(A/N: K, peeps, there are a few things I need to clear up, apparently. I know this isn't exactly like the series, and the Cell Saga probably ended completely differently than in my story. (I haven't watched it since it went off Toonami and into the Buu Saga, which was a few years ago.) HOWEVER! I have creative license, don't I? -. There will be some V/B stuff in later chapters, but it's not gonna be like the usual lovey dovey mumbo jumbo shit that I'm getting so sick of. It'll be a myriad twist of angst, futility, and spur-of-the-moment emotions mixed in with all kinds of other crap that will happen in between. There will be something happening with Yamcha, and another thing happening with a mysterious character who needs something built by Capsule Corporation. So if you're looking for fluffy happy dribble, sorry, you're gonna hafta go somewhere else. Oh, and if that sounded a little mean, I'm sorry, I'm just trying to capture the right audience so no one will be disappointed. Hope you enjoy Nothing, Yet Everything with the right sense of the proud humility I'm trying to put into Vegeta's character.)
(R&R if you like it. An author wants nothing more than praise for his or her work, even over money. Think of it as getting a book for free - the least you can do is tell the nice person what you think. Thanks for taking that into consideration. So far you guys have been great. Thanks so much for giving me so much support; I really appreciate it and hope I can continue to give you what you want.)
"I'm home," Bulma called, kicking off her shoes at the door. Trunks babbled aimlessly in her ear, blowing a snot bubble and popping it in her hair. Used to such occurrences by this time, she simply pulled a napkin out of her pocket and swiped it expertly across the sodden strands.
"There you are!" Krillin came tearing down the hall, barely keeping himself from bowling the genius over in breathless excitement. "The computer says her battery's charged and 18's ready for repair! Please come quick! I'll take the baby," he offered, reaching for the infant in her arms.
"Alright, Krillin." She set the baby gently in her friend's arms. "I'll go have a look." Starting off down the hall, she pulled out her key to the lab and tied her long blue hair back in a ponytail. Then, almost as an afterthought, she glanced back over her shoulder at the overjoyed fighter.
"Say," she ventured, trying to be nonchalant and failing miserably, "did Vegeta come back through here? I was hoping to do some laundry and I was gonna chuck that smelly old workout suit of his into the washer…"
Krillin scratched his head in perplexity. "No, I don't think so. Then again, I was in the lab the whole time…" he trailed off, the faint flush on his cheeks deepening to a sort of crimson.
Bulma sighed and rolled her eyes for what seemed like the fiftieth time that day. "What, are you in love with the thing or something?"
"She's not a 'thing', she's, well, a she!" he said defensively. "And… Uh…well, y'see…"
She shot him an incredulous look. "You've GOT to be kidding me. Krillin, I can understand if you wanted her fixed in the name of science, but this--!"
"Since when have I ever done something 'in the name of science'?" Krillin yelped, crossing his arms. "That's your forte, not mine. And so what if I do love her? Machines can have personalities, too!"
"And Saiyans can love," she muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Just forget it." Whirling on her heel, she marched off toward the lab, leaving Krillin behind to wonder what he was going to do with the drooling baby. Trunks desperately needed a diaper change from the smell of it; the bald fighter wrinkled his nose at the thought.
"At least, if I marry 18, we won't have this problem," he muttered, going off in search of a new diaper.
He had just entered the baby's room to when heavy footfalls sounded behind him. A gloved hand fell upon his shoulder, whirling him around roughly to come face to face with its owner - Vegeta.
"Where's the broad?" he demanded, onyx eyes flashing when they fell upon Trunks. The baby screeched in glee and held up his chubby hands. Vegeta snorted and looked back to Krillin.
"She's in the lab, Vegeta," Krillin replied, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. To this day, Vegeta still scared the living daylights out of him. "Why do you want to know?"
"She is to wash and mend my suit, though why that is any of your business is beyond me," he snarled. "God, that woman does nothing but play with the brat all day long! She never gets anything important done."
"Uh…well, she does do a lot…" Krillin began hesitantly, knowing full well that Bulma raised the baby by herself while juggling a workshop and the household all at the same time, but not wanting to say anything that land him in a world of hurt.
Before Vegeta could reply, Mrs. Briefs bounced into the room in a flurry of golden curls. "Goodness!" she exclaimed, waving a hand in front of her nose. "That baby does stink! We're just gonna have to fix that, aren't we, my little Trunksie Poo?" Gently taking her grandson from Krillin, she set him on the changing table and began to rummage through a drawer.
"Poo is right," Krillin snickered, holding his nose with a newly freed hand.
"What a ridiculous name," Vegeta sneered. "Hey!" he called to the still searching woman. "If you are going to address the brat, use the right damn name!"
"Oh Vegeta dear, would you hand me that powder?" she asked, either not hearing his demand or choosing to ignore it. "It's right over there on the counter behind you."
The Saiyan Prince's face turned almost purple. "Did you hear me?" he hissed.
"Oh, alright, I'll get it. You can start changing his diaper!" Pushing the startled Vegeta to the changing table, she quickly undid the plastic straps and let Trunks' diaper fall open, revealing itself in all its putrid glory.
Vegeta reeled, sensitive Saiyan senses taking a blow that neared a punch. He gripped the edge of the table, nearly cracking it in half with his powerful hands.
"Oh, go on now, it won't bite you," Mrs. Briefs called from the counter, where she had discovered the bottle empty and was now searching the cupboards for more.
"How can you ask the Prince of all Saiyans to change a diaper!" Vegeta howled, moving as if to either throw a punch or run away. "Of all the indignities--!"
"Do it for Bulma, dear! She needs all the help she can get right about now!" The woman started to the door. "I'm going to run to the store for a little while; we're out of powder and just about everything else. Until I get back, just use the powdered wipes and put him in a cloth diaper. It was so nice to see you again, dear. I do love having visitors! The gravity room is newly repaired, but it still has a few glitches, so don't go using it right away. Well, ciao!" With a last wink, she disappeared into the hall.
"Why would I do it for Bulma?" he muttered, wrinkling his nose. However, despite his statement, he fumbled around for the handle of the nearest drawer and tugged it open, staring in perplexity at the various baby items laid neatly inside.
"Having problems?" Krillin snickered, unable to repress the biting comment.
Vegeta shot a scathing look over his shoulder. "If you're so smart, baldy," he growled, "then you do it!"
"Nope, sorry dude. I've got something else I gotta do. Later!" Amazed at his own audacity, Krillin took off after Mrs. Briefs as fast as his little legs would carry him.
Vegeta was about to give chase when he felt gentle hands rest themselves over his and guide them to the right drawer. A familiar warmth was pressed against his back - one that smelled of powder and rose petals…
"I would never have believed it," Bulma murmured. "You, of all people, changing a diaper!"
"I was forced to do it," he grumped, stepping out of her hold and retreating to the window. It might have been her imagination, but she could have sworn his cheeks had gone a pale pink. "Don't think I'll be doing you any favors. It's your brat; you take care of him."
"Our brat," she corrected, folding her arms.
"I didn't want it," he returned, "you did. You could have gotten rid of it at any time - sent it to one of the incubators to develop. You could have been done with it then and there."
"In…incubators!" Bulma cried, disgusted. "We do no such thing on Earth!"
Vegeta raised an eyebrow. "No incubators? Then how the hell are there so many brats running around?"
"People do it the natural way here," she retorted, frowning.
"That's idiotic." Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned against the windowsill. However, his tone wasn't entirely angry; his words were more confused than anything else.
Throwing up her hands in exasperation, Bulma turned and finished changing her son's filthy diaper. The silence almost seemed to come alive, it was so complete. Vegeta watched a hawk circling a mouse outside the window, a wicked smile curving his lips when the hunter tore its sharp beak into its prey. At last, Bulma could stand it no longer - she couldn't continue to act like nothing was wrong.
"Why did you drop me?" she demanded, handing Trunks a rattle and turning her gaze to her husband.
"Because you didn't do what I said," he replied, as if that explained everything.
"You could have killed me!"
"That's the price for insubordination," Vegeta shot back, eyes boring into hers like lasers. "If you continue to be disobedient, sooner or later you'll find yourself in a situation you can't get out of - and it will be all your fault."
"You don't care about anything, do you?" she asked, a hurt expression creeping across her face.
"No. But even if I did, I would never show it. I've told you before, so listen this time! Saiyans do not even have a word for 'emotion' in our native tongue. We are not supposed to feel love. We must not feel compassion. Such traits are considered weaknesses, and those harboring such treacherous thoughts are immediately executed." Vegeta sneered into the sunlight. "We are a warrior race. We do not have room for such things."
"But what about your parents?" she persisted, taking a step closer. "Didn't they love each other? I mean, they had to be married. They were King and Queen!"
"My parents mutually respected the other's abilities and agreed to an alliance as a sort of treaty. Marriage, translated into the Saiyan tongue, or as close as I can figure, is known as sairiea. Sairiea, when translated into Earthian, means mutual necessity. The partnership lasts only as the participating Saiyans deem it necessary." Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the windowpane.
Bulma rested her gaze upon him, profound pity flashing across her cerulean irises. Checking once more to make sure Trunks was happy, she padded across the room and slipped her arms around his back, resting her head against his muscular lats.
"Vegeta," she said huskily, "I love you." Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed the back of his neck. "Do you ever think that it may be time to let those traditions go?"
The Saiyan Prince whirled around, throwing Bulma against the wall with the force of his spin. "I will never let Vejitaseii die," he hissed, pressing his face into hers. "My father, my mother - all the Saiyan warriors! - will live on in me. I will see that the legacy is continued until I draw my last breath." Storming past her, he headed to the door. When he passed the changing table, he stopped, if only for a moment, and looked down at his little son. The baby looked up at him with startled blue eyes, his tiny lips parting as a cry gurgled in his throat.
"Oh, shut up," Vegeta snarled, slamming the door behind him.
"Vegeta!" Bulma yelled after him, starting for the door as well. Trunks was wailing at the top of his powerful little lungs, kicking and punching the air as if it had personally done him wrong. Bulma tried to pick him up, but the force of his miniscule thrashings kept her back, gaping at her son in bewilderment. He had never kicked so hard.
The floor hummed softly as the gravity chamber whirred to life despite Mama's warning, making the lights flicker slightly as an enormous amount of electricity was channeled into the tiny training chamber. The girl sighed and rubbed her temple. Another insane electric bill was on its way.
"Guess I'd better go check up on 18 before Krillin has a heart attack," she muttered to herself. Turning to Trunks, she placed her hands on her hips and put on her most menacing glare.
"Okay, mister, if you don't stop that I'm gonna have to leave you here, and I'm sure you don't want that." The boy kept thrashing for a few minutes longer, then stopped and looked at her with wide eyes. With a small gurgle, he held up his arms. She scooped him up and tucked him under her arm, looking for the closest person to dump him on so she could head for the lab.
"Bulma!" came a voice from behind. Blue hair swished as she turned to see Yamcha running down the hall toward her waving his arms. She rolled her eyes and prayed for strength as he skidded to a halt in front of her.
"Hey…I was…wondering…if I could…stay…here a little while," he panted wildly, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder. "It….would help…immensely…"
Bulma threw a look over his shoulder, wondering what sort of mess he had gotten himself into this time. Blowing out a small sigh, she nodded.
"Yeah, but only if you're willing to babysit," she said, thrusting Trunks into his arms. "I'm gonna be awfully busy these next few weeks, so I'll need the help. But one question," she added, cutting off his gushing stream of gratitude. "What's going on? Are you gonna be bringing the police in after you? 'Cause if so, you're outta luck."
The scarred fighter put on a sheepish grin and rubbed the base of his neck. "Well, y'see, I kinda lost this bet…"
"Oh, no!" Bulma interrupted, holding out a hand. "You're not paying out of my pocket. Again," she added icily.
'No, no! It's not that!" he wailed, making Trunks look up at him in dismay. "It's…" he lowered his voice - "a girl."
Bulma raised an eyebrow. "And this is news to me…how?"
"That's not the point! I bet this girl that if she could outdrink me until I fell under the table, I would date her for a month. Stupid, I know," he said hastily, watching her swell up like a balloon, "but let me finish. We went to the bar and she had 46 - 46! - mugs of beer! I was done at 32, but she just kept going. So now I have to date her, and I really don't want to! Please, Bulma, you have to help me!"
"Help you how? She can't possibly be that bad-looking."
"No, it's not that. She's extremely pretty. But she's always head-over-heels, head-in-the-sink drunk!" He shuddered. "I couldn't take that on a 24 hour basis. It would just be too much! Please, it'll just be a month--"
"What do I have to do!" she finally exploded, frustrated with his hedging on top of everything else she had to deal with.
His face turned red. "Well, you're not gonna like it…"
"OUT WITH IT!"
"Pretendtobemywife," he gushed, looking at his feet.
Bulma stared. "Say…what?" she asked, giving him a sidelong glance.
Yamcha threw up one hand, tucking Trunks under the other arm. "I knew it was stupid to ask. I shouldn't have come." He none-too-gently shoved the baby back into her arms, and turning on his heel, started back toward the door.
As she watched him go, her mind set to work in sonic speed. What did she have to lose? It wasn't as if Vegeta paid any attention to her anyway. Trunks would grow up just like his counterpart from the future - fatherless and sad. It might do the baby good to have a male role model in his life.
And imagine what it would be like to feel like you were loved…
Sighing, she trotted after him and laid a hand on his arm. "You need a cover," she muttered, "and I need a babysitter. Here are the rules; no coming into my room, no going anywhere NEAR Vegeta, and no sex. Got it?"
His black eyes lit up. "Got it!" he yipped, grabbing Trunks back and bouncing him in joy. "Thanks SO much, Bulma. This really means a lot to me."
"Yeah, yeah, no problem. Now get out of here; Trunks needs a bath. You'll find his tub under the kitchen sink." Turning to go, she took a few steps down the hall.
"Hey Bulma," Yamcha called after her, glancing over his shoulder.
Her shoulders sagged as she rolled her eyes to the heavens. "What!"
"Can we kiss?" he asked, a hopeful light in his eyes.
She was quick to answer. "Only if it's a dire necessity," she replied. "When will this girl be coming by the house, anyway?"
"Soon. Very soon. Probably before nightfall. I give her that long before she finally tracks me down."
"Well, whatever. Get busy." She took another step.
"Y'know," Yamcha said softly, a small smile on his lips, "I never stopped loving you. I will always love you, Bulma. Know that."
Bulma stopped, the words wrapping themselves around her heart like an iron fist. It had been so long since she had heard those words…
"Yamcha, I can't allow that kind of talk," she said quietly, not looking back. "I'm married, despite whatever you want. I'm married to the man I love. Don't forget it." She took off down the hall and slammed the door to the lab behind her.
"There you are!" Krillin jumped to his feet. He had dragged up a chair beside his beloved android and was holding her lifeless hand as if he would never let go. "Sorry to ask, but what kept you? It's been almost an hour…"
"I had a few things to work out," she replied idly. Moving to the computer, she set to work finding and eradicating the glitches that had found their way into the android's system. "The body's completely repaired," she told her friend, waving a hand across the blond's body. "She'll be up and about within the next twenty four hours. I'll just need to install a few more programs and she'll be good as--"
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.
"What was that?" Krillin wondered, looking around curiously. Then his eyes fell on Bulma. All the color had drained from her face, and she was staring at the door to the room containing the gravity chambers in utter horror. Smoke whispered out from beneath the closed door, carrying with it the scent of charred rubber and burning flesh.
"Vegeta," she gasped, jumping to her feet. Hitting a few buttons, she set the computer to automatic and sprinted to the door, pressing the open button over and over and screaming in frustration. When the door finally opened, she was greeted by a wall of black fog that swept over her entire body, sending her coughing and hacking into the crook of her arm. "Vegeta!" she cried, tears burning in the corners of her eyes. She ran into the room, frantically throwing aside bits of debris.
"No no no not again! Please, God, not again! I thought I fixed this damn thing! Dammit, Vegeta, why did you have to clobber it again!" Falling to her knees, she scraped at the pile that was emitting the foul-smelling smog with her bare hands, scratching her fingers bloody with the effort. She paid her minor cuts no heed - Vegeta was her only concern.
"Why…are you looking over there…you stupid woman?"
Bulma whirled around to find the Saiyan Prince leaning heavily upon a shorted console, his breath coming in labored gasps from a bloody mouth. His face was a mass of blood-sodden ash, and bits of broken glass clung to the sticky mess. A shard of a train-o-bot stuck out of his left eye, which was squeezed tight shut around the pain.
"Oh…my God…" she whispered. Stumbling to her feet, she ran toward him, horrified at the pain she had caused with her miscalculated machine. She tried to reach out to him, but he feebly knocked her hand away.
"I thought…you fixed…that damn machine," he said haltingly, trying his best to put on a prideful glare. "You really…are useless." He sank to his knees, coughing up another mouthful of blood.
"Shh, shh, don't talk…" Kneeling beside him, she pulled him against her with gentle hands, brushing the sweaty hair out of his mangled eyes. "Here, hold still, I'm going to clear away some of this glass--"
"Don't touch me!" he roared, trying to bat her away, but succeeding only in throwing his arm around her waist.
"Doesn't this remind you of the way we met?" she continued, as if she hadn't heard him. Her mind was picturing the day the gravity room had first exploded, leaving the prince a bed-ridden mess. She had cared for him, brought him food, gotten close to him in his time of weakness… Sucking in a deep breath, she began to carefully remove the shards of glass from his cheek. He did not flinch, but leaned against her in resignation, allowing her to take out the biting needles that had dug deep into his skin. As she worked, tears slipped down her cheeks and fell onto his bare shoulders, making him glance up sharply. The shard embedded in his eye stuck out at a strange angle, but it had missed the cornea. A brief stab of relief flooded through her heart, adding extra strength to the torrents.
"What are you crying about, woman?" he demanded, brow furrowing in disgust.
"I hate to see you hurt," she replied softly, brushing the hot liquid away with the back of her blood-stained hand. "I just can't stand it."
"Huh. It's just a scratch," he snorted. Then he began to cough, sending little flecks of blood flying from his mouth. Bulma bit her lip and held him closer.
"Don't die," she whispered. "Please, Vegeta. Please don't die."
The Saiyan snickered softly. "You are a fool." Closing his eyes, he leaned heavily against her as his labored breathing immediately became slow and heavy. The life-saving shroud of sleep had fallen over his wounded body, allowing it to heal faster without the hindrance of pain.
Bulma heaved a sigh of relief. Shifting her husband so she could try to carry him over her shoulder, she attempted to lift him off the ground. His muscle-bound body barely came an inch off the shattered floor. Not knowing what else to do, she called for Krillin, who came rushing into the room as if he had only needed an excuse.
"Whoa," he commented, looking around. "What happened here?"
"That doesn't matter right now," Bulma snapped. "Here, take his other arm. Thankfully nothing was broken - just a few flesh wounds. But if I don't stop the bleeding soon, I may…" she gulped - "…lose him."
"Of course," Krillin said quickly, doing as he was told. Between the two of them, they managed to heft Vegeta into the recovery room and onto a bed. Bulma thanked Krillin and bid him leave, wanting to be alone to tend to her husband. The short warrior left, casting worried glances over his shoulder. Though he couldn't say he was scared for Vegeta's sake, he wondered how Bulma would fare if things took a turn for the worse.
"Goodbye, Krillin," Bulma said forcefully, pressing a button to close the door behind him.