Part II: The Beginning of the Descent

"Dum de dum," Bulma looked around and breathed in the fresh air, a humid afternoon with a gentle cool breeze. "Perfect," she sighed. The exact sort of weather that Vegeta would've taken her flying in. If Vegeta did that sort of thing that is. She blew up a stray strand in front of her face. But she could wait until that magical day when he would go, "Say, Bulma, want to go flying with me?"

She snorted. "As if the pig could learn," she shook her head and kneeled in front of the Gravity Room panel. "Men," she snorted again and waved her hand in the air. "Who needs 'em? I've got half a mind to become a lesbian the way Vegeta drives me up the wall!" And, of course, some female Capsule Corp. workers paused in their walk to stare at her. Bulma glared.

"Beat it! I'm not interested!" And the two turned away, looking disappointed. Bulma rolled her eyes. "Everyone wants a piece of me. Me, me, me, me. Why can't they pick on some other woman?"

"Because there's no one more gorgeous, talented, and rich as you."

She humphed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Emphasis on the rich and gorgeous part. A two-for one package to most guys, don't you think?" She turned from the panel, and looked at the man, softening her eyes, "Hey Trunks."

He gave a grin and kneeled down near her. "Hey there."

"Hey," she replied, smiling back at him. There was a silence for a few seconds, with them just looking at each other. Eye to eye, the same pigment, one wondering, the other calculating and turning merry. She broke the glance.

"How is it out here?" Trunks asked, sitting down next to her. Bulma looked down at her wrench and smiled softly at her alternate universe son.

"Hot, sweaty..." she looked away. Trunks laughed, nodding to himself. Exactly how I want you, he told her in his mind's eye.

It was strange to her suddenly. Sitting next to him, that is. It felt so off...so- not wrong- but right in a way she couldn't understand. It was different then what she felt with any other man, even Vegeta.

The wrench felt heavy in her hands surprisingly. It hadn't before. She let it fall to the soft grass with a thud, watching it. The wind blew against her, and she sighed, leaning back and letting her body cool.

She has no idea what this is doing to me, Trunks told himself, no idea. It was a wonder to him lately how his lust had overridden his love for her. Maybe lust and love were the same thing to him. All he knew then was the flowing of her suit against the wind, her head against the soft grass, her mouth open. It would be so easy just to roll over and have her beneath him.

He sucked in his breath and concentrated on controlling himself. No, not yet. He could do that as many times as he wanted to when she was his. Until then, she was fair game to seduce...and maybe, just a little bit... to touch.

She wondered what he was thinking about, if he was thinking about his mother. She was looking at the sky and saw a cloud drift by lazily, as if feeling the heat and sympathizing with the world. Bulma wondered if the other her was anything like herself. Well, herself in this timeline. Was she as kind? How did she get along without Vegeta? Did she have a wrinkle? She chuckled to herself. Vain as always and proud of it. Of course, she didn't have any wrinkles. No version of Bulma would ever let that happen.

"What are you thinking about?" He leaned down and looked down at her. His head was in the palm of his hand, his elbow resting on the soft grass, his face just above hers. His voice was soft and he was scanning her face, especially her eyes. He loved her eyes. Not like pools of water but something more beautiful than her soul. Something that can soar away like a bird, his heart began to beat heavily at the thought. Her flying away...always eluding his grasp.

His hand twitched up and he almost brushed away some of her hair. Of course he put it on his own head and looked out to the city. It was beautiful, vibrant...so much healthier looking than his home.

"Just..." she bit her lip."Things."

"What sort of...things?"

Bulma didn't look at him. "Lately everything's been a mess..." she admitted. "Everything's...gone not the way I would've preferred them to." Like Vegeta.

"Oh?" he leaned in. To his strategic mind, he could exploit this confidence. Use it to his advantage. He suppressed the smile.

"I...it's nothing," she felt the tears well up in her eyes and got up. Trunks was still staring at the spot where she laid. "Nothing," she mumbled to herself, almost convincing her. Why should she be worried? She knew Vegeta cared for her. She knew. But why did she have these doubts? Why did she wait up for him in her bed when she knew he wouldn't come? Just waiting in the sheets, eyes closed but awake to hear him so she could put her arms around him. Just holding him was enough before. Now, she wanted him everywhere, including his heart.

The more she desired what she couldn't get, the more elusive and strange he became. More long hours in the training room, more rants and obsessions about being the best. Not just beating Goku was enough, no, but also beating himself, his mental demons. The ones that haunt him when he looked in a mirror, the ones that held him back and chained him, the ones that had held his heart and held the key to opening it.

"Nothing," she murmured again, looking at the sky. "Just... just my imagination."

Trunks still stared at the patch of grass. He took his hand, and smoothed it over the place and wondered at the warmth, her warmth. If it were to stay there indefinitely, he would've lounged out there for hours, smelling her in the grass, the sweet smell of woman, of her femininity and sweat. He tipped his head and watched her move back to the panel. The wrench was gone from the ground.

Nothing, he supposed to himself while watching her, is everything.

-----

It had been a long night.

She looked at the cold pillow that had no owner, a very long night indeed.

Of course, she was used to them. She chuckled lightly to herself. Before... before Vegeta, she probably would've gone crazy without being touched for so long, for not making love, fucking hard, going gently like the waves. Call it what you like... Bulma had no real name for it. Nothing this strong ever needed a name. It would've been the hardest thing to give up, being with a man, that is.

Yet for Vegeta, it came effortlessly. It disgusted her to have anyone else in her bed, even Yamcha when he offered after Vegeta left. She remembered pushing him out of her bed literally and hadn't seen him since; not that she had cared to.

She touched the pillow. One of these nights she knew that Vegeta would come in and lay with her. She knew that romance wouldn't happen but simply for him to at least touch her without disgust, to have that again before she became pregnant...it would alone be worth selling her soul for. Just for those few short moments of bliss. Not just sexual, but something mental and purely spiritual to her. He set her soul free...she could feel heaven's doors within her grasp and-she closed her eyes to keep the tears in at the memory- it felt glorious. Like nothing she had ever felt before. Like something...something she hadn't dared wish for, much less dream of. A feathery touch of another reality just above the one she lived everyday. Silky feelings of the heart and vagina and body shuddering all at once as the eyes were opened like they've never been opened before.

I miss you, she whispered into the pillow, pulling it close to her and hugging it. It was a poor substitute. It didn't feel at all like him. Not as strong, as firm, as solid. Whoever said pillows are good knockoffs for lovers was a total numb fool. She put her face in it and strangled her sobs. It hurt so much what she felt inside, almost as if she wanted death more than to live like this. To wake up each morning, the same thing over and over... Vegeta was her excitement. He was her highlight of the day. Any other thing would just be normal, not as unique. He...he was everything special and irreplaceable that she couldn't obtain.

She wondered how many women and men fell in love with Vegeta. Many, she supposed, biting her lip feeling a little jealous at the possibility that he might have enjoyed other beings better than her. A trail of many broken hearts was behind him, his proud crimson cape with so many of them sewn on, all each with a name on it: Vegeta.

She hugged the pillow tighter. Poor Vegeta. Poor her. Poor Trunks. We all have had our share of misery in this world and she wondered what Vegeta's was, if he had misery, if it bothered him at all.

Bulma knew it was her curiosity and clinginess that repelled Vegeta. But what could she do? She had tried acting cold, that didn't seem to change anything much and she couldn't keep up such a charade. She bit the pillow at its corner sleeve, feeling frustrated.

God damn it, Vegeta, she thought angrily. Why won't you fucking push aside your pride and admit you at least like me? She had hoped vainly for love, gaining back for a short period those magical, pure and naive thoughts of true love, princess and a prince, and happily ever after. It all rudely came down with a crash when he not only ignored her but also went out into space. That much effort he displayed to distance him from her.

God, sometimes she just hated the bastard so much. She beat her fist into the pillow violently, "Ah, fuck you, Vegeta. You think you can control me? Well you can't! You can't, you bastard!" Tears had started to come out and she beat the pillow-Vegeta-into submission. "BASTARD!! BASTARD!" Stuffing had begun to come out and she threw the pillow against the wall.

A framed photograph fell down and smashed. She was sitting in her bed for a long time. The moonlight from her balcony windows was against her and her rivers became streams then into trickles. She leaned against the headboard, looked over to the frame and frowned.

Vegeta in his ethereal scowl stared back at her.

---

It was interesting how she acted. Bizarre, erratic, most times without sensibility. It reminded him of a particular species he wiped out when he was eleven. He chuckled to himself. Ah, yes, that was a good year for him. He had just begun to get really powerful thanks to those Saiya-jin growth spurts.

The species was particularly stupid-or how most humans would refer to it-slow. They moved around with strange body language and were particularly annoying for its chatter. Vegeta closed his eyes and re-visualized killing them. It was sweet and maybe even merciful (dare he think it) to an extent. No species that idiotic should be allowed to waste space in a universe, much less a planet.

But, it was watching the woman in bed (as well as other places) that really brought him back to thinking of that specific species after all these years. Of course, many times the thought came to him: why not be merciful to her as he was to the Kookoo-jin? And of course, many a time he had to restrain himself from thinking that it too would be sweet to be done with her, especially after she went and got incubated with the brat.

Now, it wasn't as if watching the woman was a habit, far from it in fact. He only looked at her in his spare time (though he wasn't sure why he wasted it by studying her). It wasn't as if he liked to look at her from the trees while she obviously waited for him in her bed. Ha! As if that would ever happen, he snorted. He just did it because... because.... because it felt interesting. Yes, interesting. Like his entertainment. She was Yujik to him. A...what's the Earth equivalent...a monkey...ah yes, a monkey... (ironically to him). After so much work, he would never admit to enjoying that small pleasure, her with her crazy mini-adventures, theories, and ways of getting his attention. It pleased him to know that she was desperate for it.

So here he was, leaning against a tree trunk and watching her attack a pillow screaming obscenities and his name. Well, well, well... didn't he feel honored? He smirked and laughed to himself. When he would become a ruler of all things, maybe he shouldn't kill her and just have her for a court jester? He laughed hard at the idea. It would be almost as sweet as murdering her in cold blood to watch her scream and defy him in a ridiculous outfit. Chained up like a slave until she became dead inside. That thought choked the laughter in him in an instant.

He didn't know why that bothered him. Somehow, he wanted to keep that fire in her eyes. The thing that made him come back to her for his viewing pleasure.

He paused. No, he took it back. Vegeta, prince of all Saiya-jins, NEVER went back to anyone, not for anything or anyone. Never.

Bulma had stopped attacking the immobile sleeping object and had begun to crouch on the floor and hold something. He grimaced. He couldn't see it from here but he had a feeling that it had to do with something sentimental.

Ugh. Humans. Pathetic things, really.

Deciding the entertainment was over, he turned and went back to training, this time his thoughts directed on the Older Brat. He floated gracefully over the sleepy Earth, wavering over the gravity room, looking at Capsule Corp. Hmmm..

The boy's energy spiked up and Vegeta sniffed, suddenly guffawing. He couldn't believe it! He slapped his knee, holding his stomach, cheeks hurting from something he wasn't used to doing: smiling. "What a loser," he shook his head, trying to get rid of the stupid Goku-like thing on his face. Go figure. The Brat, horny.

The stench was solid and steadily becoming stronger; Vegeta wondered why he didn't notice it before. To describe a Saiya-jinn's (even a half Saiya-jinn's) musk is.. difficult. So much stronger and powerful.. like a punch to the gut but in a good way. So special is the natural aphrodisiac. It'll make you lick your lips, it will make you look and feel sensuous, eyeing every available partner (man or woman), and uncrossing your legs would never be a problem with this smell wafting up your nostrils.

It's that powerful.. Vegeta was almost getting affected himself.

"Well," Vegeta smirked. "I guess that mystery was solved easily enough." Feeling proud of his effortless detective work (and good mood) Vegeta flew off to the forest to get something to eat. He still couldn't believe that though; the Boy... horny. "Hmm.. maybe there's hope for him after all," he laughed again. Maybe Trunks wasn't a mama's boy after all.

----

It was hard hearing her cry and curse his name; almost as if he was home again. His mother would cry so much when he was young, and always with HIS name in the air.

He grew up despising that name... that name that was supposed to be his heritage and source of pride. Vegeta... for making her hurt so much. Any being that could do that to a woman he loved deserved to die a slow death. No mercy ever to be shown on his soul.

When he was younger, Trunks looked at the ceiling going back in time in his mind, he held his mother when she cried in bed. She felt so soft and vulnerable, like only he had the power to heal her...to hurt her and shake her as if she was a doll. It felt so...breathtaking to hold her even at that young age. Magical, almost. Only he was allowed to do it.

It was an ache in every part of his body as he listened to her through the walls. He shook all over with the effort to restrain himself, looked down at his hands and concentrated.

One, two, three, four...

She was right across from where he was.

...five, six, seven, eight...

It would take barely three steps for him...

...nine, ten...

Her sweet body would be in the bed, just begging for his attention and care, to wash away the hurt that Vegeta had inclined unto her.

...eleven, twelve...

And how her body would just feel against him, her legs-

-thirteen, fourteen, fifteen-

-wrapped around him, her delicious moans soft in his ear, disturbing his hair-

He clenched the sheets and breathed hard as he stared at the door.

Everything was still except for him. The sounds of the tick-tocking of the clock beside the bed lost in the race with his heart. His breathing eventually got quieter, his ears straining to hear her. She had stopped crying.

He leaned in and slipped off the bed, walking towards the door. One little look at her wouldn't hurt, he told himself, especially to parts of himself.

A part of him was still fighting the losing battle, trying to gain back control over his body but it was as if something else took hold of him. Something primal in his blood that he needed to satisfy, if only with a look.

He was quicker than he thought and not even a second had passed before he was looking down at her. Her back was turned to him. Her exposed back, with the beautiful angles and perfect structure of bones with the right tinge of skin. Then he told himself...one little touch wouldn't hurt either.

Trunks was very careful as he got into the bed with her. He didn't know if this Bulma was a light sleeper as his mother was. He started to move his hands over her, barely hovering; afraid to really touch her otherwise the perfect moment would've ended. His hand became more confident and let itself rest on her thigh, on top of that short silk nightgown.

He rubbed and put pressure, dipping into her inner thigh and heard her moan. Then, he decided to put his other hand on her and touch her gently on the slope of her side, moving left to right. He was shaking out of delight. He couldn't remember when he was last this close to her...when he could touch her how he pleased. More importantly, she was enjoying the attention that she lacked so much after all this time.

Growing braver, he gently moved her until she was on her back and proceeded to move when he was stopped. There was a frame in her hands and he smiled, picking it up and instantly grimaced. Vegeta. She was holding a picture of...Vegeta.

He looked down at her, almost with contempt. Even after her words, all that crying...she still loved him? She still wanted that...that fool? That bastard?

There was a deep rage in him that began to brew. It had been in him always ever since he could understand what tears meant and what had caused them in his mother. It was with the same rage he went to Super Saiya-jin. And now it was the same, bubbling, frothing up within him, waiting to spill. His hands shook with power and he wanted to hurt. Anyone, anyone would do. He looked down at her.

She would do.

She was sleeping softly, oblivious to it all. Oblivious that in just a few short seconds, she would die at the hands of her son. A quick snap to the neck, that's all it'd take. That's all both would need.

His hands hovered over her like before only now held the promise of violence instead of pleasure. He wanted to hurt her. Hurt her for choosing Gohan, for choosing Vegeta, for choosing everyone but HIM.

You have no idea how much it hurts, Bulma, he told her silently; to have your love rejected like that. To be chosen last and have something so worthless put before you as priority one.

He almost killed her that night and regretted ever trying it since. All that stopped him was her suddenly leaning into his hands, rubbing her cheek into them and then sleepily sat up and held him at the waist. "I've missed you," she mumbled into his chest and rubbed her face in it, giving small kisses and sighed. "Come back to bed.." she groaned, tugging him down, eyes half closed.

Unable to register what was really happening to him, he let her do it and fall asleep in his arms. He didn't even hold her back. Stuck between the two thoughts of was it real or was it a dream... the tears was in his eyes when it hit him that he almost killed her. Only a second away to snapping her neck and she responded with love. He embraced her and started to cry in her hair, trembling at the reality.

He wouldn't let her go...and he would never harm her, ever. Even if he had to kill himself. He leaned down and whispered with fresh tears in his voice still, "I-