"Then show me Vegeta. Show me you love me."
He stared at her like she'd smacked him square in the face. Then he scowled, his arms lifting to cross over his massive torso.
"Don't be absurd. I don't lov-"
Reaching over the counter she grabbed the keys off the table, and less then gracefully spun around to the front door.
She wasn't going to listen to this. It was such bullshit. She knew it. He knew it. And for weeks they've been going at it. Well, they were always at it, but lately it'd been worse. She'd try to connect, he'd push her away. He'd demand her assistance with the gravity room, she'd brush him off. Her parents had approached her, supportive as they were. But not even her father's deepest wisdom could solve the problem that was Vegeta.
Sure, they'd bickered before Trunk's arrival. It was witty and flirty and she used to enjoy the blush he'd sport when she'd send a wink over her shoulder. Now he was angry and resentful. Mostly at himself – for letting himself get distracted. For getting her pregnant. For his arrogance in the face of Cell, and the resulting humiliation. For not even being close to the power levels the prepubescent brat projected during the tournament. For never being able to defeat Goku, despite his years of dedication and hard work.
And now with her friend's recent departed soul, she knew it bothered him. Largely because he no longer had opportunity to prove himself. Goku was dead and Vegeta was now top of the food chain. On earth anyway. But she knew he was bothered by more than that. He hadn't out right come out and said it, but it was obvious his ambition was lost. No more "I will become a Super Saiyan!" or "I will defeat Kakarot and become the strongest Saiyan to ever have lived!" His goals had either already been reached or could no longer be accomplished. She'd come to the sad realisation that he suffered from a lack of direction.
He was lost. A noble Saiyan without a purpose.
And true to Vegeta's style; he fell back on his heritage for comfort; pride and honor.
And once again, she'd taken the brunt of it.
Her hand almost grasped the knob when he spoke again.
"You're delusional. I'm here to raise the boy. I've achieved the legendary status. I've protected your pathetic planet from the androids. I assisted your lot with that physically deformed cretin at the tournament. What more do you want from me woman?" he spat.
A devoted husband. A loving father. Either one would do.
The tears came faster than she could control, and she grabbed the door handle with a shaking hand. Screw him. He was always at the center of the universe. There was only personal, physical improvement. And his mistake of a son. Her nose scrunched. Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered. Not the Son's, not the Z warriors, not even her.
"Apparently," she hissed over her shoulder, "I want more than your limited emotional capacity can provide." Turning the handle, she threw open the door so hard it hit the wall and quickly swung back as she stepped through it.
Screw him for leaving her alone during pregnancy. Screw him for coming back and saving the planet. Screw him for staying when they succeeded. Screw him for finally taking an interest in their son. Screw him for... everything, she thought angrily, wiping an eye with the palm of her hand. Her make-up was already ruined; and she was way past the point of trying to save it.
"Enough."
She stopped in her tracks and frowned. His voice had lowered, his statement coming out tired and gruff. She turned back, finding him exactly where she'd thought he'd be; directly behind her. One of his hands rested on the door – presumably caught mid swing.
He wasn't that much taller than her, so she didn't need to tilt her head to look him dead in the eye. She sniffed, crossing her arms and bringing a hand up again to wipe away another tear as it rolled down cheek. She was done trying to match his ego tonight. She was going to cry and he was going to see it. To hell with his indifference.
He watched as she wiped at her nose, then at her cheek once more. And for a moment she didn't think he'd say anything else. Then he broke eye contact, stepping past the door and letting it close behind him, making her take a step back, giving him the room to lean against the frame. He crossed his arms, frown deepening, his eyes flickering off to the side below him.
"Tell me what it is you need from me that'll mollify you enough so we can properly raise the boy." His frustrated gaze quickly shot back up before she could snarl out an answer. "Sayains don't love. The word doesn't even translate into our language." He emphasized, looking away from her once more. "Ever wonder why Kakarot was such a poor husband? That's no coincidence."
He said nothing more, letting the information sink in. But when she didn't answer him, he glanced back up to her - her tear soaked eyes remained sharp and unchanged. He sighed and spoke even lower. "We're built to be independent."
Yes, she knew where he was going with it.
And it was such bullshit.
His brow furrowed when she still didn't say anything, and he uncrossed his arms, voice rising. "How can you expect me to demonstrate such an emotion when I can barely grasp the concept! Your customs of attachment are frivolous and thoughtless, and I've yet to see a successful alliance blossom of it."
She frowned. "My parents are doing just fine, thank you very much."
He snorted. "If you want to call that a partnership."
Screw him.
She turned on the ball of her foot, fully intent on reaching her car and driving to the nearest 5 star hotel, where she could splurge on room service for the rest of this dreadful weekend.
But she didn't make a step before he blinked in front of her, and she flexed her abdominals a little too hard trying to prevent herself from recoiling to the ground.
"Quit your fable attempt at retreating and grow a spine. You've come to make me believe you have one." He sneered at her. "Show it."
She let out a grunt of frustration and debated giving him the bird.
But the very fact he was still with her killed the urge as she gave it another thought. Vegeta never prolonged conversation. He was a brute in strength and in personality, so naturally communication wasn't his strongest asset. But in a way, she realized, this might be him actually trying to make it work.
Ok then.
"Kiss me."
He blinked. "What?"
"Every night before bed, and every morning when you wake up."
He snorted. "I'm not about to waste my time-"
"It's not a waste of time Vegeta, it's the solution to our problem," she spat back. "You want to keep this family strong, you're going to need to work for it. And what I need for that is to feel loved. So you're going to have show it. Even if it's foreign to you." She watched his biceps tense as he stood there, obviously uncomfortable. Well too bad. He wanted her to spell it out for him, so here it was.
"To feel loved. That's what I require from you."
He became unreadable then, his posture no less relaxed and his gaze no less intense. He seemed stunned really, his frown frozen in time and his eyes just a tad wider than she was accustomed to.
She waited on his response.
Nothing.
Bulma gave up then. This wasn't working.
As usual.
She gave a loud sigh and pocketed her keys as her anger dissipated and fatigue and sadness took its place. Suddenly the thought of driving an hour into town felt less appealing.
"The decision is always yours Vegeta. No one on this planet can force you to do something you don't want to do," she said, turning a palm up in surrender and weakly turning around, bringing a hand up to her forehead and making her way back towards the door. A hot bath sounded nice right about now. And a few glasses of wine too.
"Well, except maybe Goku," she added as an afterthought.
"That third class imbecile couldn't -"
"I'm going to bed now," she interrupted, stopping and not bothering to look back at him. His dick measuring contest could wait another day. "I'm going to take a bath, and go to bed. Chichi's picking up Trunks first thing tomorrow and since I'm not going out of town I need to at least be able to pretend like I'm awake enough to send him off."
Her gaze flickered back to him from the corner of her eye. "Goodnight Vegeta." She pushed her legs forward and quickly reached the door of the house, hand firmly gasping the handle.
She hadn't heard his approaching footsteps and jumped when he stiffly brought a hand to her waist, his chest suddenly grazing her back. Her gaze flew down to his hand. Then she brought her head back up, squaring her shoulders and stubbornly staring at the door in front of her, refusing to face him head on.
It was defiance in its own right.
He wasn't the only warrior.
His other hand rose behind her head and brushed against the skin of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered as the heat of his thumb drifted down the line of her jaw, before she felt the pad of his hand rest itself on her collar bone. Then, softer than anyone would believe, he brushed his thumb under the lobe of her ear. Whatever sounds the night contained disappeared then. The roar of her heart burst in her ears and she barely felt the wind pick up as her hair feathered around the base of her neck.
She craned her neck back to him, eyes jumping to his lips and it took everything she had just to stand there.
This was his decision. He had to be the one to make it.
There was no way to describe how he looked at her then. He wasn't angry or annoyed. Not curious or questioning. But his eyes were dilated and intense and his brow furrowed deeper as he leaned closer. His nose brushed against hers and her hand eagerly jolted out behind her to grab the bottom of his shirt. He paused, eyes hooded with a steady breath.
She kept her treacherous hand still, the soft fabric crumpling underneath her grip.
C'mon Vegeta. We need this.
Then, in a final decision, he increased the pressure under her jaw, twisting her head back, and pushing his lips onto hers. She practically sprang on him, turning at a speed she didn't know she had and fully crushing herself against him, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his vigorously, feverously. His hand shot up from her waist to the wall beside them, indenting the panel of the house as he stepped forward, forcing her body back against it in one, swift move. He was harsh and unyielding and if she let him continue his assault she was sure to have bruised lips come the morning. But her hand came up and weaved its way into his hair, and she glided it over the silky strands, nails literally dragging against his scalp. He groaned an inhuman sound and he heaved her up, slamming his hips into hers, making a rolling motion against her core. She almost saw stars.
It was amazing. All the yelling and pent up rage, all the hurt and the anger. All culminating to this. And it was the best absolution either of them could have hoped for.
He breathed a growl and his hand forcefully climbed under the hem of her shirt, his other hand roughly grabbing the back of her neck, pressing further into her still. He found what he was looking for, and curled his hand around the cup of her bra, dragging down the material and crushing the metal wire holding its shape. But before he had a chance to rip it clean off, she broke the kiss with a sloppy pop, gently bringing a hand to his chest. He jerked, either in insult or confusion, and pulled his head back, retreating his hands and resting them on the wall on either side of her, leaving a cold, empty space between them. A few more indents marked the wall. She hadn't even noticed when he'd made them.
His eyes fell away, and he leaned back, letting his arms slip from the surface beside her. Thinking quickly, Bulma mirrored his earlier move and pushed herself against him, firmly gripping the back of his neck, other hand still resting on his chest, stopping his retreat.
She felt rather than saw him narrow his eyes at her. That was fine. She could handle that.
Taking a couple of calming breaths, she waited for her heart to slow enough to clear her heated head and focused as she chose her words. Forcing her eyes back to his, she leveraged her grip on his neck, pushing herself back to his lips until they barely touched. He tensed, but didn't pull back.
Then she spoke, just a whisper of a sound.
"Like this."
He heard it clear as day.
She kissed him. Not passionately or intensely. Nothing like the craving they'd just experienced.
Softly. Lovingly.
She tilted her head as her arm slid down the back of his neck, her other hand skimming up to wrapped themselves around his shoulders.
After a beat, he followed her lead, arms coming up to find a niche little spot on her hips as he hesitantly returned her affection.
It was sweet and warm and after a moment he pulled back. This time she let him.
"Will that be an adequate standard?"
Her eyes shifted between his. No mockery.
She couldn't stop the smile as it spread across her lips.
No, he didn't love her yet. But he proved to be determined. Not only had he accepted her request, but he was ensuring the quality of the arrangement as well. And that counted for something.
Her heart melted again.
She'd been wrong.
It wasn't that he was without purpose.
It was that he couldn't navigate it without her.
She dipped her eyes, hand sliding down and giving a gentle tug at the base of his shirt. She nodded.
There was no hesitation as he bent forward and met her lips once more.
She decided then to look at things differently. From his perspective, as well as her own.
Because it wasn't about her. And it also wasn't about him.
It was about them.
And for all the times she wanted him to go screw himself today, tonight she was thinking she just might do it for him.
Things got a bit better after that.
