Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z

A/N: This is a short chapter (one that fits more within the whole 'drabble-fic' idea that this is supposed to be) but one that I think is important to the story in a structural sense. For you readers, it might be harder to see it at this point, but larger chapters will be back, don't worry. I normally get to the end of writing a chapter and know in my gut that this is it for the chapter; I have this feeling now so here it is. Just thought I'd explain in case people are wondering why.

Thanks again for all the reviews, they are always appreciated.


Vegeta

Year 755

He sits atop the ship and watches Bulma tend to the garden she has grown in the fading light, the last rays of sun gilding her hair with gold. The small seedlings she brought with her to this new world now tower above her, the vines twisting through the scaffolding she has set for them, red fruit hanging ripe and ready for picking. Soon, she told him yesterday. Don't eat them yet.

She once told him that she doesn't enjoy gardening. He finds it hard to believe when he sees her like this, her fingers stained with grease and soil and the chlorophyll of the weeds she's pulled up. She still hasn't noticed him watching her; blissfully unaware as she takes a red fruit – space strawberries, she calls them – straight from the vine and pops it in her mouth. Her moan is enough to make his cock twitch; her mouth was moaning around that this morning, and the sight of her now – hair loose and coveralls open to the waist, nothing but her skimpy crop top on underneath – has him growing hard in seconds.

He remains where he is. There is something private about this moment, her alone amongst the plants she has nurtured, and though she never speaks of it, he knows it somehow connects her to her home world.

It is the difference between them. She creates things with her hands, grows things, and makes things new.

He stands, turning his back to her, and scans the scenery before him. The once green field is marred with the scars of his training, craters and charred soil filling the landscape. The forest here has long been decimated, blackened stumps rising dead out of the ground at all angles. He now flies further for his hunts, the animals in the local vicinity all but wiped out.

This is the nature of a Saiyan. He only knows how fight, to kill, and to destroy.