I want to thank Lhia for being the only person to comment, and a lovely comment it was too. So, a ginormously huge and big shout out to Lhia! : )
"All At Once" by Jack Johnson was the inspiration for this chapter. You will find the lyrics below the story.
Anywho, enjoy!
"All At Once"
As soon as the sun's first rays trailed their fingers upon the angular contours of Vegeta's face, his eyes blinked open. Glancing over at Bulma, he smirked when he saw her face covered with a mass of wavy blue hair and an arm dangling over the side of her bed.
Walking to the window, Vegeta stepped out into the dawn air. With a frown, he remembered he would not be able to train in the gravity chamber. He changed his course, then, to the kitchen. His stomach gave a joyful growl of approval. Maybe the woman's father could fix the machine.
Entering the kitchen, Vegeta found (to his immense relief) the inane blonde woman was nowhere to be seen, but that breakfast was waiting on the stove. Bulma's father sat at the table, sipping his cup of steaming coffee and reading the paper.
"Hello there, Vegeta," he said amiably upon noticing his entrance. "Hungry? Oh…ha ha." He chuckled in amusement. "Of course you are, m'boy! Help yourself."
Vegeta did just that. Armed with a plate stacked high with fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, and a mountain of toast in one hand and another covered with fruits of all kinds in the other, Vegeta sat opposite Dr. Briefs. Once he had neatly inhaled his food, he cleared his throat and addressed the old man.
"Are you capable of repairing the gravity chamber?" he asked roughly.
Dr. Briefs peered over his paper at the impatient Vegeta. "Well…I suppose I could," he replied slowly. "I thought Bulma usually took care of that sort of thing, though."
"The woman is still in bed, but I need to train now," said Vegeta, hoping the old man would not pester him with anymore of his idiotic questions. Of course, he did.
"Oh really? Still in bed you say?" he said with a befuddled look. "How odd. She is usually up before I am. Is she alright?" he asked, concerned, the thought just occurring to the absent-minded man that something could be amiss with his only child.
"Well how the hell should I know?!" Vegeta said angrily. "I do not meddle in the woman's affairs!" To be sure, Vegeta knew what was keeping the woman in bed. But he certainly would not be the one to tell the man what happened last night or why his daughter remained in bed. The woman could enlighten her parents or not. As of now, it was none of his concern.
"Alright, alright. No need for shouting, now, Vegeta," Dr. Briefs said easily. Vegeta felt a vein begin to throb in his forehead.
"Well, are you going to fix the damn machine or sit around here all day?!" Vegeta exclaimed exasperatedly. How these humans tried his patience! Did they delight in finding ways to annoy him? The woman was the only one he could barely tolerate…barely.
Strangely, Dr. Briefs never seemed affected by Vegeta's outbursts. He deliberately took a last swig of his coffee and folded his newspaper neatly before standing up. "Okie dokie, then," he said with a clap of his hands. "I'll just grab some tools, and we'll take a look-see." With that, he shuffled out of the kitchen, humming his favourite Beatles tune. It was going to be a long day for Vegeta.
Bulma awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. Reminding herself she was safe in her own bed, she forced her body to obey her and relax. Groaning as the brilliant sun slanted into her eyes, Bulma wondered briefly what time it was. Swinging her legs out of their cocoon of warmth, she read 3:00 as she passed the clock on her way to the bathroom.
She shivered when she caught her reflection in the mirror—eyes red and puffy, hair an ungodly mess, and still in her scuffed clothing from last night.
Last night... No! No, she would not think about it. Bulma knew all about denial, repression, and psychology in general. She knew what she was doing was unhealthy. But, damn it, she just wanted to take her shower in relative peace. She would deal with the trauma later. Besides, it was a terribly near thing, but no permanent damage was done. She had Vegeta to thank for that. Mind set determinedly now on the more pleasant and intriguing subject of the Sayian prince, Bulma turned on the shower.
Shedding her soiled clothing, she threw them in the waste bin. She doubted she would ever have the urge to wear them again. Seeing steam begin to journey its way up from the shower, Bulma slid back the door and stepped under the blissfully hot stream.
After a leisurely shower and freshening up, Bulma felt herself in higher spirits. Emerging from the steamy bathroom, she opened her closet to find something to wear and settled on dark green cargo pants and a plain white t-shirt. Enjoying the cool sensation of her damp hair on her neck, Bulma decided to leave her hair down to air dry rather than tying it back like usual.
Walking thoughtfully over to the now desolate armchair, Bulma ran a delicate hand across the top. She smiled, remembering what Vegeta had said the night before. "Hm. I doubt it possible for anything to make you 'soft,' Vegeta," she said to herself. But, then, he had stayed with her—very unVegeta-like behaviour. Sighing, Bulma found she could smell him—a mix of warm spices, sweat, and just…manliness—emanating from the chair.
Bulma blushed. How ridiculous she must look, sniffing an armchair! And yet, Bulma found that thinking of Vegeta was one of the only things keeping her sane at the moment.
Suddenly, her stomach gave a tremendous, plaintively hungry protest. "Well, goodness!" she said, laughing and placing a hand placatingly on her stomach. "Food it is!"
Descending the stairs, Bulma was surprised to hear the distant, familiar rumblings of the gravity chamber. "Huh. That's odd," she said with a raise of her eyebrows.
Entering the kitchen, Bulma's mother glanced up from her furious sandwich making. "Oh, Bulma! There you are! We thought you'd sleep the whole day away," she began prattling. Bulma groaned inwardly. She was not in the mood for a long chat with her mother.
"Your father was worried about you, dear, but I told him, I said, 'Darling, she's a grown woman. She can sleep all day if she chooses. Besides, she was out late last night with Yamcha.' Well, you know your father. He just frowned and went on with fixing that gizmo out there with Vegeta. I thought I'd make those boys a snack since they've been working so hard all afternoon. You know how they love my sandwiches!" she said, giggling.
"So, Bulma, dear, aren't you going to tell me about your date? Did Yamcha just love that gown we picked out? Goodness, what does a woman have to do for details? Oh—honey, are you alright? You look a little pale," Mrs. Briefs said with a frown.
At her innocent mentioning of Yamcha, Bulma felt her face fall and had to fight a wave of anger. "Yeah, Mom. I'm fine," she answered dully. "I am famished, though. Can you spare a sandwich?"
"Well, of course, Bulma. Here," she said, pushing the plate piled high with scrumptious looking sandwiches in Bulma's direction. "Help yourself." Bulma grabbed two eagerly and began eating.
Turning back around from her sandwich making, Mrs. Briefs gasped. "Oh yes! Goodness me, I almost forgot! Yamcha phoned here not but an hour ago. He sounded a bit upset and asked if I wouldn't please tell you to call as soon as you were available. I hope everything is alright between you two."
Looking up from her sandwich, Bulma glared angrily at the phone on the wall, as if it were the offending piece of technology's doings that the prick had chosen to use its services. "Ugh! The nerve of that bastard! He can call all he wants. It won't change a damn thing," she said bitterly, taking a ferocious bite out of her innocent sandwich.
"Oh dear, did you two have a fight?" she asked. "Well, I still think you should give the poor boy a call. I mean, it couldn't have been that bad, right?" she said obliviously.
Bulma fixed her mother with a level gaze. "Mom, that 'poor boy' cheated on me. Needless to say, we are through," she revealed.
"Oh no, honey! That's terrible! And here I thought he was such a nice boy!" she exclaimed, looking perturbed.
Bulma felt comforted by her mother's sincere words. She hated breaking news such as this to her. Mrs. Briefs's trusting naïveté was what made her so endearing to her daughter. Sure, she was a horrendous gossip and a meddler, but her complete faith in the inherent goodness of others more than compensated for those natural, motherly tendencies.
Changing the subject, Bulma exclaimed how delicious her mother's sandwiches were when she finished her own two and sneaked a third from the plate. It was true. Her mother was an exquisite cook, something Bulma, unfortunately, did not inherit.
Give her the most convoluted physics theory, and she could explain in such a way that even a five-year-old could understand and feel like an Einstein. Hand her a simple, follow-the-instructions recipe for spaghetti and meatballs, and, well…disaster ensued.
"No problem, honey," she said with a dismissive wave of her perfectly manicured hand. "Bulma, be a dear and take this out to those boys, won't you?" she asked, holding the tray of sandwiches and two glasses of iced tea.
"Sure, Mom," Bulma said, feigning untroubled felicity. In fact, she was nervous about seeing Vegeta so soon. Her mom handed her the platter with a smile and opened the door leading out into the brilliant afternoon sun.
Vegeta winced as he heard the blonde woman idiotically "yoo-hooing" to "her handsome boys." Grimacing, he threw another volley of precise, powerful punches at an invisible foe. He had moved his training to the well-manicured lawn of Capsule Corp. while the old man tinkered with the gravity chamber. He actually found himself enjoying the change of scenery. The sun felt splendid on his bare skin.
"Bulma, sweetiepie, are you feeling alright?" Dr. Briefs asked with fatherly concern when he saw his daughter with the platter of food.
"Oh yeah, Dad. I'm fine. Long night, s'all," Bulma replied, giving her dad a warm smile.
"Well, as long as that's all, dear," he said, sensing there was more his daughter was not revealing. He was notorious for being absent-minded, but he did spend an awful lot of time with his daughter and could read her moods fairly well. Or, as well as any man can read the moods of a woman.
Bulma knew her father was extending an invitation for her to speak to him and felt a surge of affection for him for the unspoken offering.
"Everything is fine, Dad. Promise." She tried to assure him. "Well," she said, changing the subject, something it seemed she would be doing a good deal of today. "I see you eyeing these sandwiches, Dad. And no…I did not make them." She laughed at his relieved expression. "Call Vegeta over, ok? Mom wanted her 'boys' to have a snack." Bulma smiled, setting the tray of food and drinks down on her father's table of tools.
"Hey, Vegeta! Come have a snack, I know you must be hungry from all the training you've been doing!" Dr. Briefs called out. Of course, at the mention of food, Vegeta's stomach gave a hopeful growl. Relenting, Vegeta dropped his stance and stalked over to the food. His stomach gave another, this time appreciative, growl.
Bulma was hard-pressed not to stare as Vegeta came scowling over. He wore only a pair of training shorts and tennis shoes. His bare, chiseled chest gleaming under a sheen of sweat from his exertions. Feeling her cheeks colour, Bulma turned to her dad to discuss the gravity chamber specifics.
Vegeta took in the woman's appearance as he approached. With her hair shining fiercely under the sun's attentions and swaying gently in the light breeze, a hint of pink gracing her cheeks, she looked decidedly better than last night. But what did he care? He didn't. He did not care one stinking whit about the idiotic woman's appearance, and that was final.
He had only spent the entire day fighting off her image from his mind's eye, detracting more from his training than the absence of the gravity chamber. Vegeta had just found his concentration when the object of his distraction came out baring food. Pointedly setting aside these thoughts, he downed the tea and began consuming the rest of the sandwiches, grateful the woman's mother had made them and not her. It was preternatural how obscenely awful the woman was at cooking a simple meal.
Vegeta glanced up as Bulma and her father walked back from the gravity chamber, still speaking the language of technical geniuses. "Well, you know, I believe if we install one of those new hydrogen-combustion cells," Bulma was saying, wearing her I'm-concentrating-on-solving-all-the-world's-problems face.
"Oh yes! The one Pondicherry Technologies just unveiled?" Dr. Briefs interjected.
"Yes, that one. If we install that, it should supply a much more efficient power to the chamber, preventing it from short-circuiting like it has been lately."
"Oh, I do agree. I don't know why I didn't think of that. But, isn't Pondicherry Technologies—" Dr. Briefs stopped mid-sentence. "Bulma, what is that?" he asked sharply, making her jump and even Vegeta look up from his sandwich.
The wind had picked up Bulma's hair, tossing it into her face. She naturally raised a hand to hold back the wayward tresses, but revealed a purpling bruise on the underside of her arm in the process.
"What's what, Dad?" she asked, perplexed by his unusually harsh tone. The concerned look on her dad's face as he pointed to her arm giving her a sense of dread, bubbling all her poorly buried jumble of emotions to the surface. Bulma twisted her arm around and caught sight of the ugly bruise, confirmation of her fears.
"Oh. Hm. I dunno, Dad. I guess I…ran into something. You know how clumsy I am," she said, laughing nervously. When her dad shot her a disbelieving glance, she gave him a confused smile. "Geez, Dad. It's no big deal. It's just a little bruise." She shrugged, trying to pull off an unaffected look and not exactly succeeding.
Dr. Briefs picked up one of the remaining sandwiches and said, "Well, try to be more careful, ok, sugarplum?"
"Yeah, Dad," Bulma said briskly, turning around to hide the tears standing in her eyes. Quickly she ran through doubles: one, two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, and on until she could no longer keep the numbers straight in her head, around 268435456 she began to waver. It was her magic technique. Her eyes were completely dry.
Vegeta felt uncomfortable watching this pathetic scene. So the woman did not plan on telling her parents. No big surprise there. Though, he did note that the old man was more observant of his daughter than he had previously assumed.
"Well, Vegeta, you're in luck." Dr. Briefs interrupted his musings.
"I doubt that," he said out of the corner of his mouth.
"What was that?" Dr. Briefs asked, looking confused. Bulma tittered beside him.
"Nothing. You were saying?" Vegeta said roughly, a faint hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks, surprised to hear the woman's quiet laughter.
"Oh, yes. The gravity chamber is fully operational now,"
"Good," he said, pleased that he would be able to train properly once more.
"Well, I'm going to head back inside," Bulma announced. "I'll be keeping Mom company if you need me, Dad."
"I think we can manage in the lab without you for today, babe. Just take it easy, alright?" he replied.
Bulma gathered the snack things up and walked towards the kitchen door. Passing Vegeta, she gave him a half smile. He scowled in return. Preoccupied with wondering what Vegeta's face would look like graced with a real smile for once, Bulma promptly tripped over the air. She gave an involuntary squeak as she felt herself tumbling to the ground, platter and all.
Like lightning, a band of steel shot around her stomach, halting her fall while the other easily caught the platter.
"You didn't lie completely, woman," came Vegeta's quiet, raspy voice in her ear. "You are clumsy."
Bulma blushed furiously, very embarrassed. Although, she had no qualms with Vegeta's muscled arm 'round her abdomen or his voice, which sent shivers racing down her spine.
Oh, good grief! He saved her, yes. Now she's what? Madly in love? No, more like madly in lust.
Straightening, Bulma said, "Thanks, Vegeta," with a roll of her eyes. He smirked in reply. Taking the tray from his hands, she turned back to the door with a sassy flip of her hair.
"Watch out for those invisible cracks and rocks, woman. I hear they are quite dangerous," Vegeta called out to her retreating form.
Bulma did not even need to turn around. She could practically hear the smirk in his tease. "Big jerk!" she shot back over her shoulder playfully.
Vegeta's smirk widened when he heard this. That was the woman he was used to. With a shake of his head and a frown, he entered the chamber, preparing for an intense training session.
The next few days passed without incident. Bulma returned to the lab the next day and finally convinced her father that everything was perfectly fine. The bruises on her arms were beginning to fade. She hardly saw Vegeta, who seemed to spend every waking moment in the gravity chamber, making up for lost time, Bulma surmised.
Bulma wondered over the Sayian Prince. When he had first come to the compound, she thought him the most arrogant, selfish bastard. And, well, she supposed he still was, but his actions the past few days begged a reconsideration. He acted more decent towards her, almost like he were concerned about her. But that is absurd, no? Vegeta concerned about her? Not a chance. All he cared about was becoming the Legendary and beating the hell out of Goku.
Whether he was or was not concerned for her, Bulma could not deny that she had grown attached to him. Indeed, it seemed her affections grew stronger each day, no matter how hard she fought against them. The Incident made her realize there was so much more to him than she knew or that he would ever reveal.
A chill breeze drafted in though the open window, stirring Bulma's nightgown, making it drift about her legs like ghostly white fingers. She shivered a little as she stood by the window, gazing up at the beautiful night sky, still thinking about the enigma that was Vegeta.
Bulma knew he had spent almost his entire life under Frieza's tyrannical thumb. She had also heard from some of the gang what had transpired between him and Goku before his death. What kind of strength he must possess to bear that torture, Bulma could not conceive. He was the product of his Sayian heritage, an unimaginable childhood, and a monster—not his own creation, like a person should be. That he was sane, even somewhat sociable, spoke volumes for his mental fortitude. Yet, she undoubtedly knew it had forever changed him—how could it not? She wondered, though, if the change was to his core, if it were possible to break down those impenetrable safety walls and see the real man that lie hidden behind them.
It was possible. She knew it. Somehow, she knew it with an unshakable certainty. But it would have to happen another day, she thought with a sad smile. Bulma was too tired tonight. Padding over to her bed, she pulled the covers back and slipped under them. Snuggling deeper into her comforter, she fell asleep peacefully.
Large, meaty hands held her immobile, pinning her arms behind her. All around her was a darkness so thick and rancid, it was almost palpable. Panic seized her heart, froze any possible movements. God, not again! she thought. She tried to scream, but her vocal cords betrayed her in their paralysis. She was totally helpless. The hands tightened their grip painfully, gritty fingernails biting into her skin. Bulma felt hot breath in her ear. However, this time, she could not turn her head away in disgust.
"Mmm, Missy. We missed you," came the terribly familiar voice. The man's hideous face materialized out of the inky blackness. He gave a feral grin. "Care to play along this time?" he questioned.
After tremendous effort, Bulma choked out, "You're dead, damn it You are both dead!!"
Immediately, his hands were around her throat, squeezing mercilessly. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she tried to breathe in. A deranged look plastered on his features, he leered. "We'll see who's dead soon enough, Missy." He leaned in close to Bulma's reddening face. "Then I'll still have my fun." He winked.
Oh God, oh God…She could not breathe. Bulma's lungs ached for air—air she could not supply them. She could not even fight back. She was losing.
Giving a heroic struggle, she gurgled out a defiant "Fuck you!" before her vision began to fade. All around her, she could hear the man's maniacal laughter ringing, echoing off the darkness and into her ears. All around her there was blackness.
Bulma shot up from her bed, gasping for breath. Something was bunched around her neck, though, keeping her from being free. She began clawing at her comforter, growing more hysterical by the second. "Damn it! Get away! Get off me, get off…" she sobbed, finally disentangling herself and bolting out of the bed.
She backed into the wall and slid down it, hugging her knees to her chest, she cried great heaving sobs. It felt so real. Like it was actually happening again, only worse. She was defenseless, and no one was going to come to save her.
When she felt she possessed no more tears to shed, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Sniffing, she eyed her bed. There was no way she would be able to go back to sleep in it tonight. She decided, then, to go out on her balcony. The cool open air would be nice. Her bedchamber still felt suffocatingly claustrophobic.
Sitting on a chair next to the railing with a sigh, she felt more tears slide their way down her cheeks. Putting a hand to her mouth, Bulma's face contorted in grief. Why? It was not a question she had permitted herself to ask these past days, for she knew there would be no satisfying answer. But, damn it, WHY?
Bulma sniffed. She must look a wreck. Or, as Vegeta would say, "absolutely wretched!" At this, she gave a quiet, watery chuckle.
"What are you laughing about, woman?" Vegeta's voice seemed to come out of nowhere.
Bulma gasped in fright, and upon seeing who it was, growled in anger. "Shit! Damn it, Vegeta!" She cursed, her blue eyes snapping angrily at the Sayian who was hovering beside her balcony rail. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she said, running a hand through her hair.
"I could ask you the same thing," he said, floating over to a chair opposite Bulma. He motioned to her distressed state with a nod of his head and cut his obsidian eyes through the open door into Bulma's room, which was busy proclaiming her situation like a gossiping friend in its disarray.
Bulma felt ashamed. She felt like a child. Studying her toes, wiggling them intently, she said quietly, "I was having a nightmare…about what happened." Her tears formed anew. "But, it was—it was so much worse. It was so dark, and I couldn't move at all…I was defenseless," she whispered, her voice breaking as a small sob bubbled forth.
Vegeta looked at the woman, a scowl marring his features. She was trying so hard to keep her emotions in check. He felt compunction for her, a certain commiseration. He knew what it was to have your freedom stolen from you, to be forced into situations in which you have no control. He knew what it was like to have your last unsullied sanctuary robbed from you, defiled by the leering phantasms of a life before. It was beyond atrocious; it was unforgivable.
Vegeta explained his presence. "I heard a commotion. I was already outside, so I came to investigate. I did not think, though. I did not mean to frighten you."
Was Vegeta actually apologizing? How strange. Bulma cleared her throat. "It's fine, Vegeta." She turned her gaze to the firmament, a few wayward tears still sneaking past her defenses. They sat in a comfortable silence.
Vegeta, hating each tear he saw slipping down the woman's perfect face, wrangled with a foreign feeling (Albeit, any feeling save anger or pride was rather foreign to Vegeta). He felt the need to comfort her. Knitting his brows together, he gathered his thoughts and spoke.
Bulma, slightly in awe that Vegeta was here with her on her balcony, was even more amazed when he began to speak.
"When I was four-years-old, Nappa was given to me to begin my training. The first day, I made the mistake of crying when Nappa knocked me to the ground. I was beaten within an inch of my life and given no regeneration tank." He said, staring at the stars as he related his story without emotion.
Bulma gasped softly. He was so young!
"It was natural, woman," he said in reply to her ignorance. "It was done to produce warriors. I was special, however. Being the prince and believed by all to be the Legendary, they were decidedly more stringent in my training."
Bulma marveled at his lack of emotion in telling her this. But then, had he not just told her that emotion was severely punished? She wondered why he could be telling her this, especially when Vegeta seemed to value his privacy so highly. Of course, she wanted to hear more about the Sayian, but it was confusing nonetheless.
"I remember the pain being so great I could not sleep. My mother came in at some point, and she began to speak to me. She told me of Vegeta's history: its great kings of yore, ancient battles and enemies, of the first Legendary, and how we Sayians evolved into the supreme race we are…were," he corrected almost sadly. "In hearing her voice and listening to my history, my destiny, I soon forgot the pain and fell asleep to the sound of her voice."
It dawned on Bulma gradually what he was doing. He was trying to comfort her in the only way he knew how, the only way he himself had ever been comforted. It was working too, surprisingly. She had stopped crying and was caught in his story, listening with rapt attention.
Stealing a glance at Vegeta, she thought he had never looked more regal. The darkness created deep shadows along his angular face, giving him a dramatic appearance. His dark eyes were trained on the heavens above. He did not wear his usual blue body suit, though it detracted nothing from his figure. His loose-fitting black training pants and black tank showed off his physique quite well.
After a thoughtful pause, he began to speak again, telling her what his own mother must have told him that night, so long ago. The sound of his deep, soothing baritone soon lulled Bulma into a peaceful state. As hard as she fought against it, sleep eventually overtook her.
Vegeta paused and glanced over at the woman. He had heard her breathing fall into the deep, even breaths of the slumbering a while ago, but he wanted to be sure she was fast asleep. Wondering what the hell was possessing him to act this way and fighting the compulsion to just leave her be, Vegeta stood up and went over to the woman. He would place her in her bed, but he was not staying this time, he resolved. Carefully, he gathered her into his arms, marveling at her near weightlessness and the contrast she presented—her alabaster skin almost glowing next to his olive.
Bulma naturally snuggled closer to the warm body now holding her, unconsciously wrapping her arms tightly about Vegeta's neck and giving a small sigh. Looking down at the woman, he could not deny that she was beautiful. She had a nearly flawless body, accentuated by her unique colouring. He thought of the way the woman's eyes flashed mightily when she was angry making her like a small hurricane of fury descending upon the poor soul who tempted her rage. He smirked. She was nigh irresistible.
Bulma became aware of being laid down and felt her covers being spread across her body. Opening her eyes, she saw Vegeta's face, his black, endless eyes gazing into her own. Without much thought, Bulma half raised herself from the bed and slipped a hand around Vegeta's neck. She leaned in close and softly placed her lips against his. Immediately he tense under her touch in surprise, but when she hesitantly deepened the kiss, Vegeta relaxed and kissed her back with more passion that she would ever have dreamed of.
The woman's, slow dreamlike movements caught Vegeta off guard, and when she placed her soft, cloud-like lips upon his own, he found he could not resist. He wrapped his arms around her lithe frame, pressing her nearer to his own heated flesh, tasting her exquisite taste as their tongues danced around each other. He shivered slightly as he felt her move her delicate hands up his back, settling in his hair
Bulma pulled back, ending the sweet torture for them both, her lips swollen from their recent activity. Placing a hand lightly on his smooth cheek, she gazed at him with those glittering blue eyes and whispered huskily, "Thank you, Vegeta." She lay back down onto her pillows and closed her eyes, a smile upon her lips.
"Crazy woman," Vegeta murmured, a little stunned and very turned on. He backed out of her room. Settling on his own balcony, his mind never left the blue-haired woman next door.
"Damn it!" Vegeta cursed as a ki blast slammed into his shoulder, sending the acrid smell of burnt flesh to his sensitive nostrils.
"Shit!" He dodged another blast, which went careening into the shock-absorbent walls of the gravity chamber. His mind was constantly drifting back to the woman or dreaming of a number of possible situations involving her, ruining his focus.
Wholly disgusted with his behaviour, Vegeta had set the gravity chamber to 600x Earth's gravity to give his mind and body more incentive to pay attention. Already, he could tell he had at least three cracked ribs and a variety of burns, cuts, and bruises covered his body. Still, her face would appear before him, beneath him, lips parted, eyes closed in ecstasy….
"Fuck!" Another beam from the training bot singed his shoulder when he dodged just in time. He was only just able to move around in this extreme gravity, the air was thick and shimmering with heat around him.
"I will not carry on in this manner!" he growled. "I have no need for the woman! I am the Prince of all Sayians!" he yelled. "I care for no one!" He poured all his power into himself, feeling it encompass his being. Screaming as it surged through the arteries and sinews of his body; it exploded around him, crackling with an almost cognizant energy.
He could feel the barrier in his mind. He could achieve only so much until he hit that barrier, and no more power would come. He had explored this place once in deep meditation—it was built like a fortress rampart, greedily guarding the seemingly infinite hoard of power that lie behind it. It was enraging! To be so close only to have the power he needed dangled above him like a carrot he could never reach.
How!? How could that blasted moron Kakarot achieve the Legendary, and he could not? The rage fueled his firestorm of energy, raising him up while he stood as the nucleus of the storm, despite the fearsome gravity. There! He could feel a miniscule weakening of the wall. It was minute, but he could feel it!
Suddenly, the control center of the chamber spewed forth a shower of sparks, and the gravity died. His concentration shot from this disturbance, he felt the wall become as solid as it was before, as it had been his whole life. Vegeta felt his firestorm of energy dissipate and sank to his knees.
"NO!" He balled his fists and pounded them into the floor, creating small craters. "I was so close…so close!" he snarled. He looked up murderously at the control center. It had short-circuited again, or so he thought. Vegeta used all his control not to blast the thing to dust in his rage.
His face set in a scowl of outrageous proportions, he stomped out of the gravity chamber. He would find the woman and make her do whatever it took to fix this damn contraption once and for all!
He stomped through the house, calling for the woman impatiently. Where the hell was she? She's everywhere when he doesn't want her, but now it's as if she vanished. He finally heard a racket coming from her lab, a building set apart from the main house in the backyard. Stalking over, he opened the door and was blasted with the most hideous sound he had ever been so unfortunate as to hear.
The woman had her sound system cranked up almost all the way and was singing along with the hated music.
"Yesterday you'd forgiven me, but it'll still be two day's 'till I say I'm sorry!" the music blared. Bulma was standing in front of a large table with an engine-looking thing in front of her. She was wearing a grey mechanic's jumpsuit, her hair in a messy bun, and dancing to the music.
"Woman!" Vegeta yelled.
Bulma did not hear. She was still singing along with the music. "I like the sushi 'cause it's never touched a frying pan. Hot like wasabi when I bust rhymes, big like Leann Rimes, because I'm all about value…" The singing was too fast for her at this point, so she just laughed and yelled out her favourite line, "I like vanilla—it's the finest of the flavours!"
"WOMAN!" Vegeta tried again, a vein popping out of his forehead in his wrath. The music was pounding his eardrums. Locating the source, a thin black console mounted to the wall above a rack of tools, he marched over and shut it off.
"I'm the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral. Can't understand what I mean? Well, you soon will. I have the tendency to…" Bulma trailed off from her singing when she realized that professionals no longer accompanied her.
"Hey! Who the hell turned off my music?" she said, spinning around angrily.
"I did, woman. Though I would hardly call that shit music," he said with a sneer, folding his arms across his chest.
Bulma narrowed her eyes. "I will have you know that the Barenaked Ladies are amazing!" she said imperiously, pointing a small screwdriver in his direction. "You obviously have poor taste in music," Bulma said pityingly.
"Barenaked Ladies? What the hell kind of name..." Vegeta stopped with a growl. "Whatever! It matters not. What matters, woman, is that your fucking gravity chamber WILL NOT WORK!"
Bulma thought she had never seen him quite so angry. He looked ready to destroy something…many somethings. It was time to turn that frown upside down, and she knew exactly what would do the trick.
"Really?" she said with a smile. "Fantastic!"
Vegeta had been expecting anger, yelling, hand-on-the-hip-Uh-Uh-Girlfriend-don't-go-there-rage. He could have dealt with that. This—this, flippant attitude, just enraged him further. "FANTASTIC?" he spluttered, eyes flashing dangerously. "Woman, I was this close," he said holding his fingers out in example. "I could feel it: the power of the Legendary at my fingertips! AND THE FUCKING MACHINE SHUTS OFF!" he yelled, his face a mottled red. Vegeta was livid. The woman looked at him, a little pissed, he could tell, but still she did not seem overly caring about the situation.
Ok, ok, let the baby throw his tantrum, Bulma thought. "Well," she said evenly, "it probably shut off because the power demand on the engine was too great. What were you running it at? 550, 600x gravity?"
"It was set on 600x gravity. But, I thought your father fixed it the last time!" Vegeta said petulantly. His blinding rage had simmered down a tad.
"I thought so. Look, Vegeta. It's fine. See this?" she said, motioning to the table behind her. "This is the new hydrogen-combustion cell. I was going to have to get you out of there anyway so I could install it, so it's all good," Bulma said with a pleased expression. "After it's installed, the power supply will be greater and the overall efficiency of the chamber will improve. Simply: no more shut downs. You can run it…hmm," she thought, squinting, "I would say to about 1000x gravity without a hint of a problem."
Vegeta, still holding onto his anger from his thwarted efforts, grunted. "Good. When will you be done with this?"
Bulma rolled her eyes. She was installing for him the latest technology after he had manhandled her sound system then yelled at her (all the while, Bulma never lost her temper, mind you), and all he did was impatiently ask how long it would take. So typically male.
"Half a day," she replied, adding a conditional, "if you stay away from my music."
Vegeta snorted and stalked out of the lab, muttering about stupid music, half days, and idiotic women.
Bulma smiled.
Bulma looked up dreamily from her computer screen. She was thinking about The Kiss…again. She blushed. Even she could not believe she had actually done such a thing. But his eyes. Oh, his eyes, their dark depths seemed to give her a glimpse of the real Vegeta lurking about underneath all his layers of pomp. The night he told her about his planet, that was the real Vegeta. As he kissed her, his hands roaming her body, that was the real Vegeta.
Nothing else had occurred since then, but there was a tension now. It seemed to fill the space between them like tangible, wiggling Jell-O whenever they were together. It crackled like electricity when they spoke and sent shivers racing over her body when she caught his eye. Bulma knew something was bound to happen sooner or later. "Sooner," she said hopefully with wry smile.
Bulma stood up wearily from her orderly desk. She was not the cleanest woman, but when it came to her work, she was obsessively meticulous. Reaching back, she pulled her hair down from its ponytail and combed it through with her fingers. Stretching and giving a huge, definitely lady-like yawn, she stumbled out of her lab and into the darkened kitchen.
Raiding the refrigerator for a small midnight snack, she found a container of strawberries and joyfully ate a handful, savoring their sweet, mildly tangy taste. Taking one for the road, she munched on it as she climbed the stairs. Just as she was walking down the hall towards her chamber, though, the bathroom door swung open. Vegeta stepped into the hall, a white towel tied about his waist.
"Oh," Bulma said in surprise. "Vegeta, I wasn't expecting to see you," she said a little lamely. But, then, what should she say? Hey, you look damn sexy in only a bath towel? She was about to ask him how the gravity chamber was running, but stopped herself from sinking into that quagmire of pointless small talk. So, instead, Bulma flung herself headlong into the bottomless pit of awkward silence.
Vegeta had not had a good day. He had not even come close to touching the barrier, let alone chipping away at the thing. It was an infuriatingly vicious carousel on which he was trapped, and his horse was a fucking lame.
"What do you want, woman?" he said with a scowl.
Bulma balled her fists by her side in anger. Why did he have to always be such a jerk? "I didn't want anything, you jerk," she snapped. Reigning in the emotion, Bulma said softer, "I was going to say good night."
"Well, then get it over with, and stop staring," he said with a smirk.
Bulma coloured a deep red. "I was not staring! Maybe if you'd have a little modesty, sheesh…" she said in her defense.
Vegeta chuckled and began to turn away from the woman when he heard her gasp.
"Vegeta! What happened to your shoulder?" she said, her brows drawn together in concern as she saw a deep gash emblazoned across his shoulder. She placed a light hand near the wound, the flesh hot under her touch. "Are you alright?" she asked, fully prepared to drag him down to the medical wing for stitches and bandaging.
Vegeta had to fight a shiver as he felt her place a cool hand on his skin. He had already forgotten about the cut. It's there because of you! He wanted to shout at her. An energy disk had clipped him while he was distracted, thinking about the woman, of course. He glared at Bulma, her concerned tone angering him. He didn't need her babying him. He told her as much, jerking his shoulder away from her touch.
"Well, excuse me, Mr. Invincible!" she shot back haughtily. "I was only concerned for your well-being."
"Don't be! Don't you get it? I have no need your petty concern—"
Bulma stopped him, her eyes flashing in indignation. "My concern is anything but petty. Do you honestly believe I do all that I do for you, put up with your damnable pride and insults because I think you'll blow me into the next dimension?" she whispered vehemently. "I do it because I care. Because I care about you, Vegeta."
Vegeta knew, though he would never tell her and didn't understand it himself. She was the purest person he had ever met. The last thing he wanted to do was defile that purity with his murderous, blood soaked hands.
Bulma saw the slight yielding in his eyes. "You don't have to be this way, Vegeta. It's all right to care; it's human," she said unthinkingly.
Vegeta snorted. "You speak truth, woman. It is human." He spoke the word with disgust. "I am a Sayian warrior," he snarled. "I am a murderer. I do not care."
Bulma shook her head sadly, "That's not true."
Vegeta stepped towards her menacingly until her back was against the wall. "Do you presume to know me? You know nothing about me! I have destroyed entire solar systems, woman. Believe me when I tell you not to care for me." He glared at her. He knew his words would have little effect. She would still care.
Staring at Bulma, he was assaulted by her beauty. Her pale skin, tousled blue hair, trembling lip…. He was frightening her. Damn it.
Much as he tried so forcefully to dispute the fact, he wanted the woman. God, how he wanted her! It seemed she was all that occupied his mind—her scent, her taste, the way her supple skin felt beneath his hands. Even in sleep did he find no reprieve…especially in sleep. It was hopeless, however, for there was no conceivable way he could be with her without sacrificing his pride, something he refused for anyone.
Yet, was not the woman more than an 'anyone?' Had she not proved herself a strong, independent genius? Was she not the only person he had ever encountered in his lifetime of terror that openly defied him? It was an argument that could he ignored only so many times. Now, while she was standing there like an angel of mercy and innocence, ready to grant his soul a second chance was not one of those times.
Bulma could feel herself trembling. He looked so cross. It was all she could do not to reach out and caress his face, soothing away all the angry lines. Vegeta stood so close, they were almost touching. He stared at Bulma for a long moment, his eyes boring into her own. She could see the play of emotions running through the obstacle course of his mind, not on his face, but in his eyes. Suddenly, he slid his arm around her neck and kissed her, long and deep.
Vegeta relented to his emotions. Just this once he told himself, but only half believing the lie. He was pleased when he felt the woman respond readily to his action, groaning softly and wrapping her arms around his neck.
Quickly, their kiss grew more heated. Hands began to roam and bodies pressed against each other. Vegeta gathered a handful of the woman's hair in his hand, reveling in the feel of it. Remembering they were in the hallway, Vegeta picked Bulma up, his hands resting on the small of her back as she wrapped her legs around his waist, never breaking their kiss.
Vegeta laid Bulma down on his bed, slowly beginning to lift off her shirt. "Are you sure you want this, woman?" he asked, voice a husky rasp.
Bulma had never wanted anything so much in her life. She nodded. "Yes."
Their two bodies melded into one as they moved together in the night.
Deep in the cold, desolate stratum of space, a familiar battleship cruised with an air of deadly superiority, leaving behind the scattered remnants of a once beautiful, peaceful planet. There were few in this part of the galaxy who did not tremble in fear when one spoke the name of the commander of this ship. A ship that left complete devastation in its wake. That is, if there were noncompliance. Submit to the battleship's rule, and there was no mercy, just the allowance of life underneath its shadow.
On board this battleship, a scientist, Gal Lazzar, an ugly fellow who rather resembled an octopus stuffed in a spacesuit, felt a trickle of sweat slide down his purple neck under the bright, fluorescent lights of the lab. He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. He had good reason—the commander would not destroy him—he had succeeded.
The commander was notorious for his cold, calculating rage. He demanded supreme discipline from his crew. One mistake, one less-than-perfect following of an order, and he would seize the unfortunate soldier. What happened next was what insured unequivocal allegiance from the rest. The commander would rip the man's arms and legs off his body, beginning with the fingers and toes. All the while, asking the screaming soldier what he had done wrong, a sadistic upturn of his lips as he watched the person writhe in agony. They all inevitably died from the blood loss. The last one of these little incidents was a few months ago. They did not happen often.
No one angered the commander. He was not stupid; he rewarded obedience. They knew he was the strongest person in the universe. Stick with him, and they'd never go hungry again. Maybe one day when he ruled the universe, they would be allowed to rule a planet.
Ruthless, soulless red eyes roamed over the scientist's creation, a slight inclination of his head his only sign of approval.
"I trust he shall be extraordinary." His voice, devoid of emotion and apathetic in bored indifference, belied the impending brutality if the answer should not please him.
"Oh yes, my lord," Lazzar said hurriedly. "He will be infinitely more powerful than before with the new, ah…modifications."
"And his mind?" the commander probed, showing a vein of interest.
"Well, sir," he said more nervously, "that remains to be determined upon his waking. All scans have shown him to be…relatively the same…."
"Then what are you waiting for? Wake him," Koola commanded, his eyes glinting dangerously.
"Y-Yes, my lord." Lazzar keyed a code into the console before him.
Koola drummed his finger in impatience on the cool, stainless steel table on which the Creation lay.
Suddenly, it blinked open a mechanical eye and focussed it on Koola, a red glow emanating from the cybernetic appendage. Slowly, the thing sat up with sinuous movement, despite half of its chest being made from the same material as the eye: an alloy, tunganium, which was recently discovered to be the strongest substance in the universe. Yet, it remained pliable, one of its greatest attributes and mysteries.
Koola looked into the eyes of this newly modified being with a smirk. "Frieza," he said. "How nice to see you again."
It had taken several months of continuous, painstaking research, inventions, and tedious rebuilding by Lazzar and his small, trusted gaggle of equally brilliant scientists to reconstruct Frieza's body and mind. Koola had presented them only with various body parts and now, he stood, completely whole and functioning. If he were more sane or not, remained the question.
"Where are we going, Koola?" he asked, flexing a mechanical hand experimentally. He found it to his liking—it was so much more powerful than before.
"We have set a course for Planet Kold." At Frieza's outraged hiss, he explained, "King's orders."
"What the hell do I care for father's orders? I demand you turn around at once. I have unfinished business to attend to," Frieza said through clenched teeth.
"Yes," Koola drawled with a sigh of boredom. "I thought you would say that. Where do you plan to go? Earth? Kill that fellow. What's his name…Goku?"
Frieza was not speaking of Goku, though. Actually, the fool hadn't even crossed his mind. No, his thoughts were set on that damn Sayian Prince. The one who had betrayed him. He would find him, and he would make him pay for his insubordination. Frieza's ruby lips twisted into a smile at the thought of humbling the proud Sayian, conquering his will until Vegeta learned his place—kneeling before him!
"I can take care of that idiot later," Frieza sneered. "It's the Prince I want. I will find him and make him pay."
"Listen, you disgusting, half-cyborg ingrate" Koola said with a condescending glare. "I do not give a flying fuck about your imbecilic, insane obsessions. I thought maybe the good scientist here could fix your twisted brain and make you a respectable Kold again," he said with a pointed look at Lazzar, who gulped in apprehension.
"Obviously that has not happened." Taking a menacing step towards Frieza, he continued in his quietly deadly tone. "Make no mistake, the sole reason you are even here is because King Kold asked me to retrieve you from your disgrace. I wanted to leave you in the ruins of that planet to wither away forever in the silence of space. I have more important things to do than baby-sit a lunatic brother! You will return to Planet Kold, and you will stay there until you learn what it is to be a Kold!" he shouted.
Then Koola made his mistake. The one that would cost him his life. Sure, he was the strongest being in the universe. Was. Had he known that following his father's order would be his undoing, he would have blasted the incompetent King himself. But he had followed his orders, and he had rebuilt his brother so well that he far exceeded him now in power. Frieza knew this. He felt it instantly upon being revived and reveled in the thought with glee.
So, he allowed his brother to make his pathetic little speech with the same apathetic indifference Koola affected. But when Koola jabbed a finger into his chest at the conclusion, Frieza acted. Quicker than even Koola could follow, Frieza's hand shot out and grabbed the finger. With a sickening crunch, he snapped it clean off his hand and tossed it to the floor where it lay twitching and spurting thick purple blood.
Koola looked at Frieza in surprised rage. Yet, again, before Koola could even think to prepare an attack, Frieza had already pointed a finger into his face that glowed with the brilliance of a small red sun.
"No one 'baby-sits' me, Koola." He released the ball of energy with a flick of his finger and watched as it encircled Koola's body, disintegrating him instantaneously along with the wall behind him in a terrific explosion.
Lazzar looked on in horror, hiding behind his desk as the explosion rocked the lab. He heard Frieza's maniacal laughter and wondered briefly if life with Koola would now seem a fond memory. He believed it would, with a sinking in his stomach. Just like that. He had defeated the strongest being in the universe, just like that, with a flick of his finger. What have I done, what have I done, what have I done….
Frieza looked up through the gaping hole in the wall as soldiers began to assemble from all directions, eyes confused, but faces set in murderous looks. He laughed as they trained their weapons on him and warned him not to move.
"Boys, boys, boys…. It is so delightful for you to come meet your new commander so soon. I just adore eager soldiers." He chuckled in mirth. When one of the bolder soldiers tried to question Frieza, he blasted him with a small ball of ki, his expression turning sour.
"I will say this once. I am Frieza. Koola is dead. I killed him. I am the new commander. I am your lord. I am your god. Follow me or die, but I promise the next deaths shall be neither quick nor painless as this soldier's was. Understood?"
"Yes, Lord Frieza." The soldiers said in unison.
Frieza smiled, a ghastly affair. "Ah, Koola has trained you well, I see. Good." Motioning to the mess, he said, "I want this cleaned up within the hour. Who here is highest ranking?"
A tall, muscular red-headed warrior stepped forward, "I, sir."
"You will show me to the commander's control center. Then, you will bring me the most elite of this ship's fighting capabilities," Frieza commanded.
"Yes, my lord."
It was time to begin searching. He would not let Vegeta live in peace for long now. Frieza nearly pranced down the halls of the battleship in joy. He would have his revenge, and God, would it be sweet!
As Frieza reclined in his ornate commander's chair, though it was more a throne than a chair, he smiled. He was good. Oh, how magnificently brilliant he was!
It was a mere week since his commandeering of Koola's ship, and already he was halfway to bringing the wayward Sayian back into the fold.
Frieza had had his plan ready before the crew of elite soldiers assembled in his spacious hall. In the blackness of space, one has all the time in the world to think, and think Frieza did. And remembered.
He remembered a certain object, once believed to be but a legend. Then, a myth. Then, nothing more than a forgotten memory.
The Sable Oculus—Frieza was sure it existed. It was said to be an orb that was formed from when the gods were still creating the universe. At that time, it was used as a weapon, for its properties were volatile. As usual, with objects of power, the Oculus could be used for good or disastrously nefarious purposes.
The Sable Oculus was a tool of control. The only way to break its control was to break the thing itself. When one wore it, one need only speak a person's name and instantaneously receive a mental picture of the person and his whereabouts. Obviously, it was how Frieza planned on finding Vegeta. Yet, the Oculus's power was decidedly more than just that mere trifle. Not only did one see the person without their knowledge of being watched, the Oculus also provided access to his mind—the wearer being free to implant their own thoughts and visions into the unsuspecting mind.
Still, the intricacies of the Sable Oculus were not finished. Through extended use of the Oculus on a single person, the wearer formed a connection with him and eventually was able to control his actions. The beauty was that it left the person with the power of free thought, but not the power of free will.
Through some epic battle that precious few knew about anymore, the Oculus was forced from its maker. It was hidden away in the farthest reaches of the universe, safeguarded by a planet whose sole purpose was to defend their burden—Custos Luminis.
Frieza knew of its existence from an old historian on Planet Kold. He vaguely recalled where it was said to be located. With Lazzar's assistance, Frieza was able to pinpoint its exact location. Once the soldiers assembled before him, then, it was only a matter of selecting a squadron of them to retrieve the Sable Oculus.
He had just received word that the mission was successful, though with an unusually high casualty number. The squadron would dock with the battleship in minutes. Frieza was lost in his terrible thoughts when a rap came at the large double doors leading into the hall.
"Enter," Frieza commanded with a smile.
The red-headed soldier, Zanine—who now sported a healing gash over his left eye and looked generally just like he had emerged from a smoking battlefield—entered and strode confidently to Frieza's chair. He knelt with an arm to his chest in fealty before him. "Frieza, my lord."
Frieza was ecstatic to note that he held a small wooden box in his free hand. "I trust you have brought me what I desire, hm, Zanine?" Zanine pleased Frieza. He was a ruthless, extremely strong and capable soldier, and unquestioningly loyal.
"Yes, my lord," he said, presenting Frieza with the wooden box.
"Good. Very good." He hissed in pleasure. "Now leave." He dismissed the soldier. Zanine bowed once more and turned smartly, striding back towards the door.
Alone once more, Frieza turned his full attention to the ornately carved wooden box in his hand. Opening it carefully revealed the Sable Oculus lying on a silken cushion of deep blue. The Oculus was smaller than he had imagined, but it was no less beautiful.
It was a sphere so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it. When Frieza peered into its depths, however, he saw a swirl of smoky turquoise ripple its otherwise placid interior. Fixed to the top of the sphere was a delicate golden plate to which was attached a deceptively fragile looking gold chain.
With eyes shining in rapture, Frieza placed the Sable Oculus around his neck and whispered. "Vegeta."
Immediately, he felt the Oculus grow warm against his cold, pale skin and was plunged into the pit of space. It was all in his mind, though it felt as if he were actually zooming along himself. Traveling at the speed of light, Frieza passed suns, stars, and various, multi-coloured planets.
He had no time to wonder at this oddity, for he was plunged toward the blue planet, which was covered in darkness at the time. He appeared in a darkened room. What he saw there made his blood boil in a fit of insane rage and disgust.
Vegeta was entangled with a blue-haired woman, mindlessly mating with her. As they moved together at a frenzied pace, he heard him grunt out the woman's name as they reached their pinnacle.
"Bulma." Vegeta collapsed on top of the woman, kissing her and rolling her over so he did not crush her with his weight. Frieza was too blind with anger to listen to what was said. It was clear that this Bulma was no whore or one-night stand. Vegeta cared for her. And Vegeta cared for no one.
So Frieza's plans changed. He would not use the Oculus on Vegeta; he would use it on the woman. He would destroy the Sayian Prince with the one thing he had been stupid enough to care for.
Frieza smirked malevolently, he would break the woman down in front of his eyes, then he would take her away. He would take control of her and bring her to his ship. Vegeta would inevitably take the bait.
It was flawless. Vegeta would soon see how woefully overpowered he was. He could not defeat Frieza before on Namek, and there was no way he could defeat him now. He would have no choice but to surrender.
Frieza took off the Oculus. Immediately, the bedroom scene vanished, and Frieza looked upon his throne room once more. He set the orb lovingly back in its case with a caress from a pointed black fingernail.
"It is time, Vegeta," he said to himself. "It is time to pay, my sweet Prince!" he whispered, laughing the psychotic laugh of the obsessively demented.
So! Did you enjoy it? Review and tell me, then! : )
"All At Once"
Jack Johnson
All at once,
The world can't overwhelm me
There's almost nothin' that you could tell me
That could ease my mind
Which way will you run?
When it's always all around you
And the feelin' lost and found you again
A feelin' that we have no control
Around a song
Some say
There's gonna be the new hell
Some say
It's still too early to tell
Some say
It really ain't no myth at all
Keep askin' ourselves are we really
Strong enough
There's so many things that we got
Too proud of
We're too proud of
We're too proud of
I wanna take the preconceived
Out from underneath your feet
We could shake it off
Instead we'll plant some seeds
We'll watch 'em as they grow
And with each new beat
From your heart the roots grow deeper
The branches will they reach for what?
Nobody really knows
But underneath it all
There's this heart all alone
There's a world we've never seen
There's still hope between the dreams
The weight of it all
Could blow away with a breeze
If your waitin' on the wind
Don't forget to breathe
Cause as the darkness gets deeper
We'll sink until we reach for love
At least somethin' we could hold
But I'll reach to you from where time just can't go
What about is gone
And it really wont be so long
Sometimes it feels like a heart is no place to be singin' from at all
A few notes about the chapter:
"One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies was the song Bulma was singing in her lab. If you desire, go to YouTube and check out the "One Week" Bathroom Sessions video. It rocks.
Oculus is the Latin word for "eye."
Custos Luminis is Latin for "guardian eye."
-ASA : )