A cup of Viognier

Chapter I: Dumb decisions

…

It had been a very long time since she had taken a sip of wine while still in her lab, in the late hours of the night. A cup of Viognier – Intense flavour, dry and bold. A rich, oily white wine originating in the Northern Rhône, aged in oak, tangerine and peach as the primary aromas.

Sip.

The scientist delicately tilted the glass cup from side to side, as her azure gaze peeked through the green-whitish beverage, seeing the diffused image of all of the gadgets spread around the room, leading their way towards the exit door. The liquid waved arrhythmically from one side to the other, threatening to escape from the rim of the glass. Occasional bubbles rising to the surface were distracting and she caught herself falling into a deep state of thought, as recent events played behind her eyes, still very present in her mind.

It was as if she had been transported back into that moment in time: The 'M' engraved on his forehead.

Sip.

He stretched his arm, never looking at the crowds.

Sip, sip.

A bright ball of energy appeared in his gloved hand. Within a fraction of a second, it was blasted towards the stadium. Hundreds of people had been obliterated in a mere instant, right in front of her eyes. She had felt extremely nauseated and utterly disturbed.

Sip, sip, sip.

He didn't waste even the smallest of glances to look in her direction, to at least acknowledge she wasn't part of the people he would be massacring for the sake of his wounded pride. Or at least to see that she wouldn't be in the smoke of his blast, at least to check that he wouldn't reduce her to greyish ashes.

Grab the bottle, refill the glass to the brim. Take another sip. Make it a big one.

The blow of that gigantic energy colliding against the screaming, innocent people still deafened her ears. A loud, shrill tune vibrated in her eardrums, inhibiting her auditory sense. If that was her memory or the alcohol, she couldn't tell. Frankly, she didn't give a shit. All she wanted was to forget the moment in which Vegeta decided to bring the punishing flames of hell up on earth, and incinerate her heart with them.

Fuck it, down it all at once. Refill. Down it again.

Bulma just wanted for her mind to be quiet. To stop its constant reminders of the horrendous atrocities her husband had committed in his early years, and how easy it had been for him to be manipulated into committing them again.

She begged her mind to stop comparing the dirty, evil smirk on his face as he was killing people with the soft smile he very rarely gave only to her. She implored her thoughts to stop remembering the cruelty she saw in his eyes as he murdered the masses, and comparing it to how beautifully soft and tender his gaze and his touch had been the night before that slaughter.

Those were too many contradictions for her to handle, and she couldn't bring herself to understand, even despite her genius. And being inebriated as she was, it made her feel desperate.

Drink.

Her mind wouldn't quiet down, as she saw more and more memories between them. The first time he kissed her, when she hadn't been expecting it. How he held her in his strong arms after having slept together, even though he had left shortly after. How, with time, he opened up to her, more and more, letting her in to his damaged past, and to his heart. – Or that was what she had thought.

Drink more!

Bulma could never deny that Vegeta's heart and emotions were, at minimum, complex. They had been shattered and stained with blood. Until he'd met her, the prince didn't know how to piece these emotions back together, so that he would heal. Throughout the years, she had hoped she had helped him in that regard. She hadn't wanted to fix him, she merely wanted to help him feel at peace with himself. She wanted to help him pick up the pieces of his broken soul and help him paint the image of how he truly saw himself, and not paint him as how she wanted him to be. Because that was how she came to fall in love him, as he was. Princely. Proud. Serene.

The bottle's finally empty.

Putting her glass down, she covered her mouth and cried ever so bitterly at the realisation that she hadn't acknowledged that his pride was still gravely wounded, leading him to make a decision which broke her heart. Bulma could not help it – She felt utterly betrayed. Vegeta had not even given it a second thought while blasting away at the stadium, where she was. He could have easily killed her, and not given a damn about her. Ironically, she'd felt when he died. She had felt a clear sting through her heart, cutting her short of breath. It had ripped her soul in half when she felt him die. But him? He wouldn't have, because everything he cared about in that instant had been his pending fight with Goku.

An extreme sense of sadness rushed through her, fuelling the tears rolling down her cheeks. She had thought he had put that particular snippet of his past behind him, when, in reality, the wound was fresh, burning the life out of him. She had sincerely thought that Vegeta felt finally at home, she had hoped he understood that his family loved and cared deeply about him. That she truly loved him with all of her heart and soul.

Apparently, he didn't.

Bulma wondered, ever so bitterly: Now that they had won against Buu, did he come 'home' because he had nowhere else to go, or because he thought of it as his home? Did he go to their bedroom at night out of habit, or because he wanted to be with her? Because he, in his bizarre manner, cared for her?

The betrayal she felt ignited a spark of doubt in her heart and she frowned. Did he really care at all?

If he didn't… She wished to forget. And so, her slick hand opened the drawer in which the dragon balls were hidden. She counted them.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Seven golden orbs capable of granting any wish her aching heart desired. – Once upon a time, she would have wished for the perfect boyfriend and an infinite supply of the juiciest, most delicious strawberries. Sadly, the dragon balls had mostly fulfilled wishes concerning the resurrection of her friends, who had previously been killed in battle, murdered by aliens who desperately searched for the wish-granting spheres, in their desire to achieve immortality.

Vegeta had been no exception.

Her mind wandered to an even darker place: She knew she had fallen in love with a murderer. She knew of the blood on his hands. She was fully aware of his past, he had never lied to her about it. She knew he'd been forced to eradicate a planet under the gruesome orders of Frieza, but he'd also admitted to exterminating a planet out of the rush of power it gave him. And that was exactly what the tournament fiasco had been: A display of who had the most power, a trophy only rewarded to the alpha male. To kill or be killed, that would settle it.

She traced the stars on the dragon balls with her fingertips. Feeling the wine in her head, she spoke to herself, bitterness heard in every drunken word she said, "I let… I let my guard down. Seven years… Seven fucking years, and his promise to never fight again. 'Nooooo, woman, I will neeeever fight again, pinky promise, pinky promise... I'll just, y'know-, y'know, just, I'll wait for Kakarot to come back to earth. 'Cause it's Son Kun- I mean, Kakarot. He's… He's gonna come back. It's what he does. And then, I'll- I'll… I'll be evil again. Why? Because, fuck you, that's why. All hail prince Vegeta.'"

She grabbed the seven-star dragon ball and looked at it. She saw her reflection: Her hair was unkempt; her ocean blue eyes were red and swollen. She could see the glistening tears still rolling down her cheeks, tracing over the trails of tears that had already fallen from her face. She hated it. She hated that silly, drunken, livid expression on her face, the pain in her heart, the mistrust she felt for the love of her life. It was poison, and she needed to get rid of it.

Bulma was no fool. She had collected the dragon balls for a reason, and that reason was Vegeta. She would be lying to herself if she said that she had not been trying to avoid him, and she knew he'd noticed. She simply needed some time and space.

But her mind would not quiet down, and she had been overthinking way too much, which led her to drink an entire bottle of white wine. She thought it would ease her racing mind. Unfortunately, it had the exact opposite effect, making her ponder even more about what she wanted to do.

And… For the sake of her sanity, she needed to forget.

"But you know, Vegeta… We… We all make dumb decisions at some point. You made youuuuuurs, and I'll make miiiiiiiine. Especially when-, when I'm drunk. And boooooy, am I fucking wasted."

Grabbing all seven dragon balls, and trying her best to walk straight, Bulma went outside and placed the orbs on the floor. She looked back at the Capsule Corp. compound, specifically at their bedroom's window. Vegeta liked to leave the window open when they went to bed, but at some point in the middle of the night, he would close the window, shut the curtains and lay himself back to sleep.

"Curtains… shut. Okay, he's asleep. Trunks… He sleeps like a log. He won't notice. M'Parents? Meh, they don't care much for the dragon balls anyway. Okay. Okay, Bulma, let's do this." The bluenette turned to the dragon balls and raised her arms to the night sky, "I summon you, Shenron, come and grant me my wish!"