Rights: All rights belong to Akira Toriyama, Toyotarou and Toei Animation

This is based on the manga cannon, so there may be some discrepancies with the anime.

WARNINGS: This story is very, very dark, with a large amount of violence, gore, and sexual references, including references to non-consensual sex.

Even after a few hours more sleep, Vegeta continued to act oddly, not even trying to mask his discomfort, and consequently Trunks and his in-laws easily noticed. He was silent throughout breakfast, glancing at Bulma before ducking his head at regular intervals, pushing his portion around his plate like a disobedient child. He acknowledged Trunks only with movements of his head, not with words, unnerving the boy so much he asked what was the matter straight to his father's face.

To which Vegeta had mumbled, to her consternation, that he was fine, which of course no one had believed. But Bulma respected her husband's dignity enough not to reveal that he was so disconcerted by a nightmare, of all things, when Trunks had long since outgrown that phase. Trunks had shrugged, not trusting the answer but also not pursuing the matter as he shovelled down his food, ready for another day of classes.

Bra also seemed to pick up on her father's mood, calling out to him constantly, but he merely patted her head absently, lost in his own little world. As if in a daze he made his way upstairs, then back again with his computer, muttering to her about changing the carpets.

She would have to organise that today, since she wanted no more reminders for her Vegeta about what had transpired.

Although, it had to be acknowledged that new carpets, especially in the cream colour she so desired, would be yet another memento of what had occurred.

It was in the middle of exchanging e-mails with a salesman, when she was supposed to be working, that Gohan called, picture smiling up at her from her phone as she swiped it.

"Gohan? Hi!" the scientist chirped, still typing away, "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks! How are you?"

"Fine, fine."

Not really, not with concerns about her husband eddying through her head. He was being so terribly cautious around her, quiet, almost shy, alternating between ducking his head in shame and staring raptly at her, making sure she was still there.

And all she could do was reassure him that she was present, that she was alive, that she loved him.

This seemed to startle him, as if he couldn't believe it, especially after her outburst the night before last. She could kick herself for germinating his distrust like that, driving him away at a time in his life when he obviously needed her support, even though he wouldn't tell her why.

He was usually so resilient when she instigated a fight, dogged, and never resigned. His lack of competitive and lashing counter-attacks was unsettling to say the least, not only due to his personality but also his species. And because he wasn't participating, she wasn't wearing her anger out as quickly, which only made matters worse.

"How is Vegeta?"

That was the question, wasn't it? And Bulma wasn't sure how to answer.

"He's…physically he's doing better, but psychologically…"

She fell silent, staring down at her nails even though Gohan could not see her disquiet.

"Not doing so well?" he asked.

"He's…" she sighed, "Despite everything he's done, I've always been glad he's never shown signs of contrition. Not because I want to marry a psychopath, but…He…I always thought it would break him, shatter his heart and mind if he ever developed a conscience. I've always looked for signs of it, but been relieved when, while he would never do such things again, he hasn't exactly felt remorse. Now…"

"He's feeling guilty?"

"Yes. Definitely. He's so passive, so quiet. It's like all the fire inside him has been snuffed out. He doesn't know what to do with himself, just sits there silently unless he's absorbed in his work. Did you know he's writing a book on the saiyans?"

"Yes, he said."

"Well, he's been engrossed in that. But every so often he'll get a faraway look in his eye. I don't like it, Gohan. It feels like he's gone off inside his own mind, like he's left me. And it's hard to bring him back."

"I'm sorry, Bulma. But…" he paused, and she could practically hear his hesitation, "Don't you think it's a good thing? For him to develop these feelings? To come to terms with his past like this?"

"Call me selfish, Gohan, but no, not really. He…I know he'd never do it again, and for me that was enough. He…regretted his actions but they never devastated him. He was always so quick to move forward from his mistakes. This is unusual, and I don't like it."

"I understand, Bulma. It must be hard for you to watch."

She licked her lips, sending off her e-mail, "Are you sure there isn't anything else you can tell me, Gohan?"

"No, I've told you everything I know. It sounds to me like general remorse. He did just return to a planet he purged. It's bound to affect him."

"I suppose. But I think there's something more."

"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you. I'm sure he'll come around, though, Bulma. Just give him some time."

"Hmm…" she considered, "I hope you're right. But I feel like there should be more I can do for him."

"Therapy?"

"What? No! Gohan, there are so many reasons why that wouldn't work."

"Oh. Well, I have nothing else. I have to go now, though. Take care! Send Vegeta my regards."

Bulma sighed as the telephone clicked, telling her Gohan had hung up, leaving her alone again with her thoughts. No one else could assist her, could empathise with her predicament. Trunks and her parents had certainly picked up that something was going on, but they were no help on emotional healing. She herself was out of her depth, up a river with no canoe or oars, and with both hands tied together. Not only did she have minimal knowledge of human mental health, her husband was a saiyan, and his species hadn't really respected that aspect of their wellbeing. He did not know much about it himself, and had shared mere scraps with her. And there was more trauma in his past than one could poke Goku's old pole at.

How was she going to bring him out of his shell? How was she going to distract him from his thoughts, retrieve him from the memories he was lost in? How was she going to ground him in the present, getting him to concentrate on what he had now?

Or should she be trying to make him come to terms with his past by dwelling on it? She really didn't know. Vegeta usually dealt with his emotions by pushing them aside, by training and training until they either disappeared or everything blew up in his face. Would that be a good avenue to pursue (sans explosion of course), or should his recovery be a more gradual analysis of his role, his choices and their consequences?

Bulma had truly no idea. She wasn't a counsellor, wasn't qualified, was just a concerned wife. What could she do?

Her much vaulted intelligence was useless now, focused as it was on mechanics and electronics. Not on psychology. Google wasn't the best training for that, yet she thought she might try it anyway.

But how to get Vegeta to relax around her enough for her to begin working with him? How could she convince him that she was trustworthy? How could she convince him that she didn't think any less of him? That she loved him unconditionally, no matter how much she ended up yelling at him?

That she was not ashamed to have him touch her with those sinful hands?

Sinful in more ways than one.

Well, there was that.

The thought of marital activities remained on Bulma's mind throughout the day, exciting her and making her feel dread in turn. Would Vegeta reciprocate her advances? Would he consent?

There was a small possibility he would turn her away, even though he never had before. Had always viewed the act as a husbandly duty to be carried out with care, even though saiyans weren't that way inclined. It was a benefit to a spacefaring species often held in close quarters not to be beholden to such primal urges, but considering how instinctual and bestial saiyans were as a species, considering how vital such activities were to the production of another generation, it was downright odd.

Vegeta had given her a dark look when she had enquired about it, saying something about genetic manipulation.

For the purposes of more effective units in warfare? For having greater control over the breeding process? Bulma wasn't sure, as Vegeta hadn't elaborated.

Still, even if he wasn't inclined per se, he was very skilled, something Bulma certainly appreciated. And she hadn't experienced that expert touch in months, seeing as he had been absent.

So it was going to be a win-win for them both – Bulma was going to have a fun time, and Vegeta was going to learn that Bulma's love had never wavered. Sex might not have been a leisure activity for the saiyans, but that only made the act all the more important. It was only ever done with someone considered equal, someone worthy of procreating with, because in their culture that was its only purpose.

So she would be conveying, without words, that she considered him the ideal partner.

She couldn't keep the blush off her face, like a little schoolgirl with a crush, as she clapped eyes on him for the first time since making her decision. His loss of attitude hadn't made him any less attractive, even when that had been what lured her to him in the initial stages. He was all corded muscle, not an inch of fat on him, and not a wrinkle in sight, though they must be similar ages, and she was covering hers.

Saiyans.

And he was all hers.

"Hey, Vegeta," she greeted, winking at him from the doorway to the lounge room. Panchy was still busy with dinner, so there was plenty of time before that to get themselves ready.

Vegeta looked up, eyes solemn as he acknowledged her with a nod.

First step, to get Vegeta comfortable with her presence again.

"How was your day?" she asked, slinking around the couch and plonking herself down next to him, forcing him to juggle the laptop as it jerked on his knees. He gave her the stink-eye, securing the device before turning back to the monitor. That was a good sign, showing that he was comfortable enough around her to feel annoyed at her behaviour.

A wall of text met her eyes, heavy black paragraphs dominating the screen as she took it in. She could see numerous headings along the side, testament to how hard he had been working recently. His cursor was currently in the section marked 'Festivals and Celebrations'.

"Vegeta?" she prompted, "Day?"

"Oh," he looked up at her, fingers still hovering over the keys, "It was fine."

He went straight back to typing, keys rattling as his digits roamed over them.

She thought that would be it, and was preparing to speak when he suddenly asked, "How was yours?"

"My day?" she thought for a moment, "It was pretty ordinary, I suppose. I…" should she tell him about the carpets? Probably not, she didn't want to remind him of that unfortunate incident, not when he was clearly doing much better, "Gohan called. He sends his regards."

"Hn."

He was much more relaxed around her than that morning, muscles not coiled, posture slowly easing as he continued to work on his composition. She took a subtle peak over at his writing.

The most important lunar festival on the saiyan calendar was Arke Lin, which celebrated the blue moon. It was customary for—

"Hey!" Vegeta yelped, shielding the screen from her, "You can't read it yet! It's not finished!"

"Oh, come on," she pleaded, "I know you're a perfectionist, but you need an editor."

"When I've completed the draft. Not before. Besides, you might take all sorts of things out of context just peeking like that."

"Aw…" she pouted, reaching out to poke his prominent temple, "You are such a killjoy."

His fingers paused over the keys.

"I probably have killed someone called Joy," he admitted, face pensive.

Bulma sighed, wondering if she had lost the vibe of that conversation, lost the freedom with which Vegeta was conversing with her. He had been so open, too, much more so than she had expected from his behaviour that morning. Had she lost her opportunity to connect with him due to her thoughtless words?

"Honey?"

"Hmm?" he didn't seem submissive.

"Wanna christen that bed tonight?"

"Christen?"

She leant over, whispering an explanation into his ear and causing his face to turn crimson, making her collapse against the couch in peels of laughter.

"B-Bulma! Do you have to be so forward?"

"Well, do you?"

"As much as I would like to satisfy you, I am forbidden such an activity."

"Huh?"

He just stared at her, one eyebrow cocked.

"One week, remember?" he reminded her, "It hasn't been a week yet."

Her face fell into her hands as she complained to her palms. How could she forget?

"You were the one so insistent on my following the doctor's orders. And yet, here you are encouraging delinquency."

"I genuinely forgot."

"One track mind, woman," he commented lightly, making her groan.

But she wasn't going to end it there, not when he was in such a comparatively good mood.

"So, how have you been?"

"Fine, until you reminded me," he grumbled, glaring at the screen in from of him, fingers tense over the keys.

"You want to talk about it?"

Of course he didn't, but she had to try.

"No. Just give me some time." He resumed typing, focused on the pixels rather than her.

"Really, Bulma. I just need time," her husband insisted, "Once I get back to training, things will settle."

"I'd like to believe you, honey, but I can't help worrying. You haven't been yourself."

"No," he sighed, "I'm not myself. I may never be again. But you've always welcomed the new person I've become when I've changed in the past."

"This isn't a change for the better."

"Isn't it?" he asked, "All of your benign friends have been wanting me to alter my attitude for a long time. I'm sure they would be very glad to hear that I am finally feeling remorse."

"Is that all it is, honey? What's affecting you, remorse?"

"Yes," he replied, but he didn't meet her eyes.

So the real answer was 'no'. That grated on Bulma's nerves more than the secrets, more than the concealment because as far as she knew Vegeta had never lied to her. He had a history of being brutally honest, and only practiced deceit with his children whenever the subject of his past was raised. He really didn't trust her anymore, did he? If he ever had to begin with, that is.

"I don't appreciate you lying to me," she warned, giving him a significant look as he finally met her eyes. He looked down again at the device in his lap, and resumed his work without speaking.

"Vegeta," she growled.

"What is there for me to say? We have already established that I intend to keep the events in question private, and yet you continue to pester me despite this. It cannot, therefore, come as a surprise to you if I lie to you, given what I have already maintained; i.e. that I will not tell you. That I do not want you to know. Please, just give it a rest. Once I'm back to training, we can move on and forget this ever happened."

"Vegeta, don't distort history, here. You took months to overcome your issues after Cell, and then following the episode with Buu. This isn't going to disappear so easily, and you know it. Maybe if you opened up to me, like you didn't in those times, this would pass quicker."

He observed her with a quizzical expression.

"I don't recall you being all that keen to interact with me on either occasion, not that I blame you in the slightest. And really, you ought to be reacting in that same manner towards me."

"Why? Have you broken your promise to me?"

He licked his lips. Vegeta may have been prepared to lie outright, but he wasn't very good at it, at least not as far as she was concerned, and both of them were aware of that fact.

"Which one?" he asked instead of answering.

Her body stilled, blood thumping through her as she felt sweat beginning to form on her palms. That all but confirmed that he had broken his word to her about something. After placing so much emphasis on his word, his honour as the heir to the saiyan throne, he had broken a vow to her.

But which vow had he broken? He had taken all of them seriously, every guarantee he had ever made to her, and she wasn't sure she remembered all of them. Only that they had seemed to mean a lot to him, and as a result, his reneging was far beyond the confines of worrisome.

"Your promise not to go back to the man you were, not to harm the innocent, not to be…evil."

The sideways look unsettled her as he replied, "I have committed no atrocities since making that vow to you."

"Then what else have you done?" she pressed, her mind shuffling through her internal records of his promises.

All the ones she remembered were significant.

Life, love, fidelity, restraint. Vows never to harm any of them. Vows to treat them with all of the love he could muster as an emotionally stunted saiyan who proved her right about his secret depths at every turn. Vows about their relationship, about their children, about his own behaviour towards others unconnected with them.

All crucial, and he had broken one, causing a tiny, insidious and growing crack to appear in her heart.

He refused to reveal which.

It hadn't taken long for that wound to fester within Bulma. She had been cold to him throughout dinner, ordered him to spend the night on the couch instead, after telling him in no uncertain terms that she was owed an explanation, and wouldn't be welcoming him back without one. Usually he would have yelled straight back, but this time, just like with Buu, he took the punishment after only pleading clemency. She had snubbed his rather suppliant attempts at reconciliation the next morning, avoided him like the plague in favour of her work, and asked for no updates on his own composition.

He even offered to let her have a look at it, which she rebuffed with less eloquence than was becoming for a woman of her station. Words had been exchanged, becoming more and more heated to the extent that their argument soon resembled ones from long ago, even if Vegeta wasn't counterattacking with the same amount of vengeance. But it got to the point where she threatened him with divorce, a common intimidation tactic from their earlier years, but one which effectively sucked the wind from his sails in one fell swoop.

Ignoring the crestfallen look on his face as he shuffled his lunch around on his plate, Bulma returned to her home office not feeling any sense of guilt.

Whatsoever.

He was in the wrong here, not her, keeping such things from her. He had broken a promise to her, a vow which might end their marriage, depending on what it was. What could he have managed in the minutes to half-hour or so he was separated from the others? Or, she realised, during the two months he was away on Yardrat? There hadn't been time to catch up between the defeat of Moro and the announcement of a new escape. He hadn't been obviously acting unusual, but there simply weren't enough data points to dismiss the possibility.

Whatever it was, he clearly regretted it, if he had been the instigator in the first place. But that didn't soothe Bulma's heart much. He had done things only to regret them before. Was he trapped in his own mistakes, doomed forever to repeat them?

Could she handle that? Could she forgive him again?

She supposed the answer to that question depended on what exactly he had done, what promise he had broken. And she wasn't sure how to ascertain that. Asking the source was definitively out. But who else could she ask? Her family hadn't been there, Goku was who knew where, not that she thought he would have anything useful to add, and Gohan had already told her everything he knew. Despite being fully aware he would have nothing to offer, she decided, after Trunks finished his classes for the day, to quiz him.

"What's wrong with Dad?" Trunks repeated, blinking up at her, still not having reached his growth spurt, "I was going to ask you that. Dad's sure been acting weird, huh?"

"Yes," Bulma bit out, "He has. And he refuses to speak to me. I was wondering if you might have some more insight."

"Me? He isn't going to reveal anything to me, Mum. He's always keeping things from me because I'm too young to know. Like Frieza, I know there's something going on between them, but he won't tell me what."

"And I'm not going to either," she rejected, understanding his wheedling gaze, "But I want to know what you've noticed about him."

"Erm…he seems…distant. Like he's afraid we'll shatter if he touches us. But he wants to act normal, that I can tell," Trunks scratched his chin, "He's been sorta weird about Bra, and then you."

He frowned, "What are you mad at him about, anyway?"

"None of your business!"

"Hey, if my parents are going to get a divorce then it is my business!"

"Who said anything about a divorce?"

Technically speaking, they weren't even legally married, since Vegeta did not exist.

"You did, this morning. He seemed pretty upset."

"Sweetie, I threaten your father with divorce every time we fight. This is completely normal behaviour for both of us, you should know that."

"You mean you used to," Trunks corrected, "I haven't heard that line since you fell pregnant with Bra. Which means he's really upset you."

"It's nothing, sweetie."

He merely raised an eyebrow.

"Okay," she amended, "So it is something. But I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation which won't involve signing any documents."

He began to scowl in a very familiar manner.

"Look, whatever's happening between us is just that, between us."

"Mum!" Trunks whined, clenching his fists, "You're both my parents, and you're both really troubled. Like, really troubled. I mean, Dad's been in a funk for a few days, now, but all this time, up until last night, you've been trying to support him. What changed? Why are you so mad at him, now?"

"Sweetie—"

"Come on, Mum! I'm not a little kid anymore! You can't try to sweep this under the rug. Not if you're hanging divorce over his head. I definitely have a stake in this."

"Trunks, your father…" she paused, "Your father has…well, he's broken a promise to me."

"Really? What promise?"

"I don't know," she confessed.

"You…don't know? You're threatening divorce and you don't even know what it's about? I break promises to you all the time."

"Trunks, you're a child. Your father is different. He puts a lot of emphasis on his word, the fact that he's broken a promise to me may mean more than the content of that promise."

Trunks frowned, "Did he do it on purpose?"

"I…" Bulma considered, "I really don't know."

And she didn't. Perhaps he would have told her the truth on that if she had asked, but to be honest his culpability had slipped her mind. Was it really so important whether or not he had purposefully broken his word? He had still done it.

She told as much to Trunks.

"Of course it matters!" Trunks objected, "You yell at me way more if I throw a glass on the floor compared to when I drop one."

"I suppose. But…" did Vegeta ever do anything by accident?

"Come on, Mum," Trunks' voice turned serious, "Something's really wrong with Dad. He was in hospital only a few days ago. He looked dreadful. Is this really what you should be focusing on right now? Don't you love him?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then act like it."