Things have been crazy on my end, but at the same time I've been able to get a decent amount of writing out of the way because of it! I'm aiming to get at least one more chapter finished before long. School is starting back up soon, but due to some recent changes I'm hoping I'll have more freetime during the semester so that I won't have to have such a break between updates again.

As always, I hope you're all doing well and reading the feedback makes my day. Take care!

P.S. Isn't it ironic that I said I would start posting shorter chapters so I could update more often, and they're still as long as ever?

Things really did feel better after Bulma's scene in the bathroom. As he promised, Vegeta left her and Trunks alone while he, falling back into his typical morning routine, set off in order to hunt for the day's meat. Left with his mother in the silent house, it didn't take long for Trunks to fall asleep. And Bulma, now alone and with nothing to do, decided to take a shower.

She hadn't bathed since her attack the night before, and the idea of scrubbing out any remaining loose hairs from the cut she'd given herself felt nearly liberating. The Bluehead strolled quietly through the home, and with her newly cleared head it felt as if she were now able to see it for the first time. 'Funny,' She thought. This house wasn't so strange after all. The color scheme of this new place was different – white tiled floors with thick blood red rugs stretched out over them, and drapes hanging over each window in a fashion to match the rugs. But the sitting room, the kitchen, the stairways – all of the rooms were stretched in a way that was nearly identical to her own home. Bulma found it amusing, thinking that this house had been modeled to replicate the Briefs residence. 'See, Vegeta.' She thought smugly as she turned a corner and walked back into the same bathroom in which she'd chopped her hair into a bob. 'Our place must not be so bad if you felt the need to copy it...

One steaming shower (which involved quite a bit of wincing and pain as the water slapped against her bruises) later, Bulma stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her torso. She felt refreshed, her body lighter than ever, and she strolled down the hallway in search of the room which she assumed would be Vegeta's. Just as she expected, at the end of the hall she found the master bedroom. In her own home these quarters were occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Briefs, but in this new house it was taken by none other than the saiyan prince himself.

The bedroom had the same color scheme of deep red. A large king-sized bed lay in the center, the headboard being constructed out of some of the nicest looking wood that Bulma had ever seen – though, instead of brown, this wood was black. Adjacent to the bed was a large dresser, styled to match the bed, and Bulma passed this furniture as she made her way into the large closet that she knew this room would be equipped with. Sure enough she found it, and after rummaging through all of clothes that the saiyan had hanging up, she settled on a simple pair of sweatpants and a thin shirt. His clothes were loose, and they hung from her frame as if the fabric were attempting to reject her body, but Bulma persisted by pulling the drawstring of the pants as tightly around her waist as possible. She then pulled the shirt to tighten around her frame, holding it in place by tying the leftover fabric into a knot behind her back.

Feeling relaxed in a clean set of lounge clothes, and more feminine after her minor adjustments, Bulma made her way into the kitchen just in time to look out the window and see Vegeta landing in the backyard. He seemed to be focused on his task at hand, toting a large dead fish by its tail. She watched silently as Vegeta set the fish down in the grass and jumped above it, firing several blasts from his palm until it was cut almost perfectly into small pieces.

'Wow,' She thought, a slight smile spreading on her lips.

Within a moment Vegeta walked to a pile of sticks that were arranged in a designated spot in his yard. A blast from the palm later, and a fire had been started.

"So, this is how he's been taking care of himself," The Bluehead commented. It was surprising that Vegeta had such a large and exquisite house built, and yet he chose to prepare his food camp-style in his own backyard. Now that she thought of it, Bulma turned and began to look around the kitchen. It was to no surprise that the kitchen, open and wide, was nearly a mirror of her own. The main difference she spotted was that Vegeta seemed to have requested that his countertops be lined with marble, which sported a soft blue hue that seemed to illuminate when the sunlight hit it. The other difference between the kitchen in the Briefs' residence and the one that Bulma was now standing in was that Vegeta's had seemingly no cooking utensils.

Interesting.

She walked to a cabinet and slid the door open. Inside it was bare.

Well, what use would he have for pots and pans when he prepares everything with campfire?

She walked to the refrigerator and pulled the doors open, letting out a soft giggle. Not a single item had been placed on the shelf – not even milk.

What use does he have for groceries when he either catches everything he eats, or he shows up at my place to share some of my mom's cooking?

Before she had any time to investigate further the back door opened, and she turned to see Vegeta marching inside with a dish of cooked fish in his arms.

..

Moments later and Vegeta was savagely forking food into his mouth at a rapid pace, Bulma poking at her plate, and Trunks still asleep on the couch in the nearby room. It was strange, the Bluehead felt, as she sat across from Vegeta at the table and they ate in silence. The fish was as tasteless as it had been the last time Vegeta cooked – it seemed that he still hadn't come to terms with the idea of using a bit of salt or pepper as he cooked. But this wasn't what made Bulma reluctant to eat – the mere atmosphere was the reason she poked at her plate. Despite everything they'd been through, and how low their relationship had sunken at one point, they sat together now with hardly any discomfort. They didn't speak much as they ate together, but it didn't necessarily feel as if many words even needed to be exchanged. Things just felt normal, so normal, and that thought in of itself was ironically what made her the most uncomfortable.

How could she feel so natural with him so easily and quickly?

How amazingly terrifying.

She looked up to see Vegeta finishing yet another plate. However this time, instead of grabbing another serving of food to continue his devours, he pushed his chair back and let out a low breath of satisfaction. He seemed to feel her eyes on him, because he then looked up at her curiously. "What is it?" He asked. He could sense that something was on her mind – it didn't take too much intelligence to be able to tell that.

Bulma put her fork down, pushing her own chair back. "I suppose they'll be wondering where I am." Images of her worried mother were floating through her brain. She still wasn't enthusiastic about the impending conversation she'd have to partake in, but she didn't think it would be fair to avoid her parents altogether because of it. Oh, how she wished she could just curl into bed for three days…

Her eyelids hung with fatigue as she looked back down to her plate, lamenting how much energy she was about to lose with this upcoming encounter. She was fatigued – absolutely exhausted – and she craved nothing more than for time to slow down just a bit.

Vegeta studied her features, considering what she had just said. It was true. The woman's parents would be wondering of her whereabouts – there was no doubt about that. Yet somehow he'd figured that it would take longer for her to make such a decision as to leave. He'd assumed she would linger at his place for much longer, getting some rest as she determined how she wanted to handle Mrs. Briefs…

"I guess I should get it over with, huh?" Bulma looked back up from her plate to give the saiyan prince a reluctant smile. A moment later she was standing, to Vegeta's chagrin, and he quickly found himself rising from his own chair in response. The next thing he knew he was following her trail as she walked through his home, and all the saiyan could think was that it would be better if she stayed.

"You are uncomfortable." Vegeta commented as they both stepped into the sitting room, Trunks still dozing on the couch before them.

"Well," She replied tiredly, waving a hand over her face. "I'm not exactly looking forward to explaining this to my mom – would you be?" She turned then, leaning over her son and gently scooping him into her arms. The baby stirred, letting out a reluctant groan as he fought to remain asleep. "Wait, you don't need to answer that. You wouldn't mind at all, would you?" Bulma continued, her voice sounding nearly bitter. "After all, my face – this is nothing to you. You've seen, felt, and done worse – haven't you? I must seem like a fool to complain about this to someone with your history."

Trunks let out an irritated coo, throwing his arms into the air as he stretched against his mother. He would have preferred if both of his parents would shut up at that moment. He was trying to sleep!

"MY history? Nevermind that!" What was she on about? It didn't seem like an appropriate time to remind him of his barbaric tendencies at a moment like this. What was her point with that? He chose to ignore such a comparison – perhaps her fatigue might be getting to her? "Look. If you don't want to explain anything to your family, then don't."

"Right." Bulma replied sarcastically. "That'll work just great. I'll walk in the house looking like this, and they won't wonder about it at all."

Vegeta shook his head, not seeming to find her current dilemma necessary. "So what if they are curious, Woman!? The battle-scars you carry are yours, aren't they? Wear them with pride, and if anyone says something that you don't want to hear, just tell them to blow off!"

It was harsh, it was blunt, and the Bluehead wasn't quite sure how she felt about that being said of her own parents. But there was a meaning behind his words. Her pain was nobody else's business – not unless she decided it was. Bulma nodded and turned for the door, Trunks groggily yawning as she went. The saiyan watched, raising an eyebrow. Not only was she leaving so quickly, but she wasn't going to ask him to join her.

"Woman."

She turned, her hand on the doorknob, looking at Vegeta quizzically. She still appeared to be incredibly tired, yet there was now a familiar look of determination on her face. That gleam that seemed to say 'Fuck with me – I dare you'. It always crossed over her brows when she'd made up her mind on something. Vegeta had originally been intending to ask if she would like him to escort her again, but after seeing this he stepped down. The strong-willed Bulma Briefs he'd grown to expect so well had reemerged, and he knew she would not need – and perhaps not want - his companionship for this upcoming exchange. And, truth be told, the prospect of seeing Mrs. Briefs was not one that Vegeta always welcomed eagerly.

The Bluehead's face softened for a moment, and she bowed her head politely. "Vegeta, thank you… for everything"

This was the last thing Bulma said before stepping outside.

Vegeta was proud to see how strong she'd was proving to be, and it was hard not to feel admiration that she was suddenly behaving so fearlessly. But still, he was unexpectedly sad to see her go. And when she disappeared through the front door the saiyan couldn't stop himself from racing to the other side of the house. He ran into his backyard, immediately flying up into the air to watch her for the duration of her walk home. He needed to see her path, to assure that made it unscathed. And when her little figure arrived at the Briefs household he let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.

What a peculiar sensation it was to see her disappear into that over-sized dome shaped hut that she called home.

"Her pride must be suffering greatly." The saiyan, still hovering in the sky, thought back on how reluctant she'd been to see her family. Such a dignified woman as she was, of course she'd be reluctant to receive their questions regarding her affliction. It was an unpleasant surprise to feel such an internal jolt when he considered this, his lungs seeming to threaten collapsing under the pressure of his muscles tightening.

Was it empathy that he could feel welling inside? Bulma… She was stepping into a verbal battleground at this very moment.

Bulma – his Bulma.

…His woman, his pride, his mate…

Mate – what a word. It was the only word he could think of to describe her relationship with him, but yet it wasn't very suitable. In Saiyan heritage there could be no closer bond than a mate. Yet it didn't feel sufficient in her case - there was more to this connection he felt. She wasn't just his mate. To be certain, what she was to Vegeta couldn't be simplified into a single word. But she was undoubtedly much more than simply a mate. A mate was merely an object of physical longing, one who had been selected as worthy of reproducing with to create a heir. And her value was greater than that. By far, she had a body that could distract his mind for hours on end, and it was one he always delighted to relish in. But she was, by far, more than solely an object to lust after.

Bulma was the first woman to have ever spoken to him as an equal, or to treat him with such fearless accountability. Despite how difficult she'd been in recent months, she had been the first and only person to be so damned understanding of him. Regardless of his past and regardless of his behavior, despite how angry he might make her at times, he always knew she'd come through.

She also had quite a talent of rendering him speechless at times, stealing him of his breath in a way that a punch to the ribs wasn't quite able to do. Her small mouth packed quite a punch, and it was intoxicating that she could make him feel so blissfully intimidated at times. That in of itself was quite the alluring feat.

And it was amazing how the same woman – the only woman - who had ever been able to put him on his toes, was also capable of being so pleasant.

As much of a turn on that it could be to be intimidated when her eyes darkened with ire, the way she looked when she smiled could be just as enticing. The way her face lit up when something delighted her was an image that would cross his mind on a regular occasion. He always craved to see such a light in those eyes, and he wasn't quite sure of what he wouldn't do to be able to see it again. It was to the point that it would threaten Vegeta to forget about his own woes, focusing solely on how he could manipulate that gleam into showing itself once more. He'd found, especially in recent times, that it was worth it to put his own desires aside just so he could see that sparkle in her deep blues. It was horrifying, but he felt that he'd do nearly anything in attempt just to see those eyes brighten – if only for a mere second.

And now, because he hadn't been there to prevent it, she'd been inflicted with physical pain and mental anguish. That light was gone. While Vegeta had already destroyed the one who'd caused it, her state lingered, and as a result so did his own guilt over the matter. Even when she'd smiled since the assault, that intoxicating light had failed to come through.

How long would it be until he was able to see that brightness shine over her orbs one more?

It was hard not to feel personally responsible over her condition. There was a vow he'd made to keep her safe – he'd told her this many times, hadn't he? It was the primary duty of a saiyan male to keep his woman from harm's way! And yet it'd happened so quickly and easily. She'd been overpowered by some piece of filth that deserved every inch of pain that Vegeta had consequently inflicted on him. Revenge had been served - Rikuto had screamed until blood filled his lungs and rendered him incapable of making any noise other than a forced gargle. The inferior scum who had dared to lay a finger on the mate of saiyan royalty had been destroyed, yet Bulma's suffering lingered on...

How could he not feel it was his fault that she now moved in pain? At that very minute she was having a conversation with her family that she clearly did not wish to have, and such an encounter would not be occurring had it not been for Vegeta's own incompetence!

He'd let her down.

She was hurting, and it was his fault.

His blood boiled when he thought of how damned careless he'd been to allow such injuries to occur to his woman. A pit in his gut, there was only one thing he knew to do. And so, with a frustrated groan, Vegeta allowed himself to drop onto the grass. It was time to pay a visit to his gravity room. After everything Bulma had gone through, it was his own body's turn to suffer. If nothing else, he deserved to ache. He needed to push his muscles to their limit, the punish himself for being so inept.

.

Vegeta wasn't sure of exactly how long it'd been that he stayed in his gravity room. But, hours later when he reemerged, he saw through the window that the sun was no longer sitting in the sky. Nighttime had fallen, and his house was empty.

He was alone.

The Saiyan crossed his hallway, heading for his room to take a quick shower. And he did just that, stepping into a cloud of steam as he immediately slapped a brick of soap against his naked flesh. Vegeta closed his eyes, feeling as the nearly boiling water clashed against his skin and taunted his newly sore muscles. Bulma was still gone, he thought, and perhaps she wasn't planning to return. Was she intending for things to now go back to normal – for her to revert back to her old pattern of maintaining distance from him?

The night before she'd begged him for his company – she'd told him that she didn't want to be alone. And Vegeta had worried that it was her emotional distress that was causing such words to escape her lips. He'd tried to remove himself, hadn't he? He'd reminded her that she was in a vulnerable state, and still she persisted.

To his chagrin he could feel his core twisting once more. Every time he thought of her, and especially of the way it had felt when she'd nuzzled against his chest, his body would tighten in the most unpleasant of ways. It just didn't feel right, after a night such as that, to now be standing in an empty house. He wasn't too keen on going back to his old way of respecting her personal space and waiting for her to come forth.

How could he?

He'd let his woman down already by not being available to protect her when she needed it to most. And now, after a shared night that she had encouraged, he was expected to carry on as if nothing had happened? She was the mother of his heir, the only individual he'd ever deemed worthy of such a thing as mating, the one who he'd been following for years. The exhilaration he encountered when her fingers intertwined with his own was something that he hated to admit he wanted to experience again, and he couldn't see craving such an encounter from anyone else.

It just wasn't right, this constant pattern of close contact and then extreme distance.

"No," The Saiyan announced. "I refuse to allow her to continue toying with me as if I am some pawn."

He finished his shower quickly and stepped out into his bathroom, throwing a towel over his head. It wasn't his intention to ignite an argument – she was under enough stress from her assault. But he couldn't carry through his night as if nothing had occurred between them at all.

He couldn't just leave her alone.

..

Stretched out across her bed was Bulma, fast asleep and still. She'd been too exhausted to even crawl under her blanket, having dozed off as soon as her head hit the pillow. Her body was so tired that in her mind were no dreams, just a deep abyss as her brain recharged from the ceaseless stress she'd been facing over the last couple of days.

Of course Mrs. Briefs screamed when she saw Bulma's bruised cheeks. Oh, how the petit blonde covered her eyes and let out a heart wrenching sob, wailing about her 'poor baby' through her gasps. Mr Briefs, one who typically did not openly express sorrow, had simply chosen to comfort his wife while bowing his head. Bulma had taken Vegeta's advice – she didn't want to explain what had happened in its fullest extent. She simply told her parents that she'd been assaulted, but that Vegeta had taken care of it. That was the truth, after all, wasn't it? Her parents didn't need to know of why she'd been out so late with Trunks. They didn't need to know of the fight she'd tried to put up, the fear that she was still recovering from, the realities she had to face and the hurt that welled through her veins. The simple truth was that she'd been attacked, but Vegeta had intervened, and she was going to be fine.

Fine. She was going to be just fine.

It was such a relief to have that behind her that she coursed through the rest of her dayher day, and at some point during Trunks' afternoon nap she'd managed to crawl upstairs for a quick nap of her own. She'd intended to only be asleep for half an hour. But her body, so eager to finally have rest, had refused to wake up. The day came and went, and even after Trunks rose from his snooze and cried for his mother's arms, Bulma didn't stir. Mrs. Briefs didn't think Bulma needed to be disturbed, considering all she'd been through, and so the rest of the day flew by as Bulma was left slumbering in her bed.

It came to her surprise, then, when the Bluehead was jolted awake by a pressure near her legs. Letting out a gasp, Bulma sat up and attempted to gain her bearings. What on Earth? Why was it so dark? She hadn't fully come to grip what had happened to her when she turned to see a large mass sitting at the foot of her bed. The room filled with darkness, the silhouette at her feet was only illuminated by the moon. Bulma let out a terrified gasp, grabbing the closest object she could reach and throwing it the cause of her startle.

"Hey!" A familiar voice growled.

Bulma scooted towards her headboard, realization still dawning over her groggy mind. She was relieved to suddenly know that the person who'd scared her had only been Vegeta, but still. "What – what are you doing here? what time is it?!"

"Why do you think I'm here?" The Saiyan grunted. He was still holding the pillow that had hit him in the head, and he tossed it to the floor angrily. "What a question to ask."

"You startled me!" Bulma hissed. "Why would you wake me up like that?!"

"I was wondering why you didn't return."

"I never retur-" In the darkness Bulma's eyes widened. "Oh, but I don't even – oh no! Vegeta – tell me – what time is it? Please."

As disoriented as Bulma was, Vegeta began to feel the same. "What is all of this questioning, woman? I already told you that I came to see why you never returned."

"You keep asking me why I didn't go back to your place, as if it isn't obvious?!" It was then that Bulma finally thought to reach over and click on the tableside lamp. The room now lit up, Bulma was able to get a clear view of her surroundings. "How do you think I feel? Who knows how late it is – it was 2 o'clock when I fell asleep! I just wanted to take a short nap, and now I'll be up all night! This is pissing me off!"

'Ah,' Vegeta thought. 'So the woman just overslept.' It had been hard for him not to be upset when he came to her house and discovered her slumbering away in the dark. It was easy for him to have assumed that she'd just put herself to bed for the night. Feeling consequently indignant, he hadn't been able to resisting invading her room. And now, with this new understanding, her acts seemed much less traitorous than he'd originally thought. The Saiyan nodded, looked up to peer into Bulma's eyes, studying how humorously befuddled she was.

The Bluehead, dehydrated and angry at the prospect of spending yet another night tirelessly wandering her house, was feeling impatient. "What – what? What is it?" She scowled.

Ah, this was the Bulma that Vegeta expected so well. The Saiyan fought back a smirk. Always ready to put up a fight, and for hardly any reason at all.

"I bet I could have just slept through the entire night if you hadn't come here! Now I'll never get back to sleep!" Bulma was hissing, grabbing her legs to hug her knees angrily. "So, answer me! Tell me why you felt the need to wake me up!"

The Saiyan couldn't fight it anymore. A sly smirk began to stretch over his lips. Her shallow irritation was so innocent in comparison to her high-strung emotions the night before. It was good to see this side of her again. It was a relief.

It was now that she was taking in a deep breath. "Look, if you aren't going to answer me then I'm out of here! I'm too thirsty for this."

Vegeta's smirk grew wider, and he leaned back tauntingly. "Fine then, go. Fetch your water. We will talk when you come back. I'll wait."

Writing the end of this chapter was refreshing and quite fun. I hope you enjoyed this! ^^