Intimacy Challenge Prompt: Touch
Title: Divergence: The Waylaid Queen
Warnings: Suggestive scenes and violence.
It had come in the night, slipping into Bulma's sleeping mind like a sneak-thief through an unlocked window, combing and probing her thoughts before settling into a haze-filled dream of shadowy figures whispering in harsh tones. The murmurings, alien and arcane, draconic and eerie, insectile and ancient, shifted and split and spun together until a glare of brilliant light, visible even behind her tightly shut eyes, flashed and sent the shadows scattering.
Unintelligible words prickled along her skin, so panic-stricken and frantic that she nearly missed the faint plea in the shell of her ear. Help me.
The voice was soft, nearly inaudible, thickly coiled in despair and hopelessness, so resigned and weighed down with loss that the sound of it broke Bulma's heart. How could she refuse? How could she do anything but reach out and offer her aid?
Gossamer strands of colors wove themselves into a mirror that reflected a pale, desolate shade of herself. When their eyes met, hair-thin fissures spider-webbed along the surface, stretching and spreading until the image fragmented and Bulma woke with a start when the steel bar of an arm tightened its grip around her waist.
She turned into the hold as lids still heavy with the sands of sleep slowly fluttered open, the odd dream fading as dawn's light shone into her blue eyes. She was greeted with the sight of her husband, a welcomed surprise despite the surly scowl on Vegeta's face. She thought it odd, finding him still in bed rather than having already resumed his training in the GR but she wasn't going to complain. It had been some time since they've been intimate and she missed it, missed him.
She smiled, as she had always done, amused at how much her open displays of love for him could affect him so strongly even after all these years. She kissed him and bade him good morning, using his royal title because she was in a good mood and felt like teasing him.
There was a shift in his fierce features and Bulma got the sense she'd better appease him if she wanted to continue the fun. He seemed to be playing the reluctant suitor, requiring her to do most of the work that morning. Well, that was just fine by her. A little early workout did the body good.
But his hands suddenly gripped her by her hips and that Saiyan pride of his was starting to get in the way. She sighed theatrically at his attitude, finding it as annoying as it was endearing. Trying to keep her laughter at bay, she ran her hands through his hair while she nuzzled, "Will you relax? I am trying to have sex with you, but hey, if you aren't interested that's fine with me."
The look on his face was priceless, Kami, she didn't think she'd ever tire of it. For such a fearsome warrior, her husband was surprisingly easy to fluster whenever she talked about sex. He seemed to handle things better when she implied her desire through looks or sighs, and better still when it was body language.
So she spoke with her eyes and her hands and her mouth, admiring, touching, kissing, and tasting until she could feel his arousal stirring underneath her and his hands left her hips. She would have teased him that he was free to do more than that when fur brushed against her leg, the sensation akin to being doused with ice water, and she went stock-still.
Bulma abruptly sat up and something broke in her mind at the sight of the tail. Fragments of memories sliced into her, memories that were both alien and familiar that sent tremors of terror through her. Horrible images of twisting against the iron vice around her form, thrashing against a heavy weight until her bones snapped and she blacked out from the pain. A kaleidoscope of moments where she bruised, bled, or burned, blurring until they blended into a continuous stream of suffering. And always there was the crown prince's face, wicked glee glittering in those dark eyes while she writhed in endless agony or rebelled against the maddening pleasure he wrought on her.
No more! she wanted to scream but her voice was trapped in her throat, her entire form rigid as her body and mind warred with each other, failing to resolve the conflict between them. Tears welled in her eyes as her hands flew to her face in a futile attempt to shield herself from what her body knew, from what it was resigned to, seeking the far corners of her mind, seeking for a reprieve. The darkness allowed her to summon a vision of the sprawling compound of Capsule Corporation, the laugher of her beautiful son, and the warm strength of-
-rough hands gripped at her wrists and wrenched them to her sides. The sight of the Saiyan's harsh glower wrenched all hope that this was just some nightmare, that she would somehow wake and find herself returned to where her child and family were, to where she was a free woman and not someone's property.
She was on her back before she knew it, subjected to a violence that her mind could not accept as real while her body could only react to on instinct. She begged the prince for forgiveness, the words vile and acrid on her tongue, her stomach knotting in disgust at how she was forced to act to appease him.
When he buried himself inside her, filling her so suddenly and so completely she thought he would tear her apart, it was not defiance that constricted her scream. It was fear. She feared what he could do, would do to her because of what he had done these years. But what she feared more was her own mind's insistence that this could not be. Her blue eyes stared up at him, desperate for the madness in either of them to pass. But the longer she watched, the more she searched for Vegeta in those cruel, obsidian depths, the deeper the gouge of her heartache and the wider the chasm in her sanity.
She couldn't bear the sight of this, this monster wearing her husband's form but rather than face him head on as she was wont, rather than bare her own fangs in defiance, she succumbed to her body's pleas for mercy. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, quietly sobbing because that seemed to be the only release she could afford until he all but tore himself away from her. She fell into the waiting arms of despair and drew into herself, wishing and crying herself into oblivion.
How long Bulma remained on the bed, swathed in silken sheets, trembling and sobbing, she didn't know. She was confused, terrified, and in pain. Kami, she was in so much pain. It hurt to move, hurt to breathe, hurt to think. She would have gladly remained curled on her side for the entirety of the day, maybe even the rest of her life, had she not heard a soft voice gently croon, "Bulma, it's alright now. The prince has left."
She opened a bleary eye to find a slender, purple-skinned alien standing over her. Bulma blinked dumbly at first, uncertain of the how and whys on the nature of their relationship, idly wondering whether her lack of fear meant the prince had simply raised her bar of terror. But before long, a name slowly rose to the surface of her consciousness. She knew who the female Telekin-jin was, "Apaya."
The doctor carefully pulled the sheets back, slowly moving a scanner over Bulma's naked body. Solid-yellow eyes narrowed in dismay at the amount of injuries being displayed on the monitor. "Bruised pelvis, hairline fractures in your ribs and wrists, first-degree ki-burns, and those are just your external injuries. I haven't seen the prince leave you in such a terrible condition for some time," Apaya gravely whispered, as if she feared the Saiyan would be able to hear her. "But fortunately it's not as bad as when you were first brought here."
"Unfortunately, you mean," Bulma rasped automatically with a bitterness she can't remember ever feeling up until that moment. "I'm still alive, aren't I?"
Apaya paused in her inspection, opting to stroke strands of blue hair out of Bulma's eyes, "I'm sorry that I cannot let you die. Please don't hate me for it."
"I don't. I can't." The words simply tumbled out of her mouth, a response more out of habit than any genuine feeling. "But let me sleep, please?"
"You can sleep all you want while the regen tank heals you up. I'll call your guard," Apaya promised, motioning to leave and call for someone to carry the wounded Chikyuu-jin.
But Bulma's hand shot out, ignoring the fire lancing through her arm from her fractured wrist, and tightly grabbed the doctor's sleeve, nails digging into the fabric. "Don't you dare rob me of what little pride I have left," Bulma glared, baring her teeth in an unconscious mimicry of the prince. The impotent rage burning in her blue eyes made it clear her desire for her dignity had nothing to do with her state of undress. She could accept the Telekin-jin's ministrations because she remembered how Apaya was an alien sold into slavery and forced to ply her trade. The blue-haired woman didn't want to be beholden to anyone who served the prince out of loyalty.
Apaya didn't argue, though she couldn't stop from making curious, if somewhat worried, glances at Bulma while they slowly walked to the healing chamber.
"I didn't hear your sudden outburst," the doctor promised, whispering so softly even Bulma was hard-pressed to hear. "The last thing we want is for the prince to learn you've regained some of your earlier spark."
Bulma tensed at the mention of the prince, unable to respond beyond a nod. She squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth against the clammy touch of fear, focusing all her attention to each step she took and the sharp throb that flared with each movement. The physical pain was a welcomed distraction, something she could use to ground herself, something she could understand and accept without difficulty. Unlike the multitude of questions buzzing in her head.
She was assisted into the regeneration tank, eager to fall into blessed sleep, to escape her life even for just a few hours at a time. But even when she was in the silent, soothing weightlessness of the healing liquid, sleep would not come to her. She was left no choice but to address the thoughts currently clamoring for her attention.
Had it all been a dream all along? Going on adventures in search of the Dragon Balls when she was a teenager, meeting Son Goku and opposing the Red Ribbon army, summoning Shen Long for all sorts of wishes, going to Namek-sei to revive her fallen friends, having a child, the battle against Androids and Cell. Were these events nothing more than just some wild fantasy she created? Had she fallen into a kind of madness that forced her mind to create a different past, forced the knowledge of her slain friends to be denied so thoroughly that she brought them to life again, just so she could cope with her current reality?
When she recalled the look on the prince's face, the way her body seemed to seize up in terror at the very thought of him, she didn't think it unlikely. There was only so much a person could take before they broke, and when they did, the mind would do everything it could to protect itself. Three years of constant rough use, no matter how much she struggled and fought, would eventually take its toll on her.
So then why? Why did she have to emerge from the comforting lie? What had happened to force her out of the happy little bubble? The odd dream from last night drifted into her memory. She recalled hearing someone beg for help and she distinctly remembered answering the call. At that, something in her mind opened itself up to her and a veritable torrent of images came flooding in, far too many to keep track of and far too fast for her to keep up with.
But she tried her best to understand, to find a way to comprehend, to make sense of it all. And she processed and sorted until the beeping of the tank alerted her that she was fit to go about her day. The jigsaw of memories she managed to piece together was utterly incomplete. There were too many bits that didn't fit, too many gaps to form even a suggestion of a picture let alone a cohesive whole, and far too many parts that felt like they belonged to a different puzzle altogether. However, as the liquid drained and she emerged from the tank, there were two things that Bulma was certain of.
The first was that her life on Chikyuu, her teenaged adventures, her friends, her family, they were all real. And the second was that she was going to find a way back to them. No spoiled, tyrannical Saiyan bastard was going to stop her.
She toweled herself off before pulling on the change of clothes Apaya had handed to her, blue eyes downcast partially out of a sense of routine and partially to hide the fresh infusion of determination she was feeling. The doctor was right. The prince shouldn't learn about the rekindling of her will. There were still so many blurry patches in her consciousness that she had yet to reconcile. But she knew enough from that morning alone that if she showed so much as a hint of a spine, he would try to break her again.
Her lower lip unconsciously trembled at the thought, fighting back the flashbacks of her first month here in the villa that surged back to the forefront of her mind. She dug her nails into her palms, willing herself if not to calm then to focus on how she ought to stop before she ended up carving bloody crescents into her flesh. When the blinding terror and the mounting rage in her belly finally subsided, she looked up in surprise to find Apaya armed with a sedative-filled syringe.
"Put that away, please," Bulma instructed evenly despite the tension still present in her stance. "I'm not going to kill myself."
"So you say," the Telekin-jin spoke matter of fact, "But perhaps you only mean for today or even for this specific moment. Don't give me cause to use this. You know I won't hesitate."
"I know you won't," the blue-haired woman agreed, her voice stern and steely. "But all the same, put that away. Please." The harmonics of her command had the alien doctor obeying but the look of surprise flashing in solid-yellow eyes was not mirrored in Bulma's. She knew she's always had it, the tone of authority that even the fiercest of warriors would bow to. She'd used it often enough on her friends and her husband. But whether she had it here was another matter. She needed time to think, time to sort out her thoughts, to figure out what she truly knew and what she merely remembered.
Apaya was studying her critically, stroking long, slender fingers along a purple snout, "Have a care, Bulma. I have no qualms following your orders, except when it involves putting your well-being in jeopardy." Solid-yellow eyes narrowed into slits as her voice lowered to a conspiring murmur, "However, you ought to think twice before pulling that stunt with any of the guards."
The Chikyuu-jin woman nodded in response before leaving to wander the villa. Though the other servants in the villa stayed well out of her way, she kept her gaze down in feigned subservience as a precaution. She let her feet move on their own volition, traversing a path by rote until they brought her to an empty room.
And at first it was just that: An empty room. But then when she looked at it, really looked at it, she remembered what this room used to house and what it used to mean to her.
Along one wall was a desk where a makeshift data-pad filled with schematics and notes was safely tucked away in one of the drawers. In the very center of the room was a long table, one she commandeered from the kitchen then converted into a workstation. It was in this room that she dismantled and built all sorts of equipment. It was on that very surface where countless electronic and mechanical gadgets found in the prince's villa were gutted, cannibalized for parts, then frankensteined into all manner of dangerous little constructs.
Even when all her lovely little creations were reduced to crumpled masses of metal and wires for failing to kill the Saiyan prince, she kept at it, kept building and inventing. The sense of triumph and heady thrill of having made something incredible out of junk and scrap spurred her on as much as her spite and anger and hate.
Until one day, she managed to piece together a wicked little laser-pistol. She waited for him in this very room, brandishing the weapon as soon as the prince found her and crossed the threshold. She was confident that the prince's arrogance would have him mock her and condescend to show her how useless her little "toys" were against a Saiyan's might.
He acted as predicted, leering at her while keeping his arms at his sides, goading her, telling her to shoot him, "Go on, I won't even dodge."
Kami the look on his face when the beam that shot out of the pistol punched a hole clear through his shoulder. He was damn lucky that the laser's recoil screwed up her aim, causing it to pull up ever so slightly. Otherwise she would have vaporized his heart if he had one. She rounded it back on him immediately, pointing the muzzle right at his face, ignoring all narrative tradition of making some long-winded speech about karma and being underestimated and how stupid he was to let a genius like her have free reign over all this technology.
She opted instead to let the manic, vindictive glee of her smile do the talking. Her finger tried to pull the trigger a second time except the pistol was no longer in her hand. The world rushed past her and abruptly stopped when her back slammed against a wall, the sickening crunch of breaking bones too loud in her ears.
When she woke up in the infirmary, it was to the sight of a completely healed Vegeta waiting for her to gain consciousness. He yanked her out of the regeneration tank, uncaring how his grip bruised and threatened to break sensitive, newly knitted bones as he dragged her to her makeshift lab.
"Hold her," he barked to someone before proceeding to demolish the room.
She struggled and screamed and railed against the immovable hands that restrained her, thrashing madly while the refuge that kept her defiance alive was destroyed right in front of her. When the last of her workroom was incinerated with a ki-blast, the hands finally let her go and she crumpled to her knees, mind seemingly lost to the world.
Bulma shook herself out of her reverie, wiping the tears streaming down her cheeks with the back of her hands, growling to herself that she wasn't going to give up.
"Thinking of rebuilding?" a voice, familiar and alien all at once, asked gruffly from behind her.
She tensed at the sound, her heart leaping into her throat as she slowly turned around to face the guard. Her hand pressed to her mouth, muffling the name she gasped in fear and disbelief, "G-Goku?"
Author's Notes: It's not quite a continuation of The Dark Prince as it is that chapter told from Bulma's perspective. I really seem to have a thing for dreams, don't I? Big thanks to my Ideas Taster for letting me word-vomit my half-baked ideas at them and for keeping me from talking myself out of writing this update. I don't quite know if I'll actually make Divergence its own series/fic, it really depends on whatever direction my Ideas Taster ends up enabling me towards. There will be two more (much shorter) updates before all ideas I've come up with this story-line have been written. If I still draw a blank by then, Divergence will stay in this collection of one-shots/drabbles.
Reviews are loved and appreciated! I'm still open for prompts/suggestions in the form of a phrase or a line from a song, though if you do give me a line from a song, I might use it for Only Once.