Chapter Twelve

Vegeta sighed and placed the woman on the bed. All those noisy bakas were finally gone, and the doctor had said she was fine—in fact, she was in perfect health now, though weak from not using her limbs. Her strength would return gradually through use. The doctor and nurses were quite baffled by her recovery. "Idiots," he muttered under his breath.

He climbed in next to her and pulled her into a close embrace against his chest. She sighed against him and snuggled close to him, placing her head on his chest. He held her tighter, possessively.

He almost lost her for good. She almost died. Almost. He hated that word. It shouldn't have happened at all. He shouldn't have almost lost her for good; he should have never lost her in the first place. She shouldn't have almost died; she should have been home, with him, in his arms.

"Vegeta?" she said, drawing his mind back from his regrets.

He remained silent.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice small and shaky.

"For what?" he said, confused.

"For not understanding. I didn't realize how much you'd given up for me," she said, her hand stroking his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You gave up your chance to kill Goku and destroy the earth for me," she said quietly. "You gave up everything that meant something to you for me. And then I go trying to kill myself." He heard the disgust in her voice on the last sentence.

She didn't think it was only her fault, did she? Kami, he had to be at fault too; he'd treated her like dirt during all their time together. He could recall every name he'd called her, and every time he'd made her cry . . . one too many times. "It wasn't all your fault," he muttered quietly.

He felt her gaze suddenly on him. He looked at her as a sly smile covered her lips. "Are you saying that it's your fault too, Vegeta?"

He turned his eyes away from her and grunted. It took no genius to know that he had some fault too. It hurt like hell to admit it though, even though she had come back from the dead basically. He still had his pride.

"Did you just apologize in you own little twisted way, Veggie-chan?" she said, her voice giddy, yet appalled.

He remained silent.

She threw her arms around him and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I forgive you, Veggie-chan," she said happily.

"Woman, I told you not to call me that," he said irritated.

"I told you not to call me Woman,' Veggie-chan, and yet you still do," she said, taking the bait.

"I am a Prince. I can call you whatever I want."

Bulma smirked. "Veggie-chan, did it ever occur to you that you're no longer a Prince anymore?"

"Woman, I know what I am," he snapped at her. What the hell were they arguing about? He couldn't understand why she wanted to argue, and where was this damned argument was going? Hell, if he'd just come back from the dead, he wouldn't want to be arguing. No, wait: when he came back from the dead the first thing he did was argue.

"Well," she said, interrupting his thoughts. She propped her chin on her elbows on his chest and looked down into his ebony eyes. "Technically, your planet is dead, so if you are a Prince, you're only a Prince of, say, seven people—Saiyan's plus their family."

He gave her an irritated look but continued listening, a bit intrigued with what she was saying.

"Also," she said, leaning a bit closer to his face, "You're father is dead, making you, logically, King of the Saiyan's." She sat up and pulled her hair up with her hands and fanned her neck. "That makes Trunks a Prince, Bra a Princess, and I am a Queen; so as Queen I will call you whatever I want," she said in a queen-like fashion.

He looked at her a long moment and then burst out laughing. She gave him an incredulous look and frowned. He pulled her frail body down to his and embraced her again. "Too true, too true," he chuckled. Why hadn't he thought of that? Well, it didn't matter. She snuggled against him again and sighed contentedly. He kissed her lightly on her head.

"I love you, Vegeta," she sighed, a smile brightening her already shining face.

Vegeta stopped breathing for a moment, unsure of what he should say or do. She'd told him many times that she loved him, but this time it seemed different. She said it as if she were willing to accept the fact that he might never say those three words to her, and she was willing to have it that way, to take him as he is: with his past, his flaws . . . everything. He was filled with a sudden peace, something that had been eluding him all his life. He felt totally accepted by her, and it gave him a thrilling, yet eerie, feeling. He squeezed her lightly and drew his lips to her ear.

"I love you too, my Queen."