Disclaimer: DB/Z/GT do not belong to me. I make no money off these stories, and even if I could, they are nowhere near up to Toriyama's calibre so I wouldn't bother anyhow.
A/N: Well, well, this has been a long time in coming, hasn't it? It's been almost a month! Well, exams are over and done with and a new semester is just beginning, so I'm back. I know you allll missed me (snickers...)
This isn't an action chapter,
so sorry if you wanted one. This is one of my infamous "interlude"
chapters, where I take the time to back off from the action of the story and
focus on the characters for a little while. This focuses primarily on Vegeta,
but Bulma is in it, as well. I hope you enjoy, and I definitely hope it was
worth the 3-week-long wait!
Damsel in Distress? Not Likely!
Chapter Four: Nightly Musings
"I don't get it . . . I don't know why we can't sense them," Yamucha ran a hand through his short black hair in frustration, curling his fingers around the coarse strands and yanking them sharply. "We should be able to."
"Thank you for that comment," the sarcasm in Vegeta's voice was so thick it could almost have been cut with a knife. "I realized that already. But knowing it doesn't help the situation."
Yamucha ignored the cynicism, attributing it to worry on Vegeta's part. He was sitting on the forest floor with his back against a tree, wincing as his tired muscles protested from too much flying with too little practice. He and Vegeta had been searching all night and right through till midnight the day after, with no success. No sign of Bulma or Trunks — and not even a glimmer of their life energy anywhere.
Vegeta blew out his breath in an explosive sigh of frustration as he tossed another stick onto the already-roaring campfire in front of him. He hadn't needed to rest or even wanted to, but flying around aimlessly hadn't been accomplishing anything. It was maddening — no, it was torture — to not have any clue as to the whereabouts of Trunks or Bulma. Even their ki had seemed to have disappeared.
Earlier Yamucha had suggested gently, with tears in his eyes, that perhaps Bulma and Trunks had been killed . . . and his reward for that comment had been a punch in the face that would have caved in his skull had he not seen it coming. Now, thinking back to that conversation, Vegeta's hands balled into fists and his whole body shook. They couldn't be dead. They couldn't! He would know.
"Vegeta?"
"What?!" Vegeta barked, causing the former warrior to jump.
"Did you ever think that maybe they're off-planet?"
Vegeta's eyebrows pulled together in an incredulous scowl. "What are you talking about? Do all humans come up with such ridiculous notions, or just you?"
"Just listen," Yamucha insisted. "Think it through before you instantly disregard the possibility. How do you know, for sure, that Bulma and Trunks are still on Chikyuu?"
This new piece of speculation sank into Vegeta's brain slowly, and it trickled through his body like ice water in his veins.. After a few seconds, however, Vegeta discarded the notion with an inner sigh of relief. "No. You're wrong."
Yamucha's first instinct was to dismiss Vegeta's curt statement as hopeful thinking, but he knew that the Saiyajin Prince was a rational person, rarely prone to making decisions without a reason. Unless, of course, it had to do with battle. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure!" Vegeta shot Yamucha his famous Look, the one that made the receiver feel like he were a puddle of quivering jelly. Fortunately for Yamucha, he had been given the Look so many times that he had almost built up an immunity, and the only effect was a mild weakening of the knees. "I saw the bodies of the soldiers. They were all human. Their weapons were of pitiful Chikyuujin design, as well."
"So?" if this was leading up to another of Vegeta's Saiyajin-supremacy speeches . . .
"So," Vegeta repeated him mockingly, "No self-respecting species would ever hire humans as assassins. Therefore," he continued forcefully, when Yamucha drew himself up in indignance, "This operation had to have been engineered and carried out completely by humans. Since your species hasn't discovered space travel, except for the woman's father, it wouldn't make any sense to assume that the woman and the brat were taken off-planet."
Yamucha scratched his head, thinking it through. As much as his pride hated to admit it, Vegeta's logic was sound and Yamucha could find no fault with it. "Yeah, I think you're right. Hunh!"
"Of course I am!" Vegeta sniffed, glaring at Yamucha. "Why does everyone assume all Saiyajins are idiots? Just because Kakarotto couldn't find his own backside with both hands and a ki blast doesn't mean that I'm intellectually deprived, also. Honestly!"
The human winced, knowing it was true. Given Goku's innocent, childlike demeanor, it was easy to forget that he did actually possess a fair amount of intelligence — and this assumption was naturally passed on with regards to Vegeta. "I'm sorry."
"You and everyone else on this planet," Vegeta snarled, turning away abruptly and staring moodily into the fire once more. "I wish people would stop looking at me bugeyed any time I make a comment that is semi-intelligent. And you say my species is racist!"
"I said I was sorry," Yamucha's expression was pained. "What else do you want?"
Vegeta looked at him askance, and Yamucha couldn't place the mood that touched his aristocratic features. After a few seconds, Vegeta shook himself, turning his gaze back to the dancing flames. "I want you to shut up."
There was a pause, and Vegeta wondered for a second if Yamucha was really taking his retort seriously. He hadn't actually thought it would work, since Yamucha knew Vegeta wouldn't hurt him — Bulma would throw a fit if anything happened to her ex-boyfriend — but Vegeta wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth if he had. After a few minutes, though, Yamucha spoke up, again in that contemplative tone of voice.
"Why don't we try asking Dende tomorrow?" Yamucha suggested, covering his mouth with one hand to hide a yawn. He'd taken enough verbal jabs from Vegeta without one about his lack of ability to go two nights without sleep.
Vegeta just gave him a look like he was insane. "Dende? What would that half-pint-Piccolo-wannabe know?"
"Hey, lay off," Yamucha frowned, "Dende is Chikyuu's guardian. He's done a pretty good job so far."
Not good enough this time, Vegeta thought bitterly, but he knew it hadn't been the little Namekusejin's fault. If anyone was to blame, it was himself, for leaving the woman and their son alone in the house with only the robots as security. Vegeta also was aware, however, that no answer lay in pointing fingers, even at himself. What Trunks and Bulma needed now was action, not blame.
"All right, maybe the green kid has some idea what's going on," Vegeta admitted grudgingly, and he got to his feet. "Let's go. Now."
Yamucha looked at him, a weary expression on the human's weary face. "Vegeta . . . can't we wait until morning? You've got to remember I'm just human, you know — I don't have your stamina."
Vegeta fixed his unwilling partner with a cold stare that caused him to fidget nervously. "Listen, if you can't handle it, go home. I'm going to find them, with or without you. I can't allow this insult to my pride to continue any longer."
"Your pride?" Yamucha repeated, and despite the fact that Vegeta was far stronger than he, and of a superior race, he sounded absolutely disgusted. "I hope you didn't mean that."
AOf course I did! For a Crown Prince of the Saiyajin race to have his son kidnapped from his home by a group of humans is an inexcusable insult. I must correct the error before the word is spread that I cannot defend my home from even your pathetic species."
Yamucha stared hard at Vegeta, and for the first time that Vegeta could remember, he felt uncomfortable beneath another man's scrutiny. Biting back the urge to rap out a sharp "WHAT?" Vegeta just glared, not breaking the human's gaze. After some time, Yamucha leaned back against the tree and put his hands behind his head in a lazy gesture, a small, knowing smile creasing his features. "I thought so."
"You can think?" Vegeta shot back. "Hmph. I guess there are some things I don't know."
Yamucha ignored him, which was infuriating enough in itself, but what was worse was the satisfied smirk on his face. "You're worried about her, Vegeta. Admit it."
Vegeta bristled. He didn't want this human guessing at his feelings — even Bulma was unsure of them half the time, so how could Yamucha profess to know anything? "Why should I admit it when it isn't true?" he snapped.
"Vegeta . . ." Yamucha sighed patiently, like he was discussing a rule with a preschool-aged child. "I'm not going to make fun of you. I know perfectly well that you care about Bulma, and you love her, even if you don't admit it to yourself. Why can't you just say it?"
"You're wasting your time," Vegeta snarled, "If you're expecting me to suddenly act all 'buddy-buddy' with you and 'spill my heart' or some such nonsense, just forget it. If you want to have a man-to-man bonding session with a lovesick idiot, talk to Kuririn about his tin can of a wife. I'm sure he'd be grateful to oblige, but you're an imbecile if you think I have anything in common with him, or that I share his weak emotions."
Yamucha just shook his head, and there was hurt in his eyes — but it didn't look like it was for himself. "I sure hope for her sake Bulma never hears you say that," he murmured quietly.
"Don't tell me how I should treat my woman!" Vegeta snapped, and he leaned abruptly away from the fire. The heat from the blaze was making his cheeks turn red — he could feel the colour rising to them. He scowled at Yamucha, who, for once, wasn't grinning, or laughing, or, on the flip side, giving him that disapproving frown. This time, the blasted human was merely looking, with an expression that was somewhere between sympathy and understanding. It was a discomfiting stare, one that made Vegeta feel that Yamucha could see inside his mind and knew what he was really thinking.
Vegeta growled, and he jumped to his feet and flew into the air, blasting through the canopy. "Vegeta!" Yamucha called after him, but the Saiyajin paid him no heed. Vegeta flew until he was well past the forest, until he was high enough that it felt like he was floating right amongst the stars. Releasing a scream of outrage, frustration, and who knew how many other emotions, Vegeta slammed his fists against the air and let out a string of profanity.
I know perfectly well that you care about Bulma, and you love her, even if you don't admit it to yourself.
"I do not!" Vegeta roared to the heavens, but the stars just blinked back at him without giving any answers.
Why did everyone question him about his feelings for Bulma? They had had a son together and they were bonded through the boy — Bulma was his mate, and she understood Vegeta better than anyone else in the whole accursed galaxy did, but that was that. Why did humans have to bring love into it? Love complicated everything!
Vegeta was fond of Bulma — very fond — he had been for a couple of years now, and he was aware she knew that. Neither Vegeta nor Bulma were very good with expressing their feelings in a verbal manner, and he didn't think either of them tried to evaluate how they felt about each other. Bulma had been rather stuck on that at first, always trying to get Vegeta to be the perfect, fairy-tale prince, but after a while she stopped and accepted him for the way he was. Vegeta didn't think it mattered anyway. Bulma needed him, they both knew it — nothing else was necessary.
Funnily enough, Vegeta didn't mind being needed like that. It was a desire he hadn't ever experienced except from her, and he couldn't truly say that it was an unwelcome one. And what was even odder, perhaps, was the fact that Vegeta needed Bulma, too. He felt the need to protect just as strongly as she wanted to be protected — wanted to be understood for who he was, just as she did. It was not the most tender of relationships, but it was certainly one of the most unique.
But people ruined it when they tried to analyze Vegeta's feelings. When they tried to file his emotions into their stupid, human categories. Love, affection, tenderness, romance . . . all those words meant nothing to Vegeta. What was more, he didn't care about what they meant. While others seemed to take this as a sign that Vegeta felt nothing for Bulma, he knew they were wrong. What this really signified was that he didn't see the necessity to put a name to his feelings — didn't need to stick them into slots, to cheapen them by slapping a label on them.
Bulma understood.
"Vegeta!"
Vegeta blinked, startled. Yamucha flew up from the trees to hover in the air next to him, and his face was filled with apology. "I'm sorry, Vegeta. It's not my place to argue with you about Bulma. Can you forgive me?"
Vegeta just grunted, barely acknowledging that he had even heard the statement, and he pointedly ignored the human. Without even realizing it, Vegeta stretched out his senses, straining to pick up even a glimmer of Bulma's life energy. Like the last time — like the last hundred times — it was in vain. Vegeta's lip curled into a self-belittling sneer, and he bit back a curse.
Where are you, woman? he demanded silently.
A hand fell on Vegeta's shoulder, and he turned to glower at Yamucha. The human removed his hand, and he smiled a little. "We'll get her back," Yamucha tried to reassure him. "You don't have to worry."
Vegeta looked at him for a second, meeting the human's coal-black stare, then he returned his gaze to the stars. "Didn't you want to sleep, human?" he asked gruffly.
Yamucha's mouth curved upward in a small grin, and he nodded. "Yeah, I did. Sorry to bug you."
Long after Yamucha fell asleep, his snores carrying straight up through the forest to Vegeta's sensitive hearing, the Saiyajin remained hovering, searching for a glimpse of something that he simply could not find.
I'll find you. I don't care how long it takes; I will find you. Even if I have to tear this entire planet to pieces to do it . . .
******
Starlight flooded the dark bedroom, casting eerie, silver light upon a slumbering figure who lay in bed, unaware that she was being watched. The light also fell upon the chiselled features of the man who stood next to the bed, saying nothing.
The usual scowl was absent from Vegeta's features as he regarded Bulma's sleeping form, and he held one hand in front of him, fist clenched protectively around something. It had been a few days since the Cell Games, and he and Bulma hadn't conversed much.
A low sigh escaped Vegeta's throat, and he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, springs squeaking softly, where he continued to watch Bulma. He reached out to touch her hair, then growled lightly and pulled his hand back, exhaling with a vicious curse. Even when she slept, the woman had a power over him.
Bulma muttered in her sleep, then she unconsciously rolled over to what would have been Vegeta's side of the bed, had he been there. When she found it empty, a frown crossed Bulma's face and she began stirring restlessly, tossing and turning as though she was in the grip of a nightmare.
Vegeta glanced at his hand, then at Bulma, then decisiveness seized him and he grasped Bulma's wrist. Opening her fist, Vegeta shoved the gold chain he had been holding into Bulma's palm and closed her fingers over it. Bulma sighed and pulled her hand to her chest, bringing the necklace close to her heart.
Vegeta shook his head and stood, preparing to leave. Before he reached the door, however, a sleepy voice jolted him to a stop. "Vegeta?"
He paused, shoulders tensed. "What?"
A rustling of blankets sounded as Bulma sat up, and Vegeta turned around. Bulma had propped herself up against the headboard and was staring at the necklace in her hand, a mixture of bewilderment and hope tinging her features. "What's this for?"
The Saiyajin bit back a curse; he had hoped to leave the gift and leave before the woman woke up. Now, he had to bite the proverbial bullet. "It's . . . it's because . . ."Vegeta glowered, and he folded his arms defensively. "It's to apologize," Bulma's eyes widened, but she didn't say anything, and he continued. "It's because I'm sorry I left you, and our son. I . . ." the glare softened, and something akin to gentleness pervaded his expression. "I won't leave you again."
Bulma still did not speak, as she was staring at the necklace like it had suddenly sprouted wings and was going to fly away. Vegeta frowned. "Don't you —" he paused, annoyed at his own weakness, but knowing Bulma had that effect on him no matter how hard he tried to deny it. "Don't you want it?" If Bulma rejected the gift, she was also rejecting Vegeta's apology, and his offer to return to her.
A short silence ensued, during which Vegeta was fully prepared to leave, then Bulma leapt up from the bed and ran toward him. Flinging her arms around his neck, Bulma kissed him full on the mouth with such force that it left the Saiyajin speechless — and not a little breathless, as well. She hadn't kissed him like that since before Trunks' birth. "Thank you!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Vegeta, this means just as much to me as . . . as . . . as ChiChi's wedding ring does to her! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Vegeta attempted to speak, but Bulma didn't allow that as she began to kiss him energetically, short, excited kisses that left Vegeta no time to respond. "Thank you," Bulma cried, "Vegeta, I love you so much" — she kissed him again — "You don't have to apologize for anything" — and again — "I'm sorry I ever got mad at you" — and again.
"Woman!" Vegeta yelled finally, catching her face and cupping it in both his hands. "What are you doing? If you're going to kiss me" — a knowing smirk crossed his expression and was matched by one of Bulma's — "Then do it right!" leaning in close, Vegeta pulled Bulma toward him, drawing her in for a deep, heart-stopping kiss.
"Stay with me," Bulma murmured when they paused for breath, "Come back again."
Wordlessly, Vegeta took Bulma in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he stretched out with her beside him. Bulma lay her head on his chest and Vegeta encircled her in his arms, drawing the blankets up over the two of them. "Welcome back," Bulma whispered drowsily. Vegeta said nothing, and he kissed the top of her head before the both of them fell asleep, together again for the first time in months.
Bulma still clutched the necklace in her hand.
Vegeta sat up, his face soaked with sweat, as the dream faded, and he cursed softly. Why did memories of Bulma have to plague him now, when he did not want emotions to cloud his judgement and impede his action? Why, when he tried to formulate a plan to find her, could he only think of the scent of her hair, or the softness of her skin? Vegeta snarled, but didn't try to push the memories away. In Bulma's absence, they were all he had of her.
He glanced up at the sky and saw that it was a few hours yet until morning, so he crossed his arms and resettled his back against the tree, trying to snatch a bit of sleep.
Feh, he thought, I'm turning into one of those soft-hearted humans! Wouldn't the woman laugh if she knew I was dreaming about her . . .
******
The lights were off and the room was silent as Bulma lay awake in bed, thinking. Trunks had long fallen asleep, despite his earlier vow to stay awake all night to make sure her arm didn't hurt, and Bulma smiled at him. The little boy was slumbering next to her, having refused to sleep in the bed across the room that had been reserved for him, and Bulma tousled his hair gently, not wanting to wake him.
Her arm had been set that afternoon, and Entare-san had given Bulma a shot of painkillers to keep the hurt bearable. Bulma still wasn't too comfortable accepting medicine from the organization that had killed her parents, but the pain was incapacitating otherwise, and she knew they wouldn't resort to such low methods as poisoning her. They needed her, at least until she finished creating the weapons.
Bulma frowned at the ceiling, as though by glaring at it she could make her captors feel guilty. She had no intention of creating weapons that had the potential to hurt her friends, but at the same time, she wasn't about to let harm come to her son. It was embarrassing to be caught in such a paralyzing situation, and it made Bulma wonder what Vegeta would do were he in her position.
She snorted. Vegeta would blast the place to pieces, bio-weapons or no, before the soldiers even had a chance to get their hands halfway to their holsters. He'd never be stuck in a circumstance like this. It was one of the perks of being the strongest fighter on the planet.
"Or would he?" Bulma murmured to herself, propping her head on one hand and looking about the darkened room. "If someone threatened me and Trunks, and there was no way he could do anything to stop them, would he risk losing us to save his pride?"
Bulma didn't think so. She and Vegeta never talked about their relationship, but inside, Bulma knew Vegeta would never want to see her come to harm.
She laced her fingers behind her head and stared up at the ceiling again, wishing the room had a window, but her quarters were in the heart of the building. Bulma had always sought comfort in the stars, ever since her childhood, and she longed for a window to look through. If she could only see the sky, it would make her predicament a little more bearable.
For somehow, Bulma knew Vegeta would be looking up at the same stars.
Something brought Bulma out of sleep, and she instinctively looked over at Vegeta's side of the bed, knowing it would be empty. He had been distracted and edgy all day, and whenever he got depressed, he stood on the balcony all night, staring out at the stars.
Bulma shook her head and climbed out of bed, taking her dressing gown from the bedpost and donning it hastily. She could see the filmy curtains blowing in the nighttime breeze, the doors to the balcony flung wide open. "Vegeta?" Bulma called softly, moving toward the balcony. "How long have you been out there?"
"Go back to bed, woman," Vegeta's gruff voice was borne back to her on the wind. "It's cold out."
"I've got my housecoat on," she came out onto the balcony and saw Vegeta leaning against the railing, arms crossed and face pensive. The muscle shirt and sweat pants he wore waved gently in the breeze, as did his hair. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," he replied evasively, but Bulma knew him far better than that. Even before they had gotten 'together', Bulma had always been able to tell when Vegeta was lying.
"Vegeta," she chided him, and scooted up onto the railing, perched precariously on the thin, metal rail so she was facing him. "Don't lie to me."
Vegeta's jaw muscles tightened, and he grabbed her arm. "Don't sit on that. You could fall off."
Bulma smiled crookedly and detached her arm from his grasp. "Don't be silly. You'd catch me before I fell, wouldn't you?" he snorted, and she grinned in triumph. "Enough playing. Tell me what the matter is. Please."
He stared at her with an unreadable expression on his face, then he sighed in defeat. "I'm feeling closed in. This planet, it's . . . it's so small and confined. I feel like I'm trapped here, getting bombarded with your culture, your ways, your beliefs, your morals . . . it's as though, if I stay here much longer, I'll somehow become human. And that isn't what I want."
Bulma felt a little stung, but she understood the root of Vegeta's problem. "That's why you look at the stars, then," she guessed, swinging around on the railing to look out at the sky, ignoring Vegeta's worried glance and the movement of his hand as he fought not to reach out and catch hold of her. "You want to leave . . . but you can't."
"You're correct," Vegeta scowled. "Before, when I felt stifled, I could leave for space for a few months. It gave me the chance to be alone, to feel myself again. But things are different now. I can't just abandon you like that. That might be a weakness, I don't know, but it's true nonetheless."
"I'm sorry," Bulma leaned until her back came in contact with Vegeta's chest. He remained immobile, so Bulma reached back and took hold of Vegeta's hands. He took the hint and stepped close to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I don't mean to make you feel trapped."
"It's not you!" he growled. "It's this blasted planet! I feel like such an alien when I'm here. The only time I feel at home is when I'm out in the stars."
Bulma raised a hand, indicating the glittering sky above them. "But they're beautiful to look at just from the ground. Doesn't it help you when you stargaze from here?"
"No. Once you have been up in space, you can never look at the stars the same way again. You've flown a spacecraft, woman, don't you know what I mean?"
She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. I was so busy with trying to find Namekusei that I didn't bother looking out the windows. Sorry."
Nothing was said for a moment, then Vegeta gave a short nod. "Come with me," without giving Bulma a chance to respond, Vegeta flew off the balcony and down to the Capsule ship, parked on the front lawn. "We're going up into space."
"Now?" Bulma glanced at him quizzically. "Are you sure? But . . . it's such a small ship, will there be room? Why don't you wait and ask Dad to build you a bigger one?"
He fixed her with a steely-eyed stare, full of questions. "Are you afraid to be close to me, woman? If so, I'll take you back right now."
Bulma met his gaze, and she smiled. "No, never mind. We can improvise."
Vegeta smirked triumphantly, and he punched the access code to the small ship, waiting as the door hissed open. He sat in the control chair, Bulma on his lap, and tapped in the commands to take the craft up into orbit. Once the preflight checks had been made, the spaceship roared and took off into the air. "Are you too cramped?" Vegeta asked as the ship flew up toward the upper atmosphere.
"Nope," Bulma snuggled up to him, enjoying the feel of his arms around her. It was rare that Vegeta was so open with her.
They reached space in a matter of minutes, and Vegeta reached forward and hit a small, blue button on the console. "I told your father I disliked feeling enclosed," he explained as a low whine filled the cockpit, "So he installed this for me. I used to come up and sit in orbit for hours."
As Bulma watched, the ceiling and walls of the capsule seemed to disappear as the thick metal retracted into a panel at the bottom. Beneath it was clear glass, allowing for almost complete vision of the space around the ship.
Bulma sucked in her breath sharply as the glory of the stars threatened to overwhelm her. Ahead of them, shimmering like a jewel, was Chikyuu, blue, green, and white, more beautiful than it could ever be on the ground. All around, the stars shone far brighter than Bulma had ever seen, unhindered by Chikyuu's atmosphere, or pollution, or lighting, or any of the factors that dimmed their beauty from the planet's surface. Bulma's breath shortened, and she had to gasp for air.
"See?" Vegeta's voice was low, his breath warm in her ear. "I told you it was different from space. I've spent years and years here, flying between purging missions and whatnot. Space is the only place where I feel I belong."
"I can see why," Bulma nodded, still breathless. "It's gorgeous!"
Vegeta suddenly stiffened, like he was embarrassed to be showing such a secret part of his inner self to her, and he leaned over, preparing to key in the reentry sequence. Bulma caught his wrist. "Don't. Let's stay a while longer."
He paused, uncertain. "You'll get stiff."
"That's what painkillers are for," Bulma argued. "Please. It's beautiful up here, and you need to get away from Chikyuu. You said so. Let's wait, at least until morning. I bet sunrise is absolutely breathtaking from up here."
"It is," he admitted grudgingly, and he shifted a little in the chair to give them both a bit more room. "But don't complain about sore muscles in the morning."
Bulma chuckled, and she curled up against him. "I won't. Make sure you wake me up for sunrise, all right?"
"Fine," Vegeta grunted, but his arms tightened protectively around her and without looking, Bulma knew he was smiling. "Good night, woman."
"Good night, Vegeta. And you know, any time you need to come up here for a while, you can," Bulma looked up at him, seeing surprise run about his face unchecked before he caught it. "After seeing this myself, I don't blame you for taking off anymore. As long as you tell me when you're leaving and you don't stay away too long, I don't think I'd mind."
Vegeta said nothing, but he lifted a hand to run his fingers down her cheek once, and this was as good a thank you as any.
Bulma put a hand to her cheek to wipe away the tears that had the audacity to leave her eyes. More than she cared to admit, she missed Vegeta. She missed his protection, whether she needed it or not; missed waking up in the morning and finding herself in his arms. She even missed arguing with him.
"I'm going to find a way out of here," she hissed in determination. "I'm not waiting for him to find me. I'll think of a way to do it myself, and I'll get out of here. I won't just sit around and wait to be rescued . . . I'm no typical damsel in distress. I'll be back, Vegeta. I promise you that!"
******
*grins* I like these kind of chapters - it's interesting to see how each character reacts to the situation s/he is placed in. I don't know when the next chapter will be out, because I've hit a bit of a snag, but it shouldn't be too long.
Next time: Bulma begins her programming . . . as well as a little illicit hacking into the system. Why not, right? She discovers something rather interesting .... (and the answer to Chibi Tenshi Senchi's question in chapter three ...)