Desperation
i love it the more i suffer
The roar above the Capsule compound startles her, and Bulma and her mother whip around to face the large windows as the grounds under them quake for undoubtedly a several mile radius.
Part of her is surprised, for some reason, that she didn't feel him break the atmosphere first.
Her heart cinches up tight in her chest and her stomach bottoms out. The infant child's fussing in the sleeper behind her sounds like dull buzzing in her ears, as disbelief and maybe something akin to horror propel her shaky limbs from the kitchen island stool.
Without thought first, her feet press forward in a quickening pace, and her father barely slides through the backdoor behind her as she makes to slam it shut in her wake.
There it is.
The stolen craft, looking about as beat up as she imagines the pilot must look on the inside.
When the pod doors hiss and fall apart for entrance, she realizes she's not breathing and reminds herself to inhale slowly, steadily. Fists clench and fit over her hips to hide their tremor. The lag in her mind hiccups back to start, thoughts speed ahead to catch up with what's about to unfold, and she begins furious recitation of all the vengeful, scorned diatribes she has practiced every night in the lonely dark of her room over the last few months.
Until his silhouette emerges, torn and ragged. It all stops inside her head at once as his tattered presence emanates power that hadn't been there before. He's weathered the other side of the storm.
She sucks in a sharp breath and feels stupid for pinprick tears threatening behind her eyes.
Gold-tipped boots stomp down the ramp and settle with finality in front of the father and daughter. Seeing him up this close, his proximity, it invokes something, writhing, pressing in her soul, and she has to swallow against it to remind herself of fettered out self-righteous anger.
"Vegeta, my boy," her father is the first to breach the tension. Bless him. "Welcome back! It's been some time!"
"Hn." Onyx eyes linger on her. He doesn't move; is he waiting for her?
She doesn't want to break first. Her body syncs, mirroring his, arms folded tightly now across her breast and her back stays tight and rigid. She deigns to lift a pointed brow at this dark prince, and his scowling brows dip lower.
Suddenly, she remembers her advantage. She fights a smile; no, a smirk. "Vegeta," she permits with a cant of her head. "You look like you've been through the ringer." His eyes narrow suspiciously, and she feels braver for it. "What, eight months and no shower? I'm surprised we couldn't smell you from space."
"Woman," he warns, or maybe greets, terse. Her blood kindles in memory of spitting matches and unchecked tempers, and she tries to vehemently push everything back down where she's buried it. She notes his hands balling from underneath his elbows, and she knows he feels it too.
Undeterred by Dr. Briefs' motions forward, both continue to stand like still statues, as he takes closer inspection of the craft. "Well, you certainly put this vessel to the test, huh?" He gruffs, and Bulma sees Vegeta tense further. "Looks like you're lucky to have even made it back home!"
As the Saiyan begins to sneer in reply, she is acutely aware of the vitriol he's likely to unleash, and she takes a step toward him in quick effort to stave it off. He freezes and levels her with withering look. She turns her nose up in counter.
"Hey, dad," Bulma lilts, eyes unblinking. "Why don't you go and check to be sure His Highness' equipment is back to working order? He's been gone for so long, it may need an update."
Her father nods and mumbles something under his thick mustache. The old man meanders back toward the large home behind them, and Bulma calls over her shoulder, "And ask mom to have staff prepare the guest wing!"
She's not sure if it's her presumption or her father's departure that rouses him, finally, but Vegeta growls and shifts imperceptibly toward her. "What makes you think-"
"Well, why else did you come back?" Bulma cuts him off, voice barely above a whisper.
They're both silent for an eternity. As he sizes her up, she feels goosebumps scatter all over her body. He's reading her, remembering her. She hopes guiltily for… something, chastising herself for wanton thoughts that persist even after all of this.
For herself, she shakes her head and scoffs, choosing instead to turn on her heel than to argue with desire head on.
"You turn from me?" He dares coldly at her back.
Her skin chills, that tone foreign to her now, and she bites down hard on her lip. Casts him her side profile over her shoulder. "I have better things to do besides serve as your personal welcome home party," she sniffs, aiming for disdainful, but knowing it comes out tired. "You know where to find everything."
He's unimpressed, not taking her bait - it makes her mouth taste bitter. He's waiting for something better. Bulma tilts her head farther toward him, allowing plainly, "Congratulations, anyway. How long did it take you?"
That's not what he was expecting, it's wrote clearly on his features. Perhaps he was intending a grand reveal. But he should know she's smart enough to catch on without all the pomp and circumstance.
Nevertheless, he's unmoved still, so she continues with a gesture of her open palm, "You don't have to share, if you don't want-"
"I don't."
"Then fine," her cheeks dust pink and she clenches her jaw. His face finally breaks, just a bit, those sour lips quirking in scornful amusement. "I have other things to do, anyway."
His chin lifts in the direction of the compound. "Good. Go, tell your weakling friend to depart before I enter."
The request (as though that's what it was) confuses her at first. As her lips part in question, they just as quickly close, before parting to show every inch of her perfect teeth in a nasty smile. "Ohhh… that's not Yamcha, Vegeta," she giggles and luxuriates in this moment, in the twitch of his stern brow, in the return of his frown.
"I don't care who it is," he spits at her feet.
"You're awful bold to tell me who can and can't be in my home," she wags a finger at him. It's easy to fall back into this familiar stride, she thinks with a pang of nostalgia. "You may have finally found what you've been wanting, but this story isn't going to play out like you think it will."
It's his turn to show his teeth and he menaces toward her, but she knows something he doesn't know, she always has one way or another, and like before it emboldens her in the face of his rage. She smirks, flicks her wrist and tosses cropped blue locks from her face, turning away from him to march back into her home.
Careful rehearsals are long forgotten behind her with the prince left in the lawn. Her stories never played out like how she thought, either. But she'd be damned if she'd let someone else author this chapter.
A/N: So, like, it's been a MINUTE. I haven't even thought of writing fanfiction in lord-knows-how long and then... then Dragonball Super happened. And now I'm all full of ideas and emotions and I missed it, a little bit. I went back through my old work, and realized there was more to this story that I wanted to share.
So here we are! I can't guarantee there'll be another chapter or when, but I think maybe I'll continue it out, perhaps until the beginning of the Androids.
In my headcanon, Vegeta came back just a couple months after Trunks was born, and just a few months before the Android saga began. If you're picky about timeline, blame Toriyama, I've realized in my old age I don't think that guy knows how time and aging work.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! :)