Chapter 12 – A Map to A One Man Maze
Eyes rolling shut at the otherworldly friction setting her nerves alight, Bulma bit her lip, keeping one hand to his chest more to steady herself than anything as she roughly ground her hips into his. He stretched her so wonderfully even before the muscles clamped down around him and attempted to milk him for everything that he was worth.
A shiver ran up Bulma's spine at the hands that delicately caressed her thighs, prompting her to look down at her lover with a tentative smile. Yamcha was always so careful with her, always took her needs and sensitivity into consideration. He practically worshipped her body, showing his appreciation in muffled grunts and gritting teeth, hips flexing upwards into hers.
But it was like something finally snapped within him as Yamcha pushed upwards and pressed her down into the mattress without any warning. Hands gripping at her thighs, he forced them up to her shoulders, hitting deeper than ever, rougher than he ever had previously. Admittedly it wasn't until one of those dangerous hands found its way to her throat and tipped her head back that Bulma finally looked up at him, absolutely horrified that she wasn't horrified to find not her long term boyfriend making love to her, but Vegeta fucking her.
Rather than hating every moment of it or being against any of it, she allowed him to take everything she had to give, spreading then pinning her legs herself so that he could continue his rough exploration of her body with one hand, the other slowly, teasingly, cutting off her air supply.
"Good human," he made her insides flutter by grunting, hips relentless in their constant pounding.
The grip on her neck slackened somewhat as his other hand fell to the space above her shoulder, creating a crazy lightheaded sensation during the reprieve as she was allowed to breathe once more, until he decided she was ready for the hold to tighten again.
"My Little Human."
For the longest time, Bulma could only stare up at her bedroom ceiling, undecided on how she was feeling as the remnants of the dream coursed through her veins and mind. There was too much going on all at once that it made it difficult to pinpoint what got to her the most.
It'd taken several minutes to regain control over her own breathing, like she was stuck inside the dream with Vegeta still choking her. How…? How the hell had that added to the pleasure she'd felt? Why hadn't she been scared? Why was it arousing her now? Why the hell did the pet names arouse her?
Wait, no. They were not the important questions she should have been asking herself.
Why was he…?
Regretfully she began to recognise the emotions that made breathing impossible once more, insides clenching horrendously. Heartache, though oddly enough, not like all the other times she'd succumbed to the gut-wrenching emotion. It obviously still hurt and thinking about Yamcha now after such a dream left her with an awful sensation of longing to see him again, just… not as intensely.
Was that why she cried even harder than before? Was that why she felt such an overwhelming wave of guilt? Did that mean she was learning to accept that he was truly gone?
The most important question was the one that had her burying her face into the pillow and screaming with a mixture of grief and rage.
Why the hell was Vegeta replacing Yamcha in her dreams?
She didn't sleep much after that dream, if at all.
Luckily for Bulma, they didn't usually eat breakfast together, so her presence wasn't really missed at the table that morning, choosing instead to recuperate in the safety of her bedroom until the coast was clear for her to leave. It was due to the paranoia of them all hearing her break down earlier that morning more than anything else, and like hell Bulma felt ready to disclose what the cause of it was. That was simply… too much, especially while so delicate already.
Filling the biggest bottle she could find with water (for once uncaring that she would eventually be drinking it at room temperature), Bulma snagged the plate of food left for her by Chi-Chi and crept back to her room, the sounds of feet padding quietly along the cold tiles being her only giveaway, for she found herself subconsciously holding her breath in a bid to remain as silent as possible. It wasn't until she slid back into her pit that she released it in a sharp exhale, falling back into her door with an inward groan.
Hiding away was cowardly but Bulma knew that nothing good would come out of interacting with anyone that day. She could feel in the pit of her stomach that if she clashed with Vegeta, she was going to say something dumb that would either get her killed or fucked. In that moment, she wasn't really sure which was worse, meaning that obviously the best thing for her to do in that moment, was actively avoid any kind of confrontation.
Dropping the plate noisily to her nightstand, she shed her bathrobe and tossed it onto the desk opposite her bed, uncaring for the random plans and bottles that were all knocked askew in the process. Bulma wasn't even hungry, however knew that Chi-Chi would come to check up on her if it didn't at least look as though she was eating.
She groaned at the step back she was taking, though otherwise didn't berate herself too greatly for it. Bad days weren't the end of the world and if her heart needed a bit of extra time to heal or come to terms with its moving on–
No. Moving on was… It was just…
Could she?
Gods, it hadn't even been a year since his death. How could she even contemplate moving on? How could she just leave him behind like that?
There were definitely more tears that could be cried, but Bulma was left uneasy when they didn't come. Was that another sign she was moving on? Was she right to be concerned by it all?
"Miss Bulma?"
Damn you, Chi-Chi, Bulma thought miserably. That woman knew she couldn't say no to Gohan. To send him as messenger was straight up mean, while also telling Bulma that Chi-Chi knew she was having a bad day and had quickly learned how to work her way around that.
"It's time for dinner," he called through the door, voice pitched with false cheerfulness, like he could also sense it was a down day for her and didn't want to push too hard despite his mother's orders. "Want me to bring you some?"
Why did he have to be so goddamn sweet? She kicked out at the duvet as she took her frustrations out on it, pretending like she couldn't sense the awkward hesitation outside her bedroom. Of course, Bulma knew that Gohan could hear everything but if she didn't get it all out of her system now, then the chances of her lashing out during dinner (more at Vegeta than anyone else) were way too high.
By the time she left her bedroom, her hair was smoothed back into a high bun, face hurriedly and regrettably cleaned with a rare makeup wipe (just to freshen herself up for dinner), and she ensured Gohan was greeted with a cheerful smile that eased the worry she saw written all over his features. And like any other child who couldn't really tell the difference between a fake and a real smile, he bought it without a second thought, grinning happily and seemingly forgetting all about her tantrum before leaving the room.
"There you are," taunted Chi-Chi while dishing up the food. "Took you long enough."
They were unsurprisingly the first to arrive and Bulma longed for Vegeta to remain down in his training room, but sadly, the Gods continued to be against her and she was forced to tolerate his presence. What made it worse was that he continued to sit opposite her, determined on testing her patience by trying to be the head of the table. Being in her foul mood, Bulma was torn between letting him have it and fighting him for it.
"Training is off for tonight," Chi-Chi informed her during dinner. Without needing a push for her to continue, the dark haired woman explained simply, "There's no use in training when your mind is elsewhere."
Merely nodding in acceptance, Bulma scooped small portions onto her plate. There was no point in arguing with the other woman, not when Bulma genuinely didn't want to train that day. She would know in a millisecond that her heart wasn't in it and if Chi-Chi was adamant that it was useless training while distracted, then she sure as hell wasn't about to argue. It was Chi-Chi's area of expertise, after all. Not hers.
"How pitiful," muttered Vegeta.
Just as Chi-Chi opened her mouth to yell at him, Bulma sighed and asked, "Can you hand me the salt, please?"
Gohan picked up on her intentions without a moment of delay, quickly questioning, "Miss Bulma, does this mean no engineering today?"
"Sorry, kid," she murmured, shaking her head. It was like a kick to the gut watching his face drop with disappointment, but what could she say? Anybody who knew her knew that Bulma usually looked out for number one before anyone else and she was determined on having her mental health day. "We'll make up for it tomorrow. Promise."
Idle chitchat followed the disappointment, and when Bulma noticed that their talking about absolutely nothing aggravated Vegeta, she finally felt a spark of something that wasn't negative and smirked, offering more to the conversation. She made sure to be extra chipper, sending him sweet, sweet smiles that she knew was pissing him off. It was exhausting and at several points Bulma almost gave in, but then she noted the gritting of his teeth whenever she spoke, the harsher bites into the meat at her forced laughter, the damn near snapping of his utensils at her smiles. It fuelled her.
Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and Bulma left the dining room on autopilot, drifting towards her lab without purpose. It wasn't until she entered it that she made the decision to return to her gun, passing it from one hand to the other listlessly.
There wasn't much she could really do to it, considering she wasn't an expert on weapons. Basic mechanisms were a cinch to fix up but already, Bulma was out of her league meddling with alien technology so that it was more than a simple human gun that shot bullets. Well, she presumed it did. Testing it wasn't exactly an option while travelling through space.
…Which meant she was essentially wasting time by building them.
It was with a groan of annoyance that she dropped the gun to the table, head falling back.
Capsule Corp. possessed an eternal label of being filled to the brim with fearless scientists and engineers, with her crazy father and his outlandish ideas leading them down the thin tightrope that hung over epic successes or borderline traumatic failures. Following that careless example was natural to her, regardless of the outcome awaiting her experiments.
Now, suddenly, she had to hold back.
Bulma collapsed onto her arms on the desk, blue eyes drawn to the useless gun.
Back on Earth, she had whole arenas and skilled teams dedicated to testing inventions that were hopeful to make it onto their next line drop. They were prepared for anything and Bulma rarely ever feared testing out a product, rather feeling excited.
Going into space was clearly making her a nervous wreck. Where had that fearlessness she'd inherited from her father gone? The ability to throw caution to the wind and give her all to her inventions? Damn it, Bulma was driving before she even started school (although obviously, not legally). She was creating and testing real life weapons that most children weren't even allowed to look at without receiving a scolding.
At the sound of her lab doors sweeping open with a whoosh of air, Bulma sat up and glanced straight to Vegeta, knowing instantly that it wouldn't be anyone else to come and find her. He didn't look much different from dinner, still evidently peeved with her for purposely winding him up, but she didn't allow him the chance to start their conversation or dictate how it was going to go.
Firmly, while knowing that outright demanding it of him wouldn't get her anywhere, Bulma requested, "I'd like to land somewhere to test out a few inventions."
To demand it of him was the fastest way of receiving a hard no, if only to piss her off more than anything. However, she hoped that by stating it as a request that he had final say on, that it showed she was willing to compromise and respect what he had to say (even if it wasn't entirely true).
Smirking, Vegeta came to stand on the other side of her table, informing her, "I came to suggest the same plan."
Something about his expression and general body language told Bulma it wouldn't have been a request coming from him, but she ignored the swell of annoyance that simple crossing of his arms over his chest evoked within her. Already, her mood was boosted by the mere swerve away from the answer no – being told no was a hard limit of hers and one of the fastest ways of pissing her off.
"Great. When?"
"This ship is programmed to give information on incoming planets," he told her simply, voice a bored drawl. "Find one with a low hostility rate and we will go there. Preferably within the next few days. I don't want to waste more time than necessary."
Still emboldened by the yes that she'd received, she snorted at the surprisingly light demand and asked sarcastically, "Why? Got a hot date I should know about?"
"Hot date?"
Oh, it was just too precious, Bulma thought with a laugh, hand swiftly clamping over her mouth to try and hide her amusement at his way too expressive confusion. Of course, it was a pathetically wasted attempt, for Vegeta's eyes narrowed dangerously, telling her without words that he'd definitely caught onto her laughter.
"A date is a human tradition–"
"Useless information, then."
But even with that temporary happiness, she was too mentally delicate that day to be hearing such things, and it showed in the way Bulma recoiled like she'd been struck. In yet another sad attempt to cover her much too open expressions, she reached for her gun once more, pretending to be more interested in that than their conversation.
"Is there anything else you wanted?" she questioned, tone adopting a forced lightness.
Even when Vegeta remained silent for several intense moments, Bulma refused to look up at him. Jaw clenching to hide the threatening tremble of her bottom lip, she set aside the gun and retrieved her notebook, flicking to the pages with the gun's designs since there really wasn't much else that she could do with it.
The pages were filled with what appeared like nonsensical scribbles and childish drawings, but Bulma purposely jotted all of her ideas down in such a chaotic way as a precautionary measure on the off chance she ever lost her notebook, or someone happened to swipe it. If one were to look at her official documents, the handwriting was neat – pretty even.
"The collar."
Frowning as she realised that she now had to look at him, she did so reluctantly, asking, "You're free for me to look at it now? What about your training?"
Please say no, she internally begged of him.
But utterly stunning her, Vegeta muttered with great disdain (and for once not directed at her!), "It appears I have hit a wall with my training. Continuing to train where I currently stand is souring my mood." Smirking nastily, he asked, "Would you like to see the consequences of my bad mood?"
Definitely not. Eyebrows lifting in her quick and awkward shutting down and dismissal of his darker insinuations, she said, "We can look at it now, then. Just…" Fighting back her grimace, Bulma switched it out for a suspicious narrowing of her eyes. "Don't go taking advantage of my turning the settings down, okay?"
The smirk persisted and it became apparent that he was going to toy with her mercilessly now that he'd taken a step back from his training, undoubtedly growing bored now he had absolutely nothing else to do. "Or what?"
The funniest part about Vegeta's attitude at times was that it oftentimes reminded her of a brat, and the thought of that being the case brightened her mood considerably, especially when she pictured him with various… submissive accessories.
Maybe she'd read a couple of books that consisted mainly of people in a BDSM relationship falling for one another, and maybe she'd been curious and looked further into that whole side of sex (admittedly scaring the shit out of herself when she came to realise that the books depicted an extremely watered down version of BDSM, but being too deep into it and much too curious to turn away). Vegeta's attitude was so bratty just like in a few of the videos she'd watched – not that she would ever tell him that.
It was mainly when he was challenging her more than anything, because any other time they interacted, he straight up dominated every conversation. She rarely ever came out the victor, always losing to him and much to her utter horror, half the time, Bulma scarily came to the realisation that she didn't mind all that much. No, instead, it had her picturing different scenarios like the dream where he was cho–
Stop, she warned herself. What the hell am I even thinking?
Those thoughts were way too dangerous and she refused to entertain them.
"Grab a stool," Bulma instructed while reaching for her singular drawer that sat atop the table, the array of tools that were thoughtlessly thrown inside jangling noisily as it was yanked closer. "We'll look at the collar for now but leave the wristbands as they are."
Huffing with obvious amusement, Vegeta did as asked but demanded, "What? Don't you trust me?"
"I'm not an idiot," she replied in equal humour, making his smirk widen. "The likelihood of you hurting one of us is relatively low, I suppose. But–" she added more playfully at the curious raising of his eyebrow. "–I kind of like this look."
Much to her utter delight, his cheeks raged with his blush. "V-Vulgar woman!"
She giggled to herself while rifling through the drawer for a screwdriver and the original remote, knowingly knocking the embarrassment out of Vegeta as he stared in wide eyed shock. Unperturbed (since it was a habit to switch the hiding place every day and besides, a strategist like Vegeta would never fall for such an obvious trick), Bulma placed it down between them, pretending to be more interested in searching for a different sized screwdriver.
"Are you toying with me?"
Encouraged by the lack of malice in his tone, she kept the tone light and snorted. "Please. If anything I'm showing you respect by doing this." Then, pausing impishly, Bulma looked to him with a sweeping gaze. "Maybe that's even worse than toying with you."
Humming, he asked, "How so?"
"You've already got a big head," she shot at him with a wide smile that creased her eyes. "If I make it any bigger, it'll probably explode."
Playing with fire after so many near misses was dangerously addicting and it had Bulma wondering if that made her an adrenaline junkie now, or if she'd always been one, considering her colourful past. Yeah, it definitely had to be that, she thought to herself like it was laughably obvious. Why else would she have searched for the dragonballs even when it meant facing very real danger? After all, in the back of her mind, she'd always known others would know of them. She wouldn't be the only one on the entire planet to believe they existed or crave having their deepest desire granted.
Gods, she missed those days.
The guys had driven her insane and every day she'd discovered a new fear, but looking at it positively, Bulma had faced countless fears and overcame them all. The guys… Well, life would be boring if they never disagreed from time to time.
Swiping the controller, Bulma pursed her lips while scanning the simple traffic light buttons. There was nothing on there that indicated she could turn the collar off without the bands coming off too, and the inscriptions were way beyond her comprehension. It was with a sigh that she reached for the scouter on the far end of the table (because like hell did any of her inventions have a holding place) and activated it, taking several moments to translate it all.
Unfortunately for her, it turned out to only be a model number.
"What is it?"
The drawl was tinged with annoyance, reminding Bulma that Vegeta disliked waiting around or being at another's mercy, and so it was while grimacing that she waved the controller up at him.
"I can't work on the collar yet. This thing either turns the whole thing off or turns it up. I can't point and click at one specific part."
Rolling his eyes, he muttered, "Turn the whole contraption off. I will behave."
"Because that was so reassuring," she grumbled in response. To make a point of being against the idea, she slipped the controller into the pocket of her jacket. "Give me a day or two to make a new controller."
She could tell just from the narrowing of his eyes that he was sceptical, but just as Bulma braced herself for him to say something wretched to her, Vegeta questioned, "You will still have to deactivate it to connect the new controller to the device. Why delay the inevitable?"
He wasn't wrong there. However, the difference between deactivating it in that moment and over the next day or two, was that she would have the element of surprise working on her side. She could do the switch at any point in the day, when he was least expecting it, and connect the second controller up.
However, the flaw in her plan was that a warrior of his calibre was no doubt used to taking quick action. Vegeta would definitely notice when the device stopped. What was stopping him from lunging? From attacking without mercy?
Shit. She was so not in the right headspace for this.
"Come back tomorrow," Bulma finally replied.
"So that you can prepare a safety net, I presume?" came his snappish retort, the look of disgust not missed by her.
It had Bulma shaking her head and sighing. "No, so that I can work up the courage to turn the damned thing off."
That certainly took away his disgust. Smirking, Vegeta leaned closer to her, his dark eyes heating up with an emotion she couldn't truly understand – or want to. "Scared, Little Human?"
"Not scared," she laughed his darkness off. "Weary. I'm sure you can understand that?"
Snorting derisively, the saiyan pushed away from the table and stood, saying dismissively over his shoulder, "Get to it."
With Vegeta hitting a wall in his training, it opened the area he used for Gohan's use, but he was only allowed to use it with Bulma and the controller present – Chi-Chi's orders. So she set up shop in the training room, admittedly growing distracted several hundred times as she watched the sparring session.
Although painfully obvious who was the stronger of the two, Chi-Chi held her own admirably and her strict training paid off, forcing Gohan into a corner a few times. He was too used for Piccolo's training, was what the dark haired woman snapped at him, and her tendency to retreat and strike, or to randomly launch an all-out, abrupt attack, left him on the defensive, wondering what she would try next. Throughout it all, however, she took particular notice of their happy and proud grins, of the way they praised and encouraged one another. While strict, Chi-Chi never once grew frustrated with Gohan.
It was… painfully beautiful to watch them.
Gaze saddening on the mother and son duo, Bulma forced herself to look away, unable to shake the intense longing that wracked through her in conjunction with the searing loneliness that never let up.
She wasn't even sure if it was missing her own mother or the wishes of having her own child that did it to her. Knowing her luck, however, it was probably both.
Their new thing was training together, while with her own mother, their favourite way to spend time together was by going on pamper days. Gods, they'd spent entire weekends away at the most prestigious spas, happily splurging on others to rid them of the stresses that came with their lives.
"Bathroom break," Bulma lied, putting on a false smile when Chi-Chi looked to her in concern. "I won't be too long, I promise."
"What if Vegeta comes back?"
Telling them of his hitting a wall felt like it would come back to bite her in the ass, so she lied again, saying, "I'll make sure he's distracted before I go to the bathroom."
"Bulma-"
"Chi-Chi," she interjected, firming up her tone. "I'll be ten minutes maximum. I doubt Vegeta will even come down here."
Gohan nodded in agreement much to her relief, because her composure was slipping, and she seriously needed a break. "He's not that bad, Mom-"
"Why are you talking when you should be dodging?" came the angered mother's reply.
At the resuming of the training session, Bulma slipped away out of the room, only remembering as she passed the controls room that she'd yet to find a planet with a low hostility rate.
Thankful for the distraction, she approached the scanner, taking several moments to glance over the controls before she comfortably set to searching. While she would never admit it to the others and obviously trusted her reformatting the systems, Bulma preferred having her scouter handy when it came to translating alien language or technology, as it'd become quite the comfort blanket since entering space.
Seven different planets popped up on the radar and as any person typically would, she scanned the closest first, gaze narrowing as she skimmed through the basic information until she decided forty-nine percent hostile was way too high for her liking. The next reached a whopping eighty-six percent hostility rate, and the rest started at a minimum of sixty.
Had they already passed friendlier planets, Bulma feared. Since there was little use in looking backwards or ruminating over the what ifs, she set the radar to search a wider area, outwardly grimacing when she calculated that the sixth planet was easily two weeks away, taking away any happiness of finding it boasted a hostility rate of just fourteen percent.
Angrily turning away from the radar when the flashing planets only served to stress her out further, she folded her arms over her chest, one hand coming up to tug on her lower lip.
Vegeta would be a nightmare in that time if he couldn't train, but forty-nine percent was just… too much to handle. The thought of being trapped on the ship with him for so long when he was already growing frustrated with his training felt like a perfect recipe for disaster.
More importantly, she couldn't test out her new weapons or get that breath of fresh air that she so desperately needed. Even if it was only for a few hours, as bad as it sounded, she needed a break from watching Chi-Chi and Gohan together. They were beautiful together and their palpable love for one another crushed her.
"What are you moping about for?"
Hiding the loneliness from her features was impossible and Bulma hated herself for that, instead choosing to duck her head to take several extra moments to blink away the tears she'd only just realised were there.
"What do you want?" she demanded gruffly, then quickly cleared her throat to try and even out her voice.
Seemingly ignoring her emotional display, Vegeta glanced over at the radar, asking when he registered the flashing planets, "Have you found a planet?"
Damn it, she couldn't handle his guaranteed frustration when she told him how long it was going to take, or his probable temptation of saying screw it, let's take the first one on. Her teenage years were long gone, and Bulma found she didn't have the same drive for danger and excitement as she once did. Hell, as of late, her thoughts revolved around starting a freaking family, of all things. Her. A mother! How ridiculous was that?
Hand swiftly coming to her mouth as she coughed a couple of times to mask her sudden small sound of upset, Bulma longed to get away, however knew that ditching Vegeta was practically impossible. The guy was relentless.
"The nearest…" Fucking damn it, she snarled at herself, furious about the goddamn shake in her voice that instantly had him raising a brow. "Forty-nine percent hostile."
"Are you sick?"
If only it were that simple.
"Oi, don't go infecting–"
Pointedly looking away, she muttered unevenly, "I told you already. I'm tired."
Leave it at that, Bulma begged of the man that was supposed to be nothing more than a monster. Already she was so dangerously close to viewing him as otherwise – even her subconscious was starting to betray her, reminding her ruthlessly of how lonely she actually was just when Bulma was certain she could move beyond that mental torment.
Ignoring Vegeta scanning through the radar, she approached the dome window that overlooked space as they travelled, swallowing at the intensity of the emptiness. In ways she couldn't even begin to explain or dissect, it reminded her almost of Vegeta's eyes, though that only pissed her off even more because why the hell was that asshat dominating her every thought? Was it down to how she was feeling?
Her darkest thought yet, she believed: would purging him from her system relieve her of everything weighing her down? Either through fucking him or having Vegeta remind her of what a piece of shit he could really be? Could either of those methods help her with getting him out of her goddamn mind?
The latter was the best option, she decided in an instant. Albeit the hardest one. What would be worse? Him proving her wrong about his being a monster, or having him laugh at her vulnerability?
Sparing him a glance while he seemingly searched through the list of nearby planets stoically, she felt her heart lunge straight up to her throat. Everything about him was so severe, so superficially detached but after just a single real conversation, obviously not.
What was worse?
"Is this…" Grimacing at the mere thought of leaving herself emotionally weak in his presence, Bulma debated leaving it entirely when his hand froze over the buttons, but moments later continued meekly, "Is this all I have to look forward to now? My family line ending with me? The human race dying out when one of us eventually dies?"
She didn't look at him when Vegeta exhaled heavily, though when he appeared in her peripheral, Bulma couldn't help but watch him as he copied her by leaning against the bars, dark eyes trained on the dome-like window to watch the same old view of space. Like nothing ever changed, just endless darkness with random spots of light that indicated a planet's existence, though they were always travelling way too fast to actually get a proper view of them.
All her life, a part of Bulma had longed to travel through space and broaden her knowledge, but now… Gods. It was ridiculous, but she felt more suffocated now than she ever had while on Earth.
"Looks that way."
"I can't do it," she whispered vulnerably, thankful that Vegeta didn't look at her. It was as considerate as he would get, she knew that, and it was just about all she could handle from him. The change of him not outright laughing at her and instead listening was already too big. "I can't live out the rest of my life like this. It's so…"
"Suffocating."
Why the hell did it have to be Vegeta who understood her? "…Yeah."
Shit, sleeping with him probably would have been the easier option after all. What made it all so much worse was that the lapse into momentary, contemplative silence wasn't even awkward like she longed it to be, because if it was awkward, ducking out of the conversation and the room as a whole would have been easier. They both would long for the reprieve.
No, it was so much worse because now she knew that he got it.
In so many ways, they were alike. They were both one of two last full blooded of their kinds. The second last remaining human (or saiyan in his case) was already tied down to another and even had a child, the companionship easing the godawful sting of solitude. Families gone. Empires destroyed (admittedly, she was just an heiress to a company whereas he was a freaking prince, but damnit, the human race had worshipped them for their technological advancements). Even something as simple as favourite native dishes or their own comfortable beds were just… gone.
It was all gone.
Sighing heavily at the tell-tale stinging of tears, she dropped her head into her arms. "Sometimes I wish Yamcha and I were careless."
"Careless?"
"With protection," Bulma sadly murmured. If she kept her eyes closed, if she refused to look at him, she wondered if she could envision Vegeta as someone else. "I wish…" The words were trapped in her throat and Bulma swallowed hard, forcing out in an almost choked sob, "Would I feel this lonely if I'd had a baby? Someone to dedicate my life to?"
But finally, they differed, because Vegeta's response (while lacking the harshness of his usually cold words) was resolute as he muttered disapprovingly, "Creating life in a world such as this, for nothing more than the sake of easing your own solitude, is selfish."
Shit, he was right. He was so fucking right. Yet… her heart yearned for someone to give it a home. To love it fiercely. Gohan, he… absolutely adored Chi-Chi and always looked at her in a way that showed that, never once taking anything she did for granted. Whether that was simply down to how he was raised wasn't important, because in that moment in time, Bulma knew that just looking at a miniature version of herself and feeling that motherly love for them…
Would it help keep her going when all she wanted right then was to give in?
Already, Bulma envisioned either dying during Goku's rescue or shortly thereafter. She was already teaching Gohan everything she knew about engineering and commanding a ship, entrusting all that she knew to the boy. Hell, she'd even started writing up her own freaking textbooks for him to peruse should he ever need guidance somewhere down the line. With his brains, Goku's brawn and Chi-Chi's killer gut instinct, she knew the trio would be safe without her. They would survive. She, however, was nothing more than a tagalong. A living fucking embodiment of loneliness.
It wasn't even a shock to her system for Bulma to realise that she genuinely didn't want this life anymore.
Waking up to the same goddamn routine, distracting herself with inventions she couldn't even test never mind use, crying in her spare time but ultimately becoming more detached in a sense to her losses, going to bed alone and craving physical touch and comfort. It was too much to bear and was beginning to weigh heavily not only on her heart, but mind now too.
If she wasn't careful, then Bulma knew she would become a liability. Depression was a silent killer, and it was more than capable of taking down those on the outside also.
"Then I'm selfish," she whispered thickly.
…Because she desperately needed something to live for.
"Ignore that woman and train through whatever has gotten into you," Vegeta shocked her by instructing, glancing over in her direction. Why wasn't he laughing at her? Why was he actually (somewhat) being nice? Was she right to instantly put her guards up? "If you train hard enough you won't have time to think."
Pressing away from the bars, the saiyan stalked out of the room without a backwards glance and Bulma couldn't help but see him in a new light as he did. While his words left much to be desired and were insensitive to a degree, they were almost encouraging also. They just needed a little polishing, like he wasn't used to listening and offering advice, though that didn't surprise her if what he'd offered in passing was true.
Sadly, she wondered if perhaps that was a glimpse of the leader he was supposed to have become.