lips speak. She saw his struggle as clearly as she ever did. "I know." She said with a faint, knowing smile, saying it for him.
-
"You know," Gohan announced, placing a gloved hand behind his head and looking around. "I don't think this is the fairest thing going on around here." He surveyed the scene. The entire gang was at the Capsule Corps. building for a game or two of Baseball. Yamcha was currently at bat, and it was this that he was referring to.
"Scared you might not be able to catch it?" Yamcha teased, grinning his "I-know-all-the-girls-like-it-when-I-smile-like-this" smile. Gohan shook his head with a smile on his face.
"Let's go!" Bulma cheered, a baseball hat perched on her head, shielding the near-setting sun. She leaned over, hands on her knees, rooting her teammate on. She was up to bat next.
Yamcha smacked the ball hard, a clear home-run, and Gohan, instinctively, jumped in the air a bit to catch it. He failed though, when he realized what he had done. Their one rule that didn't apply to the MLB? No flying. There was laughing, shouting, running about, and some ended up on the field, making their way towards Gohan.
Bulma made it first, and with an "hey, look who's unfair!" she wrapped her arm around him and tugged him to the side. He put his hand around her waist and they both made their way back to the box, laughing about his mistake. He was out for the moment, to be replaced by a teammate.
"Bulma!" Krillin called. "You're up!" She shoved Gohan's shoulder at some remark he made, slung the helmet on her head—it was a bit big—then grabbed the bat and positioned. The pitch came, she hit it, then ran for her life, grabbing onto the helmet so it wouldn't fall off. Goku, running after the ball, stumbled, and she made it to first base right before he threw it. There was applause, some shouts, and Bulma sidled off the mock-field and trotted over to Gohan.
She snatched her water bottle from the ground and sprayed it on him, laughing and running from him when he got up. He caught up with her easily and grabbed her by the waist, slinging her into the air.
They were laughing and having fun; that was an easy thing to notice.
All of this Vegeta saw as he sat on the deck steps, watching the game, not in the mood to play. He saw Bulma and Gohan spraying each other with water, wrestling around, goofing off with each other.
He loved the happy expression her face wore, the shine in her eyes…but they didn't sparkle. Her eyes shined with laughter, but they didn't glitter like he loved to see. They would if she were playing with their own child. He knew it.
He stood up and sighed, walking away from them and into the trees. Once deep into them he leant against the bark of an old oak and slid to the ground, an arm resting on his knee.
Bulma's want for this child was growing stronger. They no longer argued about it—they hadn't since February—but he could sense her growing want, could feel her soul yearning for it. It wasn't even a desire anymore, it was a need, a desperate yearning that left her spirit weakened.
How many times had their discussions on the topic ended with her whispering that she understood? How many times had their discussions ended with her leaving him in his cell of silence?
Bulma needed this one thing that he could give her, but he couldn't bring himself to let her have it. He couldn't give her the one thing her heart desired most, the one thing her soul yearned for beyond anything else.
He hated himself for keeping her away from happiness. He hated himself for not helping her achieve this one simple thing.
But it wasn't a simple thing. Indeed, it was not! Did she have any idea what a big deal it was? Perhaps to her it was not the deal it was to him. He had always valued his being impartial to anything and everything but himself, and Bulma had changed all that.
Growing fond of her was something that he had tried to make obsolete, but it had failed. No matter how hard he tried he had fallen in love with her. She had become everything to him. He couldn't afford to become fond of someone else. No, he wouldn't.
-
"And here's the turkey!" Goku lifted the tray high, and everyone grinned. "Let's see, think Gohan's old and wise enough to cut it?" Everyone laughed, and Goku passed him the carving knife.
Vegeta smiled to himself. Bulma was whispering with Chi-Chi about something and he could see Bulma roll her eyes and give a 'puh-lease' look. Obviously the two women were gossiping. Goku dove into his turkey so fast Vegeta blinked. He had barely been handed the plate! Vegeta smirked, thinking about Goku's eating habits. He ate, and a lot, but Goku could send an entire planet into starvation.
Half an hour later the plates were nearly clean, and everyone spoke happily, thanksgiving cheer abounding. Vegeta scanned the table and room for Bulma, but she wasn't in sight. He pushed his chair back and got up, leaving the happy conversations in the living room.
He found her on the deck, sitting on the table, her legs curled up under her chin, her hands clasped before them. He slid the door shut quietly and sat down on the tabletop next to her, his feet on the seat.
"What are you doing out here?" Snow drifted around her face, dropping on her cheeks and nose, and she turned her head on her knees to look at him.
"Just thinking." She said, her eyes cast off towards the back yard. Her hair was frosted with snow and he brushed at her up-do. She was shivering slightly, but she didn't seem to notice.
"About?" He prodded, leaning closer, a hesitant hand at the ready to grasp her waist. She bit her lip for a moment before answering.
"Nothing." She said, and he drew a corner of his mouth up in disapproval at her reply. "Did you get bored in there?" He shook his head, telling himself that she wasn't going to get off the topic of her thoughts so easily.
"What were you thinking about?" He knew what she was thinking about, what else would she hide from him? But he couldn't keep her from expressing her feelings, he could tell she needed that at the moment.
"Nothing, Vegeta." She persisted, dusting the snow off her jeans. He sighed and shook his head, wrapping his arm around her waist, leaning his chin on her shoulder.
"It is the same matter, is it not?" She cast her eyes downward and bit her lip. "Bulma, I—"
"I understand, I really do." She said earnestly, steering from an argument, or the remarks of pity he would make to attempt comforting her. He grasped her chin and made her look at him. She stared back unblinkingly, and he shook his head.
"No, you don't understand." He said, and released his hold. "You've always been so good," He started, pushing himself off the table. He massaged a shoulder and walked to the deck's railing. "so infinitely understanding, so willing to please…even through arguments." He added with a teasing sparkle in his eye.
"Yes," He dusted the snow off the wooden rail and brushed it off his hands. "even when you don't understand." He raised a brow, wondering if his next words should be said, wondering if he would regret them when it was too late to pull them back.
"Caring is weakness." He said simply, staring straight ahead, yet seeing nothing with his eye. Pictures of his past spun through his head, a speeding, rumbling timeline of his life and his choices.
She leaned forward on her knees, staring at him earnestly, listening intently.
"That was what I was taught, believed, knew to be true. Caring for something brought defeat. Only when you care for nothing can you fight impartially, and fighting impartially brings triumph in battle. At least, that's what I thought. I tried…" He bit his lip and furrowed his brows, then continued. "When I began feeling the way I do for you, I tried to make it obsolete. I was already weaker than Goku, I didn't want to lower myself even more." He turned around to face her, arms folded across his chest.
"But it was useless. You did, and still do, hold a power over me that I can't explain, something I never admitted to myself until know, but I know it has always been so." She blinked, and her eyes seemed to pierce more than his words. She lifted herself off of the table and walked to him, grabbing his shoulder and leaning her forehead on it.
His words, though few, his meaning, though scattered, was understood, yet her yearning wasn't gone, her desire was just as strong. However, now, she understood.
-
Christmas music rushed out of music stores, fake snow adorned the displays in shop windows, and a massive Christmas tree stood behind a large red velvet chair. Santa sat upon it, a child in his lap, as a camera flashed and the little girl giggled. A workroom full of elves making toys was to the right, and to the left several different Christmas crafts and games were going on. A miniature locomotive ran around the whole scene, carrying parents and children, tooting its horn, the captain wearing a blue and white striped uniform.
Bulma and Vegeta came out of a clothing store, each carrying several bags with different name brand logos on the side. Bulma, arm tucked into Vegeta's, excited by all the commotion and Christmas spirit, grinned good-naturedly.
"I don't suppose you want a picture with Santa, eh?" She turned to Vegeta, chuckling just a bit, giving his arm a faint squeeze. He shrugged.
"I'm guessing you want to." She shook her head. "Don't tell me, too old?" He smiled. Vegeta was in a very good mood tonight. He had been joking, playing around, and being the best husband there could be. Bulma was thankful he was, the worst thing was to go Christmas shopping with a cranky husband.
"No, really. Let's go to the next store." She tugged him to the right, and they made their way passed a couple of places before she dashed into a perfume store. She sprayed no less then twenty, or at least, according to Vegeta, perfumes, and tried on so many lotions her hands smelled like she had been kneading the largest assortment of fruits and flowers available with them.
"Do you like this one?" She quizzed, spraying one in his face. He coughed and sputtered while she spoke her apologies. "Well, do you?" She prodded while he sniffed the air gingerly.
"It's all right." He said simply, and she sat it down. "I liked that one better." He said encouragingly when her face fell, pointing to one in the far corner. She raised a brow, and they both walked over.
"This one?" She looked it over. She sprayed it a bit, then thrust her head forward and sniffed. He did the same and sighed.
"Yes, that one." He said with a contented smile. She raised a brow skeptically. "What? Is there something wrong with that one?" She put her hand on her hip, the bottle still in the other hand's grasp.
"Well, nothing really, it's just men's cologne." He raised a brow sharply, then took the bottle and sprayed it again, breathing with more concentration this time. "Why do you like that one so much?" He sniffed again, then looked the bottle over thoroughly.
"I like it." He handed it back. "There's something about it." He drew a corner of his lip up in contemplation. "It, well, it," She looked at him, waiting.
"I just like smelling it." He admitted. "I'd probably end up smelling you all the time just to smell you." He said matter-of-factly. She sat the tester down and picked up the biggest bottle they had with a satisfied smirk.
"A little Christmas present for myself." She explained, walking to the salesclerk. He gave a little smirk and walked into the next room. He wrinkled up his nose and furrowed his brows.
He walked up to a display table and picked up one of the items, looking at it thoughtfully. He turned it over, sat it down, and then picked up another of a different color. A saleswoman approached him with a pleasant smile.
"Good evening, sir." She looked over what he had in his hands. "A Christmas present?" She asked. "For your wife…" She gave a knowing smile. "or for you?" He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
He opened his mouth to speak but Bulma appeared, took the lacy g-string out of his hands, sat it back on the table and smiled at the woman.
"Oh, neither." She looked at Vegeta with a forced smile. "I shop alone." She explained, and took Vegeta's arm.
"Oh?" The woman looked the two over. "You know, sometimes the husband's or boyfr—"
"Husband."
"Husband likes to help the wife pick it out—"
"Actually, I'm not even shopping right now. Just perfume." She raised the bag. "Thank you, though." The woman smiled, took the hint, and left them. "Let's go." She grasped Vegeta's arm tighter and started for the door.
"Is this an earth thing?" He questioned, holding up a Santa negligée. "I don't remember Saiyan women—" She tugged his arm tighter and they left through the door.
"I'm starving, let's get something to eat." She said, looking for the nearest food place. "I can't stand pushy salespeople." Bulma vented as they made their way towards the food court. "They always want you to buy, buy, buy, and half the time it doesn't look good on you in the first place."
"Where do you want to eat?" He questioned, looking around at the selection. "Burger's 'n' Fries, Hot Wok, Franks Pizza, SteakSubs—"
"Pizza." She said, and they made their way towards a red, green, and white decorated booth. "Looks good." She inspected the different kinds, biting her lip in concentration.
"May I help you?" The teenage boy looked at Vegeta, a "Frank's Pizza" visor perched on his head. "We have a special on Extra Cheese with—"
"Sounds fine to me, I'll have four of those—better make it five." The boy, shocked first by him ordering before he knew what it was, then by the sheer size of his order, nodded dumbly.
"And I'll take a piece of Spinach and Feta Cheese." She smiled. "With a Pepsi." He nodded, then looked at Vegeta who was folding his arms, looking elsewhere. "He'll take the same drink." She said, and the boy began serving up their food.
"Five?" She whispered to Vegeta. "Why didn't you just order a whole pizza?" He smiled smugly.
"You told me not to make a scene." He said, a teasing grin across his face. She shook her head and chuckled.
"You might as well have ordered a whole one and acted as if it were for several people. You know you're going to go home starving." He shook his head as she passed him the tray of food.
"Human's really are so complicated." He commented, teasing her, as he took the tray.
They found a seat in the middle of the hustle and bustle, and began eating their Pizza in silence, Bulma watching the crowd, Vegeta watching Bulma. She chewed thoughtfully, watching people pass, and grinned when she saw someone from work. She waved the person over, and a woman with blonde hair approached, her arms full of boxes and bags. They talked for several minutes, Vegeta watching without listening, save for the introductions, and soon the girl left, Bulma waving a goodbye.
"She's such a valuable employee." Bulma pointed out, and Vegeta nodded, chewing silently, yet being pleasant company. Still the hustle and bustle continued around them, and Vegeta started on his third piece. "Works in research…and she's just about the only one in her particular research department that does that. Work, I mean." She continued, mostly talking to herself. "Perhaps I should give her a bonus. Yes, I'll do that tomorrow. Vegeta, have a pen?" She looked at Vegeta, indicating she was going to write the memo down on her hand.
He inspected his pocket and then shook his head and she looked around, an eyebrow raised good-naturedly.
After scanning the court, she spotted several pens sitting by a computer at the cell-phone booth, manned by a friendly brunette perched on the stool, people-watching. She was probably new, for she appeared anxious for a customer.
"Vegeta, I'm gonna go grab a pen over there." She said, pushing her tray towards the center of the table and scooting back her chair—right into a young child walking by.
The child, about four or five, with brown hair and striking green eyes, fell over in a heap, his toy—an electronic sword—spinning several turns before it became still several feet away—no more than four. Shocked tears began to form, and Bulma dropped to her knees beside him, grasping his shoulder and asking him if he was alright.
This question, though, only caused the tears to spill, and the boy looked as if the world had ended. Bulma looked around worriedly, then spotted the sword. She leant over and grasped it up, then presented it to him.
"I'm sorry—here's you sword—I—" She stuttered quickly and nervously, trying to calm him. A woman appeared and scooped up the boy—including the sword—and gave Bulma a nasty glare.
"I'm really sorry," Bulma began, and the woman, obviously his mother, gave her a sharp nod. Another woman the same age walked up, with a curious look on her face, and Bulma heard them converse as she watched their retreating backs.
"Young girl just knocked him over."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, young people nowadays."
"I know."
"Probably the type opposed to having children, taking pills and doing all that kind of stuff. Not that she could handle a child if she had one anyway—did you see her blundering around like a fish out of water? Hmph!"
Bulma leaned against the back of the chair, grasping it for some support, avoiding Vegeta's gaze—she knew what expression awaited her if she looked at him—trying to blink away tears caused by the pain of their words that tore at her heart like barbed wire at flesh.
She shook her head once, blinking away her tears, clenching her teeth, and turned, grabbing her tray and putting all her trash on it.
"Are you ready to go?" She asked, not looking at him, gathering her things. If she would have looked at him she would have seen him trying to gauge what she was thinking, feeling, she would have seen the concern on his face, the expression of him trying to figure out what to say next.
He took a last drink and tossed his trash in the bin after hers. He shifted his load to his right arm and wrapped his left around Bulma's shoulders as they walked to the door, silently comforting her. She wouldn't want to talk about it, and, truth be told, he didn't want to either, and so this gesture of affection would have to do. They stepped outside and she dropped her bags, tugging her coat on, and then picking up the purchases again, scanning the rows of vehicles for her car. Vegeta, his arm around her again, nodded to the right, and she caught a glimpse of her red convertible.
She lifted the keys and pressed the unlock button, and after tossing the bags into the trunk, they sunk into the leather depths of the cars' upholstery. She pressed the button of the heated seating and air, and she pulled out of the parking lot in silence. Not one word had been said since the incident with the kid.
Vegeta leaned back, getting more comfortable, and Bulma turned on the radio, ready for a distraction. Though he couldn't explain exactly what he felt, it was a nerve-wracking mix of tension and sadness that was circulating in the car, and he didn't like it.
The fact was, Bulma was in pain, and no matter what, he couldn't fix it for her. He hated standing on the sidelines, watching her sadness and suffering. He hated—with an utmost passion—not being able to comfort her.
Vegeta, warrior, fighter, legend, sat inches away from her, and he couldn't even say or do anything…except look at her. And he found that hard to do.
-
"What should we sing?" Goku quizzed, scanning the room for suggestions. When no one suggested one he said, "C'mon, guys! Let's all sing together!" He looked thoughtful, standing there with Christmas lights dangling all over his body like he was the Christmas tree, then grinned. "We wish you a Merry Christmas!" He laughed. "C'mon, eeeeverybody!" And then he belted it out…by himself.
"Weeeeee wish you a Merry Christmas! We wish you a Merry Christmas! We wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy New Year! Good tidings to you—" He looked around. "Perhaps another one?" He suggested, and Chi-Chi stood, smiling pleasantly.
"Perhaps, Goku, we should just decorate the tree." She attempted. He shrugged, mumbled something about "party poopers" and started dangling the lights on the portly fur tree.
Several people laughed at Goku's reaction, and people began to disperse into different groups of conversations. Gohan disappeared with a, uh, friend to the kitchen to "make some munchies". Twenty minutes later people were still waiting for "munchies".
Krillin just about tripped over himself when excusing his body from being in the kitchen when he went to investigate. He returned red as a beet and smiling, quietly reminiscing about being young. Although, bless him, when he was young he had never had a girlfriend to save his life.
Five minutes later Gohan emerged with some food, but he quickly disappeared into the kitchen again.
"Does anyone want to hear a joke?" Goku called from behind the tree, a string of lights hanging over his head. In fact, with his spiky hair, it looked as if the lights were hanging on a black Christmas tree.
"No." Vegeta answered simply, and Goku scowled, pouting.
"That wasn't very nice." Goku pointed out.
"You asked us," Vegeta returned. Goku once again disappeared behind the tree, and all could hear him humming to himself, obviously ignoring Vegeta.
"So, this guy walks into a grocery store," Goku began. "And asks if they have any parrots…" Vegeta stood up and started walking out of the room, ignoring Goku's joke. Goku, however, would not let him leave without hearing it. "And he says no, but we do have some carrots!" He shouted at Vegeta's retreating back.
"You got that one wrong, Kakkarot," Vegeta called behind his back. "You've told it to me before!"
Vegeta decided to go into the kitchen, that is, his stomach told him to by grumbling a bit. He walked through the swinging door to discover Gohan and a brunette kissing across the kitchen table, two bowls of melting ice-cream being neglected.
The girl looked up with a squeak and immediately looked back down again in embarrassment. Gohan stood up out of his seat, hand behind his head, and began stuttering, his face a bright shade in between cherry and pomegranate.
"Oh, um, hi there, Vegeta." He finally sputtered out, and Vegeta nodded in his direction with a silent grunt as he opened the fridge. "How are you doing?" Gohan continued nervously in a bad attempt at composure.
"Not as good as you, I see." Vegeta commented as he scanned the contents of the refrigerator. Gohan laughed nervously, his hand still behind his head, and the girl hadn't even looked up once. "Don't worry, I'm out of your way now." Vegeta said in a bored tone, a tupperware container in one hand and a soda in the other. He nodded towards the kids again and left through the door.
It seemed to Vegeta that kids on earth did a lot of kissing when they got into high school, and wondered if perhaps it was a subject in their human studies. With that thought he plopped back on the living room couch, emptying the contents of the tupperware container—fried rice—and gulping his soda. It seemed that Goku was still behind the tree, for it shook every few moments and he could hear a muffled, humming, rendition of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen".
Vegeta eyed his surroundings in silence, chomping methodically on the cold fried rice, Goku's bad humming in the background. Yamcha and his girlfriend of the moment were kissing on the deck, Chi-Chi was unwrapping Christmas ornaments out of cardboard boxes labeled "Christmas" with masking tape, and Krillin and Master Roshi were discussing martial arts.
Apparently there was a big to-do about a woman fighter who dressed "inappropriately" for tournaments. Krillin opted to agree, but Master Roshi insisted that martial artists be able to, how did he put it? "Express themselves by wearing whatever they felt fit". Vegeta snorted, the old pervert merely wanted to watch her fight in whatever gi she had everyone so worked up about.
It reminded him of one of his father's old councilors. Some women had wanted to compete in a certain annual tournament, however the fights were conducted in the nude, and, well, this particular councilor had rallied that the women be heard and be allowed to compete. Vegeta smiled at the memory…and his father's reaction to the perverted old man's comments. But before he could dwell on it long, Bulma walked in the room, distracting him.
She was wearing that perfume she had bought the other day, and it was the smell that had alerted him to her presence. He couldn't place that smell yet, but it had a comforting, quieting effect on him that was not at all unpleasant. She had well-worn jean's on, a glittery white sweater, and leather clogs on her feet. Dangling silver snowflake earrings adorned her ears, and they kept moving so much it distracted him annoyingly. He made a mental note that they would turn up missing soon, so as they couldn't be worn again.
She was sitting down next to Chi-Chi and helping her unwrap Christmas ornaments. Her fingers moved delicately, unwrapping the family ornaments with care. Vegeta watched her slim fingers slide over the old newspaper as she unrolled it to reveal each ornament.
The large grandfather clock struck it's deep dong-dong, alerting all who could hear that another hour had passed. Vegeta, so intent on watching Bulma's hands, saw her look at her watch and sigh.
"We better get going." She said, referring to herself and Vegeta. It amazed him how quickly she had gotten used to saying we instead of I. "I'm setting up the Christmas tree at home tonight, and it's already nine." She grabbed Chi-Chi's wrist for a moment with intimacy. "I'm sorry we're leaving so early." According to Vegeta, it wasn't early enough, but no one would ask his opinion…but he had to admit to being amused by Goku's antics. Like a hamster running on a wheel he could watch the other Saiyan for hours in amusement.
Bulma got up and Vegeta with her, and she went to the closet in the hall for her coat. She was sliding it on with Vegeta's help just as Yamcha entered from the deck, left hand grasping a slender, feminine one, and snow dusting his hair.
"Bulma, leaving so soon?" Maybe if the Saiyan Prince were anyone else Vegeta would be offended by Yamcha's obvious, and frequent overlooking's of him, however Vegeta didn't care at all, and he was well aware of the fact that Yamcha only had eyes for Bulma. Even now, with her married he still did, and though it was obvious, Vegeta would have been able to tell even if it wasn't. No, Vegeta was not a fool.
"Yes, I am." She said with a smile, straightening her coat. "I have a tree of my own at home I have to decorate, and well, it looks like I'm already going to have a late night at that."
"Well, I'm sure you'll have help." Yamcha said to her, talking about Vegeta. But there was a hint of mock in it as if he and she both knew Vegeta wouldn't help. She seemed to miss it, but Vegeta didn't. He and Yamcha looked at each other for a moment, and, after clearing his throat and breaking away from the Prince's gaze, he said, "You'll be missed." She didn't say anything but nodded to everyone in a goodbye, and left out the door with Vegeta.
Both of them comfortable in the car, the radio played Christmas music softly in the background. He could hear her breathing, and her gloved hands slid across the steering wheel as she drove.
"Do you miss him?" Vegeta asked simply. It was said in the most casual of ways, but the tone was deceptive for it was a very serious question.
"Yamcha?" She returned, and he nodded. She raised her brow and looked at him. "No, why would you ask that?" She shot back defensively.
"It was a simple question." He said in his own defense. "I was just wondering." Several moments passed in silence as the radio station turned on a new Christmas song. It now played "Happy Holiday's" merrily in the background, though a much more serious tone was the mood inside the vehicle.
"You were lover's," He said when the silence became prolonged. "you never miss being in his company?" She shook her head, the whole conversation turning more comfortable, yet still just as serious.
"No, I don't miss him. Sometimes…" She drew it out, deciding not to finish; however Vegeta had other plans. He raised a brow at her, beckoning her to continue, which she did after swallowing. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened had you and I never married…or if I had never even met you at all." He nodded. "However," She continued, her voice raising in volume, her words ringing with more conviction. "I never would want it any different than it is now—"
"Even without a child?" He interrupted, and his words made her stop and think. She did so, for several moments, but his gaze on her never faltered. He continued to watch her intently, and then she nodded, a bit reluctantly, as if unsure, but the nod deepened in confidence and vigor.
"Even so." "Happy Holiday's" changed to "White Christmas" as the silence lingered, but their thoughts never drifted as most do when silence ensues. Both thought intently on the subject, each pondering their own versions.
"Did you ever," She began, her voice croaking a bit, as if she was unsure her voice would even speak. "have a lover?" She drew out quietly. Though her head never rotated towards him but stayed straight ahead, she watched him through the corner of her eye in thundering silence.
She took a deep breath, awaiting his reply…
"No, I was too busy for that." He said in a business-like tone.
-
Vegeta rolled over in bed as the clock's glowing indigo numbers read a time both too late and too early for decency. With a forearm to his brow he sighed as Bulma breathed softly and steadily, for their conversation had not left her awake thinking.
But Vegeta was awake thinking, or, more to the truth his mind played over and over their conversation in the car just hours before. Over and over he heard his and his wife's words, and he wondered what it was that bothered him, for he couldn't place it.
Perhaps it was that she had ever even thought of the 'what if?' when it came to meeting him, falling in love with him, and marrying him. Perhaps that she even thought of life without him caused him pain.
Perhaps it was a thought that had materialized in his mind, the thought that if Bulma had married Yamcha, that perhaps now she would have a child. That perhaps Yamcha would have given her what she wanted that Vegeta had denied her. Perhaps it was the thought of her realizing that very same thing, that if she had married Yamcha, she would have a child by now. Now, in Vegeta's mind, the thought of Bulma knowing this and regretting her choice of men sent an unpleasant jolt to his stomach that he wanted to make obsolete.
Perhaps it was her very strange question indeed, the question of if he had ever loved before, that had made him an insomniac for the moment. Why was it that Bulma always wanted to know so much about his past? Why was it that whenever the subject arose she seemed so desperate to know events and people from a past he'd just as soon forget? Did she even realize he wanted to forget it? Of course she did! She had to…
Vegeta rolled over onto his side, frustrated.
Just perhaps it was everything put together that made him lie awake, staring desperately at the window that now shone with the faintest light of the coming dawn, telling him soon enough he could arise and find some amusement to take his mind off of things…everything.
-
Birds chirped outside the window, basking in the fresh morning light. Everything outside glistened wet thanks to the shower received the night before, and flowers began unfurling their colorful petals, ready for some sunshine to warm them.
Bulma blinked her eyes awake and grinned at the glorious spring sight. Tossing the covers back from her yellow nightgown-clad body she arose from bed, brushing a hand through her tousled cerulean hair as she stepped into the bathroom.
Minutes later a well-groomed Bulma appeared, her hair done up, her makeup complete, only to disappear into the walk in closet for several minutes too. However, the visit was not in vain, for she appeared again dressed in a white, just below the knee, a-line skirt, a blue cardigan set, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, along with white slides on her feet.
She dashed down the hall merrily and tipped down the steps, her alert eyes searching for Vegeta. She found him in the living room, reading a magazine.
"Have you had breakfast?" She inquired, one arm grasping the other at the elbow behind her back, her head tilted to the side, a perky brow arched just barely. He nodded just barely and she returned it in thought. "I was thinking about going out for a bit…" She waited for it to register before continuing. "would you like to come with me?" Expecting him to say no, she had already turned and began the walk into the kitchen. Vegeta, always surprising her, did so again.
"Sure," She stopped and turned around. "Where are you going?" He ventured further. She hadn't thought on this. Biting her lip, she thought for a moment before giving him a reply.
"Just out, I thought." He nodded. "It is Easter," She ventured further. "I thought there might be some Easter-y things to do." Daring as much as she could, expecting him to back out after that, she watched him with a lip pinned between her teeth.
"All right." He said simply, and, in a state of shock, Bulma released her lip and managed a surprised smile.
"I'm going to get some breakfast first." She called behind her back as she went into the kitchen, anxious to spend the beautiful Easter day out and about, surprisingly, with Vegeta.
-
Bulma, a small, white paper bag in tow, walked alongside her husband at the park-side court, a pedestrian street lined with little shops right next to the city park.
Her hands clasped behind her back, she trotted along happily, eyes darting here, there, and everywhere as her feet made clip-clip noses on the cobblestone street. Vegeta walked silently beside her, arms folded, his eyes taking in everything, yet in a less darting manner.
Easter craft booths, face-painting booths, egg-dying tables, and everything of the like were set up all over the place, and Easter decorations collaged everything in sight. People in costumes, balloon sellers, stiltsmen and the like walked around spreading joy and delight, and children ran here and there, their poor mothers chasing after them, dyed eggs and crafts from the booths filling their arms.
Bulma sighed at the sight. Could she go nowhere without being reminded? Reminded of what she couldn't have? She cast her eyes downward and kept walking, her tiny white paper bag tapping her on the bottom with each step, the hands that held it clasped right behind.
With a few more paces the park-side court was behind them, and their feet now walked on a sidewalk in the park. Bulma racked her brain for a stab at conversation, but found nothing to stay and decided to remain silent. Conversation was never necessary with Vegeta, and it was something she had grown quite grateful for.
She imagined Chi-Chi and Goku were the same, that all married couples became so comfortable together that words weren't necessary, that charm and grace weren't needed, and understanding became present in all things.
As she, just barely, started walking to the right when a fork in the walkway became present, Vegeta noticed and walked in a way to accommodate, another testimony of how, when married, words were never necessary to speak.
"You like this holiday, Easter?" Vegeta said in the most casual of tones, barely flicking his eyes to her for a brief moment. He had never become fond of holidays. They didn't have them on Vejita-sei, only birthday's or formal occasions, and she imagined it would be rather sad never anticipating Christmas or getting ready for Halloween or Valentine's Day, never cooking for Thanksgiving.
"Yes, I do. I've always loved it." She said with a reminiscent smile. "It…it's always been a reminder of Spring to me, how lovely Spring is." She looked at him, sending her smile. "What were the seasons like on Veji—"
"Spring is nice." He commented, and she turned her question into silence. "It's always so…"
"Fresh?" She suggested, and he nodded with the faintest hint of a smile. "Yes, I've always thought of it like that. Let's sit down." She suggested, nodding to a bench. He followed her to it and after she brushed off some of the water from the rain with her hand they sat down.
"I've been dying to eat these." She opened her white bag and retrieved from it several chocolates. "Hazelnut truffles." She said with reverence. "They are so good." She said, more to herself than anyone else.
She bit into it slowly, and from the moment it touched her lips she showed pure satisfaction and delight in it. She had taken the smallest of bites from it, and she savored it slowly.
"What would I do without chocolate?" She added, taking another bite. After several of these she finished one of the truffles, she herself leaving no room for any doubt about whether she had enjoyed the confection or not.
"Are you sure you don't want one?" She asked, holding one of the chocolates up. She raised a brow, the rainy day breeze kicking up several strands of hair around her face as she looked at him. She shot him a smile. "They're really good." She added for emphasis, and finally he gave in with a double nod.
She grinned triumphantly and held it forward to his lips. "You have to take several bites to enjoy it." She explained, and Vegeta wondered how he could manage to take 'several bites' out of the small thing.
He leaned forward reluctantly and she lifted her brows barely just, her lips parted slightly. He bit into it, taking as small a bite as he could manage, then pulled his head back a bit, licking the chocolate off his lips.
She gave a little laugh as she watched the prince lick his lips, then held it forward again, the chocolate melting and leaving its mark on her fingertips. He bit another two thirds out of it, this time she only grinned, and he had to admit it did taste good. With a little smirk and an arched brow she held out the third and final piece for him to take.
She popped it in his mouth and laughed along with a smile and he wiped off some more chocolate with his thumb.
"Well?" She prompted. "Did you like it?" He smiled and nodded like someone who had sworn off something only to do it again. "Well, that's no surprise." She said, raising her fingers and looking at them disapprovingly. She bit her lip for a moment before he reached forward and grasped her wrist lightly.
He pulled it towards him, ultimately pulling the rest of her body a little bit with it, and licked it off of the two fingers she had held the confection in. She smirked somewhat disapprovingly yet not displeased as he licked the remaining chocolate off, flipping her hand gracefully over, palm side up as he licked the very last off.
"You, you're majesty," She said teasingly, retrieving her hand once he had finished. "are a scoundrel." She gave him a look, barely holding back her grin as the first drops of rain spattered upon them.
She quickly wrapped and stashed the remainder of her precious chocolates away and put them in her bag as the rain, in a sudden downpour, began drenching them both. She stuffed the bag into her clutch purse and took Vegeta's hand as they dashed off towards cover.
It was a good several moments before they caught sight of a garden trellis, hardly cover, and caught their breath under its measly protection. For rain still fell upon them, the metal and rose vine barely breaking its fall. There was no one in sight, for either the park was not popular in the Easter noon, or they had been wise enough to know a downpour was inevitable for a sky like it was.
Either way they were alone as they stood under the trellis, both soaked, Bulma's hair falling around her face in stringy wet waves, Vegeta's white, button up shirt now incapable of covering the view of his tight, hard muscles. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he leaned a finger forward under her chin and lifted her face up to meet his, her clutch purse held just barely in her left hand, threatening to fall.
Her drenched hair blew across her face, and he brushed it away almost in an irritated fashion as he caught her lips in a harsh kiss. Her neck stretched backward as he leaned even more forward, and her arms grasped his as his jaw worked against the kiss, his head leaning left and then right.
Her lips pushed hard against his as she brought her head erect, bringing the kiss more delicate, changing it more soft. His jaw pumped in time with hers until the tension released its hold by their lips parting slowly, both of their breath ragged and a little unsteady.
They caught each other's eyes and held the stare, neither tearing their gaze away, both knowing one of them had to give way, to more than the stare…and soon.
-
"This heat's going to kill me pretty soon." Bulma said as she walked into the kitchen, slapping down a bag of ice on the kitchen counter. It's 97 out there, and it was 101 yesterday! She sighed and plopped down at the kitchen table, stray strands of hair falling out of her messy bun around her face.
Vegeta, arms folded, tried to stifle a snort, however his smirk and shaking of the head was not well disguised, and she caught it.
"What?" She snapped at him, but he only shook his head. She gave a "hmph" as she got up and began stuffing the large ice bag in the freezer. "I don't know how I exist day in and day out here at Capsule Corps." She mumbled to herself, gaining a lighter tone. "Everything seems to go so wrong here." She turned and looked at Vegeta.
"What was it like," She asked, looking at him as if…as if she hadn't taken a good look at him in a long time. "living on Vejita-sei?" Vegeta shrugged it off and began a pace to the door. "I'm serious Vegeta, wh—"
"Why do you always ask those kind of questions?" He returned, and the response surprised her. "About my past, my life, everything I'd rather for—" She had almost been well on her way to a good mood, however his snappy response got the better of her.
"Because I want to know!" She said earnestly, with feeling. "I want to know about your life, how you grew up, what you did day in and day out—"
"Why?" She stopped, at a loss for a reply. She blinked, the barest tip of her tongue caught between her teeth, her lips just barely parted.
"Because when you love someone you want to know." She said quietly. His body, which seemed prone to dart for the door relaxed and he stood up straighter, his muscles no longer tensed and ready for movement in a split second.
"Because," She continued, gaining volume. "when you love someone, care for someone, you want to understand where they come from. You want to understand their mind frame, what events in their life shaped the person you've come to love, what choices have changed their views, what things occurred to make them make certain choices." His eyes, though always intense, gained a deeper intensity than one could think possible. His eyes saw more than her expression, her determined jaw and stubborn eyes, the concentrating smirk and curious brow.
It was one of those moments when Vegeta understood Bulma better. One of those gripping moments when he came to realize he would never know all her secrets. And he also realized that this was what she talked about.
She spoke of wanting to understand someone you love, and though he had never realized it, he wanted to understand Bulma. He loved these moments so much because he understood her better. He longed for these moments because it brought him closer to the strong woman he knew he'd never be able to reveal to himself completely.
She was right, to love someone was to desire to know them better, to know them more than anyone, to understand them completely, to know the events that cause a certain decision to be made, what tragedy caused the deepest emotions to stir within them.
Bulma, standing there, strong and proud, determined and stubborn, had proved her point very well, and Vegeta wanted to know so much at that very moment…wanted to know so much he just might be willing to share several things about himself in return for her willingness to tell.
-
"Have you not ever thought of him since?" She asked, looking at him intently. Vegeta sighed, his arms resting on his knees, his one hand clasped at the wrist by his other. They both sat on the deck's steps, taking turns, one telling, one listening.
"In the back of my mind sometimes, but never really until now." Vegeta, who had finished his turn of telling, realized with an intensity that he had many memories long forgotten that wanted to bring themselves to the surface once again.
Bulma sighed, blowing a stray strand of hair from her face, her forehead and the apples of her cheeks dotted lightly with sweat from the afternoon heat. It had been a strange turn of events that had brought them both out here to talk just after their conversation in the kitchen. She wondered what had wrought such a change of attitude in him, that he had wanted to talk, of all things their pasts, stories of days long gone.
"What happened to him?" She questioned in a delicate voice as he sat silent, reminiscing in his mind. He sighed, staring into the distance, then blinked and licked his lips before turning to her.
"What happened to all the Saiyan's?" He said merely. Bulma, her arms wrapped around her legs, leant her cheek on her knees. "It was a strange fate that saved Goku and I from the death that conquered our proud race. It is an even stranger fate that we two, of all of the Saiyan's, were the two chosen to survive."
"Everything has its purpose." She returned quietly. He nodded, just barely, then looked down mournfully.
"And I will be alive to see the Saiyan race truly die out then," He leant his head on a fist. "It is ironic, though, to see a race at its height of power, only to later see it at its worst. And," he added in an even sadder tone. "to know you are the leader of this race."
"The demi-Saiyan are very powerful, Vegeta. Perhaps the purpose of your surviving the fate of your kind was so that you could begin a new race…one even stronger than the one before. Perhaps the prince survived in order to lead a new, stronger race.
"Perhaps, Vegeta, this is the purpose of this 'strange fate' you speak of." Vegeta turned his head and caught her eye, but the expression he held she could not tell, and he stood and left in silence before she could even guess.
-
"Oh, I don't know, Chi-Chi." Bulma had never been one to confide in Chi-Chi Son, however, when the woman appeared one night in September asking for some company—Goku was off somewhere and Gohan had decided to spend the night at a friends—Bulma didn't hesitate.
"It's not that I don't know his hesitation…it's just that I don't understand it." Now, doing the dishes at the sink, Bulma caved in and vented her current frustrations to her as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn pan that had held vegetable lasagna for the evening's dinner.
"I think are many things we'll never understand about Vegeta." Chi-Chi said, her eyes cast down thoughtfully. "Even you." She added. Bulma turned around as she dried her final dish and looked at Chi-Chi, her hands wiping at the glass pan with a blue and white plaid dishtowel.
A knock came to the door, and with an almost silent, "I'll be right back", she sat down the dish and towel and disappeared into the foyer. She twisted her fingers around the handle, and switching the lock with her other hand she pulled the door open. Surprisingly, Yamcha greeted her with a smile, and after a curious look from Bulma he greeted her with an explanation.
"Hey there," He grinned. "I was just coming by for the—" The confusion gone from her face it was Bulma's turn to smile.
"Oh! Oh, yes, come in, Yamcha." She interrupted. "Let me go get it." She turned to the kitchen door and yelled, "Chi-Chi, I'll be back in just a few minutes!" before walking into the living room, Yamcha following behind.
"It'll take just a little bit, I have to upload something into the file—but it shouldn't take too long. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, I'll bring it up." With that she disappeared down the hall, and he could hear her footsteps going down into the lab area by the stairway.
Hand in his pockets, Yamcha looked around the living room, trying to find something to amuse himself as he waited for her to, what was it again? Download? Upload? Yeah, upload something.
He had no head for scientific things and computer-related things. And why does he need it? When Bulma, and Capsule Corporations, was so close? His eyes darted around, still attempting to find something amusing, and stopped at the sliding glass door leading to the deck. He could see someone out there in the almost dark evening, reading.
Vegeta.
He grinned. Yes, he had found something to amuse himself. He trotted over to the glass door and stepped outside, the door giving the softest of clicks as he walked towards Vegeta, but not quite. He stopped at the railing just to the left of the Saiyan Prince and began a thorough investigation of the pleasantly cool night.
Vegeta didn't even look up. He stayed just as he was, sitting in a lawn chair, feet propped up on the table, reading. Yamcha smirked to himself, and decided to make his presence known—even though he knew full well that Vegeta already knew he was there.
"Hey, Vegeta." He greeted cheerfully, and the Saiyan Prince flicked his eyes up for a brief moment, looking Yamcha over, before returning his gaze to his read in silence. "Nice night." Yamcha pointed out, and Vegeta flicked his head in a single nod. "Why do you hate me?" Yamcha asked, not losing any cheer, as if he just asked a simple answer that required a simple response.
"Why do you dislike me?" Vegeta returned in a matter-of-fact tone. "And I don't dislike you, I merely have better things to do with my time than waste it towards you." he said, still in a matter-of-fact tone. Yamcha smirked; he had to give him a ten on honesty at least. And, for some reason, the comment didn't sting, didn't make him mad, just told him the truth, which Yamcha appreciated.
"So, Vegeta, what do you do all day?" He asked after several moments of silence, sitting down on the deck steps, letting his arms fall slack to rest on his thighs. "Don't you get bored? I mean, you can't honestly train all day, I know you don't, and how droll would it be anyway." He continued in a roguish, Yamcha-esque voice. "I've noticed you read a lot, but I'd never imagine you the reading kind. Apparently you've proved me wrong." Vegeta continued to stare at his book, though he did not read as it appeared.
"Have you taken up bonsai trees?" Yamcha chuckled at his own joke. Vegeta didn't even blink. "I'm talking man-to-man here now, I honestly want to know what you do to break up to monotony of Capsule Corporations day in and day out. You aren't into crafts, knitting and the like, you haven't picked up quilting or sewing, scrapbooking is probably something you could care less about…" He chuckled again. "So you read, eh?" He finished with.
Vegeta looked up from his book and looked at him. "So training and reading." Yamcha concluded. "No crafts to waste your time on and no kids scurrying around to annoy you." He looked at Vegeta. "Or, at least not yet." Vegeta looked at him in silence, his face void of emotion.
"Not the type to want little pitter-patter's of little feet around the house?" He stood up and stretched his neck casually by leaning it side to side. Vegeta looked at him, a brow raised only just, a look of curiosity on his face.
"You and Bulma have been married long enough to merit a child, perhaps two if you worked fast enough…so you aren't the fatherly type?" Vegeta's brow lowered and he leaned an arm on his knee, looking at Yamcha expectantly.
"Bulma's the motherly type…or, at least now she should be. I imagine she's leaning towards a craving to have little feet scampering around the house by now." Vegeta furrowed his brows as small as possible, awaiting Yamcha's next words.
"So it's just you who doesn't want a little someone…or," He looked at Vegeta. "is it not that kind of relationship?" He now gave Vegeta an understanding look. "Has Bulma never shared her bed?" He smiled. Vegeta shot him a glare, but before he could speak Bulma slid the door opened and appeared, handing Yamcha something in the form of a little metal box with buttons over the front, and a small, slender screen.
"Thanks so much, Bulma." He turned and nodded to Vegeta. "I suppose I'll be catching up with you two later." And with that he popped into the house and let himself out the front door.
Bulma scratched her nose casually, never knowing what had passed outside while she had been preparing Yamcha's gigabox. She never would find out, at least not from Vegeta.
-
September gave way to October and then to November. It was a blustery, stormy, drenched morning outside as Bulma stood in her bathroom, in front of the mirror, acting out the same routine.
Her face now shone dewy from being washed, her hair dripping water on a body that was wrapped in a lavender terrycloth robe cinched tight around a barbie-worthy waist.
She spit into the sink and rinsed out her toothbrush, stowing it in a drawer before filling a glass with water and retrieving a bottle of prescription pills from the medicine cabinet. She unscrewed the cap with practice and shook out a pill…but stopped.
Her eyes looked over the pink pill with cursive lettering spelling out a brand name across its front. She didn't want to take it. She hadn't wanted to take it for a long time, and her heart ached at the thought, however this was the first time she'd really looked it over, the first time she had stopped and truly thought of the concept.
She wished she had the courage to just stop, to just deceive him for now and pay the price later…but she didn't, and a salty tear slid down her cheek as she swallowed it with difficulty, but swallowed it nonetheless.
-
Vegeta walked into the house, rain pelting him on the back as he closed the door, and shrugged off his jacket as he made his way into the living room.
Bulma was sitting at a table strewn with mechanics, tinkering with a screwdriver and her 'project', her tongue pinned between her teeth, her brows knitted in the center. Her hair was pulled into a rubber band, and on her head sat a backwards baseball cap bearing the word capsule.
Vegeta had grown used to seeing the word branded on every single item in the house, and had somewhere along the line begun to protest wearing anything branded as well, much to Bulma's annoyance—"But everything we own has that word on it! Why are you so stubborn?" She, apparently, wasn't opposed to being branded, and, apparently, had just grown used to it since, well, birth.
"What are you working on?" His controlled voice sounded to her right as he leaned to look over her shoulder, his chin nearly resting upon it. She didn't answer him for several moments, her face screwed in concentration.
Finally she set her work down and turned to him.
"An advanced walkie-talkie system that's more affordable, but a little more powerful." She seemed to consider. "The old 370's are just to big and heavy…these will be more useful, yes." She smiled at him. "Where have you been?"
"Out." He stated simply, and she shook her head but in a way that showed she wasn't surprised at his answer.
"Mr. Mysterious." She teased, tugging on his shirt hem. He shot her a slight glare that showed he didn't appreciate the humor, but she ignored it and followed him into the kitchen.
She was in a playful mood, he could tell, but he was just to tired to humor her teasing, and made a move to the fridge but merely stood there, with it open, staring glazed-eyed at the contents.
"Sit down." She ordered, giving him a push to the table and chairs. "I'll make you something to eat." She began to retrieve odds and ends in silence, waiting for him to make the first attempt at conversation.
"What have you been doing today?" To her surprise, he did start a conversation. And with words she didn't expect from him. She pursed her lips in thought briefly before answering.
"Just work in the lab. Mostly for the walkie-talkie's. Hopefully I'll have them finished by tonight, so I can work on production tomorrow. I'll need to head into the city." Vegeta sighed. He hated it when Bulma went into the city for things like these.
One, because she would nag for him to come, and two, because if he didn't—he usually didn't—she would end up working late and decide to just spent the night there. And her spending the night there meant he was stuck with the nutter, his cat, and the tea lady.
Bulma began a spiel of technological mumbo-jumbo which he promptly tuned out. He never got most of what she said anyways, even if he didn't let her know that.
Instead, he opted to glance at the laptop on the kitchen table to see what was going on there, and narrowed his eyes at the ?" He interrupted her, and she turned to him and flushed. She flushed further still as he rambled on, reading the webpage aloud. "Over one-million visitors a month. Search our database of over sixty-five hundred names and meanings…Vote on this name, Bayard." He chuckled. "I see you've already voted." The tone of his laughter made Bulma begin to blush, and her eyes darted here, there, and everywhere to avoid his teasing and yet serious words.
"What sort of sentimental rubbish is this, Bulma?" He chuckled, and she blinked at tears that were beginning to form. "Bulma?"
"I wouldn't expect you to understand!" With that she burst from the room, a glass that was in her hand falling to shatter upon the floor, his laughter ringing mercilessly in her ears.
-
Both tended to avoid one another after that. Bulma would slip into bed without a word, and Vegeta would avoid joining her until after she was fast asleep.
Bulma buried herself in her work, becoming nearly obsessive, and Vegeta was prone to disappear sometimes overnight and take to spend the entire afternoon training even harder than usual.
Barely more than small talk—and that when necessary—passed between them, and the void was noticeable and empty.
-
Goku and Vegeta paused their sparring match, their shoulders lifting and falling with their deep breaths.
Goku chuckled, spraying himself with a bright pink water bottle, and Vegeta rolled his eyes.
"What?" Goku asked. "You've been pretty nasty today, Vegeta." He said in an honest, perplexed tone. "What's wrong?" Vegeta snorted. "Troubles with Bulma?" Goku asked, wide-eyed.
A louder snort was the reply, and Goku sat back knowingly.
"What did you do?"
"Me?" The saiyajin prince pointed to himself in disbelief. "I didn't do anything."
"Then something it wrong. And you did do something." Vegeta raised his brow. "Chi-Chi says," he began in an instruction-like tone. "if you don't believe you've done anything, then usually you have." Vegeta rolled his eyes at this.
"Well, then what did I do?" Vegeta then mused sarcastically, and Goku turned to his instructional discussion once more.
"She also says, if you don't know what you've done, you don't deserve to know, and then it only confirms you've done something."
"That doesn't make any sense." Vegeta commented, but Goku nodded. "Tsk, not worth my time." He then muttered.
"Vegeta?" Goku, sitting on the grass in the midday sun, looked to his fellow saiyajin and waited for him to nod. "I just think…if you value them enough…then you'd put up with anything." He smiled good-naturedly, looking into the distance.
"Like," He continued. "I'd put up with anything to be with Chi-Chi." Vegeta sighed at his words, gazing into the distance himself.
-
Vegeta sat at the kitchen table, his fingers working on a piece of machinery for his gravity room. He fiddled, setting down pliers to pick up a screwdriver, setting those down to pick up something else.
Bulma stood at the counter, the makings of a meal spread around her. She chopped at some cilantro, picking the damp herbs up in her fingers and tossing them into a pot. She picked up a spoon and stirred the mixture, then check the oven.
All was silent. It rang in Vegeta's ears.
"I'm sorry," Vegeta's ears picked up those words, so deafening compared to the silence that had nearly driven him mad before. Now the silence he dearly missed.
He perked up a brow for her to continue. She didn't even glance back, however she continued as if she could sense his expression in the air.
"I'm sorry for being so stubborn, for making you feel so cornered by all this…" She sighed. "All these things I have been concerned with lately." She dodged saying exactly what it was—saying the word child she feared would tug a suppressed sob from her throat along with it.
By avoiding outright talking about it, or thinking about it, she knew she could keep her emotions, her feelings, suppressed.
She could feel him shrug, and she sighed. She was glad he didn't say or do anything further—not that she had ever thought he might. But she also hadn't expected him to stand and leave without another word, and he did.
"Vegeta?" She turned from her cooking to watch him go, but he didn't turn, or even look as if he heard her, though she knew he did. She sighed and set down at the table, running a hand through her ponytailed hair.
Vegeta finally landed—far away from Capsule Corps. He need to punch something, but he withheld that urge.
It was her silence that had maddened him. Her compliance without further complaint. Never had he known Bulma to be so quiet, so easily defeated. It maddened him, bothered him…
It…
Hurt, somewhere deep inside of him. Like a little dull pain in his chest that left him breathless. He didn't like this feeling. This feeling made him feel weak, made him want to—dare he even think of it? Give in.
Part of him thought of a son. One whom he could train. One that would be his heir. And those thoughts, those visions, filled him with honest pride.
Maybe Bulma was wearing him down. Maybe she was exhausting him to the point of letting her have her way. Perhaps that was merely what it was. He didn't want a son, did he?
And what were the chances it would be a son? He could be stuck with a girl! If he did end up with that end of the stick he'd surely never give Bulma another chance with this child idea.
She'd apologized, she'd basically given everything up, so he could now rest assured he wouldn't have to worry about it. So why was he still thinking about it? Why did jealous images of Goku training Gohan keep tracing themselves across his mind?
He kicked at a rock, sending it dashing down the mountain he now stood on. The sun was setting, and his saiyajin hair ruffled in the breeze.
Maybe it was worth a try. Maybe just one try. If it turned disastrous he'd make sure the bawling brat never got under his feet. He'd have Bulma keep it out of his way. He could train him when he got old enough. He'd have a son to pass his title to…
Was he even entertaining this thought.
He was.
And he couldn't believe it.
But, really, as he stood on the side of the mountain, the setting sun splaying brilliant light over him, he thought it just might be worth a try.
He just might—just might—be able to do it…