Chapter 12
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He swam through formless darkness. Something was already building at the edge of his awareness, a dull roar that made him cringe, though his cage of flesh remained unmoving. He caught a wisp of a familiar scent, sound coming to him in brief snatches of lucidity.
"-is crashing, we need to-"
"-too strong, it won't-"
"-out of my way right now or I swear I will-"
The wave rose up and swallowed him whole.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
This time he rose to awareness slowly. He tried to open his eyes but his body was outside of his command. He could feel something pressing against his face, something wrapped around his waist that held him down, and panic rose. An animal trapped, his body instinctively struggled, spasms wracking him.
"-going on, I can't-"
"-seizing, hold him down!"
"No, wait!"
He vaguely felt his fist connect with something. A muffled crash. Silence. Awareness began to recede.
A voice, familiar but slurred. "The sheets. Untuck the sheets."
He fell.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Three days. It had been three days since the explosion, and still Vegeta lay unmoving in the infirmary bed. Bulma rested her head on her hands, wincing at the sharp ache that shot through her temple. The bruise from Vegeta's fist stubbornly remained a dark purple, spreading from just above her ear across her face, wrapping around her eye and down to the corner of her slightly swollen mouth.
The doctors had worried that her skull was fractured, but she'd waved off their mutterings about x-rays. A quick scan with Capsule Corp's own equipment had proved it to be merely very deep bruising. She concluded that his unconsciousness had saved her; not expecting a blow, she hadn't tried to brace at all, which would have been utterly useless against his strength and would most likely have resulted in a broken neck for her. Her back was one massive, throbbing ache where she had crashed into a medical cart and then the wall, but she counted herself lucky to be alive.
The genius swallowed hard, lifting her head. She had hardly left the room for three days, sleeping on a cot beside his bed and eating little. Her stomach was clenched so tight from guilt and worry that nausea constantly lurked.
"Please, Vegeta," she whispered, "wake up. I'm so sorry."
She'd taken to talking to him on and off. She didn't know if he could hear her or not, but she figured it couldn't hurt to try. Her guilt had been bad enough before. However, since aiding in Vegeta's care it had ballooned to new proportions. The evidence of his suffering littered his body, which bore numerous scars. She had traced gentle fingers over them and wondered, a little sadly, how he had survived such horrific injuries, many of which she knew from King Cold's files had been inflicted when he was a mere child.
As she had worked on the armour, she had also worked her way through the files. She had only scanned over his briefly; even the little she had read had felt like an invasion of privacy. She remembered thinking that it was no surprise he'd ended up the way he had, with an upbringing like that. Reading about it in the dry, precise medical language of his file and actually seeing the proof carved into his skin were vastly different experiences, however. Compassion had spurred her guilt to further heights, and beneath it the seed of tenderness she'd been harbouring since the night of the ball sprouted a tiny, fragile new shoot.
"I would have apologised sooner, Vegeta, but I didn't know what to say. Some genius I am, huh? So you need to wake up so I can say it in person. Besides," she tossed her hair back over one shoulder for effect, even knowing he couldn't see it. "it's not every day that a beautiful genius begs for your forgiveness, right? You know your ego would love that. So just… wake up for me. Please."
"Woman," a harsh voice grated, "will you stop that infernal racket?"
Bulma's head shot up. "Vegeta? You're awake!"
"Obviously," he grunted, struggling to sit up.
Bulma stood, pressing her hands gently into his shoulders. He was appalled when his torso sank back into the mattress; he had not felt so weak for a long time.
"Whoa, macho man, you need to just stay there for a while. You managed to do yourself some serious damage, you idiot."
He looked sharply at her and was surprised to see a soft smile in lieu of the scowl he had been expecting. She winced, a hand flying to touch the swollen corner of her mouth. She looked away, studying the edge of the sheet.
"I have to apologise," she said in a rush, "for the things I said to you. I don't – it's not – ugh! I mean, I don't know why I said such awful things to you. I didn't mean any of them. I didn't realise I was still so angry."
There was silence. Eventually, she looked up to meet his eyes. His narrowed, steady on her face as though assessing her sincerity. After what felt like forever, he grunted and broke their mutual stare, his shoulders relaxing the tiniest fraction. Bulma let out a long breath of relief; she'd take that as a sign of forgiveness, she thought determinedly. It's not like Vegeta would ever deign to admit that she had managed to hurt him, after all.
They sat in a less fraught kind of silence for a while, broken only by the steady beep of the machines monitoring his heart rate. Saiyans' hearts, she had been fascinated to realise, beat slower than humans'. She'd theorised that the muscle was so much stronger it was required to do less work to achieve the same effect. Given the few other facts they knew about Saiyan physiology, including the fact that their veins and arteries were much wider to allow for a greater rate of blood flow, it seemed to be a logical supposition.
Realising that she was retreating into science as a way to avoid talking to Vegeta, she bit her lip, then had to stifle a yelp at the sting. Steeling her courage, she cast about for a subject to discuss. Her eyes fell on a jagged scar cut deep into his pectoral muscle.
"Was this where…?" she trailed off, abruptly realising that she hadn't chosen the most relaxing subject matter.
Vegeta turned his head to look at her. After a tense moment, he surprisingly responded.
"Yes, that is where Frieza killed me."
Seeing his expression darken, she unthinkingly reached out and traced the line of another scar, this one snaking down the side of his ribcage in a lazy curl. He stilled beneath her hand. Suddenly aware of the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, she caught her breath. They both watched as she stroked her way down the scar again, her skin pale against his.
"What about this one?" she murmured.
"One of my first purges." His voice had dropped to a husky growl that made her stomach clench. "We cleared the home planet of reptilian creatures. They were a race of cannibals; their every body part was armoured for protection. I foolishly forgot that they had barbed tails and turned my back on an enemy I thought I had killed."
His eyes closed as he remembered the hot slice of agony as his side split under the lash of the creature's tail. He had been particularly brutal in his attacks because the planet's inhabitants reminded him of Frieza. He had rampaged through their ranks like a demented thing, and even the pain had faded under his rage as he spun to blast the lizard who had cut him.
Bulma's soft voice drew him from the bloody memory. "What about here?"
His eyes opened, watching as she examined a slightly raised, shiny patch of skin that covered one hip bone, disappearing under the training shorts he wore. He could see from the way her fingers twitched that she wanted to touch it, to feel the odd slickness with her fingers. A faint smirk twisted his lips as she blushed. Her eyes briefly traced the hard ridges of his abdomen and she bit her lip, the blush darkening. He preened.
"Vegeta?" her soft voice queried.
"A burn, as I'm sure you can tell, woman." His voice had gone harsh with want. "It is a remnant of a childhood punishment from Zarbon. The wound healed poorly because it began to fester before I was allowed to use one of the healing chambers."
Her breath caught for a moment, and her voice sounded odd as she repeated, "Here?"
He didn't need to look to know which scar she traced now. He could feel her touch feathering against his brow, following the silvery line above his eye, barely discernible from a distance.
"That is from my first battle with Kakkarot."
His teeth clenched at the reminder of his hated foe and he started to sit up once more, the energy born of rage fuelling him. He was stopped by a soft sound from the woman at his side. He turned to stare at her. Her head was bowed, shielding her face from his view, but her ribs hitched in rhythmic little jerks.
Before he could think better of it, his hand stretched out. With gentle fingers, he lifted her chin. The sheen of tears on her face was like a punch in the gut. He released her as though burned.
"Woman, stop that at once!" he barked, horrified.
She smiled through her tears. "It's okay, Vegeta, just ignore me."
"Why are you crying, you foolish creature?"
Her smile became softer, sadder. "Because I'd never realised how much you suffered before. It must have been awful."
His eyebrows snapped together, a warning growl rumbling in his chest. "Do not think to pity me."
"It's not pity, okay? It's compassion."
For once, Vegeta was stumped. Seeing the way he was torn between confusion and anger, Bulma frowned.
He hesitated a moment at the question in her eyes before quietly saying, "My scars are a mark of honour, woman. They prove that I have fought harsh enemies, and yet I live. They are a testament to my triumphs. But…" she could see some huge struggle occurring within him as he reached for the words, "nobody has ever grieved for me before. I am your enemy. I would blast this miserable mud ball into oblivion if it wasn't for the challenge of the androids. Why do you cry for me?"
Bulma leaned forwards and, as their faces drew close, she whispered, "You are not my enemy, Vegeta."
Gathering her courage, she closed the gap and pressed her lips to his. For an interminable few seconds, there was nothing. Just as she was about to pull away, mortified, a strong hand grasped the back of her head. His lips softened briefly beneath hers before he took control of the kiss, tilting her head and nipping in hot demand at her lips.
Bulma whimpered, going limp. Somehow he was suddenly sitting up on the edge of the bed, one strong arm wrapped around her waist, the other kneading the base of her neck in a rough caress. Just as she began to feel lightheaded, Vegeta pulled back. She was gratified to see that he was panting slightly, but when the heated look in his eye seared her, her mouth went dry.
They stared at one another, both grappling for self-control. His heavy-lidded eyes closed as he exerted his iron will. When they opened again, his face was once more impassive. Only the clenching of his fists betrayed the passion still burning beneath the surface. Bulma swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath. Intensely aware of him staring at her, she looked away and her eyes fell on the box in the corner of the room.
"Oh! Hey, I have something for you. I was going to give it to you before you decided to blow yourself up."
Vegeta snorted. "Woman, I did not blow myself up. I merely underestimated my own strength."
She shot him a teasing look. "Uh-huh, sure you did. Sounds like another way of saying 'blew myself up' to me."
He merely grunted, but to her surprise there was the faintest quirk at the corner of his lips. Seeing him so relaxed was a novelty that made her pause for a moment, watching him, but at the delay his eyebrows began to draw together. She hastily grabbed the gift, turning to leave it on the bed beside him. One delicate hand gave its surface a last, loving stroke before she relinquished it, strangely reluctant to see his reaction now the moment was upon her.
Kami, she silently begged, please don't let him hate it.
She didn't know why or when his response had become so important to her, but she knew that it was. With brutal honesty, exposed by the fading remnants of her terror after the explosion, she knew that it was vital that he see her as something more than a weak, useless Earthling.
He has to like it, she told herself. Or I'll kick his alien butt. His tight, firm… She swallowed hard. Oh Kami, please let him like it!
