By the time Bulma got back to Capsule Corp., it was past midnight.
After her speech, she was flooded with handshakes and praise. People she had never met before were coming up to her and congratulating her on such a big accomplishment, but all she could think about was Vegeta. Where had he gone? Had he seen Yamcha kiss her? Dread filled her soul and with every fake smile and piece of small talk, she wanted to scream. When she finally managed to wrangle herself away, two hours had passed.
Standing in the darkened kitchen, she noticed everything was just how it was supposed to be. Part of her hoped there might be a stack of dishes in the sink, some sort of evidence that Vegeta had been there eating his feelings. Or perhaps there might be holes in the drywall from an errant punch. Did she really expect the house to be destroyed? No, Vegeta was a lot of things, but she didn't think he was cruel enough to actually cause any damage to the home they shared. She left the kitchen, her path illuminated by the soft hallway lighting and hurried upstairs.
His room was just a few doors down from hers. The door was shut and Bulma leaned her head against it. Should she knock? Should she just let herself in? She let out a deep breath and pressed her hand flat against the cool surface, her heart rattling against her rib cage.
She wanted to be with him. He had to know that, right? That what happened at the party–leaving him and then kissing Yamcha–was all a huge misunderstanding. She bit her lip and rapped her knuckles against the wood.
"Vegeta?" She said softly. "Are you in there?"
There was no response. She tried again. "Vegeta?" Nothing.
She placed her hand on the doorknob. Breaking into his room without his permission was not the best of ideas, but she was desperate. She needed to talk to him and tell him how she felt, to let him know that there was no one else in the world she wanted besides him. She turned the knob and peeked in, her eyes adjusting to the darkness and her heart racing.
Desperately, she wanted to hear his gruff voice tell her to get out. Or to feel his hands snake around her waist and pull her into his bed. With the light from the city as her only guide, she walked in and realized his bed was made. All of the lights were off. There was no discarded tuxedo on the floor. No signs of someone in a rage. No signs of someone at all.
She tightened her jaw. She walked around, examining his room for the first time and noticed he had no personal effects whatsoever. Not that she thought he had any to begin with. When he arrived on Earth, he literally had nothing besides his half torn clothes and shabby armor. He wasn't one to shop, either, nor did she think him one to have any sentimental attachment to things.
Her fingers ran across the top of his dresser as she looked around the rest of the room. His bathroom ensuite was dark, there was no sign he had been here for hours. Seeing his room this empty and cold made her want to cry. This entire time, he had not put down a single root. He always said Earth was temporary–that once he beat Kakarot, he would be back in space.
Somehow, though, she thought maybe he had changed his mind after being with her, that he wanted to stay on Earth for at least a little while. Clearly, he had not.
She retreated back to the hallway and gently shut the door behind her, letting her shoulder blades dig into it. Where was he? Her attention turned to her room. Maybe he was in her bed waiting for her to come home, but that didn't seem likely. Yes, it was apparent to her that he liked sleeping with her a little more than he let on. Waiting on her seemed highly unlikely, though. He wasn't the type.
Just as she suspected, when she slipped into her room it was empty. Quickly, she changed her clothes and made her way back downstairs, tearing across the lawn toward the spaceship. Again she was met with disappointment: It was completely dark and it was off. Even if he was sleeping in there, he would need to turn the machine on.
Tears filled her eyes. He must've seen her and Yamcha. Why else would he have fled?
Dragging herself to her lab, she turned on the light. Beside her desk were two mangled drones, stripped down to severed wires and hunks of twisted metal. They were unceremoniously sprawled out on the floor behind her desk chair, one of the wires still buzzing. They hadn't been there before the party.
Looking at them left a deep, cavernous hole in her heart. This was his way of telling her how he felt. This was his punishment to her: Leaving her alone and destroying something she worked so hard to create specifically for him. She had disillusioned herself to believe he felt something for her that was deeper than just sex and this was his message to her. She was as disposable as these drones to him.
Part of it was so deeply hurtful, a slap in the face to all of the things she had done for him. The other part, though, the part worried about Vegeta's heart, didn't take offense. He was a warrior, after all. One whose rage was funneled into conquering planets and killing. If this was all he did, she was somewhat grateful. Even if it meant he hated her, he at least had enough restraint to destroy something fixable. Little did he realize, though, that he was also destroying her heart.
She slogged back upstairs and slid into her bed. Heavy tears brimmed her eyes and she sunk into her pillow, allowing herself to unleash a torrent of tears. He had to come back, he just had to.
–
Vegeta sailed through the air at a rapid speed, letting the cold bite at his skin. He had discarded his tuxedo hours ago, almost as quickly as he got home actually, tearing it off in a rage before donning his usual training clothes. His blood was pumping and he needed to destroy something. As soon as the spaceship hummed on, he unleashed his fury upon two unsuspecting drones. Usually, he liked to tease them a little bit more, use their lasers under heavy gravity so practice his evasion. On that night he was much more focused on obliterating them in one single blast.
His rage was palpable. As if it wasn't insulting enough that she was so embarrassed to be seen with him she left him in a room all by himself–and pathetically he sat there and waited as she had commanded–when he descended the staircase he saw her kissing Yamcha. Moments before he was inside her, waiting to taste her and ravage her several times over. She had left him for that weakling.
It was more than insulting, it was treacherous. She had lulled him into this false sense of security, tricked him into believing that he was capable of love. Once a mighty and proud warrior, he had been reduced to being at the beck and call of a woman's carnal desires. Had she been sleeping with Yamcha this entire time, too? No, that didn't seem possible considering all the time they had spent together.
What was more likely is that Yamcha came and begged for her back. Clearly she had accepted. Fickle and foolish, she wanted to have her cake and eat it, too. Maybe being caught fucking Yamcha wouldn't have been such an embarrassment. Everyone there knew him, didn't they? They all had become accustomed to his mediocrity, whereas everyone else feared Vegeta. The staff knew what he was capable of and even the board members saw him as some sort of science experience Bulma and her father had taken on.
And that's what rubbed him the most: His entire life has been seen through someone else's lens. He was in the shadow of his father, then in the shadow of Frieza and now in the shadow of Yamcha. For once he wanted to be his own man. For once he wanted to win.
He had no intention of begging her, he was not going to grovel at her feet and ask her to reconsider. He had too much pride for that. If she wanted Yamcha as a mate, she could have him. Vegeta was done.
The farther he flew, the colder it got. By his estimation, he was close to the Earth's pole. Icebergs drifted in the black arctic sea, and above the sky danced with beautiful swirls of green and blue. It was so far from the world of West City, where everything was always hot and dusty. He needed to find peace and comfort. He needed to focus again on his training.
For weeks, it had taken a backseat to her, but no more. Training was the only thing that mattered, preparing his body for the androids and then Kakarot–that should be his sole focus. Anger burned as he thought about how much time he had wasted on her, time he could've used to go Super Saiyan.
A scream ripped from his as he powered up, a wave of energy shooting off his body in the stilled air. Flexing his hands, he unleashed shot after shot of energy, brilliantly blue flashes of light that collided with towering sheets of snow. His attacks ripped through giant fjords and sent shelves of ice plummeting into the water. Craters formed along a flat face of the glacier, and as each energy blast collided with it, crevasses crept along the surface.
When he was done, the ocean below angrily swirled and massive pieces of ice bobbed.
He screamed again, letting all his anger toward Bulma release from him before sending another series of blasts. Explosions rumbled as they connected to the cold, hard ground. Merciless and enraged, Vegeta started to feel like his old self again.
–
Days passed and still no sign of Vegeta.
Bulma called in sick, prompting both her mother and father to fret over her. She never called in sick. Stomach flu, broken limbs, coming off of a spaceship after spending time on Namek: Her ailments never got in the way of her work. If she was bedridden, it had to be very, very serious.
Panchy had been especially attentive. She brought copious amounts of food, medicine of all kinds and hot tea more than twice a day. On the fourth day of Bulma's phantom illness, her mother sat on the side of her bed and tried to force a thermometer in her mouth. Bulma rolled her eyes.
"Mom, for the last time, I don't have a fever."
"But darling, you said you are sick!" Panchy leaned in and placed her hand on Bulma's forehead. "I just want to make sure you don't have a fever."
"I don't have a fever." Bulma brushed her mother's hand away. "I'm not sick sick. I just don't feel good."
"Why won't you tell me what's wrong? Stomach bug? Sinus infection? Is it a bad period?"
Bulma's face went red. "Mom!" She hissed. "It's not my period, please stop asking."
Her mother sighed. "Bulma, it's unlike you to miss work."
"I just have a lot on my mind lately." It wasn't a lie. She did have a lot on her mind. The truth was she couldn't get out of bed because her heart felt like it had been ripped in two, and until Vegeta made his way back home, she couldn't focus on anything relating to work. Not even one bit. "I think I might be depressed."
"Depressed?" Panchy hooted. "Oh honey, that's terrible!"
Her mother had a flair for the dramatic. A severed limb could be fixed but depression? Sadness was the worst kind of ailment.
"I'll survive, Mom." Bulma rolled her eyes. "I just think I need a few days to just decompress."
Panchy nodded her head. "You have been working awfully hard."
"I have."
"And you don't really take many breaks."
"I don't."
"And, well, with Vegeta gone I'm sure you're really lonely."
Bulma blinked. Their arrangement had been a secret. Did her mother know?
"What do you mean?" She tried to sound as casual as possible. "I don't like Vegeta."
Her mother chuckled and wiggled her nose. "Oh, sure you don't." She winked. "You absolutely detest him, I know."
Panchy shook her head and laughed again, a smile plastered on her face.
"Mom, I really–"
"Bulma," she clasped her hands over her daughter's. "I might not be a world renowned scientist like your father, but I am not dumb. I see the way you two look at eachother, the way you beamed when he was by your side at the gala. I don't know exactly how long it's been going on, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say the two of you were in love."
Bulma gulped. She was in love with Vegeta and apparently it was obvious to everyone.
"It's not really like that."
Panchy laughed. "Oh sure it's not. I must have it all mixed around."
A cry caught in Bulma's throat. She was in love with Vegeta and she suspected he might be in love with her too, that is until the gala.
"I am in love with him," she stifled back tears. "And I didn't tell him how I felt and then he.."
Panchy stroked her daughter's hair and gave her a sympathetic look. "If he really loves you back, he will give you a second chance. Even the prickliest of cactuses bloom, Bulma. I believe this isn't the end."
Bulma wiped her eyes and let out a mournful sigh. She believed that about Vegeta. Coming to Capsule Corp., had revealed his true colors, that he was a man who was capable of kindness and of love. In his own weird way, he cared about her and she deeply cared about him. Bulma had made a mistake but one that she would try her damndest to right.
As soon as her mother left, Bulma got up and took a shower. She put on her work clothes and resolved that, once again, like always, she needed to fix the problem herself. She was a genius after all. If she could figure out rocket science, how hard could love really be?
