Chapter 9:
Just a Theory
Bulma was able to surmise a few things about Vegeta after the nine years she lived with the pompous prince. The first being that whatever this problem was, it was serious. She also knew no matter what she said or asked or did she had never been able to wheedle him into spilling his emotions to her. She knew he didn't have to and she accepted that he was stubborn and preferred to keep things to himself, but that didn't keep her from wondering about his annual abominating manner towards his family. Granted he always had a slight loathing proclivity towards the world anyway, but it stood out now. It was that time of the year again, and they were fighting intensely! She didn't like fighting with him, that much was a given, but for some reason…she wasn't angry at him for this fight. She resented him the first time for his childish outbursts and tantrums, the second time she noticed the pattern and that the argument was exactly the same, the third she considered leaving him not wanting to put up with him every year, but the fourth and onward, she let it go. It was her natural stubborn-side that constantly sparked the fight. She no longer blamed him but the arguments practically became tradition and she felt an instinct to yell almost the same things back and fourth at one another every year. She could repeat this year's verbatim…
"Hungry?" She asked just like she does every afternoon after his training session. She got no reply, which was odd because he usually nods or answers with a "humph". Both would have been acceptable and she would carry on with preparing the meal. After getting no response she would always look at the calendar hanging by a loose nail in the same place and notice the day. It was the 14th this time. He wouldn't come through the kitchen and rummage for some type of food item today, instead he walked right to the couch, flopped himself down on it much harder then the rock-of-a-man normally does, and turn on the television as loud as he could-turning on the t.v. itself was rather odd for the saiyan due to the fact that he thought it was a "useless human invention meant to brainwash the idiots who inhabit this pathetic excuse for a planet"- and just like every year he would immediately close his eyes, which only further proved the uselessness of the television, lean back and curiously whisper something. But that was an argument she never won and didn't want to get back into.
"It's the 14th," she began "isn't it a beautiful day?" She let out a sigh knowing the imminent battle that would rage, and continued to make something solely for her and Trunks predicting he wasn't going to eat any of her food today. She would then receive an extremely well practiced death-glare through his narrowed eyes, which never quite failed to make her heart jump, and again he wouldn't reply. "Is there something you want to talk about Vegeta?" She asked breathing in the sweet scent of grape jelly and the toasting grains of the bread behind her trying to fight past the growing tension.
"Not particularly." He answered turning the monstrosity up louder to the point that she could practically hear the birds chirping somewhere off screen from the news reporter.
"Turn that down Vegeta!" she enjoined strictly trying to intimidate him.
"Make me…" he said under his breath a childish tint to his voice.
…
That would always start it, some childish comment or look. Just like the straw that breaks the camels back. The second thing she was able to determine was whatever it is, he's lying about it... the numerous fights let her to coax Vegeta into blurting out an excuse that she assumed was predetermined long before that moment, and continued to argue it whenever the topic of his attitude was sparked. She didn't deny that ''getting your entire life style stolen from you, and being forced practically into slavery to the basturd that destroyed your family'' would harden any being...but still, that wasn't it. She prided herself in her sharp memory, and she could remember him bickering on and on about how he didn't care about his family or home just as well as she could remember what she had for lunch only an hour ago.
...
Her thoughts were interrupted by a trio of praise around some sports game on the small television stationed in the middle of master Roshi's den. He, Yamcha, and Puar have been surrounding it in anticipation throughout her entire visit. That didn't quite bother her though. That lack of interest in her, in fact, was the reason she came to the small beach house in the first place. She continued to stare at the steadily pounding rain on the window frame, hand rested on her chin in a ponderous position. How fitting the rain was…
…
The third thing she found was that whatever it is…whatever this enigma was that bombarded him to the point of anxiety…it hurt him. He wouldn't admit it to her face no matter how many times she asked, but she knew. The first sign she noticed was the very first year they were together.
…
Normal day she supposed, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They were fighting stringently for the first time, but she figured that these fights were a normal part of relationships and it would pass. The sun beat on her neck as she walked out of the house looking for the man she intended to apologize too. Yes, she was going to throw in the towel, since it didn't seem like he was going to do it any time soon. She didn't quite turn the wall to the G.R. before seeing him walking out. He must not have seen her because he continued walking straight to get into one of the many doorways with not so much as a hint of a glimpse towards her.
He looked normal too, walking with his back straight, chin high, shoulders strong...then he just…fell. He fell! His knee hit the ground with a devastating thud, the other bent, shaking dangerously. He had his palms grasping at the ground, breath heavier then she ever remembered hearing from him. Head down in exhaustion. His face, at least what she could see of it, was twisted into a torn expression between pain and anger. She couldn't bring herself to move or even make a sound. Her mouth dropped as she watched him tremble weakly. What could she really do? Helping him would probably only embarrass him, acknowledging that he fell would only make him defensive…to this day she never told him she saw it.
…
The fact that he was so hurt by this anonymity was probably why she didn't blame him anymore. Lashing out because of an inner pain is exactly how Vegeta is, and she supposed this was just his way to cope.
Lastly and most importantly…was her theory. It hurt her to think about it, but it was plausible. Maybe…it was a woman. Maybe it was some long lost love, and he felt confliction about loving Bulma and loving a woman she didn't have much evidence of. Trunks was about four the time she noticed what little proof she had...
...
He's strict, even in his sleep. He would sleep only two ways. One: bone straight on his back with no intentions of tossing at any point in the night, uncomfortable or not. Or two: with his arms crossed sitting up against a wall -which was still arguably on his back- and that was all. That was how he slept unless it was a very special case.
He fell asleep on his back like normal that night. She awoke for no particular reason, water perhaps. She looked towards her husband casually like any woman would do…and blushed gently.
His body rested on his shoulder, the curves of his strong back dipped in and out in a beautiful way, scars tainting his skin. Some larger than others, crescents and lines reminiscent of his past hostilities. His chest rose and fell with his soft breaths. She looked over his shoulder to see him closer. His face was more relaxed then she honestly thought possible in the man. She had never seen him so gentle before. She was tempted to outline the muscles on his arms and kiss his neck. But she didn't want to wake him…he let out a noise similar to a moan deep in his throat then and his arm tensed slightly. She instinctively allowed her gaze to drift further down his arms and felt her eyes immediately sting with the threat of tears. It was stretched out as if it didn't realize the absence of a woman's body. His other hand was cuffed like it was waiting to comfort a woman's shoulder…She was not paranoid…she had seen this before…at one time she was the one in his arms.
…
He wasn't heartless. If she urged anything when she got the endless questions of "why him?" it's that he was. not. heartless! The one rare case where he didn't sleep in his tense position was when she was pregnant. The bigger she was, the closer he got. The more he whispered that she would be safe…it wasn't until conjuring this grand theory sometime later did she realize that promise to protect her could mean something more then what it was at the moment…and all it did was further prove her presumption…
It was a woman, and he wasn't able to protect her, and he feels guilty. That made sense…she planned on bringing it up if for no other reason than because she wanted to know if she was right…maybe it'll get him talking…maybe the fights would stop…but still…it was just a theory.